Last weekend marked a high point in absolute stupidity for me-- I locked myself out of my apartment, no phone, no keys, no money. I accidently left my iPod in the pocket of a shirt that I left soaking for over 5 hours. Walking up to communion in the middle of church on Sunday, I suddenly remembered that I left a candle burning in my apartment. Yikes.
All of these things resolved well-- I was able to get back into my building, borrow a phone, call family members to track down my brother's number to call him, wake him up and ask him to come by with the extra set of keys. (I have since made 5 copies of my apartment key and have scattered them with friends in the building.) Amazingly, the iPod, after immersion in water for several hours, still works. This amazes me. And did I actually leave a candle burning in my apartment? No, but it took one frantic ride in a cab to find that out. I figured if I turned the corner and there was a fire truck outside the building, I'd just keep on going...back to California. Meanwhile, I'm exhausted from the panicky adrenaline rush that comes from believing you might have burned down your apartment complex....
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Holy Weekend, Batman!
Easter weekend was incredible. I'm still reeling at the richness of the services I attended. I'm going to try and blog about it but it feels massive.
One of the things I can't get over is HOW MUCH scripture is read in the services. From Palm Sunday to Easter, chapters and chapters of stories and Psalms and verses. And the services:
Palm Sunday
Maundy Thursday
Good Friday
Easter Vigil (Saturday)
Easter Sunday
I loved being able to move from the triumphal entry to intimacy of the Upper Room, the institution of the Lord's Table, to the betrayal and crucifixion of Jesus, then to gather with believers and wait for the Resurrection and then to rejoice at the Resurrection itself. I always felt emotionally confused growing up around Easter Weekend because it seemed like it was all very dramatic but I never had space and time to move through it all, like a religious traffic jam. This year I did.
And the symbolism:
To symbolize the entry into Jerusalem, we marched around the block of our church, waving Palm Branches and singing hymns. Imagine a bunch of rag-tag New Yorkers each waving a sliver of a Palm branch as they marched singing around the Upper West Side, through the noise and commerce of a Sunday morning.
We did foot washing on Maundy Thursday, which was warm and intimate. How shocking to go from all that bare-footed, vulnerable warmth to the betrayal of Jesus, symbolized through the stripping of the altar-- have you seen it done? Incredibly moving to watch, in silence, as all of the elements that make up the Lord's Table are taken away one by one, so all that is left is a table and a cross, shrouded in a black cloth. The last act they do in the service is to turn the table sideways so that it resembles a coffin. And then we all leave in silence.
Good Friday-- no Lord's Table. We said long prayers of grieving. We reflected on sin and evil in the world. And at the end we venerated the cross-- one by one we were invited to go up, kneel before the cross, and say a pray, or kiss it, or hold on with both hands, or rest our heads against it. The entire service was done in near darkness, and we left in darkness.
Easter Vigil-- began in darkness, but we were each given a candle. The service starts with the Paschal candle coming in and then we lit our candles from it. (Funniest moment of the weekend at church-- the candle took an unceremonious dive off it's stand at the beginning of the service-- whoops!) We waited together, telling the stories of our faith-- of the Creation, of the sacrifice of Issac, of the parting of the Red Sea, of Ezekiel and the Valley of Dry Bones. We renewed our baptism vows and at the end of that the Priest announced that Christ is Risen, the lights came on and people rang bells and we got to sing Jesus Christ is Risen today, and start Easter early. I loved this service-- it felt beautiful and moving and intimate and joyful.
And Easter was great. I did the singing gig at Redeemer (30 piece orchestra and 30 piece choir, selections from Handel's Messiah) which meant sitting through the service twice, but I was enjoying the people and experience so much that I didn't mind. Went to some friends for lunch and then off to All Angel's for their 5 o'clock, then to another friends for another feast. Threw myself into bed after midnight, exhausted but happy. The Lord is Risen Indeed! Alleluia!
One of the things I can't get over is HOW MUCH scripture is read in the services. From Palm Sunday to Easter, chapters and chapters of stories and Psalms and verses. And the services:
Palm Sunday
Maundy Thursday
Good Friday
Easter Vigil (Saturday)
Easter Sunday
I loved being able to move from the triumphal entry to intimacy of the Upper Room, the institution of the Lord's Table, to the betrayal and crucifixion of Jesus, then to gather with believers and wait for the Resurrection and then to rejoice at the Resurrection itself. I always felt emotionally confused growing up around Easter Weekend because it seemed like it was all very dramatic but I never had space and time to move through it all, like a religious traffic jam. This year I did.
And the symbolism:
To symbolize the entry into Jerusalem, we marched around the block of our church, waving Palm Branches and singing hymns. Imagine a bunch of rag-tag New Yorkers each waving a sliver of a Palm branch as they marched singing around the Upper West Side, through the noise and commerce of a Sunday morning.
We did foot washing on Maundy Thursday, which was warm and intimate. How shocking to go from all that bare-footed, vulnerable warmth to the betrayal of Jesus, symbolized through the stripping of the altar-- have you seen it done? Incredibly moving to watch, in silence, as all of the elements that make up the Lord's Table are taken away one by one, so all that is left is a table and a cross, shrouded in a black cloth. The last act they do in the service is to turn the table sideways so that it resembles a coffin. And then we all leave in silence.
Good Friday-- no Lord's Table. We said long prayers of grieving. We reflected on sin and evil in the world. And at the end we venerated the cross-- one by one we were invited to go up, kneel before the cross, and say a pray, or kiss it, or hold on with both hands, or rest our heads against it. The entire service was done in near darkness, and we left in darkness.
Easter Vigil-- began in darkness, but we were each given a candle. The service starts with the Paschal candle coming in and then we lit our candles from it. (Funniest moment of the weekend at church-- the candle took an unceremonious dive off it's stand at the beginning of the service-- whoops!) We waited together, telling the stories of our faith-- of the Creation, of the sacrifice of Issac, of the parting of the Red Sea, of Ezekiel and the Valley of Dry Bones. We renewed our baptism vows and at the end of that the Priest announced that Christ is Risen, the lights came on and people rang bells and we got to sing Jesus Christ is Risen today, and start Easter early. I loved this service-- it felt beautiful and moving and intimate and joyful.
And Easter was great. I did the singing gig at Redeemer (30 piece orchestra and 30 piece choir, selections from Handel's Messiah) which meant sitting through the service twice, but I was enjoying the people and experience so much that I didn't mind. Went to some friends for lunch and then off to All Angel's for their 5 o'clock, then to another friends for another feast. Threw myself into bed after midnight, exhausted but happy. The Lord is Risen Indeed! Alleluia!
Monday, April 5, 2010
First Mouse, Part II
...and scene for little guy. Saturday night at 2 a.m. I awoke to scratchy-scratchy-scratchy, followed by the pathetic and sad wailing of a mouse who was caught in my glue-trap. Note to self: never buy glue traps again. You still have to figure out how to kill the mouse after you catch it, and that's not a very fun internal conversation at 2 a.m. on Easter Morning. No. Definitely the cyanide-laced food next time.
I couldn't kill it. Instead, wielding a pair of tongs, I gingerly grab the trap, drop it in a plastic bag, knot the bag, grab my keys, take the elevator down to the basement (I can't hold the bag on the ride-- the mouse, despite having all four of its feet glued to the trap, can still thrash quite a bit), and throw the bag in the trash.
Then I tried to go back to sleep. I finally managed it around 4 a.m.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
First Mouse, Part I
So I was sitting in my living room and I caught a bit of movement out of the corner of my eye. I turn and see a cute little mouse scurrying across the floor of my kitchen. Great. I guess there's a lot more to becoming a New Yorker than I thought. Time for Pest Control 101.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Home Sweet Harlem
Moved into my new place in Harlem, home for the year, at least. I love it-- light, space, peace, a view and convenient to all of upper Manhattan. Thought you'd enjoy some pics. I don't own a wide angle lense, so they really don't do it justice!
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Update
Hello friends. I have been very delinquent in writing. Since last I posted something, I've been to Virginia to see family:
I've had a visit from the lovely Tricia Harding, who got her first real New York in the Snow Experience (sorry, would insert pic here but they're all on T's camera). And in the meantime, I've done my taxes, probably found an apartment, and continued to sing, sing, sing.
The weather here is mild, so much so that I walked down the street with my coat unbuttoned this afternoon. People are out without coats (which is a little ridiculous) and all dogs are out sans their winter sweaters. It is a welcome change, if only because I'm sick of wearing the same clothes. I've decided I prefer snow to rain, though (less messy), so we'll see how I handle March coming in like a Lion.
Lots to catch you up on regarding moi, but I have little time. Darn you, no wi-fi!!! So, instead I will tell you about two different culture events I attended within days of each other. Tricia and I, amidst checking out the neighborhood food and wine scene and frolicking in the snow, went to see the Mark Morris Dance Group at the Brooklyn Academy of Music. Modern dance. On Monday, I got a free ticket to The Nose, a farce of an opera, playing at the Met. Two events where the artform, in its classical form, tells story through body and music. These two performances, however, take that assumption and turn it on its head.
Mark Morris Group teases you the entire time, by changing its mind about what it is every 2 minutes. They did three pieces, the first set entirely to silence. Dance with no music. It was riveting and hard. You watched and a story formed, then just when you thought 'hey, this is a story', they turned the stage into a canvas, and formed a perfectly proportioned piece of modern visual art. Other moments it felt like you were watching music, which was fantastically interesting when one is listening in silence. Then you felt like they were making sociological commentary about the individual against the collective. The second piece was called Looky, about looking at things, and they kept changing the scene from the art gallery, to the dance hall, to the audience. Fun and smart. The third was a beautiful portrait of Socrates. All I can say that, as long as I live, I think I will remember that dance when Socrates is mentioned. Beautiful, ephemeral, tenderly rendered.
The Nose is a farce about a rather vain man who lost his nose, and then finds out his nose is running around Petersburg impersonating a high-ranking official. Embarrassed by the lack of nose, he chases after it, goes to the police, puts an ad in the paper, to no avail. I related the plot to my friend, Matt, who said, 'You can tell that the opera pre-dated the Pitch Meeting'. Indeed. But it is farce, it's absurd, and just like the Mark Morris Dance Group, is a form of art that is primarily about cerebral activity. One is so aware of one's mind wanting DESPERATELY to make sense of any of it, when really all one can do is abandon oneself to the ride and experience oneself experiencing the experience. Ah, New York.
I've had a visit from the lovely Tricia Harding, who got her first real New York in the Snow Experience (sorry, would insert pic here but they're all on T's camera). And in the meantime, I've done my taxes, probably found an apartment, and continued to sing, sing, sing.
The weather here is mild, so much so that I walked down the street with my coat unbuttoned this afternoon. People are out without coats (which is a little ridiculous) and all dogs are out sans their winter sweaters. It is a welcome change, if only because I'm sick of wearing the same clothes. I've decided I prefer snow to rain, though (less messy), so we'll see how I handle March coming in like a Lion.
Lots to catch you up on regarding moi, but I have little time. Darn you, no wi-fi!!! So, instead I will tell you about two different culture events I attended within days of each other. Tricia and I, amidst checking out the neighborhood food and wine scene and frolicking in the snow, went to see the Mark Morris Dance Group at the Brooklyn Academy of Music. Modern dance. On Monday, I got a free ticket to The Nose, a farce of an opera, playing at the Met. Two events where the artform, in its classical form, tells story through body and music. These two performances, however, take that assumption and turn it on its head.
Mark Morris Group teases you the entire time, by changing its mind about what it is every 2 minutes. They did three pieces, the first set entirely to silence. Dance with no music. It was riveting and hard. You watched and a story formed, then just when you thought 'hey, this is a story', they turned the stage into a canvas, and formed a perfectly proportioned piece of modern visual art. Other moments it felt like you were watching music, which was fantastically interesting when one is listening in silence. Then you felt like they were making sociological commentary about the individual against the collective. The second piece was called Looky, about looking at things, and they kept changing the scene from the art gallery, to the dance hall, to the audience. Fun and smart. The third was a beautiful portrait of Socrates. All I can say that, as long as I live, I think I will remember that dance when Socrates is mentioned. Beautiful, ephemeral, tenderly rendered.
The Nose is a farce about a rather vain man who lost his nose, and then finds out his nose is running around Petersburg impersonating a high-ranking official. Embarrassed by the lack of nose, he chases after it, goes to the police, puts an ad in the paper, to no avail. I related the plot to my friend, Matt, who said, 'You can tell that the opera pre-dated the Pitch Meeting'. Indeed. But it is farce, it's absurd, and just like the Mark Morris Dance Group, is a form of art that is primarily about cerebral activity. One is so aware of one's mind wanting DESPERATELY to make sense of any of it, when really all one can do is abandon oneself to the ride and experience oneself experiencing the experience. Ah, New York.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Chatauqua
Last night All Angels hosted 'Chatauqua', a charming event where the British members of the church made pancakes for the rest of us (in honor of Shrove Tuesday), and then we all headed upstairs for a church-wide talent show.
All Angels has an interesting church population, made up of one part families in the city, one part young artists, one part recovering evangelicals, and one part homeless population. I'm sure there are more parts, but that's what I've discovered so far. I felt overwhelmed by the lovely beauty of all these people, sitting around the church's all-purpose room in folding chairs, watching kids run around, making chit-chat with total strangers or dear friends, delighting to be together, inside and warm on a cold snowy night.
And the talent show-- a sock puppet show to Carmen's Habanera (see picture), a Chopin Ballade from our minister of music, who is pursuing a doctorate at Juilliard, a 12 year-old who played Vivaldi on the electric guitar, a woman reading stories of her time in Thailand. An older couple who would pass the time on long road trips by singing together (back before they had a radio) sang a song in two-part harmony about Old New England. My new friend Rachel, a singer-songwriter who has started to write songs to respond to her friends request for advice was probably my favorite (check her out at http://advicemusic.blogspot.com/), but equally endearing was a gentleman, obviously of the homeless or near homeless population, singing original works.
I decided to go with something comic, and sang the Seguidilla from Carmen, and in a stroke of genius asked the guy who emcee'd the night to play Don Jose. We never rehearsed, but he is at heart an improv guy and took my direction to 'pretend like you're ignoring me but really you're into me' and ran with it into the hills. Needless to say, I got upstaged and could barely get through it for laughing, but who cares- raucous laughter for an Opera scene!
All Angels has an interesting church population, made up of one part families in the city, one part young artists, one part recovering evangelicals, and one part homeless population. I'm sure there are more parts, but that's what I've discovered so far. I felt overwhelmed by the lovely beauty of all these people, sitting around the church's all-purpose room in folding chairs, watching kids run around, making chit-chat with total strangers or dear friends, delighting to be together, inside and warm on a cold snowy night.
And the talent show-- a sock puppet show to Carmen's Habanera (see picture), a Chopin Ballade from our minister of music, who is pursuing a doctorate at Juilliard, a 12 year-old who played Vivaldi on the electric guitar, a woman reading stories of her time in Thailand. An older couple who would pass the time on long road trips by singing together (back before they had a radio) sang a song in two-part harmony about Old New England. My new friend Rachel, a singer-songwriter who has started to write songs to respond to her friends request for advice was probably my favorite (check her out at http://advicemusic.blogspot.com/), but equally endearing was a gentleman, obviously of the homeless or near homeless population, singing original works.
I decided to go with something comic, and sang the Seguidilla from Carmen, and in a stroke of genius asked the guy who emcee'd the night to play Don Jose. We never rehearsed, but he is at heart an improv guy and took my direction to 'pretend like you're ignoring me but really you're into me' and ran with it into the hills. Needless to say, I got upstaged and could barely get through it for laughing, but who cares- raucous laughter for an Opera scene!
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