After weeks of waiting, I was thrilled that 30 Rock was coming back this week. Even though we had to wait until deep into the season for the premiere, it happened to come out on the first Thursday after Schicchi closed. It seemed things were coming together for ol' Felice Mi Fa.
I laughed out loud about 5 times. Still, I was disappointed with the episode for two reasons:
1. It was obviously trying to wrap up a number of storylines from Season 2 that just weren't working. Devin Banks running into a town car, Liz choosing work over adoption, Dongslayer selling 61 million copies...somehow getting into these messes was more fun than getting out of them.
2. Dealing with guest stars can ruin anything. Megan Mulally is fab, but her guest spot was not genius. I worry that the rest of the season is going to be stiff, unfunny story lines meant to wrap themselves around whichever famous person agreed to come on board for this week.
I'll catch you next week after Oprah.
Friday, October 31, 2008
adventures in liturgical music
So everyone else booked it out of work on this Friday afternoon, and I stayed an extra 45 minutes because I couldn't find a piece of music. The piano part to the Mass of Light Kyrie, to be exact, because at mass with the Cardinal on Sunday I really really really wanted to be able to sing the Kyrie with tropes. Why am I like this?
I found it.
I found it.
boys becoming men, men becoming wolves!
I don't have time to find the link myself, but go watch "Werewolf Bar Mitzvah" to celebrate Halloween. That's your only homework.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Last night at the Green Dragon
Out with friends last night, they insisted that they were not important enough to make the blog. I'm here to prove them wrong.
At one point Brian turned to me and said "can we be cocky for a second?" I thought to myself, he's going to want to play 'who'll be in Barack's cabinet'. I was right.
Keith announced that if he had a website it would be a picture of a bird and a politician (as opposed to my glamorous site).
Alison made the mistake of disagreeing with us on one of the ballot questions for next week. We made her pay for that. Sorry about that, Alison.
And speaking of the Green Dragon, did you know that Paul Revere was a drunk who fell off of his horse in Arlington and never made it to Lexington and Concord?
At one point Brian turned to me and said "can we be cocky for a second?" I thought to myself, he's going to want to play 'who'll be in Barack's cabinet'. I was right.
Keith announced that if he had a website it would be a picture of a bird and a politician (as opposed to my glamorous site).
Alison made the mistake of disagreeing with us on one of the ballot questions for next week. We made her pay for that. Sorry about that, Alison.
And speaking of the Green Dragon, did you know that Paul Revere was a drunk who fell off of his horse in Arlington and never made it to Lexington and Concord?
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
On dating an opera singer
Leah's husband wrote the perfect guide to dating an opera singer here. I'm not sure if any of you were planning to do so any time soon, but if you were, this would be the guide for you.
Awkwardness with undergrads
Most people have some appreciation for the limitless awkwardness of the teenage boy, and although my experience is mainly with teenagers on the younger end of the spectrum, once in a while I again become aware of the nervousness of the older variety.
This first came to mind yesterday in the elevator in the Comm Ave garage. I was taking the elevator up from 3 (where my car was) to 7, and when I got in there were two undergrads who appeared to be bypassing the stairs by taking the elevator from 1 to 7.
Elevators are awkward for everyone, regardless of age, regardless of gender. Think of all the times you have been standing very close to someone and just stared at the floor, to scared to make eye contact. Or worse (and this is more often the case for me), you said something that landed with a thud on the ears of your elevatormates, and the only thing you could hear in your ears for the rest of the ride was your own voice saying something dumb.
The three of us survived the elevator ride and exited onto the roof of the garage into bright sunlight and spitting rain. I read enough Rainbow Brite books in my day to know what was coming next, and I looked around for the inevitable rainbow. I found it over my right shoulder, a perfect half-circle shooting brightly across the sky.
I had booked out of the elevator in a hurry, so my two elevator friends were still behind me. When I saw the rainbow and saw that they were still right behind me I shouted "Look!" They wouldn't look, and this was when I started to get a little perturbed. What can I say? I'm used to being obeyed. So I shouted again, even louder "LOOK!!!"
They did, and one of them started talking to me -a lot - about how great the rainbow was. Then he blew it, saying "Did you just happen to be looking around and saw the rainbow?" Then I blew it, by responding, incredulous at his not knowing the fundamentals of rainbows, "No...It was sunny...and raining...so I knew there would be a rainbow."
A blog post can not adequately communicate my terribly dismissive tone-of-voice, but trust me when I tell you that we went awkward for awkward yesterday afternoon.
This first came to mind yesterday in the elevator in the Comm Ave garage. I was taking the elevator up from 3 (where my car was) to 7, and when I got in there were two undergrads who appeared to be bypassing the stairs by taking the elevator from 1 to 7.
Elevators are awkward for everyone, regardless of age, regardless of gender. Think of all the times you have been standing very close to someone and just stared at the floor, to scared to make eye contact. Or worse (and this is more often the case for me), you said something that landed with a thud on the ears of your elevatormates, and the only thing you could hear in your ears for the rest of the ride was your own voice saying something dumb.
The three of us survived the elevator ride and exited onto the roof of the garage into bright sunlight and spitting rain. I read enough Rainbow Brite books in my day to know what was coming next, and I looked around for the inevitable rainbow. I found it over my right shoulder, a perfect half-circle shooting brightly across the sky.
I had booked out of the elevator in a hurry, so my two elevator friends were still behind me. When I saw the rainbow and saw that they were still right behind me I shouted "Look!" They wouldn't look, and this was when I started to get a little perturbed. What can I say? I'm used to being obeyed. So I shouted again, even louder "LOOK!!!"
They did, and one of them started talking to me -a lot - about how great the rainbow was. Then he blew it, saying "Did you just happen to be looking around and saw the rainbow?" Then I blew it, by responding, incredulous at his not knowing the fundamentals of rainbows, "No...It was sunny...and raining...so I knew there would be a rainbow."
A blog post can not adequately communicate my terribly dismissive tone-of-voice, but trust me when I tell you that we went awkward for awkward yesterday afternoon.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Friday, October 24, 2008
still looking for something to do this weekend?
Tickets are still available for the Saturday night performance of Gianni Schicchi and Suor Angelica. I sing Saturday, but if you can't make it then come tonight to see the other cast!
www.bostonoperacollaborative.org
www.bostonoperacollaborative.org
on guilt
Yesterday I paid for a $5 drink with a $10 bill. The bartender gave me back $15 in change. So I gave the ten back.
I have been thinking recently about 'guilt', particularly of the "Catholic guilt" variety. I generally am annoyed when people make jokes about "Catholic guilt", because overall I don't find guilt to be a terrible thing. It tells us when we have done something wrong. It ensures altruistic behavior. I think people often imagine Catholic guilt as just enough guilt to feel bad about having done something, but not enough to not do it in the first place. Still, for most people I know, guilt (or the prospect of it) is what keeps us on the straight and narrow, doing the right thing for the people around us.
I will admit, sometimes I can take the idea a little too far. I had a professor once who said "I hope this generation has guilt about justice the way my generation had guilt about sex", and I fall prey to extensive scrupulosity when issues of finances and divvying up of resources come up. In short: I feel guilty about having too much.
Many of you know the saga of the cellphone. Broken, then replaced, then I was given a hand-me-down, then charger stolen, etc. Yesterday the gift-phone started acting up, and my first thought was "this is what I deserve for using a phone that I didn't pay for". That is quite obviously hogwash, but I know for sure that if I had kept that $10 last night I would now be blaming any number of mishaps on some post-modern amalgam of karma and divine punishment (neither of which I believe in - consciously).
A few weeks ago I went to a wedding and shared a room with two female friends. They went up to bed about an hour before I did, so they decided to share one of the full-sized beds so that I wouldn't wake either up them up when I came up. This meant, of course, that I had the other bed to myself. When I woke up in the morning I still had slept as if I were sharing the bed, crammed all the way over to one side with the other side barely disturbed. That is the essence of Catholic guilt, at least for me: Feeling so wrong about having more than my share that I won't indulge in all of it, even though no one else benefits from my sacrifice and I did nothing wrong.
I have been thinking recently about 'guilt', particularly of the "Catholic guilt" variety. I generally am annoyed when people make jokes about "Catholic guilt", because overall I don't find guilt to be a terrible thing. It tells us when we have done something wrong. It ensures altruistic behavior. I think people often imagine Catholic guilt as just enough guilt to feel bad about having done something, but not enough to not do it in the first place. Still, for most people I know, guilt (or the prospect of it) is what keeps us on the straight and narrow, doing the right thing for the people around us.
I will admit, sometimes I can take the idea a little too far. I had a professor once who said "I hope this generation has guilt about justice the way my generation had guilt about sex", and I fall prey to extensive scrupulosity when issues of finances and divvying up of resources come up. In short: I feel guilty about having too much.
Many of you know the saga of the cellphone. Broken, then replaced, then I was given a hand-me-down, then charger stolen, etc. Yesterday the gift-phone started acting up, and my first thought was "this is what I deserve for using a phone that I didn't pay for". That is quite obviously hogwash, but I know for sure that if I had kept that $10 last night I would now be blaming any number of mishaps on some post-modern amalgam of karma and divine punishment (neither of which I believe in - consciously).
A few weeks ago I went to a wedding and shared a room with two female friends. They went up to bed about an hour before I did, so they decided to share one of the full-sized beds so that I wouldn't wake either up them up when I came up. This meant, of course, that I had the other bed to myself. When I woke up in the morning I still had slept as if I were sharing the bed, crammed all the way over to one side with the other side barely disturbed. That is the essence of Catholic guilt, at least for me: Feeling so wrong about having more than my share that I won't indulge in all of it, even though no one else benefits from my sacrifice and I did nothing wrong.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Trying to be careful
In my line of work, it's really easy to talk about God like God is not in the room with me. I need to be careful about that.
Monday, October 20, 2008
More brilliance in the blogosphere
I am thrilled to announce that my brother has launched a sports blog: felicesports.blogspot.com
Tom and I are similar, to say the least. If you ever wondered what it would be like if I went off on a rant about sportscasting or the Steve Harvey show, now you can find out.
Go forth and read.
Tom and I are similar, to say the least. If you ever wondered what it would be like if I went off on a rant about sportscasting or the Steve Harvey show, now you can find out.
Go forth and read.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
On today's first reading, from Isaiah 45
I am the LORD and there is no other,there is no God besides me.
It is I who arm you, though you know me not,
so that toward the rising and the setting of the sun
people may know that there is none besides me.
I am the LORD, there is no other.
I’m always pleased with the way that “ordinary time” offers us readings that are anything by ordinary. This week’s first reading in particular struck me (more the second time I heard it than the first), and shamed me in the way that reflection on the Scriptures sometimes can.
I don’t know how any one can hear the phrase “I am the Lord, there is no other” and not be at least a little ashamed. It’s human nature to become distracted, to raise other gods up because we are briefly deluded that in them we may find salvation. Just this weekend I can think of multiple gods I served: my esteem in the eyes of others, the pompous freneticism of my schedule, the frustration with other people that I want to scratch like an itch.
But to say that the Lord is God alone means little without at least a sense of who God is, despite our inability to ever fully comprehend God. For tonight I know this: God is the one whose command to me, given to the prophets and repeated through Jesus, is to love: love mom and dad, family, friends, people on the bus, co-workers, God, and myself. Just love. So why bother with any of the other nonsense?
Sunday morning in the city
I am a big proponent of living in a city during your twenties: there is nothing better than having a group of friends just a train ride away, having access to arts and restaurants and good times. I have to take issue, though, with the depiction of this lifestyle of TV. Young people always have apartments that are way too nice to be affordable, your best friends just show up at your door , and you all go down to Central Perk to talk about your day. That’s not really how it works.
Until today.
I was dozing around 8am when I heard my phone buzzing. I got up and saw it was a friend calling, and I immediately assumed it was an emergency (most likely that our other friend, who is visiting from NY, needed a ride somewhere quickly). So I called back and was told “be out front in 5 minutes”.
I dashed around the apartment brushing my teeth and getting the sleep out of my eyes. I threw on a pair of jeans and my fleece and went out front, where they were waiting for me in a zipcar and the BC shirts they had worn to the game last night.
They had gotten a Zipcar in order to go to McDonalds, and Max had seen a documentary on the ICA so he wanted to go down to the Seaport District and see it. Since my apartment was between those two points, they picked me up. After cruising the parking lot of the museum, we stopped at Dunkin’ for refills and drove out to Castle Island to sit behind Fort Independence, eat some Mickey D’s and complain about the cold.
We were going to watch a little Pop Warner, but we had to get the car back.
So it’s 9:30 on a Sunday and I’ve already had an adventure. Plus I had all the fun we used to have after staying up all night, but I got to have a good night’s sleep.
Until today.
I was dozing around 8am when I heard my phone buzzing. I got up and saw it was a friend calling, and I immediately assumed it was an emergency (most likely that our other friend, who is visiting from NY, needed a ride somewhere quickly). So I called back and was told “be out front in 5 minutes”.
I dashed around the apartment brushing my teeth and getting the sleep out of my eyes. I threw on a pair of jeans and my fleece and went out front, where they were waiting for me in a zipcar and the BC shirts they had worn to the game last night.
They had gotten a Zipcar in order to go to McDonalds, and Max had seen a documentary on the ICA so he wanted to go down to the Seaport District and see it. Since my apartment was between those two points, they picked me up. After cruising the parking lot of the museum, we stopped at Dunkin’ for refills and drove out to Castle Island to sit behind Fort Independence, eat some Mickey D’s and complain about the cold.
We were going to watch a little Pop Warner, but we had to get the car back.
So it’s 9:30 on a Sunday and I’ve already had an adventure. Plus I had all the fun we used to have after staying up all night, but I got to have a good night’s sleep.
Friday, October 17, 2008
Today I went to the pawn unit to see if there were any records of the stolen items being sold or pawned. Since it has been almost 30 days since the burglary I had a bit of a time crunch because secondhand shops are only required to hold items for 30 days. So after a long day at the end of a long week, I left work early to head over to Tremont St.
The had told me on the phone that they were at 1199 Tremont St, near the Reggie Lewis Center. It occurred to me on the way over there that they were probably in the Boston Police Headquarters, but naturally there weren't any numbers on the buildings so I drove up and down the street a few times, then found a spot, passed through the metal detectors and asked if I was in the right place. Lucky for me I was.
Everyone in licensing was very pleasant, and they sat me down in a comfortable chair with piles and piles of records starting with 9/27. I pulled out my list of stolen pieces, lowered the chair so that my feet touched the floor, and started skimming. The experience was just about as miserable as I had expected (think Erin Brockovich at the water board, minus the sycophant in the plaid pants). In addition to the charts and descriptions swimming in front of my eyes, a woman was trying to change the life of one of the officers with a nearby cubicle ("you should come to church! you should eat fruit! you should pack a lunch!"). As all of my senses reached a breaking point, my neck started to hurt from hovering over the sheets of records.
There were a few redeeming moments. None of them involved finding any of my lost things, but there were some wild items listed. Some were amusing in themselves- a Patriots helmet gold necklace for instance - and some were purely the result of transcription. These included a Hairing Bone chain, a Cladder ring, and a Bango bracelet.
Lest you think my experience was all mocking superiority and bad posture, I will add that I got a little emotional when I got deep into October's records and accepted that nothing was going to show up. I had been trying so hard to remember my jewelry in order to describe it, and the pieces were all very present in my mind. Letting them go again this afternoon I found myself crying over those long sheets of white paper, wondering if it would be better to catch the tears in my glasses or let them drip onto the BPD's records.
The had told me on the phone that they were at 1199 Tremont St, near the Reggie Lewis Center. It occurred to me on the way over there that they were probably in the Boston Police Headquarters, but naturally there weren't any numbers on the buildings so I drove up and down the street a few times, then found a spot, passed through the metal detectors and asked if I was in the right place. Lucky for me I was.
Everyone in licensing was very pleasant, and they sat me down in a comfortable chair with piles and piles of records starting with 9/27. I pulled out my list of stolen pieces, lowered the chair so that my feet touched the floor, and started skimming. The experience was just about as miserable as I had expected (think Erin Brockovich at the water board, minus the sycophant in the plaid pants). In addition to the charts and descriptions swimming in front of my eyes, a woman was trying to change the life of one of the officers with a nearby cubicle ("you should come to church! you should eat fruit! you should pack a lunch!"). As all of my senses reached a breaking point, my neck started to hurt from hovering over the sheets of records.
There were a few redeeming moments. None of them involved finding any of my lost things, but there were some wild items listed. Some were amusing in themselves- a Patriots helmet gold necklace for instance - and some were purely the result of transcription. These included a Hairing Bone chain, a Cladder ring, and a Bango bracelet.
Lest you think my experience was all mocking superiority and bad posture, I will add that I got a little emotional when I got deep into October's records and accepted that nothing was going to show up. I had been trying so hard to remember my jewelry in order to describe it, and the pieces were all very present in my mind. Letting them go again this afternoon I found myself crying over those long sheets of white paper, wondering if it would be better to catch the tears in my glasses or let them drip onto the BPD's records.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Another half-marathon for the books
I started long-distance running about 3 years ago purely out of stubbornness. I was sick of watching my friends push themselves in these races and always watching from the sidelines, so I decided to train for the New Bedford Half-Marathon with a bunch of friends despite the fact that I am the opposite of a natural athlete (an unnatural athlete? maybe).
Today I completed the Hartford Half-Marathon for the third time, with a time 25 minutes faster than my time in March of 2006. I'm still slow, and running is still hard, but I am walking (limping) proof that you can do most things if you set your mind to it.
Today I completed the Hartford Half-Marathon for the third time, with a time 25 minutes faster than my time in March of 2006. I'm still slow, and running is still hard, but I am walking (limping) proof that you can do most things if you set your mind to it.
Friday, October 10, 2008
My Fall fall into irritability
Being back at work since September, things have gone pretty well: vocal fatigue is at a minimum, I don't dread getting out of bed in the morning, and I don't find myself getting testy at work as easily as I have in years past.
But as Columbus Day sneaks up on us, the results of early mornings at work and long nights at rehearsal, of early morning Sunday church gigs and late nights at the theater, are starting to show. Twice in the last two days I have become irrationally annoyed at store employees who only exhibited minimal signs of culpability regarding my annoyance. Yesterday's story is almost too shameful to repeat, but I will admit that it culminated in my sniping across the Finagle-a-Bagel counter "Next time get it right the first time, Daryl", repeating the name on his name tag like it was a curse word.
Now that the summer is over, Fridays no longer feel like any other day. Rather, on Fridays I feel so tired I can't see straight, and if I spend another second around a human being I will lose my mind. So maybe it wasn't a great idea to hit up Bed Bath & Beyond at 5pm looking for a wedding gift for a wedding this weekend.
As it turns out, a number of things for which a person can register at Bed Bath & Beyond are not available in stores. I had already decided exactly what I would get; the fun, quirky items I would pair it with; the beautiful wrappings with which I would adorn it. And then a nice, bearded man (who, lucky for him was not wearing a name tag) told me I couldn't buy what I want.
I grabbed the pages of the registry which contained the things I could get in store and paced the aisles, but I was so shaken and perturbed about not being able to get my way that I couldn't even function (see also: Being a Felice). I ended up leaving and going next door to the craft store to formulate plan B.
It's inevitable for most New Englanders this time of year - as the days get darker so do we. Then suddenly it's June and we realize that we have been down-in-the-dumps for 8 months without noticing. The business of my fall schedule do little to help with that, so I beg you all to bear with me as I begin the fall's slow decline into lunacy. Give me a few months and I'll be back.
But as Columbus Day sneaks up on us, the results of early mornings at work and long nights at rehearsal, of early morning Sunday church gigs and late nights at the theater, are starting to show. Twice in the last two days I have become irrationally annoyed at store employees who only exhibited minimal signs of culpability regarding my annoyance. Yesterday's story is almost too shameful to repeat, but I will admit that it culminated in my sniping across the Finagle-a-Bagel counter "Next time get it right the first time, Daryl", repeating the name on his name tag like it was a curse word.
Now that the summer is over, Fridays no longer feel like any other day. Rather, on Fridays I feel so tired I can't see straight, and if I spend another second around a human being I will lose my mind. So maybe it wasn't a great idea to hit up Bed Bath & Beyond at 5pm looking for a wedding gift for a wedding this weekend.
As it turns out, a number of things for which a person can register at Bed Bath & Beyond are not available in stores. I had already decided exactly what I would get; the fun, quirky items I would pair it with; the beautiful wrappings with which I would adorn it. And then a nice, bearded man (who, lucky for him was not wearing a name tag) told me I couldn't buy what I want.
I grabbed the pages of the registry which contained the things I could get in store and paced the aisles, but I was so shaken and perturbed about not being able to get my way that I couldn't even function (see also: Being a Felice). I ended up leaving and going next door to the craft store to formulate plan B.
It's inevitable for most New Englanders this time of year - as the days get darker so do we. Then suddenly it's June and we realize that we have been down-in-the-dumps for 8 months without noticing. The business of my fall schedule do little to help with that, so I beg you all to bear with me as I begin the fall's slow decline into lunacy. Give me a few months and I'll be back.
Wildlife in the 'hood
Yesterday morning I opened my back door and turned on the light to see an opossum staring me in the face. I have to admit, it freaked me out a bit. Growing up on a busy road in an area full of wildlife, I saw my share of critters, both living and dead. But when I moved to the city, sacrificing the grass and trees of my home for asphalt and walk-ups, one thing I thought I would be rid of would be gross animals like oppossums.
Not so, apparently. After seeing Critter #1 I set out for an early morning run. Around mile 2 I saw Critter #2, small and soft and black, creeping out of the edge of Dorchester Bay with an ominous white streak down it's back. Nothing helps me with my speedwork like the prospect of taking a tomato sauce shower before work, so I swung as far to the left as I could and sprinted past Stinky back toward Dorchester Heights.
Not so, apparently. After seeing Critter #1 I set out for an early morning run. Around mile 2 I saw Critter #2, small and soft and black, creeping out of the edge of Dorchester Bay with an ominous white streak down it's back. Nothing helps me with my speedwork like the prospect of taking a tomato sauce shower before work, so I swung as far to the left as I could and sprinted past Stinky back toward Dorchester Heights.
Friday, October 3, 2008
Sock it to me!
I promise that soon this blog will stop being all woe-is-me-I-got-burgled and start being about all the different ways I make a mess of my life, like usual.
This post falls somewhere in between, because it’s really not the burglar’s fault that I can’t find my toenail clippers. Regardless of any culpability, this missing item resulted in my toes finally poking through a pair of favorite striped socks which are at least 10 years old. This, of course, happened at rehearsal when I really couldn’t put my shoes back on.
I try to repair socks because I hate being a “Waste-e-roo”, but with how busy my life is these days, I’m not too inclined to add anything to my darning pile. Unfortunately I don’t see much of a choice in the matter because apparently when thieves steal jewelry they put it in your socks to take it out.
When the detectives were here, marveling at how my apartment had been ransacked (I had to fess up that it had been that messy when I left in the morning) they asked if anything else was gone. I said “I must be imagining this, but I think they took my socks”. They were the ones who filled me in on the thievery technique.
This post falls somewhere in between, because it’s really not the burglar’s fault that I can’t find my toenail clippers. Regardless of any culpability, this missing item resulted in my toes finally poking through a pair of favorite striped socks which are at least 10 years old. This, of course, happened at rehearsal when I really couldn’t put my shoes back on.
I try to repair socks because I hate being a “Waste-e-roo”, but with how busy my life is these days, I’m not too inclined to add anything to my darning pile. Unfortunately I don’t see much of a choice in the matter because apparently when thieves steal jewelry they put it in your socks to take it out.
When the detectives were here, marveling at how my apartment had been ransacked (I had to fess up that it had been that messy when I left in the morning) they asked if anything else was gone. I said “I must be imagining this, but I think they took my socks”. They were the ones who filled me in on the thievery technique.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
This post brought to you by Mark Twain
N O T I C E.
To the next burglar‒‒‒‒
To the next burglar‒‒‒‒
There is nothing but plated ware in this house, now and henceforth. You will find it in that brass thing in the dining room over in the corner by the basket of kittens. If you want the basket, put the kittens in the brass thing. Do not make a noise—it disturbs the family. You will find rubbers in the front hall, by that thing which has the umbrellas in it, chiffonier, I think they call it, or pergola, or something like that.
Please close the door when you go away.
Very truly yours,
S. L. Clemens.
******************************************
Not only is it appropriate, it gives me a chance to brag about famous people from Connecticut.
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