A bunch of French demons, My Gal Sal, Damn Yankees and a visit from the Aged P

Pretty much sums up my weekend, which began with the Subway Series kick-off at  Citifield (and lots of screaming), a whirlwind evening with My Gal Sal (and lots of talking), a traipse through the illuminations currently on display at the Met (and lots of whispering and picking-out-my-next-tattoo-ing) with the Aged P, 4 hours of singing (with lots of…singing) and a short cab ride before heading home to listen to the Mets game on the radio (um…muted screaming such as only comes from a seriously fatigued throat). 

It was a good time – we always have fun, especially when we get to do things we’ve been meaning to do forever. As we were wandering through the Met, (Sidenote: Go see the Mourners, Medieval statues usually consigned to meandering underneath a Ducal tomb who are currently arranged as 36 monks in two straight lines) I accidentally bumped into a woman standing behind me who, when she heard me apologize in English, put her hand out to stop me and in an accent asked, "What is the scroll?"

We weren’t sure if she meant a specific scroll (and if there was a famous one we should have seen, and if so how to camouflage the fact that we, Worldly New Yorkers as we are, hadn’t even heard of it), so I asked "What, or where is the scroll?" She reiterated "What," so I demonstrated the international gesture for "Unrolling A Large Piece of Parchment As If To Read From It, Preferably From a Balcony to A Huddled Populace"  and she said "ahh," and nodded, and we went on our way. It was…surreal. And cool. I feel I have contributed to international understanding and comprehension of at least 25 signs and explanation plaques around the Met. 

And of course, a big ol’ Thank You to the Aged P for braving public transit to swing up for a quick visit and concert attending. Double plus bonus for both seeing and returning the 3Q symbol when the reverend of the church where we performed began to wax on about something to do with fundraising and architects and festivals and oh yeah mostly we’re just happy to have you here. 

Then Monday I woke up with a sore throat, taught some 2nd graders how to sculpt frogs out of clay, reassured kid after kid that just because they didn’t know how to do it now didn’t mean they’d never know, then tried to remind myself of the same life lesson as I ponder new jobs and future hypothetical grad school applications. 

I also had a re-audition of sorts with my choir director, who correctly pinpointed that my vocal break is exactly on an E-natural, and that I could be a mezzo due to the "creaminess" of my middle range. I pointed out that I generally sing first soprano because I can do things like sing a 95-mile-an-hour fastball, and he raised his eyebrows and said "Touche." Have I mentioned that I really really like this choir, this director and the direction he’s directing us in? He’s also a(n awesome) composer and is going to write our group an opera for next spring. 

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2 Responses to A bunch of French demons, My Gal Sal, Damn Yankees and a visit from the Aged P

  1. Cripes. I had no idea you could sing that high. I think G# or thereabouts is around my limit.

  2. Cripes. I had no idea you could sing that high. I think G# or thereabouts is around my limit.

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