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Friday was The Doomed Holiday Concert at the Meyerhoff Symphony Hall. I call it "doomed" because, of course, it was tainted from the get-go by that snafu earlier in the week, which has yet to be resolved by the way, although the 'gund (my evil half) is going to poke the sleeping monster later today.
First, it took an hour-and-a-half to get from Ellicott City to Kingsville, where my parents live. (And they really wonder why I didn't want to go further north, into Harford County, last night for what would have been the fourth time this week?) Traffic congestion started south of the Fort McHenry Tunnel and didn't let up until we got our exit some fifteen miles or so later. And then, it was the night of let's-drive-with-one-hand-holding-a-cell-phone-and-the-other-stuffed-up-my-ass and people seemed unable to grasp the concept that the left lane is for doing the speed limit.
So, an hour-and-a-half later, we got to my parents' house.
I spent much of the half-hour ride into Baltimore chatting with my sister. Bobby tried to make conversation with my dad and was blown off because we all know that the mature, appropriate thing to do when you're upset with someone is to 1) not tell them about it and then 2) treat them as though you have and they've failed to make appropriate amends/explanations. I've realized that my parents are completely asocial organisms. But more on this some other time. For now, I'd rather recount an evening that was not a complete failure.
I would like to go to the Meyerhoff for once and not be ensconced in drama. This was only my second time there. The first time, last December, was for the Lord of the Rings symphony, to which I (stupidly, perhaps) invited friends, failing to realize that the one in charge of organizing their transportation would 1) decide to use public transportation, 2) fail to check a bus schedule but instead ask some random guy on the corner which bus to use (and he was wrong, of course), and 3) fail to check ahead of time exactly where in Baltimore the Meyerhoff is. Which is slightly important prior to getting there. So it took said friends five hours to get there, making Bobby miss the first movement while he waited for them outside and making me so angry during the first half that I couldn't enjoy myself or concentrate on the music.
Maybe the third visit will be a charm? I'm actually starting to feel tense, just looking at the Meyerhoff. Which, given that they have some of the best shows in Baltimore, is not a good thing.
I was nice and hyper, so everyone got treated to a pre-show performance by me, first playing Christmas carols on my trumpetless trumpet while walking in the parking garage and nearly getting my foot flattened. I mean, I know that trumpet tunes played with air and lips alone aren't the best of entertainment, but I did what I could with what I had. I hardly that vehicular assault is the answer to someone's obvious preference for stringed instruments.
The seats were nice, one of the middle balconies, second row back, so not a lot of heads to impede our view. We were one of the first parties to arrive in our section and we had a good half-hour, during which my sister and I had our usual offensive liberal conversation about gay stuff like what kind of ice cream I should make for her fiancee when she comes over from England just after Christmas. At some point, I had the brilliant idea that we should make a calendar of religious fundamentalists posing in their stodgy underwear and call it "Fundies in Their Undies."
At which point, the lone guy sitting in the row in front of us turned around and allegedly shot me daggers.
I saw him turn but didn't want to look to see if he was in fact looking at me, but as soon as he turned back, Sharon leaned over and said, "That guy just gave you A Look," and we had a laugh about that. Later, on the way home, my mom asked if I'd seen The Look I was given while talking about my "Fundies in Their Undies" project, and we laughed again, heartily, for a good ten minutes. We decided that either 1) the guy wanted a "Fundies in Their Undies" calendar but wasn't sure how to ask, 2) he was in fact a fundy and wanted to be in the "Fundies in Their Undies" calendar, 3) he needed to grow a sense of humor, or 4) he figured that a tart in a black strapless dress at the symphony was from one of those projects designed at exposing inner city kids to culture and wished to have a good look at one of Them.
When the guy's wife arrived, Sharon and I were discussing something entirely unrelated to fundies or undies, and yet she turned and gave me a good ten-second stare. Okay....
I suppose that I should mention that I am blessed with a "projecting" voice. On the rare occasions as a child when I wasn't the one being whispered about and I got the chance to instead whisper about someone else, I always felt like they could hear me. Come to find out, they could. I cannot whisper and it is really hard to speak normally. A woman asked me once at The Piece during my days as a server if I was a singer because my voice was so strong and projected so well. I'm sure that I would make a fine singer...if I could sing on-key. (I have learned, however, that my voice is suited for doing impersonations of obnoxious songs. I can do the "Hippopotamus Song" quite well, for example.) Still, it was nice to have someone recognize something good about my voice for once. (I can't stand people who shush me. Do they go up to folks in wheelchairs and chide them for not getting up and walking themselves up the stairs?)
My voice is a gift from my dad, who--when we both worked at The Piece--I could hear talking to guests at the vestibule while I was in the kitchen with all the equipment running. But if that woman was going to fault me for my projecting voice then perhaps I should fault her for her red-and-green outfit and New Balance sneakers. At least my bad taste is hereditary. :^P
Finally, the show began. It was really quite good. The Baltimore Symphony, for one, is always good. (Why do I feel like I am writing a first grade book report? "I liked it. It was good.") In addition, they had performers from the Baltimore School for the Arts who gave me a nice inferiority complex because here they were, high schoolers, and twice as talented as I will ever be. But the show was a nice mix of more classic symphony, comedy, dance, and a very eclectic act involved large inflatable shapes. It sounds weird, yes, but trust me, it was very cool.
If you could not already tell, our section was composed of some very interesting people. Behind my mom was a woman with a very hearty laugh, and the woman in front of my mom kept turning and giving my mom Looks, probably thinking that my mom was the one laughing so heartily. The humanity! Behind my sister was a woman who should have applied to direct the show since she knew far more than the show's actual director about continuity and the appropriateness of certain acts and didn't hesitate to express this during the whole show. And, during intermission, Sharon asked me if I kept hearing something from behind us that sounded like a high-hat cymbal being played at off-tempo, random intervals. I assured her that she was crazy.
But, during the second act, suddenly, I heard it. And then could hear nothing else. Imagine "Deck the *tsss* halls with bows *tsss* of holly *tsss* / Fa la *tsss* la la la *tsss* la la *tsss* la *tsss* la! Others in our section were looking around too and Bobby also heard it. After the show, we discovered that it was a woman two rows back from us with an oxygen tank. Well, I guess faulting her for that is like faulting me for my projecting voice.
Afterward, we went for chow at Red Brick Station. Bobby snuck off to buy gift certificates for the parents and came back with a free beer from the owner, telling us some farfetched tale that he'd met the guy in the bathroom. "Okay, so you started talking to a random guy in the bathroom and let him buy you a beer?" "Well, he was the owner." Of course, later, I found out that the owner bought him a beer for buying $100 worth of gift certificates, which seems as good as reason as any, but he couldn't tell my parents that, since their one of the recipients of the gift certificates. But for a while, I had this weird vision of my husband being picked up by restauranteurs in the men's room. Weird.
Yesterday was as unexciting as they come. I took the day to finish up my third and final batch of holiday candy, did all of the laundry I've been neglecting, and cleaned the apartment. Bobby's parents just got word that the settlement date for their new house has been moved up a week, so the Symphony of Lights--that which caused such heartache and my dad to refrigerate poor Bobby for an entire evening--didn't even happen. We did have a lovely supper together at Cheeburger Cheeburger, during which father-in-law ate a pound burger and got his picture taken and put on the wall. If I ate meat, I bet that I could eat a pound burger, but no one seems interested in 1) making a pound bean burger so that I can try it or 2) having a salad-eating contest. Because I ate a huge salad last night and a bazillion onion rings and fries in cheese sauce. I can hear my arteries hardening as I type. So it seems that my ability--indeed tendency--to eat large quantities of food to fuel my creative binges and occasional hypomanic episodes will be the stuff of legend--like the Lochness Monster--oft-heard but never proven.
Then we met Potter and saw King Kong. Good movie, in all, although it took me a minute to get into Jack Black as a non-comic--indeed, slightly evil--character, but once I did, I was okay. Comparing it to Narnia, I liked Narnia better, simply because I've taken a real liking to fantasy lately, so anything with knights and magic is sure to push all the right buttons. But Kong had some awesome effects and there were some truly tense moments. Although I must admit to a certain weariness with adventures that start out with 50 adventurers--only three of whom are important to the story--and all die horrible deaths except those magical three. Well, that's a bit of an exaggeration for this movie, but once--just once--I'd like to see the main character get trampled by a brontosaurus. Please?
But the characters were a compelling blend of good and evil, which you all know that I like. I wasn't sure how to feel for much of the time which keeps me interested through long adventure/battle scenes, which in fact bore me terribly. I dissociated through much of Helms Deep during TTT. I could keep up with most of these scenes, though, which is rare.
All in all, I liked the movie.
All in all, the weekend hasn't been a total bomb. Which is more than I'd hoped.
Oh, and I'm taking orders for the "Fundies in Their Undies" calendar. Just let me know. ;^)
First, it took an hour-and-a-half to get from Ellicott City to Kingsville, where my parents live. (And they really wonder why I didn't want to go further north, into Harford County, last night for what would have been the fourth time this week?) Traffic congestion started south of the Fort McHenry Tunnel and didn't let up until we got our exit some fifteen miles or so later. And then, it was the night of let's-drive-with-one-hand-holding-a-cell-phone-and-the-other-stuffed-up-my-ass and people seemed unable to grasp the concept that the left lane is for doing the speed limit.
So, an hour-and-a-half later, we got to my parents' house.
I spent much of the half-hour ride into Baltimore chatting with my sister. Bobby tried to make conversation with my dad and was blown off because we all know that the mature, appropriate thing to do when you're upset with someone is to 1) not tell them about it and then 2) treat them as though you have and they've failed to make appropriate amends/explanations. I've realized that my parents are completely asocial organisms. But more on this some other time. For now, I'd rather recount an evening that was not a complete failure.
I would like to go to the Meyerhoff for once and not be ensconced in drama. This was only my second time there. The first time, last December, was for the Lord of the Rings symphony, to which I (stupidly, perhaps) invited friends, failing to realize that the one in charge of organizing their transportation would 1) decide to use public transportation, 2) fail to check a bus schedule but instead ask some random guy on the corner which bus to use (and he was wrong, of course), and 3) fail to check ahead of time exactly where in Baltimore the Meyerhoff is. Which is slightly important prior to getting there. So it took said friends five hours to get there, making Bobby miss the first movement while he waited for them outside and making me so angry during the first half that I couldn't enjoy myself or concentrate on the music.
Maybe the third visit will be a charm? I'm actually starting to feel tense, just looking at the Meyerhoff. Which, given that they have some of the best shows in Baltimore, is not a good thing.
I was nice and hyper, so everyone got treated to a pre-show performance by me, first playing Christmas carols on my trumpetless trumpet while walking in the parking garage and nearly getting my foot flattened. I mean, I know that trumpet tunes played with air and lips alone aren't the best of entertainment, but I did what I could with what I had. I hardly that vehicular assault is the answer to someone's obvious preference for stringed instruments.
The seats were nice, one of the middle balconies, second row back, so not a lot of heads to impede our view. We were one of the first parties to arrive in our section and we had a good half-hour, during which my sister and I had our usual offensive liberal conversation about gay stuff like what kind of ice cream I should make for her fiancee when she comes over from England just after Christmas. At some point, I had the brilliant idea that we should make a calendar of religious fundamentalists posing in their stodgy underwear and call it "Fundies in Their Undies."
At which point, the lone guy sitting in the row in front of us turned around and allegedly shot me daggers.
I saw him turn but didn't want to look to see if he was in fact looking at me, but as soon as he turned back, Sharon leaned over and said, "That guy just gave you A Look," and we had a laugh about that. Later, on the way home, my mom asked if I'd seen The Look I was given while talking about my "Fundies in Their Undies" project, and we laughed again, heartily, for a good ten minutes. We decided that either 1) the guy wanted a "Fundies in Their Undies" calendar but wasn't sure how to ask, 2) he was in fact a fundy and wanted to be in the "Fundies in Their Undies" calendar, 3) he needed to grow a sense of humor, or 4) he figured that a tart in a black strapless dress at the symphony was from one of those projects designed at exposing inner city kids to culture and wished to have a good look at one of Them.
When the guy's wife arrived, Sharon and I were discussing something entirely unrelated to fundies or undies, and yet she turned and gave me a good ten-second stare. Okay....
I suppose that I should mention that I am blessed with a "projecting" voice. On the rare occasions as a child when I wasn't the one being whispered about and I got the chance to instead whisper about someone else, I always felt like they could hear me. Come to find out, they could. I cannot whisper and it is really hard to speak normally. A woman asked me once at The Piece during my days as a server if I was a singer because my voice was so strong and projected so well. I'm sure that I would make a fine singer...if I could sing on-key. (I have learned, however, that my voice is suited for doing impersonations of obnoxious songs. I can do the "Hippopotamus Song" quite well, for example.) Still, it was nice to have someone recognize something good about my voice for once. (I can't stand people who shush me. Do they go up to folks in wheelchairs and chide them for not getting up and walking themselves up the stairs?)
My voice is a gift from my dad, who--when we both worked at The Piece--I could hear talking to guests at the vestibule while I was in the kitchen with all the equipment running. But if that woman was going to fault me for my projecting voice then perhaps I should fault her for her red-and-green outfit and New Balance sneakers. At least my bad taste is hereditary. :^P
Finally, the show began. It was really quite good. The Baltimore Symphony, for one, is always good. (Why do I feel like I am writing a first grade book report? "I liked it. It was good.") In addition, they had performers from the Baltimore School for the Arts who gave me a nice inferiority complex because here they were, high schoolers, and twice as talented as I will ever be. But the show was a nice mix of more classic symphony, comedy, dance, and a very eclectic act involved large inflatable shapes. It sounds weird, yes, but trust me, it was very cool.
If you could not already tell, our section was composed of some very interesting people. Behind my mom was a woman with a very hearty laugh, and the woman in front of my mom kept turning and giving my mom Looks, probably thinking that my mom was the one laughing so heartily. The humanity! Behind my sister was a woman who should have applied to direct the show since she knew far more than the show's actual director about continuity and the appropriateness of certain acts and didn't hesitate to express this during the whole show. And, during intermission, Sharon asked me if I kept hearing something from behind us that sounded like a high-hat cymbal being played at off-tempo, random intervals. I assured her that she was crazy.
But, during the second act, suddenly, I heard it. And then could hear nothing else. Imagine "Deck the *tsss* halls with bows *tsss* of holly *tsss* / Fa la *tsss* la la la *tsss* la la *tsss* la *tsss* la! Others in our section were looking around too and Bobby also heard it. After the show, we discovered that it was a woman two rows back from us with an oxygen tank. Well, I guess faulting her for that is like faulting me for my projecting voice.
Afterward, we went for chow at Red Brick Station. Bobby snuck off to buy gift certificates for the parents and came back with a free beer from the owner, telling us some farfetched tale that he'd met the guy in the bathroom. "Okay, so you started talking to a random guy in the bathroom and let him buy you a beer?" "Well, he was the owner." Of course, later, I found out that the owner bought him a beer for buying $100 worth of gift certificates, which seems as good as reason as any, but he couldn't tell my parents that, since their one of the recipients of the gift certificates. But for a while, I had this weird vision of my husband being picked up by restauranteurs in the men's room. Weird.
Yesterday was as unexciting as they come. I took the day to finish up my third and final batch of holiday candy, did all of the laundry I've been neglecting, and cleaned the apartment. Bobby's parents just got word that the settlement date for their new house has been moved up a week, so the Symphony of Lights--that which caused such heartache and my dad to refrigerate poor Bobby for an entire evening--didn't even happen. We did have a lovely supper together at Cheeburger Cheeburger, during which father-in-law ate a pound burger and got his picture taken and put on the wall. If I ate meat, I bet that I could eat a pound burger, but no one seems interested in 1) making a pound bean burger so that I can try it or 2) having a salad-eating contest. Because I ate a huge salad last night and a bazillion onion rings and fries in cheese sauce. I can hear my arteries hardening as I type. So it seems that my ability--indeed tendency--to eat large quantities of food to fuel my creative binges and occasional hypomanic episodes will be the stuff of legend--like the Lochness Monster--oft-heard but never proven.
Then we met Potter and saw King Kong. Good movie, in all, although it took me a minute to get into Jack Black as a non-comic--indeed, slightly evil--character, but once I did, I was okay. Comparing it to Narnia, I liked Narnia better, simply because I've taken a real liking to fantasy lately, so anything with knights and magic is sure to push all the right buttons. But Kong had some awesome effects and there were some truly tense moments. Although I must admit to a certain weariness with adventures that start out with 50 adventurers--only three of whom are important to the story--and all die horrible deaths except those magical three. Well, that's a bit of an exaggeration for this movie, but once--just once--I'd like to see the main character get trampled by a brontosaurus. Please?
But the characters were a compelling blend of good and evil, which you all know that I like. I wasn't sure how to feel for much of the time which keeps me interested through long adventure/battle scenes, which in fact bore me terribly. I dissociated through much of Helms Deep during TTT. I could keep up with most of these scenes, though, which is rare.
All in all, I liked the movie.
All in all, the weekend hasn't been a total bomb. Which is more than I'd hoped.
Oh, and I'm taking orders for the "Fundies in Their Undies" calendar. Just let me know. ;^)
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