Part I: I'm waiting for the girls at ballet. The baby is asleep (well, he's probably woken up by now) at home. Maman is home as well, planning Monsieur's surprise 40th birthday party - this party takes up much of her time. I've 70% decided to tell Maman that Friday - or possibly next Monday - will be my last day, rather than next Wednesday. I'd lose 250€, yes, but I wouldn't be 70% unhappy 42 hours a week. The funny thing - not funny ha ha, but funny weird - is how much of my sense of self is tied up in being good with children. After 7 hours of being told that I'm not doing things the way they should be done (reading to the baby, disciplining the oldest, searing the lamb for dinner), when I get home at night I doubt the Betsyness of myself. I need to learn how to leave these things at the door.
(If I do stop work early, though, I'll still have things to do; I have three other families who all want 10-15 hours a week for the next several weeks. Booya.)
Part II: This past weekend has been a whirlwind of sitting and playing. Thursday was the Fête de la Musique; I think this was the inaugural year of New York's festival, so most of you know what I'm talking about. If not, in brief, the Fête de la Musique is a huge party that is held on the equinox and takes place in the streets and concert venues of Paris; bands and DJs camp out on street corners and bridges, and more established groups play at the Louvre and in all the churches. It's kind of like Mardi Gras in New Orleans - everyone is out, carousing and singing and laughing and if you get seperated from your friends you'll never see them again. Harry and I met up with a bunch of his French friends (okay, by this point I suppose some of them are my French friends, as well) at St. Michel, near where I used to live. We were both zonked after a week of work, and I was in an infectiously bad mood, so we only stayed out until 11:30 or so, but I had a great time wandering around and soaking up everything.
On Friday I babysat and tutored and babysat again until 1am, so that was that day gone.
Saturday, though, was a blast; Harry and I slept in for like the first time ever, which was so wonderfully unstressful, and then I spent the afternoon with K because I needed to take a shower. Let me explain myself: in the way that karma works, God decided that it was my turn to leak. On Friday morning I was woken up by a neighbor banging on my door and explaining that I was ruining his bottom-floor apartment. I turned of the water, and, since the landlady's plumber couldn't come until Monday, resigned myself to a few days of serious deoderant use. I had a party to go to on Saturday night, though, so I galivanted gaily up to K's apartment (only a 10 minute walk from chez moi) to use his shower. We ended up frolicking away the entire afternoon; after eating lunch at his apartment we walked back down to mine, stopping in a pharmacy to buy pacifiers (not for me, for la famille, obvi!) and in a supermarket so I could restock my fridge. (Funny supermarket story: A guy was standing with a tray of dessert nibbles, and we tried the madeleines and absolutely loved them. I said no to the big bag, explaining that if we got a bag of twelve madeleines I'd eat eleven, but that I'd only eat seven if we got the bag of eight. The guy smiled knowningly and said, "Ah, yes, Madame, but the madeleines in the big bag are packaged individually - perfect for the children!" K and I exclaimed, "Ah, yes, the children!" and took the big bag from his hands. It was fantastic.) K and I parted ways at about 5:30, after spending 45 minutes on clips of the Daily Show (watch them!), and I headed off to babysit. That eneded around 12:30, at which point I raced home, changed into my new (and terribly trendy) dress, and headed off to a housewarming party with Harry. By the time we got there, the party was begining to wind down, and so the remaining partyers were pretty hardcore. Also, incidentally - or not, as the couple throwing the party were 28 and 29 and gay - older and way more flamboyantly homosexual than my 19 year old English boarding school boyfriend is used to. I had a lot of fun, but Harry, I think, was a little uncomfortable.
Sunday was kind of unbearable, as I had to sing 5 hours after I had gone to bed, but it was my last AmCath service and we did lovely music (Purcell and Byrd), so I tried semi-successfully to will away my hangover. After the service, Harry, Imogen (a school friend of Harry's who's been living in Paris for the year as well) went out to lunch, and then I grabbed a lousy nap. I hate lousy naps - they're so unproductive! I then, shockingly enough, had to tutor for an hour. The weekend ended in the best way possible: dinner in the suburbs with K's family. K, you see, had bought a bottle of really good champagne for his sister because she was accepted to Columbia, and we finally drank it last night. I made it out there (40 minutes away on the RER - you can see stars and everything!) by 8, and we apero'd (drinkey-poo'd to you, Li) until nearly 10. We didn't sit down to the actual dinner until 10:30, and so I was beginning to crash, but the yumminess perked me up neatly. Also, it's difficult to fall asleep when your waistband is digging into your tummy. (When K asked if anyone was going to say grace at the beginning of the meal, his father and I chorused in unison, "Grace!") K's sister made a wonderful "gaspacho" of puréed raspberrys and strawberries and mint, and we had brownies and coconut cake and I told myself that I'd never eat again. (Ha!) Finally crawled into bed ariund 2. Up early this morning to babysit. What happened to summer vacation.
Part III: You'll get it. Eventually.
Showing posts with label AmCath. Show all posts
Showing posts with label AmCath. Show all posts
Monday, June 25, 2007
Monday, June 18, 2007
Bar Mitzvahs for Jesus?
Yesterday's Amcath service included the Rite 13 service, where girls and boys of thirteen years pass into woman- and- man-hood. Copycats.
One of the acolytes, who was also the older brother of one of the Rite 13-ers, gave the sermon. For a 15 year old, he did an amazing job. He talked about how humbling it was to be in the pulpit, and said he hoped that the congregation could "learn through and from his confusion" - something priests, I think, often forget. The two lessons, the Gospel, and the psalm were about forgiveness; the Old Testament reading was Samuel II 11:26-12:10, 13-15, and the New Testament was Galatians 2:11-21, and the Gospel was Luke 7:6-50. The boy, Jordan, talked about how it takes an active step on our part to be forgiven for our sins; he said that we have to want and to ask to be forgiven in order for it to happen, and that no matter what our sin God loves us for making that choice. It was really something to see that boy up there. He was inspiring.
We sang our last evensong of the year - we did the Howells Coll Reg and Parker's Now the Sun Sinketh. We kicked ass on the Howells, but kind of train-wrecked on the Parker. Whatever, though; it was still a lovely service. I miss doing evensongs! They're so calming. Yoga for the soul, kind of, minus achieving nirvana and plus a little lack of faith on my part.
One of the acolytes, who was also the older brother of one of the Rite 13-ers, gave the sermon. For a 15 year old, he did an amazing job. He talked about how humbling it was to be in the pulpit, and said he hoped that the congregation could "learn through and from his confusion" - something priests, I think, often forget. The two lessons, the Gospel, and the psalm were about forgiveness; the Old Testament reading was Samuel II 11:26-12:10, 13-15, and the New Testament was Galatians 2:11-21, and the Gospel was Luke 7:6-50. The boy, Jordan, talked about how it takes an active step on our part to be forgiven for our sins; he said that we have to want and to ask to be forgiven in order for it to happen, and that no matter what our sin God loves us for making that choice. It was really something to see that boy up there. He was inspiring.
We sang our last evensong of the year - we did the Howells Coll Reg and Parker's Now the Sun Sinketh. We kicked ass on the Howells, but kind of train-wrecked on the Parker. Whatever, though; it was still a lovely service. I miss doing evensongs! They're so calming. Yoga for the soul, kind of, minus achieving nirvana and plus a little lack of faith on my part.
Monday, June 4, 2007
the strangest dream
There's this movie I really want to see called "Paris Je T'aime." The film is made up of 18 unrelated vignettes by different directors, all shot in Paris. I've heard both good and bad things about it, but I need to see it. I watched the trailer nearly half a dozen times early this morning - it was the strangest thing, I couldn't stop.
I think I'm somehow homesick for Paris already.
Yesterday, for only like the fourth time ever, I was homesick for Washington, DC. I'm blaming Ned and Trinity Sunday; the hymns at AmCath were very Nat'l Cathedral/NCS hymns (Love Divine, O God Our Help in Ages Past, etc), and we did some Britten (I wasn't a huge fan of it, but I couldn't stop thinking of that time Chorale did "Rejoice in the Lamb"). Following the service, because AmCath is technically the Cathedral of the Holy Trinity, we had a Name Day picnic outside. It was so twilight zoney; most of the adults were speaking English, most of the children French, and I was standing in a group of other singers who were mostly British. After that, I saw the new Pirates movie with Rob - but it was dubbed in French. This morning, Harry left to go back to England for a week, and tonight Alex Evans comes to visit for the end of her Grand European Tour.
You know that scene in "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" where what's-his-face and Kate Winslet are running through Grand Central and all around them people are disappearing? I kind of feel like that - except it's not people, it's homes.
Even though I pride myself on being a New Yorker, I don't really miss New York at all. For some reason, here in Paris, I miss my high school experiences. I have no idea why (especially since I hated French in high school), but when I long for somewhere else, it's always DC, I'm always 17, and it's always a sunny fall morning when the air is crisp but only the maples on Brookeville Road have started burning. And yet, when I think of "home," I see my new apartment in my mind's eye. I've only lived here for a week and a half... how is this home already? And my old apartment - five months, and enough poo went down to fill a memoire, but it was never really home. What the hell is going on here?
I think part of the reason I'm in such a hurry to finish school is because I want to settle down. I don't mean settle DOWN settle down, I just mean that I want a home that is mine, all mine, not a dorm room, not a sublet, not even 365 West End Ave. I want somewhere that is mine and that will be mine for a very long time, somewhere where I know exactly why that Ikea bookshelf is tilted and why the green in the Pottery Barn sofa is faded only on the right side. Somewhere I can have vanilla beans just chilling in the pantry because I know I'll use them eventually. Somewhere I can put frozen chicken stock in the freezer, somewhere I don't have to worry about an un-housebroken dog peeing, somewhere I can want to vedge when I'm home sick.
Uprooted. That's the word I'm looking for. I love Paris, I love New York, and I love Washington, and I'm uprooted. Present tense.
I think I'm somehow homesick for Paris already.
Yesterday, for only like the fourth time ever, I was homesick for Washington, DC. I'm blaming Ned and Trinity Sunday; the hymns at AmCath were very Nat'l Cathedral/NCS hymns (Love Divine, O God Our Help in Ages Past, etc), and we did some Britten (I wasn't a huge fan of it, but I couldn't stop thinking of that time Chorale did "Rejoice in the Lamb"). Following the service, because AmCath is technically the Cathedral of the Holy Trinity, we had a Name Day picnic outside. It was so twilight zoney; most of the adults were speaking English, most of the children French, and I was standing in a group of other singers who were mostly British. After that, I saw the new Pirates movie with Rob - but it was dubbed in French. This morning, Harry left to go back to England for a week, and tonight Alex Evans comes to visit for the end of her Grand European Tour.
You know that scene in "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" where what's-his-face and Kate Winslet are running through Grand Central and all around them people are disappearing? I kind of feel like that - except it's not people, it's homes.
Even though I pride myself on being a New Yorker, I don't really miss New York at all. For some reason, here in Paris, I miss my high school experiences. I have no idea why (especially since I hated French in high school), but when I long for somewhere else, it's always DC, I'm always 17, and it's always a sunny fall morning when the air is crisp but only the maples on Brookeville Road have started burning. And yet, when I think of "home," I see my new apartment in my mind's eye. I've only lived here for a week and a half... how is this home already? And my old apartment - five months, and enough poo went down to fill a memoire, but it was never really home. What the hell is going on here?
I think part of the reason I'm in such a hurry to finish school is because I want to settle down. I don't mean settle DOWN settle down, I just mean that I want a home that is mine, all mine, not a dorm room, not a sublet, not even 365 West End Ave. I want somewhere that is mine and that will be mine for a very long time, somewhere where I know exactly why that Ikea bookshelf is tilted and why the green in the Pottery Barn sofa is faded only on the right side. Somewhere I can have vanilla beans just chilling in the pantry because I know I'll use them eventually. Somewhere I can put frozen chicken stock in the freezer, somewhere I don't have to worry about an un-housebroken dog peeing, somewhere I can want to vedge when I'm home sick.
Uprooted. That's the word I'm looking for. I love Paris, I love New York, and I love Washington, and I'm uprooted. Present tense.
Monday, May 28, 2007
career ambitions
So I'm considering going to culinary school after I graduate from Columbia.
Seriously.
I want to become a professional patissière. (Translation: pastry cook.)
What's that? You want to know why? Well, okay then!
I love to bake. You know this about me. Or you don't, and are therefore not really my friend at all. Anyway, I've been baking for AmCath - for rehearsals and brunches and stuff - since February. A few weeks ago, Kate, one of our altos, approached me and asked me to bake for her retirement party. Of course, she said, she would pay for the ingredients and labor. Excellent! I gave her a list of about 8 different cakes and pastries that would go well with the ice cream and champagne she was planning on serving; unfortunately, she decided to only have 4 of them. So. I spent all of Saturday afternoon and evening grocery shopping and baking. It was AMAZING - I had so much fun doing it! Okay, after the 6th batch my arm was starting to hurt, but it was a good hurt. A feel-the-burn kind of hurt.
The following was served at the party, which nearly 70 people attended: chocolate cake (with a chocolate glaze, duh), chocolate chip cake, vanilla sponge cake with cream and strawberries, and lemon poppyseed bread. (I had also suggested some sort of fruit pie or crumble, scones, banana bread, and pistachio cake, but she wasn't interested.) I hovered by the foood table for an hour, greedily watching people eat, until Harry told me I was creeping out the guests and tore me away. I couldn't help it, though: it was so satisfying to see people enjoying what I had made!
Anyway, the point is, I walked away from the party with €30 and the desire to learn how to bake, properly, and to do it all the time. So there.
Seriously.
I want to become a professional patissière. (Translation: pastry cook.)
What's that? You want to know why? Well, okay then!
I love to bake. You know this about me. Or you don't, and are therefore not really my friend at all. Anyway, I've been baking for AmCath - for rehearsals and brunches and stuff - since February. A few weeks ago, Kate, one of our altos, approached me and asked me to bake for her retirement party. Of course, she said, she would pay for the ingredients and labor. Excellent! I gave her a list of about 8 different cakes and pastries that would go well with the ice cream and champagne she was planning on serving; unfortunately, she decided to only have 4 of them. So. I spent all of Saturday afternoon and evening grocery shopping and baking. It was AMAZING - I had so much fun doing it! Okay, after the 6th batch my arm was starting to hurt, but it was a good hurt. A feel-the-burn kind of hurt.
The following was served at the party, which nearly 70 people attended: chocolate cake (with a chocolate glaze, duh), chocolate chip cake, vanilla sponge cake with cream and strawberries, and lemon poppyseed bread. (I had also suggested some sort of fruit pie or crumble, scones, banana bread, and pistachio cake, but she wasn't interested.) I hovered by the foood table for an hour, greedily watching people eat, until Harry told me I was creeping out the guests and tore me away. I couldn't help it, though: it was so satisfying to see people enjoying what I had made!
Anyway, the point is, I walked away from the party with €30 and the desire to learn how to bake, properly, and to do it all the time. So there.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
mi casa es su casa!
I mean that sincerely, but in the broadest sense of the phrase. Like, my casa is my casa, and I'm not going to share it, but COME TO PARIS AND VISIT ME from May 24-July 17! I have, in fact, an extra bed. Très exciting.
Anyway, here's a map of my new area: http://www10.ratp.info/Proxi/proxi.php?exec=proxi&cmd=LexicoAdresse&Profil=RATP
Please note that there are six (6) synagogues in the quartier. Also, rue Cadet (the bit between rue Lafayette and rue Faubourg Montmartre) is an open air market, pretty much. ALSO, there are tons of ethnic restaurants around that I discovered while getting lost after meeting with my landlady last week. Très exciting.
I went to the Paris Choral Society's performance of Beethoven's Missa Solemnis last night. Apparently, by just emailing Ned for an audition when I first arrived, I missed out on the fact that there's a whole world out there of Parisian musicmaking. Don't get me wrong, I love AmCath and I don't want to sing in the PCS (I don't like rehearsing one piece for months and months and months, performing it once, and then putting it away), but... who knew? Anyway, it's Ned's group, and some of the AmCath kids - inluding Harry - are in it, so I played the supportive girl/friend, and went. Ho no, I didn't pay for my ticket; I volunteered to usher, and so got in for free. It was a good performance. It was, really. It's an exhausting work to do, and most of the PCS are amateur singers, but they gave it their all and so woohoo to them. Afterwards a bunch of us went out to some swanky 8th arrondissement bar, drank way too expensive martinis, and gossiped. I love choir people.
Anyway, here's a map of my new area: http://www10.ratp.info/Proxi/proxi.php?exec=proxi&cmd=LexicoAdresse&Profil=RATP
Please note that there are six (6) synagogues in the quartier. Also, rue Cadet (the bit between rue Lafayette and rue Faubourg Montmartre) is an open air market, pretty much. ALSO, there are tons of ethnic restaurants around that I discovered while getting lost after meeting with my landlady last week. Très exciting.
I went to the Paris Choral Society's performance of Beethoven's Missa Solemnis last night. Apparently, by just emailing Ned for an audition when I first arrived, I missed out on the fact that there's a whole world out there of Parisian musicmaking. Don't get me wrong, I love AmCath and I don't want to sing in the PCS (I don't like rehearsing one piece for months and months and months, performing it once, and then putting it away), but... who knew? Anyway, it's Ned's group, and some of the AmCath kids - inluding Harry - are in it, so I played the supportive girl/friend, and went. Ho no, I didn't pay for my ticket; I volunteered to usher, and so got in for free. It was a good performance. It was, really. It's an exhausting work to do, and most of the PCS are amateur singers, but they gave it their all and so woohoo to them. Afterwards a bunch of us went out to some swanky 8th arrondissement bar, drank way too expensive martinis, and gossiped. I love choir people.
Sunday, May 13, 2007
editing
I said we were doing the Mathias "God is gone up." I was wrong, duh; it's the Finzi "God is gone up," and we did the Mathias "Let the people praise thee." Oops.
Speaking of AmCath, though, I was like a microtone flat throughout the entire service, which wouldn't be that bad except that I was standing in front of Edmund, who's an amazing musician and probably absolutely noticed. I tried to think of a way to joke about it too him - " Oh, I hate having flat days, don't you?" - but didn't think I could pull it off. Of course he's forgotten about it by now, but I'm stil embarassed. Poo.
Speaking of AmCath, though, I was like a microtone flat throughout the entire service, which wouldn't be that bad except that I was standing in front of Edmund, who's an amazing musician and probably absolutely noticed. I tried to think of a way to joke about it too him - " Oh, I hate having flat days, don't you?" - but didn't think I could pull it off. Of course he's forgotten about it by now, but I'm stil embarassed. Poo.
Saturday, May 12, 2007
Armelle, Art History, and Americans
a) Armelle. She's the little girl I tutor in English. I'm kind of obsessed with her. She's seven, and smart and very playful. We don't get as much done as her father would like, but we have a really good time. (I think she's kind of obsessed with me, too.) Today we spent quite a bit of time talking about what it means to be part of a global community. She told me that she thinks the world should be linguistically divided in two: half the world should speak French, the other half English, and that the two sides should never trespass on each other. I tried to explain to her that it was important for countries and regions and whatever to keep their languages because language is tied to culture and tradition, and that if we didn't share our cultures and traditions we'd all be the same. She replied that we'd all get along better if we were the same, and then said that when she's president, she's going to make a law that says that you can only speak French in France. "All the Americans who don't speak French - poof! - out!" She said. "This is OUR country. Poof! But you can stay, Betsie." (She spells my name like that.) "Your French gets better every time we have a lesson, so you can stay." Aw. Thanks.
b) If you need proof that I'm a baller, here it is: I had this huge medieval art dossier due on Thursday, and I really needed an extra day or two to finish it. After the exam on Wednesday, I went up to the professor and pointed out that the syllabus says it's due Friday. She asked if I needed the day, and I replied that it would absolutely help. She looked slightly taken aback (Betsy? Needing extra time? Not being on top of her game? Impossible!), but told me that she'd rather an excellent paper than one that was merely finished, and that I could take the week. Excellent!
c) No Finzi next week - the soprano exodus kind of xnayed that. But tomorrow we'll be doing the Mathais "God has gone up" and a really really pretty Nestor chant thing. In other singing news, though, I just got the music for this summer's tour with Bruce. Good stuff - a lot of Howells and Sowerby and Neswick (duh) and some Darke. Holla! Can't wait to look over it all.
b) If you need proof that I'm a baller, here it is: I had this huge medieval art dossier due on Thursday, and I really needed an extra day or two to finish it. After the exam on Wednesday, I went up to the professor and pointed out that the syllabus says it's due Friday. She asked if I needed the day, and I replied that it would absolutely help. She looked slightly taken aback (Betsy? Needing extra time? Not being on top of her game? Impossible!), but told me that she'd rather an excellent paper than one that was merely finished, and that I could take the week. Excellent!
c) No Finzi next week - the soprano exodus kind of xnayed that. But tomorrow we'll be doing the Mathais "God has gone up" and a really really pretty Nestor chant thing. In other singing news, though, I just got the music for this summer's tour with Bruce. Good stuff - a lot of Howells and Sowerby and Neswick (duh) and some Darke. Holla! Can't wait to look over it all.
Sunday, April 29, 2007
waiting for rain
Sounds like an emo album title, right? It's true though; we're desperately waiting for rain. It's been dry here for weeks (which is great for tourists, but bad for those of us who have spring allergies), and we really need it.
Even though rollerblading isn't au courant anymore in the states, it's still huge here in Paris. They (whoever "they" are) organize a rollerblading parade thing through the streets of Paris. It's intense; there must be nearly two hundred people - mostly young adults, but some families participate - and they're escorted by the police and four Red Cross vans. If you get stuck trying to cross the street while they go by, you're screwed, as it takes 8 full minutes for the whole pack to traverse la rue. Intense, I tell you. It looks like a lot of fun, though.
AmCath was fun today - I'm looking forward to Sundays more and more, no matter what the music, as I become better friends with the other kids in the choir. (Actually, today the music was great: we did a Parker "Agnus Dei" and Britten's "O Be Joyful." For some reason, though, I have the Walton "O Be Joyful" stuck in my head. Next week we're doing the Mathias "Let the People Praise Thee" - woohoo! On the 18th, we're scheduled to do Finzi's "God is Gone Up," but I'm thinking Ned will change that, as there are two soprano parts and 4 of us sopranos will be MIA.) Anyway, I'm totally digging the people and our dynamic. Markie and Jo, my uncle and aunt, came to the service and stayed for the coffee hour, which was nice. I'm so glad my family (Mom and Dad were here last week) have gotten to meet all my friends, both from school and the choir. This is totally a remnant thing from high school, but my friend's don't seem officially my friends until they've met my parents. Doesn't matter if Mom and Dad like them or not (although they almost always do), just that they've all been introduced. (Harry, incidentally, was a rockstar with Mom and Dad. I'm very proud of him. His parents come into town next week - yikes!)
Okay, must write papers. Must. Write. Papers!
Bah humbuug to homework.
Even though rollerblading isn't au courant anymore in the states, it's still huge here in Paris. They (whoever "they" are) organize a rollerblading parade thing through the streets of Paris. It's intense; there must be nearly two hundred people - mostly young adults, but some families participate - and they're escorted by the police and four Red Cross vans. If you get stuck trying to cross the street while they go by, you're screwed, as it takes 8 full minutes for the whole pack to traverse la rue. Intense, I tell you. It looks like a lot of fun, though.
AmCath was fun today - I'm looking forward to Sundays more and more, no matter what the music, as I become better friends with the other kids in the choir. (Actually, today the music was great: we did a Parker "Agnus Dei" and Britten's "O Be Joyful." For some reason, though, I have the Walton "O Be Joyful" stuck in my head. Next week we're doing the Mathias "Let the People Praise Thee" - woohoo! On the 18th, we're scheduled to do Finzi's "God is Gone Up," but I'm thinking Ned will change that, as there are two soprano parts and 4 of us sopranos will be MIA.) Anyway, I'm totally digging the people and our dynamic. Markie and Jo, my uncle and aunt, came to the service and stayed for the coffee hour, which was nice. I'm so glad my family (Mom and Dad were here last week) have gotten to meet all my friends, both from school and the choir. This is totally a remnant thing from high school, but my friend's don't seem officially my friends until they've met my parents. Doesn't matter if Mom and Dad like them or not (although they almost always do), just that they've all been introduced. (Harry, incidentally, was a rockstar with Mom and Dad. I'm very proud of him. His parents come into town next week - yikes!)
Okay, must write papers. Must. Write. Papers!
Bah humbuug to homework.
Monday, April 9, 2007
Holy Week
So this past week was, not surprisingly, kind of taken over by Holy Week. I had Wednesday off - thank God; I don't think I could have functioned productively so soon after the seder - but had to jump back on the horse for Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, the Vigil on Saturday night, and Easter itself. So. Holy Week:
For some reason I really like the Maundy Thursday service; I don't get my feet washed, but I find the ritual very intimate and comforting. Even devout Christians aren't better human beings than anyone else, so it's somehow reassuring to watch them delicately pour water over a stranger's feet and then dry them, gently and caressingly.
Good Friday: I never minded the three hour service at the Cathedral, but that's probably because we always did amazing music. As a reward for not doing music that was terribly inspiring at AmCath, we got to leave at 1:15. Okay, I'm not being entirely fair; we sang William's "Were you there?" and performed better than we ever had, so that's a good thing. I almost walked out in the middle of the service, though, because the bishop-in-charge (whatever that is) preached a sermon that I found really offensive. His point was that today we are all prey to the banality of evil, which I get and which I agree with. However. he started the semon by discussing Adolf Eichmann, and then moved on to the involvement of the [Jewish] chief priests in Jesus' murder. Maybe I was looking for it, maybe I extrapolated, maybe whatever, but I heard the bishop - the bishop! - comparing Jews to a nazi war criminal. I'm sorry. That is NOT okay. I usually don't give a damn about political correctness, but he should have been much more cautious about attaining his point; I shouldn't have been able to find offence, whether or not I was searching for it, in his sermon. Seriously, I almost walked out.
Anyway, the Easter Vigil was beautiful. I know it's theatrical, but I love how the service always starts in darkness, with the congregants holding candles, as if, in the bleakness of death, there are still pinpricks of life and hope, which will eventually conquer the night.
Easter Sunday was notable not for the service or the music - neither of which got me hot and bothered, but for fashion, a celebrity sighting, and the afterparties. (That's right, afterparties. We know how to do things in gay Paree.) Fashion: I love how women bring out the hats on Easter Sunday. Wearing two different fur coats to the two Easter services is a little over the top (bonus points to the old-school Nat'l Cath people who know what I'm talking about), but seeing Easter hats makes me happy. Celebrities: a very old and frail woman did most of the readings yesterday, and, as I was on the end of the choir row, I helped her down the steps and made sure she was comfortable walking to and from the lectern. She was lovely, with soft white hair done up in a chignon and a pale blueish green suit. Her voice was seductive and comforting and enveloping all at the same time; you wanted her to be both the voice narrating softcore porn and the voice giving you instructions in the nuclear bunker after a Soviet attack. Turns out, she's Olivia de Havilland. Yes. Olivia de Havilland. Melanie Hamilton. Two-time Oscar winner. Olivia de Havilland. (She'd beat a Marky Mark sighting anyday.) Yikes.
Afterparties, woohoo! Creighton, the man I desperately want to be my gay boyfriend, threw an Easter brunch yesterday. I hightailed it to his stunning apartment - terrace and full, beautiful kitchen included - right after the service to help him set up. The party was so much fun! First of all, he's an amazing cook; we had carot soup and gigot and roasted potatoes and asparagus and cheese and there was a chocolate cake for desert that I didn't get to eat and and and and. We all helped out a bit with salad and bread and wine and fruit, but this man is a hosting genius. I want to sit at his feet and learn the secrets to making perfect hollandaise sauce. The guests were all - except for me, the lone but unwavering source of estrogen - boys from the choir, most of whom I adore. (I think Harry got a bit jealous of my butterflyness. Oops.) Couldn't stay as long as I'd have liked at Creighton's, though, as Nellie was throwing her own Easter brunch in response to my seder. Harry and I [party]hopped over to my apartment, where we caught the tail end of Nellie's yumminess. It looked like she really outdid herself; she made two cakes, a cheesy eggy crouton casserole, and pancakes. There was also cheese and store-bought baked goodies and, from the look of it, a lot of wine. We moved the party outside soon after we got there, taking blankets and wine and chocolate eggs to the Luxembourg Gardens. It was a stunning spring afternoon, and the lawns were packed. We managed to grab a spot, and luxuriated there for a while. Jed, in true paparazzi form, took tons of pictures; if any turned out well I'll post them. In the meantime, rest assured that there the leaves were full and sun-dappled, the company vivacious, and the wine flowing.
For some reason I really like the Maundy Thursday service; I don't get my feet washed, but I find the ritual very intimate and comforting. Even devout Christians aren't better human beings than anyone else, so it's somehow reassuring to watch them delicately pour water over a stranger's feet and then dry them, gently and caressingly.
Good Friday: I never minded the three hour service at the Cathedral, but that's probably because we always did amazing music. As a reward for not doing music that was terribly inspiring at AmCath, we got to leave at 1:15. Okay, I'm not being entirely fair; we sang William's "Were you there?" and performed better than we ever had, so that's a good thing. I almost walked out in the middle of the service, though, because the bishop-in-charge (whatever that is) preached a sermon that I found really offensive. His point was that today we are all prey to the banality of evil, which I get and which I agree with. However. he started the semon by discussing Adolf Eichmann, and then moved on to the involvement of the [Jewish] chief priests in Jesus' murder. Maybe I was looking for it, maybe I extrapolated, maybe whatever, but I heard the bishop - the bishop! - comparing Jews to a nazi war criminal. I'm sorry. That is NOT okay. I usually don't give a damn about political correctness, but he should have been much more cautious about attaining his point; I shouldn't have been able to find offence, whether or not I was searching for it, in his sermon. Seriously, I almost walked out.
Anyway, the Easter Vigil was beautiful. I know it's theatrical, but I love how the service always starts in darkness, with the congregants holding candles, as if, in the bleakness of death, there are still pinpricks of life and hope, which will eventually conquer the night.
Easter Sunday was notable not for the service or the music - neither of which got me hot and bothered, but for fashion, a celebrity sighting, and the afterparties. (That's right, afterparties. We know how to do things in gay Paree.) Fashion: I love how women bring out the hats on Easter Sunday. Wearing two different fur coats to the two Easter services is a little over the top (bonus points to the old-school Nat'l Cath people who know what I'm talking about), but seeing Easter hats makes me happy. Celebrities: a very old and frail woman did most of the readings yesterday, and, as I was on the end of the choir row, I helped her down the steps and made sure she was comfortable walking to and from the lectern. She was lovely, with soft white hair done up in a chignon and a pale blueish green suit. Her voice was seductive and comforting and enveloping all at the same time; you wanted her to be both the voice narrating softcore porn and the voice giving you instructions in the nuclear bunker after a Soviet attack. Turns out, she's Olivia de Havilland. Yes. Olivia de Havilland. Melanie Hamilton. Two-time Oscar winner. Olivia de Havilland. (She'd beat a Marky Mark sighting anyday.) Yikes.
Afterparties, woohoo! Creighton, the man I desperately want to be my gay boyfriend, threw an Easter brunch yesterday. I hightailed it to his stunning apartment - terrace and full, beautiful kitchen included - right after the service to help him set up. The party was so much fun! First of all, he's an amazing cook; we had carot soup and gigot and roasted potatoes and asparagus and cheese and there was a chocolate cake for desert that I didn't get to eat and and and and. We all helped out a bit with salad and bread and wine and fruit, but this man is a hosting genius. I want to sit at his feet and learn the secrets to making perfect hollandaise sauce. The guests were all - except for me, the lone but unwavering source of estrogen - boys from the choir, most of whom I adore. (I think Harry got a bit jealous of my butterflyness. Oops.) Couldn't stay as long as I'd have liked at Creighton's, though, as Nellie was throwing her own Easter brunch in response to my seder. Harry and I [party]hopped over to my apartment, where we caught the tail end of Nellie's yumminess. It looked like she really outdid herself; she made two cakes, a cheesy eggy crouton casserole, and pancakes. There was also cheese and store-bought baked goodies and, from the look of it, a lot of wine. We moved the party outside soon after we got there, taking blankets and wine and chocolate eggs to the Luxembourg Gardens. It was a stunning spring afternoon, and the lawns were packed. We managed to grab a spot, and luxuriated there for a while. Jed, in true paparazzi form, took tons of pictures; if any turned out well I'll post them. In the meantime, rest assured that there the leaves were full and sun-dappled, the company vivacious, and the wine flowing.
Monday, March 26, 2007
best. weekend. ever.
And by weekend, I mean Thursday through Sunday. You know how I roll.
Thursday: after rehearsal, Harry and I rolled over to Taylor's to get ready for clubbing. Laura met us there and we oohed and aahed over Taylor's incredible Eiffel Tower view for the millionth time. (You see the tower up close and personal out of their living room window. Like, very up close and personal. It's kind of intimidating.) During our endless taxi search I made a new friend - a Snickers! He was outside an art gallery, and looked exactly like our lab at home - pink nose and wriggles and everything. His owner was quite tickled by my excitement, and invited us into the gallery for the opening party they were having. We really wanted to go in (especially since there were costumed revelers inside), but we had to make it to the club before they started charging entry. I'm totally not a club person, but it was a blast! We went to Mix because a) Thursday nights are Erasmus nights, and b) Martin Solveig, a DJ Harry likes, was playing. It was packed and bouncing and there were crazy lights and ahhhh it was overwhelming. I want to go back. Eventually. And again for free.
Friday: reading and West Wing and sleep. Beautiful, beautiful sleep.
Friday night: reading and West Wing and sleep. Beautiful, beautiful sleep.
Saturday: reading and baking - exactly what God made Saturdays for.
Saturday night: Nellie's 21st birthday! A bunch of us met at the wine bar around the corner from our apartment - Nellie, Alyssa, Taylor, Laura, Rob (a friend from Columbia who's doing a full year at Science Po), Harry, and three of Harry's French friends. (I've found a new home in this wine bar, by the way; it's not too expensive, and while the dynamic has been different every time I've gone, it's always been warm and friendly and fun.) From there we moved to the Valentine's Day bar (it has a real name, but I can't remember it and so will call it from here on out "the Valentine's Day bar") to really celebrate. Nellie celebrated so much, in fact, that by midnight she had started playing the piano. It was kind of amazing. Here's a photo of us roomies from Saturday night:
Sunday: AmCath, obviously. Daylight savings time... not so obviously. I arrived at the church exactly an hour late, just as the service was about to begin. It had to happen to me eventually, I guess. After the service, I threw a brunch for Suzanne, the soprano I love who's leaving for the States on Wednesday. It was a total hit, if I do say so myself. We had all my baked yummies (banana bread, chocolate cake, apple pie, raisin scones, and brie en croute), plus some other goodies and lots of champagne and orange juice. There were about 12 of us, mostly of the younger crowd, and a core of about 5 stayed past 4. We ate and talked and laughed and salsaed (yes, there was dancing) and sang along to everything from the Beatles to Beyoncé to Big and Rich. It was so much fun. I love that I've made friends in the choir... I had missed the St. Michael's dynamic! Tonight some of us are going out for Thai, again to fête Suzanne. I don't know what we're going to do when she leaves; we're going to have to find a new excuse to party.
Thursday: after rehearsal, Harry and I rolled over to Taylor's to get ready for clubbing. Laura met us there and we oohed and aahed over Taylor's incredible Eiffel Tower view for the millionth time. (You see the tower up close and personal out of their living room window. Like, very up close and personal. It's kind of intimidating.) During our endless taxi search I made a new friend - a Snickers! He was outside an art gallery, and looked exactly like our lab at home - pink nose and wriggles and everything. His owner was quite tickled by my excitement, and invited us into the gallery for the opening party they were having. We really wanted to go in (especially since there were costumed revelers inside), but we had to make it to the club before they started charging entry. I'm totally not a club person, but it was a blast! We went to Mix because a) Thursday nights are Erasmus nights, and b) Martin Solveig, a DJ Harry likes, was playing. It was packed and bouncing and there were crazy lights and ahhhh it was overwhelming. I want to go back. Eventually. And again for free.
Friday: reading and West Wing and sleep. Beautiful, beautiful sleep.
Friday night: reading and West Wing and sleep. Beautiful, beautiful sleep.
Saturday: reading and baking - exactly what God made Saturdays for.
Saturday night: Nellie's 21st birthday! A bunch of us met at the wine bar around the corner from our apartment - Nellie, Alyssa, Taylor, Laura, Rob (a friend from Columbia who's doing a full year at Science Po), Harry, and three of Harry's French friends. (I've found a new home in this wine bar, by the way; it's not too expensive, and while the dynamic has been different every time I've gone, it's always been warm and friendly and fun.) From there we moved to the Valentine's Day bar (it has a real name, but I can't remember it and so will call it from here on out "the Valentine's Day bar") to really celebrate. Nellie celebrated so much, in fact, that by midnight she had started playing the piano. It was kind of amazing. Here's a photo of us roomies from Saturday night:
Sunday: AmCath, obviously. Daylight savings time... not so obviously. I arrived at the church exactly an hour late, just as the service was about to begin. It had to happen to me eventually, I guess. After the service, I threw a brunch for Suzanne, the soprano I love who's leaving for the States on Wednesday. It was a total hit, if I do say so myself. We had all my baked yummies (banana bread, chocolate cake, apple pie, raisin scones, and brie en croute), plus some other goodies and lots of champagne and orange juice. There were about 12 of us, mostly of the younger crowd, and a core of about 5 stayed past 4. We ate and talked and laughed and salsaed (yes, there was dancing) and sang along to everything from the Beatles to Beyoncé to Big and Rich. It was so much fun. I love that I've made friends in the choir... I had missed the St. Michael's dynamic! Tonight some of us are going out for Thai, again to fête Suzanne. I don't know what we're going to do when she leaves; we're going to have to find a new excuse to party.
Friday, March 16, 2007
da weekend
This is going to be one of those amazing, busy, wonderful weekends. What's that? You want me to tell you about it? Well, okay!
Tonight K and I are going to the Theatre des Champs Elysées with two of his friends (whom I met last weekend at his brunch) to see Handel's "Ariodante." Handel operas are rarely performed - I doubt most people are even aware that he wrote any - so I'm really excited. We won't really be able to see from our seats, but the tickets were only 12€ and we'll be able to hear sublimely.
Tomorrow morning, at 9am (blergh), I have to tutor. Hopefully it'll be the last session - I tried to make it clear to Armelle's mother over the phone that I really don't have time to tutor now the the semester has reached its cruising altitude, but I think she thought I meant that I couldn't do the normal time anymore. I enjoy tutoring, and the girl is a total sweetheart, but my plate is just too full. Am not looking forward to clearing this up. In the afternoon, though, Nellie and I are going to go on a date. I haven't spent much time at home lately and therefore haven't seen her much, so we're going to try to grab coffee or a movie or something. Then in the evening the choir has a 3 hour dress rehearsal for our Sunday concert.
Sunday... what else would I be doing?
10-12h30: service
14h-16h: rehearsal
16h-18h: concert
Am SO EXCITED for this concert; we're doing some really amazing music. (I'll put up the program Monday or Tuesday when I report on how it went.) I've got a little solo in a Howells piece, which is nice cause I'm the newest soprano. We're doing the Allegri "Misereri Mei," too. I'm singing first soprano for most of the concert, and I was almost kept on first for that, which would have made me cry because my self-worth is totally tied up in being a second on that piece, but Ned moved me back to second, thank God. Have strong-armed some friends into coming to the concert; unfortunately, several will be out of town, but those who aren't have promised to be there. I love it when I can share this music with my friends... concerts like this usually make them understand why I've sold my soul to Jesus.
Tonight K and I are going to the Theatre des Champs Elysées with two of his friends (whom I met last weekend at his brunch) to see Handel's "Ariodante." Handel operas are rarely performed - I doubt most people are even aware that he wrote any - so I'm really excited. We won't really be able to see from our seats, but the tickets were only 12€ and we'll be able to hear sublimely.
Tomorrow morning, at 9am (blergh), I have to tutor. Hopefully it'll be the last session - I tried to make it clear to Armelle's mother over the phone that I really don't have time to tutor now the the semester has reached its cruising altitude, but I think she thought I meant that I couldn't do the normal time anymore. I enjoy tutoring, and the girl is a total sweetheart, but my plate is just too full. Am not looking forward to clearing this up. In the afternoon, though, Nellie and I are going to go on a date. I haven't spent much time at home lately and therefore haven't seen her much, so we're going to try to grab coffee or a movie or something. Then in the evening the choir has a 3 hour dress rehearsal for our Sunday concert.
Sunday... what else would I be doing?
10-12h30: service
14h-16h: rehearsal
16h-18h: concert
Am SO EXCITED for this concert; we're doing some really amazing music. (I'll put up the program Monday or Tuesday when I report on how it went.) I've got a little solo in a Howells piece, which is nice cause I'm the newest soprano. We're doing the Allegri "Misereri Mei," too. I'm singing first soprano for most of the concert, and I was almost kept on first for that, which would have made me cry because my self-worth is totally tied up in being a second on that piece, but Ned moved me back to second, thank God. Have strong-armed some friends into coming to the concert; unfortunately, several will be out of town, but those who aren't have promised to be there. I love it when I can share this music with my friends... concerts like this usually make them understand why I've sold my soul to Jesus.
Monday, March 12, 2007
further adventures
Yesterday - Sunday - was a blast. At AmCath, the sopranos did a two-part thing from Anthems for Choirs II; it brought me way back and was the best start to the day. Dad, who arrived in Paris with Granma earlier that morning, came to the service, and afterward we métroed to K's apartment, who was throwing a brunch. (Coolest French expression ever, which I will massacre with terrible spelling: "pendre la creamière," = "to hang the cream pot." Basically, it's what a housewarming party is called. We were dépendreing la creamière at brunch.) Met a bunch of really cool kids from all over the place, and K let me play hostessish, so I had tons o' fun. Afterwards, some of us se baladered over to the Jardin des Plantes to enjoy the sun, and we ended up hunkering down by the Seine. It was a perfect Sunday afternoon.
Dad and Granma came over for dinner to meet my flatmates (K joined us, too). The wine I brought back from the Bourgogne field trip was a success, although the lasagna was... well, let's put it this way: Dad and Grandma were supposed to come over at 7:30 but didn't show up until 9:30. Yikes. Nonetheless, I love entertaining!
Dad and Granma came over for dinner to meet my flatmates (K joined us, too). The wine I brought back from the Bourgogne field trip was a success, although the lasagna was... well, let's put it this way: Dad and Grandma were supposed to come over at 7:30 but didn't show up until 9:30. Yikes. Nonetheless, I love entertaining!
Thursday, March 8, 2007
adventures
LIFE. Yikes. You know that expression, "When it rains, it pours?" It's raining. Metaphorically.
Concert: actually, it wasn't bad. The church wasn't as far away as I had thought. We couldn't hear each other at all, but the acoustics were amazing. The concert itself was in honor of Jean Langlais' centennial (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jean_Langlais), so we did his Messe en Style Ancien (which I very reluctantly admitted I liked by the end) and Duruflé's four motets.
Last night K took me to a wine tasting at the Ecole National Superieur. Apparently last night's dégust was a pretty big deal; K told me that two of the panelists were a legendary wine guy and the EIC of France's best-regarded wine magazine. The wines were from Mas de Daumas Gassac. We had four reds and three whites; my favorites were the 2005 red and a dark, exotic white. Everyone else sounded like they knew what they were talking about when they discussed wines, but I'm pretty sure some of the kids were faking it. Regardless, I had a really good time. Afterwards (11pm, yikes) we headed down to Alysia to hang out with some kids K had met on Birthright. Meeting Jews here is a really interesting experience. Like in Lyon, we talked about how France has mostly Sephardic Jews, while the States' Jewish population is mostly Ashkenazic. I've always told people that I study Christianity because I can be objective about it, but I've never actually tried to be anything but subjective about my Judaism. It's hard! Before last night, I had been pretty disenchanted about meeting "real French people," but I had a blast.
So spring in Paris is pretty whack. It was sunny and high 50s on Tuesday, yesterday was cold and rainy, and today is brilliantly bright again. I'm totally confused. When it's nice, though, the city is stunning. I actually walked through the Luxembourg Gardens today instead of around them, and envied all the carefree people lunching on the benches. It's 6pm, though, and it's still light out, so I don't care how confused the weather gets tomorrow.
That's a lie - I do care. My medieval art class is taking a field trip to Bourgogne tomorrow - we're staying through Saturday afternoon. I'm siked; we're going to see some incredible buildings. Plus, Laura's in my class and we haven't had much time to hang out lately. I have tons of work that I should be doing instead of going, but the bus ride is a couple hours each way, so I'll be abble to get some reading done.
You won't hear from me again until Sunday at the earliest because of the trip. I may not be able to post again till Wedesday or Thursday, though, because Dad and Granma are coming to visit on Sunday and I'll be busy
a) being filial
b) writing a grammar paper (Monday)
c) studying for my Itinéraires midterm (Tuesday)
d) studying for my medieval art midterm (Tuesday)
e) writing the rough draft of my Belle Epoque exposé (Thursday)
It's pouring. Metaphorically.
Concert: actually, it wasn't bad. The church wasn't as far away as I had thought. We couldn't hear each other at all, but the acoustics were amazing. The concert itself was in honor of Jean Langlais' centennial (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jean_Langlais), so we did his Messe en Style Ancien (which I very reluctantly admitted I liked by the end) and Duruflé's four motets.
Last night K took me to a wine tasting at the Ecole National Superieur. Apparently last night's dégust was a pretty big deal; K told me that two of the panelists were a legendary wine guy and the EIC of France's best-regarded wine magazine. The wines were from Mas de Daumas Gassac. We had four reds and three whites; my favorites were the 2005 red and a dark, exotic white. Everyone else sounded like they knew what they were talking about when they discussed wines, but I'm pretty sure some of the kids were faking it. Regardless, I had a really good time. Afterwards (11pm, yikes) we headed down to Alysia to hang out with some kids K had met on Birthright. Meeting Jews here is a really interesting experience. Like in Lyon, we talked about how France has mostly Sephardic Jews, while the States' Jewish population is mostly Ashkenazic. I've always told people that I study Christianity because I can be objective about it, but I've never actually tried to be anything but subjective about my Judaism. It's hard! Before last night, I had been pretty disenchanted about meeting "real French people," but I had a blast.
So spring in Paris is pretty whack. It was sunny and high 50s on Tuesday, yesterday was cold and rainy, and today is brilliantly bright again. I'm totally confused. When it's nice, though, the city is stunning. I actually walked through the Luxembourg Gardens today instead of around them, and envied all the carefree people lunching on the benches. It's 6pm, though, and it's still light out, so I don't care how confused the weather gets tomorrow.
That's a lie - I do care. My medieval art class is taking a field trip to Bourgogne tomorrow - we're staying through Saturday afternoon. I'm siked; we're going to see some incredible buildings. Plus, Laura's in my class and we haven't had much time to hang out lately. I have tons of work that I should be doing instead of going, but the bus ride is a couple hours each way, so I'll be abble to get some reading done.
You won't hear from me again until Sunday at the earliest because of the trip. I may not be able to post again till Wedesday or Thursday, though, because Dad and Granma are coming to visit on Sunday and I'll be busy
a) being filial
b) writing a grammar paper (Monday)
c) studying for my Itinéraires midterm (Tuesday)
d) studying for my medieval art midterm (Tuesday)
e) writing the rough draft of my Belle Epoque exposé (Thursday)
It's pouring. Metaphorically.
Tuesday, March 6, 2007
etcetera
Oh my God, guys, I haven't really posted since Saturday, and it's Tuesday today. I bet you're all wondering if I'm deathly ill or in love or something.
Nope. I spent most of Sunday recovering from Saturday, and yesterday was Monday (day of poo, for those of you who haven't read previous posts). So. Sorry, I guess.
Saturday night Jed and I went to Chez Omar, a Moroccan restaurant in the Marais. My flatmates have been there several times, and it's gotten rave reviews from other friends, so I was totally siked. We got there at 7:30 - way earlier than the cool kids, but it turned out to be a good decision, since all the cool kids come at the same time (9pm) and have to wait an hour to get a table. Jed had steak au poivre, which was good but not terribly original, and I had couscous merguez, which was amazing. Merguez is a long, thin, spicy sausage, and every couscous dish comes with a tureen of veggies in some sort of delicious broth. So good. We also had an Algerian wine called Medea, which went really well with both our dishes. There was a full lunar eclipse on Saturday night, so after dinner we walked down to the Seine to check it out. It had been raining earlier in the day, but the sky cleared up just in time for us to catch the show. It was amazing; the moon, all except a little sliver on the left, was red. Not harvest moon orange, but deep blood red. Kind of spooky, but definitely cool.
AmCath Sunday - I'm making friends! I sit next to Sarah often, so we're becoming friendly; she's a first, but I'm the swing soprano and have been on first most of the time lately. (Sarah's the Brit I said mean things about. I take them all back. She's really good. Sorry, Sarah.) Another soprano, Susannah, is also tons o' fun, but she's going back to the states at the end of March. Plus I pal around with a couple of the tenors before and after rehearsals/services. So this makes me happy.
Monday... Monday. 'Nuff said. Wait, who am I kidding? It's me, and I always have more to say. Was the last day of grammar classes. We'll have individual tutoring sessions with the prof once a week from here on out, which will be much more helpful, but we had a good vibe and I think the class is kind of bummed. Still totally lost in my medieval history class... I'm going to be totally screwed when I have to do my exposé. Went to Gilbert Joseph after classes to get some of the background books I need, and felt very native browsing the shelves of French history.
Concert tonight. The music isn't bad - we're doing the Duruflé motets and Langlais' Messe en Style Ancien - but it's a Tuesday night and the church is all the way out west. I'd rather stay in and read about laïcité during the Belle Epoque. No, that's not sarcastic. I really would. Shmeh.
Nope. I spent most of Sunday recovering from Saturday, and yesterday was Monday (day of poo, for those of you who haven't read previous posts). So. Sorry, I guess.
Saturday night Jed and I went to Chez Omar, a Moroccan restaurant in the Marais. My flatmates have been there several times, and it's gotten rave reviews from other friends, so I was totally siked. We got there at 7:30 - way earlier than the cool kids, but it turned out to be a good decision, since all the cool kids come at the same time (9pm) and have to wait an hour to get a table. Jed had steak au poivre, which was good but not terribly original, and I had couscous merguez, which was amazing. Merguez is a long, thin, spicy sausage, and every couscous dish comes with a tureen of veggies in some sort of delicious broth. So good. We also had an Algerian wine called Medea, which went really well with both our dishes. There was a full lunar eclipse on Saturday night, so after dinner we walked down to the Seine to check it out. It had been raining earlier in the day, but the sky cleared up just in time for us to catch the show. It was amazing; the moon, all except a little sliver on the left, was red. Not harvest moon orange, but deep blood red. Kind of spooky, but definitely cool.
AmCath Sunday - I'm making friends! I sit next to Sarah often, so we're becoming friendly; she's a first, but I'm the swing soprano and have been on first most of the time lately. (Sarah's the Brit I said mean things about. I take them all back. She's really good. Sorry, Sarah.) Another soprano, Susannah, is also tons o' fun, but she's going back to the states at the end of March. Plus I pal around with a couple of the tenors before and after rehearsals/services. So this makes me happy.
Monday... Monday. 'Nuff said. Wait, who am I kidding? It's me, and I always have more to say. Was the last day of grammar classes. We'll have individual tutoring sessions with the prof once a week from here on out, which will be much more helpful, but we had a good vibe and I think the class is kind of bummed. Still totally lost in my medieval history class... I'm going to be totally screwed when I have to do my exposé. Went to Gilbert Joseph after classes to get some of the background books I need, and felt very native browsing the shelves of French history.
Concert tonight. The music isn't bad - we're doing the Duruflé motets and Langlais' Messe en Style Ancien - but it's a Tuesday night and the church is all the way out west. I'd rather stay in and read about laïcité during the Belle Epoque. No, that's not sarcastic. I really would. Shmeh.
Oh my God, guys, I haven't really posted since Saturday, and it's Tuesday today. I bet you're all wondering if I'm deathly ill or in love or something.
Nope. I spent most of Sunday recovering from Saturday, and yesterday was Monday (day of poo, for those of you who haven't read previous posts). So. Sorry, I guess.
Saturday night Jed and I went to Chez Omar, a Moroccan restaurant in the Marais. My flatmates have been there several times, and it's gotten rave reviews from other friends, so I was totally siked. We got there at 7:30 - way earlier than the cool kids, but it turned out to be a good decision, since all the cool kids come at the same time (9pm) and have to wait an hour to get a table. Jed had steak au poivre, which was good but not terribly original, and I had couscous merguez, which was amazing. Merguez is a long, thin, spicy sausage, and every couscous dish comes with a tureen of veggies in some sort of delicious broth. So good. We also had an Algerian wine called Medea, which went really well with both our dishes. There was a full lunar eclipse on Saturday night, so after dinner we walked down to the Seine to check it out. It had been raining earlier in the day, but the sky cleared up just in time for us to catch the show. It was amazing; the moon, all except a little sliver on the left, was red. Not harvest moon orange, but deep blood red. Kind of spooky, but definitely cool.
AmCath Sunday - I'm making friends! I sit next to Sarah often, so we're becoming friendly; she's a first, but I'm the swing soprano and have been on first most of the time lately. (Sarah's the Brit I said mean things about. I take them all back. She's really good. Sorry, Sarah.) Another soprano, Susannah, is also tons o' fun, but she's going back to the states at the end of March. Plus I pal around with a couple of the tenors before and after rehearsals/services. So this makes me happy.
Monday... Monday. 'Nuff said. Wait, who am I kidding? It's me, and I always have more to say. Was the last day of grammar classes. We'll have individual tutoring sessions with the prof once a week from here on out, which will be much more helpful, but we had a good vibe and I think the class is kind of bummed. Still totally lost in my medieval history class... I'm going to be totally screwed when I have to do my exposé. Went to Gilbert Joseph after classes to get some of the background books I need, and felt very native browsing the shelves of French history.
Concert tonight. The music isn't bad - we're doing the Duruflé motets and Langlais' Messe en Style Ancien - but it's a Tuesday night and the church is all the way out west. I'd rather stay in and read about laïcité during the Belle Epoque. No, that's not sarcastic. I really would. Shmeh.
Nope. I spent most of Sunday recovering from Saturday, and yesterday was Monday (day of poo, for those of you who haven't read previous posts). So. Sorry, I guess.
Saturday night Jed and I went to Chez Omar, a Moroccan restaurant in the Marais. My flatmates have been there several times, and it's gotten rave reviews from other friends, so I was totally siked. We got there at 7:30 - way earlier than the cool kids, but it turned out to be a good decision, since all the cool kids come at the same time (9pm) and have to wait an hour to get a table. Jed had steak au poivre, which was good but not terribly original, and I had couscous merguez, which was amazing. Merguez is a long, thin, spicy sausage, and every couscous dish comes with a tureen of veggies in some sort of delicious broth. So good. We also had an Algerian wine called Medea, which went really well with both our dishes. There was a full lunar eclipse on Saturday night, so after dinner we walked down to the Seine to check it out. It had been raining earlier in the day, but the sky cleared up just in time for us to catch the show. It was amazing; the moon, all except a little sliver on the left, was red. Not harvest moon orange, but deep blood red. Kind of spooky, but definitely cool.
AmCath Sunday - I'm making friends! I sit next to Sarah often, so we're becoming friendly; she's a first, but I'm the swing soprano and have been on first most of the time lately. (Sarah's the Brit I said mean things about. I take them all back. She's really good. Sorry, Sarah.) Another soprano, Susannah, is also tons o' fun, but she's going back to the states at the end of March. Plus I pal around with a couple of the tenors before and after rehearsals/services. So this makes me happy.
Monday... Monday. 'Nuff said. Wait, who am I kidding? It's me, and I always have more to say. Was the last day of grammar classes. We'll have individual tutoring sessions with the prof once a week from here on out, which will be much more helpful, but we had a good vibe and I think the class is kind of bummed. Still totally lost in my medieval history class... I'm going to be totally screwed when I have to do my exposé. Went to Gilbert Joseph after classes to get some of the background books I need, and felt very native browsing the shelves of French history.
Concert tonight. The music isn't bad - we're doing the Duruflé motets and Langlais' Messe en Style Ancien - but it's a Tuesday night and the church is all the way out west. I'd rather stay in and read about laïcité during the Belle Epoque. No, that's not sarcastic. I really would. Shmeh.
Saturday, March 3, 2007
Maybe he's right. Maybe there is something the matter with me.
I just can't see how a world that makes such wonderful things could be bad.
Turns out, it's not. Karma, baby... for surviving the past week of poo, I'm being showered with good times by my benevolent ancestors. Let's play catch-up. (Again, this will be a really long post. Apologies.)
Rewind to Tursday night. Maria, Adam (a new Dartmouth friend), and I went to that opening night party in the 19th. It was awesome. The gallery was a few flights up in a random building on a side-street in Belleville; you'd only know it was there if you were looking really hard. We got there at around 11, and it was packed with artists and hipsters who were all young and Parisian and way cooler that I will ever be. (I think I faked it well, though: I was befriended. Several times. By several boys. Super chouette.) Anyway, the exhibition was comprised mostly of photograps, although there were seveal videos and installation pieces as well. My favorite work was a series of photos of a woman at a window set up in a corner of the gallery designed to look like a hotel room. The whole thing was like something out of a movie... kids gesticulating wildly, cigarettes in hand, bisous everywhere, smoke diffusing into the wine. If we'd been in New York, we probably would have been somewhere in Brooklyn, and the art might have been better but the kids would have been posers. I love Paris. Afterward, the three of us stopped at a bar in République before going to my friend K's to wind down. I always feel bad about drinking with K because he really knows wine, and I'm not exactly in a connoisseur mood at 2 am. It was, however, tons o' fun.
Because French schools are on winter vacation right now, I babysat all day yesterday. I took the kids to the zoo at the Parc de Vincennes and we had a blast. Here's a photo of Max, 8, and Isabel, 5 from the zoo. I'm also going to be a meanie and include a picture of spring - taken yesterday - for all of you east-coasters who were dealing with snow and ice a couple days ago.
Today's agenda includes homework and rehearsal, followed by Chez Omar (a Moroccan restaurant in the Marais that everyone's obsessed with but that I haven't yet been to) with Jed. Tomorrow: AmCath, brunch with the roomies, more homework. Nice weekend, n'est-ce pas?
Speaking of AmCath... the soprano who yelled at me about kneeling is no longer singing with us. I don't know what happened, but apparently it was a Thing. Yikes.
In other news, I got letters and postcards from some of you! Yay. This makes me happy. Thank you, nice people.
Turns out, it's not. Karma, baby... for surviving the past week of poo, I'm being showered with good times by my benevolent ancestors. Let's play catch-up. (Again, this will be a really long post. Apologies.)
Rewind to Tursday night. Maria, Adam (a new Dartmouth friend), and I went to that opening night party in the 19th. It was awesome. The gallery was a few flights up in a random building on a side-street in Belleville; you'd only know it was there if you were looking really hard. We got there at around 11, and it was packed with artists and hipsters who were all young and Parisian and way cooler that I will ever be. (I think I faked it well, though: I was befriended. Several times. By several boys. Super chouette.) Anyway, the exhibition was comprised mostly of photograps, although there were seveal videos and installation pieces as well. My favorite work was a series of photos of a woman at a window set up in a corner of the gallery designed to look like a hotel room. The whole thing was like something out of a movie... kids gesticulating wildly, cigarettes in hand, bisous everywhere, smoke diffusing into the wine. If we'd been in New York, we probably would have been somewhere in Brooklyn, and the art might have been better but the kids would have been posers. I love Paris. Afterward, the three of us stopped at a bar in République before going to my friend K's to wind down. I always feel bad about drinking with K because he really knows wine, and I'm not exactly in a connoisseur mood at 2 am. It was, however, tons o' fun.
Because French schools are on winter vacation right now, I babysat all day yesterday. I took the kids to the zoo at the Parc de Vincennes and we had a blast. Here's a photo of Max, 8, and Isabel, 5 from the zoo. I'm also going to be a meanie and include a picture of spring - taken yesterday - for all of you east-coasters who were dealing with snow and ice a couple days ago.Today's agenda includes homework and rehearsal, followed by Chez Omar (a Moroccan restaurant in the Marais that everyone's obsessed with but that I haven't yet been to) with Jed. Tomorrow: AmCath, brunch with the roomies, more homework. Nice weekend, n'est-ce pas?
Speaking of AmCath... the soprano who yelled at me about kneeling is no longer singing with us. I don't know what happened, but apparently it was a Thing. Yikes.
In other news, I got letters and postcards from some of you! Yay. This makes me happy. Thank you, nice people.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
etcetera
As this weekend is turning out to be less spectacular than I had planned, I'm posting again. (I think I'm addicted to Blogger: I can't go online without updating. Thank God my apartment doesn't have internet!)
I've been trying to write my Medieval Art paper for a couple days now, but I keep hitting a horrible wall called "the French Style of Paper-Writing." Papers here are very, very strictly formatted: the paper starts with an introduction in which you preview everything you're going to say in the body of the work. It then follows with three (always three) sections of text that are rigidly styled, and ends with a conclusion that repeats, pretty much verbatim, what you said in the introduction. Yes, the format is similar to our American papers, but there's absolutely no flexibility here. American students typically have so much trouble with this kind of writing that we're given a five page outline on how to do it. That's five pages of explication for a two or three page paper. Jeez.
Complicating things is that my professor for this specific course doesn't want us using any negative terms to describe the art we're analysing. I get that we shouldn't use words like "ugly" or phrases like "the artist used a style reminiscent of kindergarden finger-painting" in our papers, but she deems comparisons negative. For instance, when we went to Cluny and were asked to analyse an 11th century statue of the Virgin and Child in respect to a later Virgin and Child we had seen, I was scolded for calling the earlier work "less fluid." Apparently, "less fluid" is pejorative. I realize that maybe the sculptor wasn't trying to achieve fluidity when chisling Mary's robe, but that doesn't mean that the robe is not not fluid. Again, jeez.
Lent I today. Totally forgot that the Lenten season begins with a never-ending litany. At AmCath, however, unlike at Washington, we kneel for the whole thing. And by "we kneel" I really do mean WE kneel: I think the mean soprano I don't like told on me, cause Ned took me aside and asked me to kneel with the rest of the choir, and I doubt he noticed on his own. I don't mind doing it, because I get that we - the choir - are leading worship, but jeez, lady, are you five years old? (Side note: John Wieking, who used to be at the cathedral in Washington, sang with us today. This is the smallest wolrd ever.) Also, I discovered that we aren't a volunteer choir; there are volunteers, and then there are staff singers who are paid. My self-confidence is somewhere around my ankles right now.
Okay, I'm done whining for the day. Promise.
I've been keeping a mental list of the rediculous things I find comforting about Paris, and decided today to jot them down. Enjoy?
- Starbucks doesn't have wireless. McDonalds does.
- Even though the metro station Châtlet is Paris' version of the New Jersey Turnpike, the klezmer band that plays there is fantastic.
- Days that start out sunny never stay that way. Days that start out cloudy never stay that way.
- Professors are consistently late to their own classes.
- "Savez-vous trouver (wherever/whatever)" is a pickup line.
- Coffee is espresso.
- Skim milk doesn't exist.
- No one pushes on the métro; if there's no room, people wait for the next train.
- Women don't really wear nailpolish. They do, however, wear these amazing double-breasted Tinman coats that button all the way up the neck.
- A day without a café visit is a day wasted.
I've been trying to write my Medieval Art paper for a couple days now, but I keep hitting a horrible wall called "the French Style of Paper-Writing." Papers here are very, very strictly formatted: the paper starts with an introduction in which you preview everything you're going to say in the body of the work. It then follows with three (always three) sections of text that are rigidly styled, and ends with a conclusion that repeats, pretty much verbatim, what you said in the introduction. Yes, the format is similar to our American papers, but there's absolutely no flexibility here. American students typically have so much trouble with this kind of writing that we're given a five page outline on how to do it. That's five pages of explication for a two or three page paper. Jeez.
Complicating things is that my professor for this specific course doesn't want us using any negative terms to describe the art we're analysing. I get that we shouldn't use words like "ugly" or phrases like "the artist used a style reminiscent of kindergarden finger-painting" in our papers, but she deems comparisons negative. For instance, when we went to Cluny and were asked to analyse an 11th century statue of the Virgin and Child in respect to a later Virgin and Child we had seen, I was scolded for calling the earlier work "less fluid." Apparently, "less fluid" is pejorative. I realize that maybe the sculptor wasn't trying to achieve fluidity when chisling Mary's robe, but that doesn't mean that the robe is not not fluid. Again, jeez.
Lent I today. Totally forgot that the Lenten season begins with a never-ending litany. At AmCath, however, unlike at Washington, we kneel for the whole thing. And by "we kneel" I really do mean WE kneel: I think the mean soprano I don't like told on me, cause Ned took me aside and asked me to kneel with the rest of the choir, and I doubt he noticed on his own. I don't mind doing it, because I get that we - the choir - are leading worship, but jeez, lady, are you five years old? (Side note: John Wieking, who used to be at the cathedral in Washington, sang with us today. This is the smallest wolrd ever.) Also, I discovered that we aren't a volunteer choir; there are volunteers, and then there are staff singers who are paid. My self-confidence is somewhere around my ankles right now.
Okay, I'm done whining for the day. Promise.
I've been keeping a mental list of the rediculous things I find comforting about Paris, and decided today to jot them down. Enjoy?
- Starbucks doesn't have wireless. McDonalds does.
- Even though the metro station Châtlet is Paris' version of the New Jersey Turnpike, the klezmer band that plays there is fantastic.
- Days that start out sunny never stay that way. Days that start out cloudy never stay that way.
- Professors are consistently late to their own classes.
- "Savez-vous trouver (wherever/whatever)" is a pickup line.
- Coffee is espresso.
- Skim milk doesn't exist.
- No one pushes on the métro; if there's no room, people wait for the next train.
- Women don't really wear nailpolish. They do, however, wear these amazing double-breasted Tinman coats that button all the way up the neck.
- A day without a café visit is a day wasted.
Friday, February 16, 2007
jesus will be risen in t minus 45 days
We're not singing on Sunday because there's going to be a guest choir at AmCath, but all of a sudden Ash Wednesday is next week and so we rehearsed like whoa last night. (Side note: Ned wasn't there, so the assistant, William, led the rehearsal. He's adorable and reminds me so much like a young Erik. He even has an earring. I'm thinking there's some sort of church musician mold that everyone's poured into while at conservatory.) We're doing some amazing music, including the very first mass setting I ever sang. Here's the list:
Remember not, O Lord God (Tallis)
Mass for Five VOices (Byrd)
Psalm 51 (Stainer chant)
Deliver me from mine enemies (Parsons)
plus two random modern pieces that i'm not listing because they don't make me weak at the knees
We've also started preparing for our two March concerts, at which we're singing Langlais' "Messe en style ancien" and Duruflé's "Quatre Motets". Is it weird that I love Lent?
Remember not, O Lord God (Tallis)
Mass for Five VOices (Byrd)
Psalm 51 (Stainer chant)
Deliver me from mine enemies (Parsons)
plus two random modern pieces that i'm not listing because they don't make me weak at the knees
We've also started preparing for our two March concerts, at which we're singing Langlais' "Messe en style ancien" and Duruflé's "Quatre Motets". Is it weird that I love Lent?
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Why travel?
Originally, I thought I'd spend every other weekend in a different European city. I thought that if I stayed in Paris I wouldn't be taking advantage of being in France for the semester. It's taken me exactly one weekend, however, to realize that I'm in France for Paris - and there's so much to do here and I already love it so much that it'll be hard to tear myself away for even one weekend a month. Good thing I'm a fast learner, eh?
Saturday was, as Eliza Doolittle says, loverly. We all slept in - a rare treat at 11 Victor Cousin - and then I planted myself at my café for a couple hours to do homework/email/etc. (My café is the Luxembourg Café, a restaurant/café a couple blocks from my house with wireless and the best croque-monsieurs ever. I kind of live there. In fact, I'm there right now.) After looking around online for a good boucherie on my métro line, I trekked over to Etienne Marcel and found Mecca: there's this street, Rue Montorgeuil, that is lined with boucheries and poissoneries and fromageries and lots of other yummy -eries. The street is cobblestoned, and there were so many people there, shopping and caféing, (I'm verbing that; it's pretty much a national sport here) that I didn't realize until later that it wasn't, in fact, a pedestrian-only street. The whole neighborood is pretty much like that, and there are tons of really good clothing shops, too. After wandering around and planning several dozen different dinner parties, I met my date from the night before at a café in the area. We hung out there and then wandered around and were disgustingly cute for a couple hours. (His name, by the way, is Ethan. He's very sweet. Also very crazy about me. I'm digging it.)
After that lazy afternoon I met up with some friends at Odéon for drinks. Ben and Luke were here last semester, so they took us to a bar they frequented. It was dim and humming and low-ceilinged and very, very chill. We managed to convince the bartenders to open the basement early, so we didn't have to shout to be heard or begin dying of second-hand smoke. Afterward they saw "Blood Diamond", but I had seen it with Eitan the night before, and so met Alyssa and Nellie (my flatmates) and some NYU kids for dinner at a Greek place nearr my apartment. The restaurant was very cosy and friendly, annd the food was pretty good, but I never again want to eat with people who are that indecisive. Yikes. They all had big plans after the movie: a theater near us is known for doing movie marathons that start at midnight and end with breakfast around 7am. Last night's festival was a David Lynch thing. I had to get up early for AmCath, so I couldn't go (although apparently both Alyssa and Nellie pooped out early).
So. My first Sunday. Today was the Annual Meeting Thing, so the sermon was a bunch of thank-yous and "we, the community of blah blah blahs." Because we - well, the rest of the choir - had been recording a Christmas CD all week, we only did a Sowerby piece (not his best, I might add), and the children's choir filled in the other anthem. I made friends... ish. The social dynamic is a LOT wider than it was at St. Michael's, so I'm not sure how much everyone actually pals around. There are some kids who look like they're still in their 20s, and I've talked to most of them and they're friendly, but then there are a bunch of singers who don't hang around after at all, and some who just don't seem that open, and some - ahem, one - who told me that kneeling during the prayers wasn't optional. Excuse me, lady, but no one can tell I'm not kneeling and I'm not being disrespectful. To paraphrase an expression of my father's, used when my sister and I would fight during long car trips, "Look out your own goddamn window." I didn't actually say that to her, but the soprano I stand next to made a face at the other woman, and that made me feel better.
Later in the afternoon, Taylor, Nellie, and I went to an Australian bar to watch the France-Ireland rugby match. (The 6 Nations tournament - France, Italy, England, Ireland, Scotland, and Wales - is going on now, and it's kind of a big deal.) It was AMAZING. The bar, obviously, was packed, and everyone was cheering and groaning in unison and, obviously, in French. I thought about rooting for Ireland for about 30 seconds, but then decided I liked my head attached to my neck and so "allez"ed along with everyone else. The level of play was incredible; the ball never stopped moving! When France made a try (the rugby version of a touchdown) near the end of the first half, the whole bar broke into the national anthem. It was actually really stirring. We were all on the edge of our metaphorical barstools during the second half, though, because Ireland made a try and pulled ahead of France. It looked like we'd never come back - until! seven minutes into injury time, number 14 broke away and made a try, bringing France up 20-17. It was unbelievable... the whole bar errupted. I have never seen that many men hugging each other, not even at frat parties. It was quite an experience; Taylor and I have decided to go back for every game, rather than just the ones we're interested in. (Nellie made a valiant effort to follow the game, but understandable gave up after 20 minutes.)
So. Tomorrow: first day of Sorbonne courses, class from 9 until 6, and the presidential debate. Yikes. It's going to be a long Monday. Scratch that. It's going to be the first of many long Mondays. Double yikes.
Saturday was, as Eliza Doolittle says, loverly. We all slept in - a rare treat at 11 Victor Cousin - and then I planted myself at my café for a couple hours to do homework/email/etc. (My café is the Luxembourg Café, a restaurant/café a couple blocks from my house with wireless and the best croque-monsieurs ever. I kind of live there. In fact, I'm there right now.) After looking around online for a good boucherie on my métro line, I trekked over to Etienne Marcel and found Mecca: there's this street, Rue Montorgeuil, that is lined with boucheries and poissoneries and fromageries and lots of other yummy -eries. The street is cobblestoned, and there were so many people there, shopping and caféing, (I'm verbing that; it's pretty much a national sport here) that I didn't realize until later that it wasn't, in fact, a pedestrian-only street. The whole neighborood is pretty much like that, and there are tons of really good clothing shops, too. After wandering around and planning several dozen different dinner parties, I met my date from the night before at a café in the area. We hung out there and then wandered around and were disgustingly cute for a couple hours. (His name, by the way, is Ethan. He's very sweet. Also very crazy about me. I'm digging it.)
After that lazy afternoon I met up with some friends at Odéon for drinks. Ben and Luke were here last semester, so they took us to a bar they frequented. It was dim and humming and low-ceilinged and very, very chill. We managed to convince the bartenders to open the basement early, so we didn't have to shout to be heard or begin dying of second-hand smoke. Afterward they saw "Blood Diamond", but I had seen it with Eitan the night before, and so met Alyssa and Nellie (my flatmates) and some NYU kids for dinner at a Greek place nearr my apartment. The restaurant was very cosy and friendly, annd the food was pretty good, but I never again want to eat with people who are that indecisive. Yikes. They all had big plans after the movie: a theater near us is known for doing movie marathons that start at midnight and end with breakfast around 7am. Last night's festival was a David Lynch thing. I had to get up early for AmCath, so I couldn't go (although apparently both Alyssa and Nellie pooped out early).
So. My first Sunday. Today was the Annual Meeting Thing, so the sermon was a bunch of thank-yous and "we, the community of blah blah blahs." Because we - well, the rest of the choir - had been recording a Christmas CD all week, we only did a Sowerby piece (not his best, I might add), and the children's choir filled in the other anthem. I made friends... ish. The social dynamic is a LOT wider than it was at St. Michael's, so I'm not sure how much everyone actually pals around. There are some kids who look like they're still in their 20s, and I've talked to most of them and they're friendly, but then there are a bunch of singers who don't hang around after at all, and some who just don't seem that open, and some - ahem, one - who told me that kneeling during the prayers wasn't optional. Excuse me, lady, but no one can tell I'm not kneeling and I'm not being disrespectful. To paraphrase an expression of my father's, used when my sister and I would fight during long car trips, "Look out your own goddamn window." I didn't actually say that to her, but the soprano I stand next to made a face at the other woman, and that made me feel better.
Later in the afternoon, Taylor, Nellie, and I went to an Australian bar to watch the France-Ireland rugby match. (The 6 Nations tournament - France, Italy, England, Ireland, Scotland, and Wales - is going on now, and it's kind of a big deal.) It was AMAZING. The bar, obviously, was packed, and everyone was cheering and groaning in unison and, obviously, in French. I thought about rooting for Ireland for about 30 seconds, but then decided I liked my head attached to my neck and so "allez"ed along with everyone else. The level of play was incredible; the ball never stopped moving! When France made a try (the rugby version of a touchdown) near the end of the first half, the whole bar broke into the national anthem. It was actually really stirring. We were all on the edge of our metaphorical barstools during the second half, though, because Ireland made a try and pulled ahead of France. It looked like we'd never come back - until! seven minutes into injury time, number 14 broke away and made a try, bringing France up 20-17. It was unbelievable... the whole bar errupted. I have never seen that many men hugging each other, not even at frat parties. It was quite an experience; Taylor and I have decided to go back for every game, rather than just the ones we're interested in. (Nellie made a valiant effort to follow the game, but understandable gave up after 20 minutes.)
So. Tomorrow: first day of Sorbonne courses, class from 9 until 6, and the presidential debate. Yikes. It's going to be a long Monday. Scratch that. It's going to be the first of many long Mondays. Double yikes.
Friday, February 9, 2007
adventures
Posting photos is a total pain - don't expect too many too often. That being said, I know some of you - ahem, my family - will have a cow if I don't put any up at all, so... awesome.
First rehearsal at AmCath last night, and obviously it's the day my cold decides to shift into bronchitisness. Luckily, they were finishing up a Christmas recording for the first hour and a half, so I only had to sing - "sing" - for the last thirty minutes. I actually learned way, way more by watching the choir during the recording session that I would have by joining in. They really are pretty good; most of the problems I noticed were picky things, and they responded really well when Ned told them to change something. (Ned, by the way, reminds me so much of Mr. Neswick! They both yell at people in the exact same way, using the exact same tone, and use some of the same phrases. Plus, anyone who tries to get grown adults to do "my dog has fleas" to a psalm is okay is my book.) Of all the sections, however, the sopranos are the most worrisome. I don't know then really well, and I haven't had much of a chance to sing with them and find out how they work, but the balance of power - both vocal and otherwise - seems pretty off. The altos include a couple of countertenors (and Ryland Angel, who wasn't there. He kind of freaks me out; he did a guest solo thing at St. Michael's a couple Easters ago and has no register shifts. Weird.) and were fine, and the tenors and basses were really strong. Sunday we're doing a Sowerby piece - hooray for singing again!
Sorbonne classes start on Monday... eek! My mother gently reminded me that I haven't yet written on my Reid Hall classes, so here goes. Everybody has to take a grammar class; we spend two months reviewing advanced grammar and syntactical stuff, and then for the rest of the semester we meet with our profs once a week to go over our fac coursework. The classes are divided into levels three and four, with two sections in each level. I placed into the bottom of the fourth, and I'm mostly really happy with it. It's definitely where I'm supposed to be, and where most of my classmates should be, but there are a couple kids who must have tested beyond their abilities, because they just don't get some of the basics. That, or they just don't pay attention when we review things. Either way, it's frustrating. I have some friends in the class, though, and the professor is fantastic. His name is François Theuiller, and we're crazy about him. He is a very good teacher, very patient and creative, but also has a great sense of humor. We all pretty much want to be best friends with him. My Medieval Art and Architecture class hasn't really gotten off the ground yet, but the prof was the intstructor for my orientation group, so I know her a little. She's very into her subject, which is great, but seems kind of easy. I guess that's a good thing, considering all the coursework I'm going to have, but since I'm into her subject, too, I want to be challenged. The last Reid Hall class I'm signed up for is Paris Parcours. Professor Dequeker is a history professor, and I'm not sure what I expected from the course description (there are two parcours: one, mine, is the history option and the other is architecture and culture), but he's teaching it as a class on the history of Paris as told through its buildings and neighborhoods. It's really cool, actually; on the first day of class we read some of De Gaulle's memoires and talked about the Paris/France he saw, and discussed how he orchestrated his entrance into Paris after it was liberated. (Rather than meeting the head of the Resistance at the Hôtel de Ville, he went straight to his old office at the Ministry of War and sat down at his old desk, symbolically ignoring the Vichy government and indicating that he - and the Republic of France - were back. Sounds like an arrogant sob, but he definitely had style.) This class meets twice a week, once to hit the streets for three hours and once to discuss and have student presentations for an hour. I wasn't looking forward to this class at first, but now I totally am. The only downside is that since I've gotten really into the class, I'm totally become that girl who always raises her hand. Yikes.
On the books for this weekend: a date with a French boy (!), watching some 6 Nations rugby, and singing. Send me emails, guys! I want to know what you're doing, too.
(My address here is:
Betsy Remes
c/o Columbia University
Reid Hall
4 rue de Chevreuse
75006 Paris FRANCE
hint, hint.)
P.S. If I make typos, please let me know. I'm a punctuation snob, but I don't really do spelling.
First rehearsal at AmCath last night, and obviously it's the day my cold decides to shift into bronchitisness. Luckily, they were finishing up a Christmas recording for the first hour and a half, so I only had to sing - "sing" - for the last thirty minutes. I actually learned way, way more by watching the choir during the recording session that I would have by joining in. They really are pretty good; most of the problems I noticed were picky things, and they responded really well when Ned told them to change something. (Ned, by the way, reminds me so much of Mr. Neswick! They both yell at people in the exact same way, using the exact same tone, and use some of the same phrases. Plus, anyone who tries to get grown adults to do "my dog has fleas" to a psalm is okay is my book.) Of all the sections, however, the sopranos are the most worrisome. I don't know then really well, and I haven't had much of a chance to sing with them and find out how they work, but the balance of power - both vocal and otherwise - seems pretty off. The altos include a couple of countertenors (and Ryland Angel, who wasn't there. He kind of freaks me out; he did a guest solo thing at St. Michael's a couple Easters ago and has no register shifts. Weird.) and were fine, and the tenors and basses were really strong. Sunday we're doing a Sowerby piece - hooray for singing again!
Sorbonne classes start on Monday... eek! My mother gently reminded me that I haven't yet written on my Reid Hall classes, so here goes. Everybody has to take a grammar class; we spend two months reviewing advanced grammar and syntactical stuff, and then for the rest of the semester we meet with our profs once a week to go over our fac coursework. The classes are divided into levels three and four, with two sections in each level. I placed into the bottom of the fourth, and I'm mostly really happy with it. It's definitely where I'm supposed to be, and where most of my classmates should be, but there are a couple kids who must have tested beyond their abilities, because they just don't get some of the basics. That, or they just don't pay attention when we review things. Either way, it's frustrating. I have some friends in the class, though, and the professor is fantastic. His name is François Theuiller, and we're crazy about him. He is a very good teacher, very patient and creative, but also has a great sense of humor. We all pretty much want to be best friends with him. My Medieval Art and Architecture class hasn't really gotten off the ground yet, but the prof was the intstructor for my orientation group, so I know her a little. She's very into her subject, which is great, but seems kind of easy. I guess that's a good thing, considering all the coursework I'm going to have, but since I'm into her subject, too, I want to be challenged. The last Reid Hall class I'm signed up for is Paris Parcours. Professor Dequeker is a history professor, and I'm not sure what I expected from the course description (there are two parcours: one, mine, is the history option and the other is architecture and culture), but he's teaching it as a class on the history of Paris as told through its buildings and neighborhoods. It's really cool, actually; on the first day of class we read some of De Gaulle's memoires and talked about the Paris/France he saw, and discussed how he orchestrated his entrance into Paris after it was liberated. (Rather than meeting the head of the Resistance at the Hôtel de Ville, he went straight to his old office at the Ministry of War and sat down at his old desk, symbolically ignoring the Vichy government and indicating that he - and the Republic of France - were back. Sounds like an arrogant sob, but he definitely had style.) This class meets twice a week, once to hit the streets for three hours and once to discuss and have student presentations for an hour. I wasn't looking forward to this class at first, but now I totally am. The only downside is that since I've gotten really into the class, I'm totally become that girl who always raises her hand. Yikes.
On the books for this weekend: a date with a French boy (!), watching some 6 Nations rugby, and singing. Send me emails, guys! I want to know what you're doing, too.
(My address here is:
Betsy Remes
c/o Columbia University
Reid Hall
4 rue de Chevreuse
75006 Paris FRANCE
hint, hint.)
P.S. If I make typos, please let me know. I'm a punctuation snob, but I don't really do spelling.
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