Whimsical, yet relevant...

World's Most Impressive Really Old Guy

2010-09-23T13:47:00.009-04:00

My sister directed me to this video of an interview with Walter Breuning, the world's oldest living man (there are three women still living born earlier in 1896), who just turned 114 this past Tuesday, September 21. In the interview he answers questions sent in from all over the world about what it has been like to live in three different centuries. This guy is amazing! It's really worth watching the whole thing:

via the daily what

My sister sent this to me because Mr. Breuning reminded her of our Grandpa Jim; I can definitely hear and see the resemblance. As I was watching the video, I realized how remarkable this was: When Grandpa Jim passed away, just shy of his 86th birthday, he was nearly THIRTY YEARS younger than this gentleman is. This 114-year-old gentleman who looks and sounds like Grandpa did in his early eighties. HOLY CRAP. Does that blow your mind or what?

So, happy belated birthday, Walter Breuning. You are a marvel!

Ok, this one's just a hot dog...

2010-03-26T13:04:00.004-04:00

...but OH MAN was it delicious.

all-beef dog with apple-maple slaw in a french-toasted bun

Atlanta's Urban Picnic, Sweet Auburn Curb Market
3.26.10

Wurst no. 7

2009-12-20T11:08:00.003-05:00

Anklamer Rauchwurst
Weihnachtsmarkt Rotes Rathaus
20.12.09

Wurst no. 6

2009-12-19T09:51:00.003-05:00

Brandenburger Rostbratwurst
Spandauer Weihnachtsmarkt
19.12.09

Wurst no. 5

2009-12-18T11:28:00.004-05:00

Krakauer (aka Polish sausage)
Weihnachtsmarkt vor dem Schloss Charlottenburg
18.12.09

Wurst no. 4

2009-12-17T17:51:00.002-05:00

Krakauer mit Käse
Weihnachtsmarkt an der Gedächtniskirche
17.12.09

not a Wurst

2009-12-17T01:31:00.003-05:00

Rothenburger Scheenball, Zimt (cinnamon)
Weihnachtsmarkt Prager Straße
15.12.09

Wurst no. 3

2009-12-16T19:27:00.000-05:00

Thüringer Rostbratwurst
Winterwelt-Berlin/Weihnachtsmarkt am Potsdamer Platz
16.12.09

Wurst no. 2

2009-12-16T17:15:00.002-05:00

some kind of böhmische Wurst
Strietzelmarkt Dresden
15.12.09

a week of Wurst

2009-12-15T17:11:00.001-05:00

Welcome to my latest occasional series, A Week of Wurst. Enjoy!

Wurst no. 1Thüringer Rostbratwurst
WeihnachtsZauber auf dem Gendarmenmarkt, Berlin
14.12.09

go faster, day

2009-10-28T15:48:00.006-04:00

When I had the above phrase posted as my gchat status, one of my nerdiest and most brilliant friends messaged me the following:

Chris: I know it seems like the day is not going much faster, which could be accurate
Chris: as the (negative) secular spin acceleration was -19.8 parts per billion per century around the year 600 AD and is now -8.6 parts per billion.
Chris: but have hope!
Chris: the net residual acceleration is 41 ppb!
http://hbar.phys.msu.ru/gorm/atext/rrn85.htm

I love smart people.

How not to cultivate new audiences

2009-10-13T21:36:00.006-04:00

I had an email in my inbox this afternoon from the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra advertising an upcoming concert. 'Jascha Heifitz of our day' here in two weeks! read the subject line, as if that comparison alone would set the box office phones a-ringing.

Presumably, most symphony-goers know who Heifitz is. But that's just the thing: they're already going to the symphony. What of the uncultured masses -- the ones the ASO should probably be reaching out to so it can put a few more butts in seats? Half the people who received this email are probably wondering who the hell Jascha Heifitz is. I'd like to think of myself as being pretty culturally aware -- I was a music major in college -- and honestly, I had no idea who Heifitz was until after I graduated. (To my credit, as a voice major I'm much better with big name vocalists of the past.)

My point is, do you think we could come up with advertising that speaks to a broader segment of the population? Or one that doesn't make you feel dumb that you don't know who an old-timey virtuoso violinist is? It might help with those lagging ticket sales and sinking revenues. I'm not saying it will turn things around, but it would certainly be a start...

[full disclosure: I am a current member of the ASO chorus and a past symphony subscriber.]

HEAD EXPLODING

2009-10-08T11:38:00.003-04:00

I just saw a post about the Pearl Jam show in Universal City, Calif. on October 6 -- while I was at the U2 concert at the Georgia Dome, the lucky bastards at the PJ concert were having their faces rocked off by a reunited Temple of the Dog. DAAHHH! I have no words. Check out this video from YouTube -- the quality isn't great, but it still gave me goosebumps:

Really makes you wonder what the hell got into Chris Cornell when he was making his latest album. He so clearly was made for grungey wailing. He is a rock god when he's in the right genre.

Pearl Jam, won't you come back to Atlanta? Please? Pretty please?

do i dare?

2009-09-14T15:35:00.007-04:00

Brach's has taken to touting its candy corn as being MADE WITH REAL HONEY in recent seasons. One day in the not-too-distant past I thought to myself, hey, I have a good source of real honey, maybe I should try and make my own candy corn! I googled the recipe, and, to my great surprise, located approximately zero recipes that involve real honey. Doh.

[It should be noted that I have a severe addiction to candy corn. Jon says he read a study recently that said that when you work to make something you often eat less of it, though, so maybe that's in my favor here.]

So, I don't really have the I'm-overrun-with-honey excuse anymore, but I'm still sort of intrigued. On the one hand, how cool would I be if I made homemade candy corn? On the other, how crazy do I have to be to want to do that? At any rate, it's on the table. My kitchen and fiance will be spared the experiment for the time being as I've got out-of-town weddings to attend both of the next weekends, but there's still plenty of time until candy corn season runs out. What say you?

STEVIE WONDER'S A MUSICAL GENIUS

2009-07-19T22:52:00.003-04:00

My sister, my fiance and I have been laughing about this for weeks now, so I thought I would share this hilarious clip with all of you out there in kyberspace. This also continues the Eddie Murphy series that was inaugurated with the Ice Cream Man post. If you are watching this at the office, be sure to use headphones... the language is definitely not suitable for work!

the cat's out of the bag

2009-07-18T16:54:00.005-04:00

Ok, so there's something I haven't told you... of course, you could have noticed or found out on your own, but only if you ever looked at my profile, which I doubt you have...

I started a wedding blog.

I told my sister last night.

Oy. I know, I know, I'm a bandwagon-jumper, but frankly this is a good way to keep Jon and my sister and heterolifemate from getting assaulted with weddingy crap a fair amount of the time. It's a good outlet, for my sanity and yours! I started it a couple of weeks ago because, as I mentioned, I don't want this to become an obnoxious wedding-obsessed blog. I'll keep posting about whatever I feel like here, and all to do with weddings shall henceforth be filed away under a different url. Anyway, if you're so inclined, check me out at aweddingrunsthroughit.blogspot.com (apologies to Norman Maclean).

(photo by, who else, Our Labor of Love)

Fun with heavy machinery!

2009-07-17T13:39:00.008-04:00

So, as I posted before I have enrolled myself in a letterpress class so as to be able to print my own excellent wedding invitations (and much, much more) for a reasonable price. Turns out it's not that difficult! I am by no means a master, but the fact is that it's a pretty simple process, and the name, broken down into its parts -- letter, press -- sorta says it all.

Now halfway through the class, I'm happy to say that I have picked up steam and am operating much more quickly with the presses and even with hunting for type. Assignment no. 2 was to create an announcement of sorts. Since I'm moving apartments this weekend, I decided to print some postcards to mail out with my new address on them. The added challenge of this assignment was to use two colors, which means you're running each piece of paper through the press twice. Here's the finished product:

Am I a badass or what? This is awesome.

[p.s. there is actually a street name printed, but in case I have any stalkers out there I didn't want to post it... stay away, stalkers!]

Where were you last night?

2009-06-25T09:32:00.004-04:00

Because I was ON THE SECOND ROW AT THE EDDIE VEDDER CONCERT.

Let it be known that Ten Club is the best fan club in the history of fan clubs. Sure, they put out the Christmas singles in June, but they make up for any delays by making sure members always have SWEET tickets to shows. I LOVE YOU, TEN CLUB! [You can see all my pictures from the show here.]

Seen in my office parking deck...

2009-06-24T13:21:00.006-04:00

Ah, the joys of working above Underground Atlanta. (Yes, it's real.)

11 months to go!

2009-06-22T21:52:00.007-04:00

I've said before that I don't want this to become a wedding blog, but I don't see the harm in the occasional update. Since we're down another month and I've been wanting to write about a few things anyway, I figure it's time for a check-in.

Not much measurable progress has been made since I first wrote about plans for the big day. Catering was on hold while my Mom was out of the country for a church trip to Russia for a week and a half. We had a bunch of meetings and tastings scheduled for mid-May, after her return, but due to a medical emergency or three Mom only just got back to our house this past Saturday, and she has a long recovery ahead of her. Needless to say, progress has been slow during this family crisis.

Nevertheless, progress has been made. Jon and I managed to whittle down our venue's preferred vendor list and select a caterer: we're going with Bold American, the catering arm of Fifth Group restaurants (South City Kitchen, La Tavola, Ecco, etc.). It just so happens that the sales manager we worked with was recently married herself -- you can see her mind-bogglingly beautiful wedding photos (taken by Jesse and Whitney, who will be shooting our wedding!) here. We also have a couple of friends in common, randomly. I know she'll be a ton of fun to work with, so I'm really excited about that decision.

We're currently in the midst of DJ scouting, which so far has been uneventful and doesn't merit much space here. I'm going to two of those ridiculous, massive bridal events with my old friend and bride buddy Shelley this weekend, so I may come back with some new leads... so far the DJ group we're in talks with has two strikes. One more and they're off the list!

In developments less directly related to the wedding, Jon and I found an apartment to share! We weren't being terribly active in our looking, but were keeping our eyes peeled for opportunities in prime locations. Sure enough, one turned up. We have yet to sign the lease, but, in theory, we're set to move in July 17 or so. It's the top floor of a lovely home in Virginia-Highland, owned and occupied by and architect/designer, and it's even got a wee nook that Little Man can claim for his own. More on that later as things get sorted out.

Forthcoming will be ruminations on my hunt for a lovely wedding dress -- stay tuned!

(Geez, this was longer than I intended it to be...maybe I should start a wedding blog. All the kids these days are doing it, so the market's a bit glutted, but word on the street is that wedding blogs can forge some helpful connections and perhaps save or even earn a blogger some money... Things to ponder. As if I needed more.)

new blog, new arts center

2009-06-16T11:26:00.005-04:00

Pierre Ruhe and Catherine Fox, formerly arts critics for the long-suffering AJC, have banded together with some of their colleagues and launched artscriticATL.com, which aims to fill the gaping holes in arts coverage left by the AJC buyouts. The blog went live May 26 and just yesterday garnered a mention on New Yorker critic Alex Ross's acclaimed blog, The Rest is Noise.

Today at 3 p.m., Pierre and Catherine will be on the inside of an invitation-only event at the Woodruff Arts Center where the new master plan -- to include, I hope, a shiny new hall for the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra -- will be revealed. They'll be live-blogging the meeting, so if you want to be the first to know, click over to artscriticATL.com this afternoon for all the latest news.

Letterpress wisdom

2009-05-28T23:47:00.005-04:00

Last night was the first meeting of my two-month-long letterpress class at the Atlanta Printmakers Studio. Given the events of the past few weeks, and especially tonight, I thought the first print I pressed myself (of type previously set by our teacher Jason Kofke) was particularly fitting:

Our negative-one-year anniversary!

2009-05-22T13:42:00.013-04:00

At precisely this time next year, I will be at some stage of readying myself for a wedding: Mine!

I somehow feel less lame planning and talking about the wedding now that we've arrived at the point when the big event is no more than a year away. I also feel like less of a tool having a wedding website so far in advance, but sometimes it's just more fun to mess around with blog templates than to do something more productive. Not gonna lie. The site is a work in progress, but check it out.

I have promised not to turn this into an obnoxious wedding blog, but I will be posting occasionally about weddingish things. Watch out next week for ruminations on the start of my first DIY adventure: letterpress class!

*the term "negative-one-year anniversary" is used with kind permission of Abby J. Wolbe, Esq.

LLAMA WATCH

2009-05-11T01:04:00.000-04:00

Since my mom is such a popular and wonderful lady, I have started a new blog to satisfy the demand for information on her medical adventures in Russia. LLAMA WATCH will have the latest updates from the family's conversations with her and Ellen and Al Smith, her guardian angels in Moscow. For all the latest on my mother's well-being, be sure to add LLAMA WATCH to your blog reader or just try to remember to check it a couple of times a day. I'll post as often as I have new information coming in, and I'll continue to update it once she arrives safely back in Atlanta until she is up and about again. Send up prayers and happy thoughts for Llama and her doctors and friends in Russia, and don't forget to check LLAMA WATCH!

С Днём Матери!

2009-05-10T17:04:00.005-04:00

For those of you who don't speak Russian, that (apparently) means Happy Mother's Day -- which, in Poespeak, translates to Happy Llama's Day. Since my Llama is laid up in a hospital in Moscow recuperating from emergency surgery on this special day, I wanted to share one of my favorite pictures of her with you, my vast internet readership. This photo was taken a couple of years ago at the church where she used to work during vacation bible school. They had a petting zoo one day, and mom decided to show her llama brethren some llove!

Kisses to you, Llama. Feel better soon! Can't wait to have you back home!

The German says to wait here...

2009-05-05T15:22:00.002-04:00

In honor of the holiday, a little song and dance:

Let me bring you up to speed...

2009-04-16T20:49:00.010-04:00

It's been a little more than three weeks since Jon and I got engaged, and we've already got the makings of an excellent wedding in place. We have reserved the church, its stellar organist, and one of its pastors (no. 3) to be half of our officiant tag-team. We also picked a reception venue that we both think suits us really well -- sorta artsy and laid-back, but can dress up real nice -- on only our second site-scouting trip. (Total bonus: the rental includes the use of two big leather couches and four comfy leather chairs in the lobby of the main reception space. Score!)

Once we got the big location issues nailed down, we moved on to the vendors. (This struck me as something of an odd word to use at first, but I can't think of a better general term for it, so vendors it is.) Ever since I first came across Our Labor of Love's blog (courtesy of Richard Blais/Gawker) and discovered, to my great joy, that they were based in Atlanta, I knew I wanted them to photograph my eventual wedding, whenever it might be. Something about their photos sucked me in. I probably spent an entire workday, or maybe two, looking through back posts on their blog. Once I met Jesse and Whitney in person, first at the NotWedding and again in a two-on-two meeting with Jon at Dynamic Dish, it was done. (Jesse greeted me with a hug upon second meeting -- this went over well with me, being a hugger myself.) We both felt immediately comfortable with Jesse and Whitney, and to have them shoot our wedding is a(n admittedly short-lived) dream come true. If you enjoy pictures of people, you will lose yourself in their blog for hours.

So, anyway, things are starting to come together. Next on the list? Catering and reception entertainment! I've got some connections that will get me awesome ceremony music for a steal, but the party music worries me a bit more... shall see how that shakes out.

Oh, and did I mention when this all goes down? May 22, 2010. Ink it.

(photos from Our Labor of Love)

Illusions, Michael

2009-03-27T10:07:00.006-04:00

Now comes the part that most people are interested in: the ring. (I promise this is the last engagement-related post. But I had a good title for it so I had to!) Jon's mom gave him her engagement ring on the sly when we were out in Idaho a few weeks back, and he has since (obviously) passed it on to me.

One of my favorite things about it, aside from the fact that it belonged to Jon's lovely mother, is that it's an "illusion" setting. Tricky! What is an illusion setting, you might ask? Well. As the Antique Jewelry University's website says, "An illusion setting is a prong setting designed to make a diamond look bigger than it actually is. This is accomplished by a ring of metal surrounding the girdle of the diamond and often bright cut. This ring diffuses the outline of the stone which in turn causes it to look larger."

FOOLED YOU.

I am the northern lights!

2009-03-25T23:45:00.004-04:00

So, I know y'all already know this, but I just had to post about it... Tuesday night at the Josh Ritter concert at Center Stage, during the song "Kathleen," Jon asked me to marry him. So now I'm an engaged lady! Jon is my intended, as my dad might say.

Thanks to Josh and the band for an unforgettable show! Thanks especially to Josh for writing an excellent song with my name in it. Otherwise, it's been "I'll take you home again, Kathleen," and Zady's got the rights on that one.

MOM!!! THROW DOWN SOME MONEY!

2009-03-17T21:57:00.007-04:00

THE ICE CREAM MAN IS COMIIIIIIN!

It's apparently already that time of year in Atlanta -- the fleet of ice cream trucks is out in full force with the onset of 70-degree afternoons. Now that I'm living within a half-mile of Atlanta's largest park and just a couple blocks from the neighborhood middle school, the ice cream man is a virtually inescapable part of my day. I can hear the doppler-distorted chimes as the truck loops around behind the school, across my short street, and back out to the wide avenue full of joggers, dog-walkers and teenage kids. Amazingly, I have not yet rushed out into the street to chase it down. It's only a matter of time.

The ice cream trucks I've seen through downtown, midtown and my neighborhood, Virginia-Highland, seem to be the same, standard-issue vans I recall from my childhood, but with one key difference: the music. For whatever reason, the ice cream man assigned to my area blares not "Pop goes the weasel" or "The Entertainer," but Beethoven's ubiquitous "Für Elise." Because everything is tastier in A minor?

This bizarre choice of music cast my mind back to my college days at Northwestern, especially those spent living in Allison Hall on University Place, one of the local ice cream trucks favorite cul-de-sacs to cruise. To my surprise, I couldn't recall the ditty that truck played, though I did remember cursing the ice cream man on many occasions when his awful (but cheerful) tune hit my ears. All I could think of was "Pop goes the weasel" and "Here we go 'round the mulberry bush" -- I knew it was neither but suspected a combination of the two. After a bit of internet recon, I found what I was looking for: "Turkey in the straw." (Better known to me, and countless former girl scouts and summer-campers, as "Do your ears hang low?") It would have bugged me for days if I hadn't figured it out, though maybe not as much as the song itself promises to now that I've remembered it...

And now, because I can't blog about the ice cream man without including it, I give you this timeless clip from Eddie Murphy:

Sasha Frere-Jones answers your questions

2009-03-10T16:39:00.004-04:00

Last month, New Yorker pop music critic Sasha Frere-Jones's number was up for Ask the Author, a regular blog feature on the magazine's website. He answered readers' questions about specific artists, copyright issues, and his writerly process, and kindly dispensed some wisdom for aspiring music journalists. (He even gave Kaki King a shout-out. Holler.) If you haven't read it yet, it's definitely worth your time. Here's a snippet:

Isn't music criticism just a veiled attempt to create an exclusive canon of what's cool?
David Kootnikoff
Hong Kong, China

I thought it was an overt attempt to get a seat in the balcony.

Ding! You can find the whole Q-and-A here.

Look, Ma! New blog!

2009-03-08T00:36:00.000-05:00

Hello, readers! I wanted to let you know that I've started a new blog called Atlanta Arts Review. It will be perhaps less whimsical than this one, but no less relevant. I don't recommend it if you want to follow the daily escapades of my cat, but if you're into music and art and all that jazz, and especially if you live in Atlanta, it may be worth your while.

the birthday cat

2009-03-07T22:15:00.001-05:00

Though Little Man isn't getting any bigger, he is getting older.
Hard to believe it's been four years... ah, college!

I heart Etsy (and you should, too!)

2009-02-25T16:12:00.014-05:00

I don't recall what first led me to Etsy, but for whatever it was I am exceedingly thankful. If you're not familiar, Etsy is an online marketplace of awesome, where all things handmade can be found. Anybody who wants can set up a shop and peddle his or her wares. (I have a dear friend who has an Etsy venture selling homemade body scrub, and I doubt she'll be the last of my crafty friends to sign on. And check out those awesome labels! That's another shop right there.)

Ever since I happened upon Etsy, it has been my first stop for all gift searches, from birthdays, to bereavements, to babies. As one might expect of a worldwide showcase of handcrafted things, there are inevitable pockets of country kitsch and Lillian Vernon-esque personalized crap, but it has been my experience that Etsy-bought items are well made, reasonably priced, inspired, and one-of-a-kind.

It may have been my search for a locket that first found me scouring thousands of search results on Etsy. I found one at MStevensonDesigns that I wear all the time now, and hardly a day passes when someone doesn't ask about it. Melissa, the creator of my beautiful locket, was incredibly helpful and accommodating, going so far as to send me a new clasp when the original broke. She also made a custom locket for me, which I gave to my sister for a milestone birthday.

Another great Etsy find turned up as I searched for all things "llama." I purchased one of these ceramic figures from Daga Design for me, a second one for my mama (the great Llama herself), and have designs on a third for my sister. Instead of kitchen witches, we will soon all have kitchen llamas to oversee our culinary endeavors.

More recently, the presidential inauguration inspired me to find something for my Christmas tree to commemorate and celebrate Obama for years to come. I found some "official" Obama ornaments on eBay for upwards of $40, but once again, Etsy (more specifically, felt cafe) came through with the perfect thing, exactly what I didn't know I was looking for.

Finally, a few weeks ago I decided I needed some calling cards that I could use for personal purposes, so I didn't have to give out my government-job business card when I was interviewing a prospective student for Northwestern, say, or discussing my freelance work. I had seen Avie Designs in December at the Indie Craft Experience holiday show, so I looked up her Etsy shop and scored a set of 48 calling cards for only $12.50. Because she's local, I received them within two days of my order. She's got even more designs up now, if you're interested.

These are only a few of the excellent things I've scored off Etsy to date. (I'm considering a kickass mod cat bed these days... Little Man has a birthday coming up! And yes, I am a crazy cat lady.) Whether you want business cards, earrings, art for your walls, or vintage children's books for your friends' kids, Etsy probably has what you're looking for. If you haven't checked it out yet, give Etsy a try.

Bon Voyage, Buhweet!

2009-02-23T19:20:00.003-05:00

See you in July, Kreesta! Travel safe in the meantime. Ah nub noo!!

Thursday night in Decatur

2009-02-11T15:54:00.007-05:00

As I mentioned in an earlier post, author, critic and former professor of mine David Hajdu is coming to Decatur's own Wordsmiths Books tomorrow night. He'll be reading from his latest book, The Ten-Cent Plague: The Great Comic-Book Scare and How It Changed America, just released in paperback. He goes on at 7:30 p.m, and the event is free (aside from the cost of his book, which you will doubtless be inspired to purchase).

You can find more information about his book here, and read an interview with Hajdu conducted by event co-sponsor Cable & Tweed here. I can't recommend this event strongly enough. Come out and support Wordsmiths and the fine cultural criticism of David Hajdu.

ASO Chorus highlights for 09/10

2009-01-27T23:31:00.012-05:00

If you watched the ASO's live webcast earlier today, you've already heard about all the wonderful things in store for the 2009-2010 season. In case you missed it and don't feel like sitting through an hour and 20 minutes of press conference, I'll hit the highlights for you. (For the full season, look here.)

The biggest news, at least for the chorus, is that we have been invited back for a third time to perform with the Berlin Philharmonic. We'll be singing Brahms' Ein deutsches Requiem, perhaps the most beloved of all German choral works, once again under the baton of our brilliant and irresistibly charming principal guest conductor, Donald Runnicles. As if that isn't good enough, we'll be going December 14-21 – hallo Weihnachtsmarkt, here I come! Oh, and did I mention our soloists for this engagement? Gerald Finley, my baritone love! (I've not heard the soprano, Genia Kühmeier, but I'm sure she is equally stunning.) If for some reason I don't return from this trip, you can safely assume I have run off to the Alps with Gerry.

The Brahms also opens the season at home for the chorus in October, but two weeks prior to that, the ASO's chamber chorus will present Stravinsky's opera The Nightingale in concert form, continuing the recent streak of operas at the symphony. On the same program, Yo-Yo Ma will play the world premiere of a cello concerto by Angel Lam. We're taking the show on the road in November, first to Athens (Nov. 5) and then to Carnegie Hall (Nov. 7) as part of their China festival.

In 2010 we've got Rossini's Stabat Mater, Mahler's Symphony No. 3 and Verdi's Requiem on the docket, and we finish out the season with another world premiere of a choral work by "Atlanta School" composer Michael Gandolfi. The last two concerts will be reprised in mid-June for the League of American Orchestras and Choral America conferences in Atlanta. And then we'll all pass out for a month or two.

Of course, I might miss all of those spring concerts if I'm off gallivanting about Europe with my dreamy baritone boyfriend...

Opera 101 done right

2009-01-23T00:35:00.000-05:00

If you read my last post, you know that Akhnaten is probably not the best "starter opera" one could attend, at least to my mind. A far more popular toe-dip in the waters of opera is Mozart's The Magic Flute (Die Zauberflöte, auf Deutsch). The fanciful tale of a prince on a quest to rescue a fair maiden, the daughter of a malicious queen, from her captors, Magic Flute has fairy-tale elements, comic characters, memorable tunes, and a dash or five of freemasonry for Mozart and his friends. Each year in recent memory, New York's Metropolitan Opera has mounted an abbreviated English-language version of the puppet-heavy Julie Taymor production around the Christmas holidays as a draw for families.

In short, this is a great first foray into the world of opera. As I was airing my complaints about Akhnaten Wednesday night to a former classmate via facebook chat, he directed me to YouTube, where my alma mater Northwestern University's 2005 production of Die Zauberflöte can be found in its entirety. "Dritter Knabe," or third boy, was my one and only opera role during my undergrad years -- unless you count the role of knitting/laughing chorus nun in Suor Angelica. Now that it's online, I can relive my collegiate opera days whenever I like. Woo!

As an explanation of my character, the trio of three boys are usually sung by young boys with unchanged voices, but many productions will use three women instead and call them "spirits." In this gang it would appear that Cindy, the first soprano, was the cute girly one; Kate, the middle voice, was the normal one; and I, on alto, was the chubby one. In a Kerri Strug wig. It's actually pretty humorous... At least I'm ridiculously cute.

For those of you who want to bypass the parts not involving me (though there are some pretty hilarious wigs and costumes, as well as hilariously bad acting), I made the effort to find the spots featuring yours truly. (The Queen of the Night was pretty awesome in this production though, so I'd recommend checking her out too.)

ACT I

Find Kathleen at: 31:42, 40:00, and as a bizarro dancing woodland creature at 48:40

ACT II

Find Kathleen at: 29:30, 30:45, and in her big scene from minutes 37 to 50. If you want a taste of her infamous childhood sulk routine, keep your eyes out at 49:45 or so. Also, that's me on the far right in the video box freeze!

Philip Glass: not for beginners

2009-01-21T11:41:00.006-05:00

For those of you who may be rookie opera-goers, let me give you some advice: do not make anything by Philip Glass your first.

While I've been to dozens of operas in my day, never had I seen a performance of the famed minimalist's music before this evening. I attended the final dress rehearsal of the Atlanta Opera's concert-staged production of Akhnaten, the last in Glass's trilogy of so-called portrait operas, which is based on the life of the ancient-Egyptian pharaoh of the same name. (The companion works, Einstein on the Beach and Satyagraha, depict Albert Einstein and Mahatma Ghandi, respectively.) Here, "concert-staged" meant full costume and makeup for all but the chorus, clad in black and seated at the back of the platform; minimal set and lighting effects; and supernumeraries and props aplenty. If there's an industry standard for concertizing operas -- more often than not an awkward endeavor -- I'd love to see it. On most occasions I find myself wishing they had gone one way or the other and not just split the difference.

Tonight's open dress was billed as one for high school and college students. Also present, probably in greater number than either of the aforementioned groups, were opera donors and gaggles of elementary-aged kids, dressed to the nines. When General Director Dennis Hanthorn appeared onstage to welcome the audience, he asked for a show of hands of those who had never seen an opera before: At least a quarter of the audience, perhaps even a third, was experiencing live opera for the first time.

Which brings me back to my point. If you've never been to an opera, this is perhaps the worst place to start. I am a curious person who is accepting of most musical genres and styles, but tonight I learned that Philip Glass's particular brand of minimalism really doesn't do it for me. His music is unrelentingly repetitious, pushing listeners to the point of boredom and eventually annoyance. You could tell the orchestra musicians were listless, too -- only minutes in, their playing grew tired and imprecise. The music would be fine for a film score, supporting visuals and action onscreen, but lacked the depth and momentum I have come to expect from opera, where music is the driving force. (My date and I both surmised that a straight-up concert performance might have been the best presentation.) There's only so much that an A-minor arpeggio has to say.

What may have been more troublesome for the neophytes in the audience is the fact that the title role of Akhnaten is sung by a countertenor. Operas employing this voice-type -- a man singing in a woman's range -- are generally not ones I would recommend for young children (easily confused) or males below the legal drinking age (infantile fratboys). My fear is that dozens upon dozens of kids in attendance will have been insufficiently prepared for the experience and subsequently freaked out by the strange man in Cleopatra eyeliner, singing like a girl. (I realize that this opera probably ties in with some school curricula that have been devised to take advantage of the King Tut exhibit, in Atlanta through May. I am grateful that opera is part of these children's education, but disappointed it wasn't a better, more engaging production.)

In this Atlanta Opera staging, the performers were about as dynamic as artifacts in a museum exhibit. (Incidentally, this setting provided the story of Akhnaten with modern-day bookends -- a heavy-handed tactic that was, frankly, lame.) That's not entirely their fault; the story has no fun or even sympathetic characters that we can laugh with or relate to. I don't think we heard everyone singing at his or her best, either. Soprano Kiera Duffy, playing Akhnaten's mother, Queen Tye, was under the weather and marked her performance, singing quietly an octave below where her part was written. A male trio of three advisors and priests lacked any semblance of balance in its ensemble singing, overwhelmed by the tenor; the opera chorus rushed and shouted its way through pages and pages of ah's. Don't even get me started on the orchestra brass.

In the end, I'm glad I went, if only to realize how vastly Philip Glass and apparently I differ in our conceptions of music, opera and drama. I'm interested to read the eventual review in the paper from Pierre Ruhe, one of the few remaining arts & culture types on staff at the AJC these days. Since Dennis Hanthorn took over directorship of the Atlanta Opera from William Fred Scott, nearly every production has been hailed a resounding success. I don't see how this could possibly qualify as such, at least in terms that go beyond the novelty of performing and selling tickets to late-20th-century opera in Atlanta.

[Editor's note: Indeed, Pierre gushed over Akhnaten, interpreting the sold-out event as an indication of Atlanta's ever-improving standing in the music world. What I found interesting about his review is that I agreed with pretty much everything he said about the production -- mostly stated as fact -- but we differed on one key point: he liked the music, and I did not. Minimalist masterpiece, you say? That may be so, but minimalist works should be held to the same standards of quality and musicality as more familiar pieces from earlier periods.]

I could tell you, but I'd have to kill you.

2009-01-19T23:23:00.007-05:00

Tonight, before our regular Monday evening rehearsal, Atlanta Symphony Orchestra President and CEO Allison Vulgamore came to speak to the chorus about our role in the 2009-2010 season. We had the privilege of being the first to hear the details this year, though we were sworn to secrecy, or at least tactful discretion, until the season is officially announced. Vulgamore and Robert Spano will meet with the orchestra musicians on Wednesday, and the rest of the world will be informed at 11 a.m. on January 27 via a live webcast. Spano, Vulgamore, Principal Guest Conductor Donald Runnicles and Board Chair Ben Johnson will host the announcement, with messages and/or appearances from some special guests.

It's no secret the past year has been particularly difficult for the arts, and recent headlines paint a bleak picture for the immediate future -- engagements are being dropped and productions cut at organizations all across the country. The ASO is not immune to these conditions. However, Vulgamore assured us that, as the board and the administration look to cut costs and stave off a deficit, they will make every effort "not to cancel the art."

In spite of hard times, it looks like next season will be phenomenal (or, pick one of the words Vulgamore used: joyful, thrilling, outrageous, super-cool). I'm excited about the repertoire we'll be performing, the conductors we'll be working with, and the audiences we'll be stupefying with our Shawian sleeve of sound. As Vulgamore told us tonight, the ASO is an institution of ensembles in great demand, and the season to come clearly supports her assertion. Tune into the webcast or check back here on January 27 for the good word.

Obamicon Jon

2009-01-15T15:09:00.002-05:00

Timesuck of the Day

2009-01-14T00:10:00.000-05:00

An alternate title for this post might be "How Paste Magazine is beginning to redeem itself of a year of busy-redesign overkill and subpar content," because Paste is the creator of my new favorite time-killer, Obamicon.Me. Whoever came up with this is a GENIUS. Even if it is the dude who likes five different fonts in eight different colors on one page.

Pretty much everything looks cooler Obamiconned. Take me, for instance:

BEFORE: Nice headshot. Meh.

AFTER: Pop art icon! Yeow!

Of course, making commemorative posters of myself was not the first thing I did with this exciting new procrastination tool. I tested it out on the family pets, starting with Emily's mischievous boys. (Note: The cat pictured in "RAAA" is actually named Bubba. Not Raaa.)

Leroy wins on inspiration, Bubba wins on ferocity, and Jake wins on just plain awesome. Here's one of my own docile Little Man. (I'm sure I can do better than this, but my iPhoto was taking its sweet time. It does have a sort of "Meet the Beatles" charm, though.)

The novelty wore off after an hour or two and I needed a break, but after a good night's sleep, I admit, I was back at it again. I'm still searching for the perfect shot of my Llama...

Office retreat

2009-01-06T17:16:00.003-05:00

Today's takeaway:

Best of 2008

2009-01-04T17:41:00.020-05:00

I intentionally delayed compiling a best-of list until after the new year because I was supposed to go to a kickass concert at the Variety Playhouse (owned by an alum of the 'Monster, as I just discovered) on New Year's Eve and I suspected it might make the cut. Finally! New year's plans guaranteed not to suck!

But alas, the Gods of Rock decided I had gotten more than my fair share of awesome in 2008 and conspired with the equipment on Jon's plane from Spokane to deny me the chance to ring in the new year with The Whigs, Band of Horses, and a sweaty throng of Chuck-Taylored dudes in indie-rock glasses and secondhand t-shirts. (The upside is that it was a really easy ticket to offload, so I didn't lose any money on the deal.)

Without any further ado, I offer up to the blogosphere my top eight concerts for 2008. (The two Atlanta Symphony Orchestra Chorus concerts are ones in which I performed, just to clarify.) Here's the breakdown, in chronological order:

1. The Whigs
Mission Control album release party
January 25, The Earl, Atlanta

Because headliners at the Earl start playing on the far side of really late, I and other early types stood through two mediocre openers before the Whigs plugged in: the Sammies, from Charlotte, and Wax Fang, from Louisville. I recall being wholly unimpressed by the former. The Earl is easily my favorite of all the venues where I've seen the Whigs play -- low ceilings keep the decibels high and a small space means the rowdy crowd has to get friendly (and watch out for sweat and spit flying from the stage). The new awesomeness of Mission Control got the audience just as riled up as the old chestnuts from the band's 2005 debut album. (Example: toward the end of the show, an ecstatic fratboy flung his PBR tallboy into the air, dousing me and the other folks at the front of the crowd in the process.) In summary, they rocked my face off.
photo: www.thewhigs.com - visuals

2. Peter Grimes by Benjamin Britten
with Anthony Dean Griffey
Donald Runnicles, conductor
Metropolitan Opera Live in HD
March 15, AMC Discover Mills 18, Lawrenceville

Similarly, the Metropolitan Opera's production of Britten's Peter Grimes rocked my face off, but in a big-screen sort of way. The Live in HD format has some advantages over being in the opera house, and this production is a case in point: while patrons at the Met were made to stare down a hulking wooden wall for the duration, multiple cameras enabled operagoers in multiplexes the world over to experience different angles, to see close-ups and wide pans, and to frequently ignore the fact that the size of the stage had been at least halved by the ginormous set piece. I should also mention that Anthony Dean Griffey and Patricia Racette gave incredible performances, both vocally and dramatically. I now own this on DVD and am beyond excited.
Photo: Sara Krulwich/The New York Times - nytimes.com

3. Colin Meloy
April 10, Variety Playhouse, Atlanta

Colin Meloy (of The Decemberists) is my new favorite. This solo show was loose and quirky and completely enchanting. In case you can't discern the detail from my high-quality cell-phone photo, to Meloy's left is a little round table with a bottle of red wine, a glass, and a strange little shrine that he picked up on a previous tour stop. Just a dude, his guitars, some booze... and a shrine. As you do. The music was sincere and pithy and the stories that filled the gaps amusing, but what struck me most was that Meloy came across as a totally normal guy -- one who really, really loves with what he does.

4. The New Pornographers
April 17, Georgia Theatre, Athens

I've come to the conclusion that The New Pornographers are one of the best bands on the face of the earth. There are many reasons for this, principal among which are:

Neko Case
singing in harmony
an accordion

This was the second time I had seen them in the space of six months. Now it's been about eight months and I think I'm going into withdrawal...

5. Requiem by Hector Berlioz
The Atlanta Symphony Orchestra Chorus with the Berlin Philharmonic
Donald Runnicles, conductor
May 15-17, Berlin Philharmonie, Berlin, Germany

Performing in Berlin with the Philharmonic under Donald Runnicles was an incredible thrill and a privilege -- it's difficult to even put into words. Each evening had its own strengths and weaknesses but, if pressed to pick one that stood out, I'd have to go with our final sing on Saturday. The best part was knowing someone in the audience -- my late grandpa's Berliner friends were there waving at me from the last row -- and hearing the people's reactions to the music afterwards. All I can say is that it was amazing, and I hope I have the chance to do it again in the near future.

I also had the opportunity to share the ASOC's Berlin experience with the folks back home in Atlanta as a writer for the Atlanta Journal-Constitution's now-defunct ATLarts blog -- you can find links to those dispatches here.

6. Pearl Jam
FRONT F***ING ROW (THANK YOU TEN CLUB)
June 22, Verizon Center, Washington, D.C.

Yep, that's me ON THE FRONT ROW. THE ENTIRE AUDIENCE IS BEHIND ME. I nearly started crying when the usher showed us to our seats -- they were dead, I mean DEAD center. On row 1.

Allow me to explain: Perl Jam's fan club, Ten Club, has always distributed concert tickets based on seniority. This particular eight-date mini tour marked the start of a new policy whereby the first four rows of seating are chosen randomly from the entire fan club pool. In short, there is a god, and he loves me very very much.

This is another concert experience that I can't really put into words, but in a totally different way than the previous one. From where I stood pressed against the security rail, Eddie Vedder wasn't 15 feet away from me. It didn't even feel like I was at a concert: all those things concerts normally entail for me -- standing on tiptoes, dealing with a purse, craning my neck to see the stage -- didn't apply. It was just me and Eddie, with naught but a security grate, a four-foot stage and some sound equipment between us.

So close was I that the shot below, taken with my trusty cell phone, was not zoomed in at all. I also made eye contact with Eddie Vedder on at least one occasion, prompting him to toss me a half-empty water bottle from which he had just taken a swig right before he launched into "Given to fly." At the end of the show, drummer Matt Cameron threw me one of his personalized Pearl Jam wrist-sweatbands. Toss in my ticket and front-row wristband and I've got a pretty sweet collection going.

To my left there was a thirty-something mom who had brought her 11-year-old son to the show as his first concert and had landed on the front row by the same stroke of luck Jon and I had. The band members were constantly chucking guitar picks at the kid. Eddie bent down at a couple points to ask him if he played guitar and was he any good, and during the encore they pulled him up onstage to play. !!! (Afterwards he and his mother got to go backstage. DAAHH.)

I still don't think I've fully processed the experience. Unbelievable. Epic.

7. Ra Ra Riot
October 10, The Drunken Unicorn, Atlanta

Ra Ra Riot, a band out of Syracuse University that was just starting to get good attention when I was in grad school there, has redeemed the fact that Northwestern produced exactly zero worthwhile groups during my time in Evanston. Like the New Pornographers, Ra Ra Riot is a larger-than-usual co-ed group with interesting instruments -- the two female members play electric violin and cello, respectively (not just tambourine). This date marked the second time I've seen them in Atlanta, the first being in August of '07 at Vinyl (photo is from that concert). At the Drunken Unicorn, the group was rolling out the material from its first full-length album The Rhumb Line, some new, some reimagined, all pretty damn awesome. If you haven't looked into Ra Ra Riot, do so posthaste.

8. Doctor Atomic by John Adams
The Atlanta Symphony Orchestra and Chorus
with Gerald Finley and Jessica Rivera
Robert Spano, conductor
November 21 and 23, Symphony Hall, Atlanta

If any of you has talked to me in recent months, you are probably aware that Doctor Atomic is my latest obsession. Gerald Finley (right, pounding a very watery martini) had me all aswoon from the moment I first heard him in the Met Opera Live in HD broadcast on Nov. 8, and the situation only got worse once he arrived in Atlanta. Nathan Gunn who? Finley is my new baritone love. Sigh...

But I digress. The ASO and ASOC, supporting singers largely from the recent Met production, mounted the opera in a "semi-staged" format -- often a difficult pill to swallow, in terms of concert presentation, and here the production's weakest aspect. In spite of a preponderance of park-and-bark blocking, Gerald Finley and Jessica Rivera were undeniably stunning in their well-worn roles. A sizable majority of the chorus detested the music, but I found that the more time I spent with it, the more brilliant and beautiful the score revealed itself to be. I was among the apparent few who were sad to have to turn in our scores -- although I was not at all sad to part ways with the staging.

Regardless of whether or not Doctor Atomic resonated with you, the fact that Bob Spano and the ASO challenge Atlanta audiences each season by programming top-quality contemporary works is something worth noting and supporting. (I reeeally wish the AJC hadn't discontinued its arts blog just before the performances took place because I would have loved to have heard more feedback.) As a performer, I haven't been this excited about anything in years. John Adams was there. The singers from the Met and the original production in San Francisco were there. The chorus worked its collective ass off and sang its role better than any other chorus has to date. The whole experience made me want to be a better musician and strengthened my resolve to find a way to make creative and cultural endeavors the focus of my professional life.

The stars of Doctor Atomic, with director James Alexander,
conductor Robert Spano, and composer John Adams.
photos: someone at the ASO (I got them off the chorus website)

Bring it on, 2009.

The coolest book event of 2009

2008-12-03T11:31:00.009-05:00

Great news, Atlanta! I've just received confirmation from Wordsmiths Books, my favorite local bookseller, that David Hajdu will be making a stop in Decatur on his upcoming tour to promote the paperback of his latest book, The Ten-Cent Plague: The Great Comic-Book Scare and How It Changed America. Hajdu is the music critic for The New Republic and currently a professor at Columbia University's Graduate School of Journalism. Back in '06 and '07, when he still lived upstate, he was a professor in the Goldring Arts Journalism program at Syracuse University, where we got to know each other. Mark your calendars for Thursday, February 12. More details to come...

This just in...

2008-12-02T14:15:00.007-05:00

About an hour ago I received a press release from the City of Atlanta in my Outlook inbox, updating me on the status of the municipal budget for fiscal year 2009. Turns out the status is pretty grim:

City Hall has projected a deficit of $50 to $60 million already. In order to soften the blow, the mayor has implemented a hiring freeze, mandated a 36-hour work-week for all employees in general fund departments (that includes police), and thrown $12 million in reserves in to help plug the hole. Those measures will amount to about $40 million. Where will the rest come from?

Three million dollars will be siphoned off from the Department of Parks, Recreation and Cultural Affairs. In addition to closing or reducing hours at dozens of rec centers and community pools, the city has axed the Atlanta Jazz Festival (along with "various arts programming"). Yes, the same Atlanta Jazz Festival headlined by Herbie Hancock in Piedmont Park in 2007.

Public Works also took a $2.5-million hit: recycling and yard trimmings will be collected every other week in the future, which makes my little tree-hugging heart sad. I would be remiss if I didn't also mention the more than 200 workers who are now among the jobless.

It's disheartening to watch the city I love struggle, and from so close a vantage point. I take some comfort in Atlanta's longstanding iconographic association with the phoenix. I hope that once we turn the corner on these dark economic times the city will be able to come back stronger than ever before.

UPDATE: I had the opportunity to participate in a discussion with Camille Russell Love, who clarified the situation. The Atlanta Jazz Festival will go on in 2009 and beyond, with the ultimate goal of becoming a freestanding non-profit, independent of the city's whims and financial crises. This year the festival will take place in Grant Park, and as of mid-December they had already raised funds equal to the entire 2008 budget.

Doctor Atomic, revisited

2008-11-24T21:30:00.005-05:00

For those out there who were unable to see the ASO's performances of Doctor Atomic this past weekend or catch it during its recent run at the Met, this post serves as a look-what-you-missed compilation, brought to you by the magic of YouTube. These scenes are taken from the DVD, released this September, of the production directed by librettist Peter Sellars at The Netherlands Opera (hence the Dutch subtitles; just ignore those).

Much of the casting was the same from that production to ours, but these clips feature only Jessica Rivera (Kitty Oppenheimer) and Gerald Finley (J. Robert Oppenheimer). Finley originated the role at the San Francisco Opera and has performed it in every production since: at the Netherlands Opera, seen here; with the Lyric Opera of Chicago; the Metropolitan Opera; the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra; and, in early 2009, he will appear in the role of Oppenheimer with the English National Opera.

If you did happen to see the semi-staged production, directed by James Alexander, in Atlanta, you might appreciate the excerpts from the bedroom scene, rendered more coherently here -- and taking place in an actual bedroom. (Semi-staged productions are almost always at a disadvantage, and ours was no different.) "Batter my heart" remains one of the most intensely exciting, wrenching arias ever written, and it was no less powerful in concertized form. The last clip is still more impossibly beautiful singing from Finley, my new favorite baritone. I haven't included any choral scenes in this rundown, mostly because we were much better than the chorus in Amsterdam.

The first two clips compose the bulk of the bedroom scene between Kitty and Oppenheimer. "Batter my heart" concludes the first act. "To what benevolent demon" comes late in the second act, just as the final countdown is about to begin.

"Am I in your light" - Jessica Rivera

"Long let me inhale deeply" - Gerald Finley

"Batter my heart" - Gerald Finley

"To what benevolent demon" - Gerald Finley

Oh, beatitude!

2008-11-21T14:40:00.005-05:00

Tonight is the first of two Atlanta Symphony Orchestra performances of Doctor Atomic, and I am SO excited. As I phrased it in an email intended to persuade my friends to come, I am Barack Obama excited about it. I have a feeling that in the wake of this concert series I might go into a bit of post-production withdrawal -- sort of like what happened in high school after a musical was over, only on a much more compressed time frame. I certainly won't miss rehearsing until 11 p.m. and beyond after a long day's work, but the sensation of being invested and immersed in a single work for such a long time (chorally speaking) is one I have not felt in a while. I've realized in these past months that I have missed that.

(photo from metopera.org)

the wafflelectoral map

2008-11-05T09:48:00.006-05:00

Strawberry waffles over blueberry? Really?

Looks like Texas got it right, for once. Georgia remains sadly misled.

Bake for Change!

2008-11-04T14:10:00.012-05:00

There may be a deeper chronicling of my latest culinary adventure posted here soon, but in the meantime, bask in my newfound fame as a featured baker/decorator of cakes on Yes We Cake.

Inspiration struck early Sunday morning as I prepared to sing at church - blue velvet cake for my election party! And since Georgia is rumored to be purpling, I decided I'd make it a Blue State Blue Velvet Cake. (Thanks to Matt and Tedd Lee for the scrumptious recipe.) Time will tell if my sugary soothsaying is accurate...

(more pics of the baking process can be viewed here)

UPDATE: As it has in five of the last six elections, Georgia went red -- 52.4 percent for McCain to 46.9 percent for Obama. (Non-spoiler Bob Barr won a whopping .7 percent of the vote.) My vision of a blue Georgia was only realized in icing this year. I see no need for further analysis of the cake prep process -- only viewing and admiring of its velvety blue interior!

We decided Southwest Georgia would be the first to go.
(I mean, Columbus? Albany? Cairo? All that Alabama border? Yeah.)

Blue has never looked more delicious.

Work just got a whole lot better...

2008-10-09T16:21:00.002-04:00

Family History

2008-09-23T21:32:00.005-04:00

This afternoon I was perusing the dozens of Jezebel articles on my Google reader and clicked on this one about Roe v. Wade. The hypertext in the second sentence caught my eye immediately, but not because it was blue - because I know Marsha and David King, the other two plaintiffs in the landmark case. They're in Atlanta now, and they're the parents of one of my oldest friends.

That link took me to an interview with Marsha. Needless to say, my mind was boggled. In principle it doesn't surprise me in the slightest, but I certainly didn't expect to learn, while poking around on the Internet at work, that my friend's parents are a significant part of our country's history.

3 1/2 years and 7 pounds of love

2008-09-16T21:12:00.013-04:00

Little Man, July 2005
4 months

On September 7, my cat Little Man turned 3 1/2 years old. (I've always been one for half-birthday celebrations. I blame my summer birthday.) Those of you who have met Little Man know that his is not just a clever name - I actually think I may have stunted his growth by naming him that, but, frankly, nothing else took.

Regardless of the cause, Little Man is a total runt: fully grown, he weighs 7 pounds on a tubby day. My sister's cats Bubba and Leroy (and cousin Lily Wolbe) are about twice his size.

In addition to being a runt, he is slightly cross-eyed.

Also, his front right pinky toe (if cats have pinkies, or toes) doesn't really retract, so he can't sneak up on anybody when hardwood floors are involved. Sometimes I call him Pegleg.

Little Man came into my life in May 2005, just over two months old, as an early graduation present from my parents. Most anyone who has recently finished college or experienced the early- to mid-twenties time of life will agree that these are not the easiest of years. I feel lucky that my steadfast kitty-friend has been with me through it all - and he doesn't even seem to resent me for moving him to Syracuse for a year.

In which I avoid bomb-related punnery...

2008-09-15T23:42:00.000-04:00

It's not uncommon to hear members of the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra Chorus wishing a Monday night rehearsal were over before it even started or cursing the intense performance-week schedule. I myself have cut back on my commitments to the group this season -- to be specific, I've dropped Chamber Chorus -- because I'm too young to be married to the chorus. Many members have been in the group longer than I have been ALIVE. This being the case, it's easy to imagine how one might take membership in this group for granted or see it as merely a routine task to be completed or a hurdle to be overcome in the course of the week.

In my relatively limited experience with this organization, though, there are always moments when it dawns on you what an amazing privilege it is to be a voice in the ASOC. To sing under Robert Spano and Donald Runnicles. To nit-pick every eighth note or quarter-tone with Norman Mackenzie, as agonizing as it is in the process. (It's especially easy for me to overlook the value of rehearsal with Norm since I see him roughly eight days a week, but he's a brilliant, exacting musical creature.) I've come away from each of our first two rehearsals with a sense of pride in my membership and profound excitement for the performances to come.

This season, as in others, we've got some old, lovely chestnuts of choral-orchestral repertoire on the docket, but the first performance of the "big chorus" will be a concert version of John Adams's 2005 opera Doctor Atomic, which makes its Metropolitan Opera debut this October. I first performed Adams last season and find the opera to be idiomatic with On the Transmigration of Souls in terms of harmony, rhythm and structure, but the libretto* is even more striking, for me, than the Sept. 11 inspired work. I love that there exists a man who hears music in these words and can make it seem totally natural that one would sing these phrases. Reading it now, I can't help but hear the words sing.

Here's a taste of the choral part, which begins the opera:

Overture

We believed that "matter can be neither created nor destroyed, but only altered in form." We believed that "energy can be neither created nor destroyed, but only altered in form." But now we know that energy may become matter, and now we know that matter may become energy, and thus be altered in form.

Act I, scene i

The end of June nineteen-forty-five finds us expecting from day to day to hear of the explosion of the first atomic bomb devised by man. All the problems are believed to have been solved, at least well enough to make a bomb practicable. A sustained neutron chain reaction resulting from nuclear fission has been demonstrated; production plants of several different types are in operation, building a stockpile of the explosive material. We do not know when the first explosion will occur, nor how effective it will be. The devastation from a single bomb is expected to be comparable to that of a major air raid by usual methods. A weapon has been developed that is potentially destructive beyond the wildest nightmares of the imagination; a weapon so ideally suited to sudden unannounced attack that a country's major cities might be destroyed overnight by an ostensibly friendly power. This weapon has been created not by the devilish inspiration of some warped genius but by the arduous labor of thousands of normal men and women working for the safety of their country.

This is going to be AWESOME.

*Libretto by Peter Sellars, drawn from original sources

Last night... was the most incredible night of my life

2008-09-03T23:16:00.014-04:00

By last night I mean, of course, this morning. This morning was among the most incredible mornings of my life, and not just because I successfully medicated my cat and have nary a scratch to show for it. No, today marked the grand opening of the Waffle House Museum, located in the restored original Waffle House restaurant in Avondale Estates, Ga. (just over the line from Decatur), and I was on hand to help celebrate.

Merely being witness to this event would have been enough, but by noon I had crossed another three names off my list of People I Must Meet In My Lifetime: Tom Forkner and Joe Rogers Sr., founders and patriarchs of the Waffle House chain, and S. Truett Cathy, developer of the chicken sandwich made famous by his Chick-fil-A restaurants. Three cornerstones of Southern fast food in one day! My little heart was bursting with joy, as you can see.

Tom and me!

Joe Sr. and me, outside the restored original restaurant.
(After we took this photo, he kept his arm around me and
said to his buddy, "If I'm gonna die, I might as well die
in the arms of a good-lookin' woman!" Score.)

Truett and me inside the museum. Bonus!
(He also gave me a signed copy of his latest book,
"How did you do it, Truett?" and a coupon for a free
chicken sandwich. I have totally been doing something right.)

Canny advertising...

2008-08-23T00:03:00.003-04:00

Who knew valet tags could be so useful?

Yard-to-table

2008-08-13T23:10:00.011-04:00

In case you didn't know it, my dad is a farmer. Lawyer by business hours, farmer by every other time of day. In the heat of the summer, he'll get up and tend to his tomatoes before breakfast. If there's a late freeze in spring, he gets out the tarps and space heaters to protect his peach crop. All the pains taken throughout the year ensure that we eat fresh from the garden -- even those of us no longer living under his roof -- as often as we can. Farm-to-table? Psshaw. It's all right in mom and dad's backyard...

Farmer Jim is SO ahead of the game.

Farmer Jim's famously fresh tomatoes,
in all manner of exciting shapes and colors

Homegrown apples make me happy. DELICIOUS.
Also, not the size of my head.

The Glenwood: Scharko Farms summer farm dinner

2008-08-06T23:10:00.000-04:00

On August 4, the Glenwood in East Atlanta Village hosted the first in its series of summer farm dinners, this one featuring produce from Fairburn's Scharko Farms. It was my turn to treat my mom and sister in our rotating ladies' night excursions, so I was more than happy to be checking out a fixed-price menu. Little did I know the Abernathy Lush in all of us would quickly negate that benefit.

With a set menu, you basically just sit down and they trot out the food for you. Our lovely waitress, whose name I don't recall, did an excellent job of describing each course and helping us select drink pairings. Without further ado, here is the menu:

FIRST COURSE
Heirloom tomato water with cucumber and basil ice sorbet

SECOND COURSE
Quail rillettes with field pea pistou

THIRD COURSE
Salmon on polenta, rattlesnake beans, crispy pork belly

FOURTH COURSE
Venison loin with sweet corn pudding and arugula salad

DESSERT
Raspberry napoleon with lemon verbena cream

I mean... It was all delicious, even the one that seemed dubious to me (hint: it involved cucumber sorbet). I was underwhelmed by dessert, to be honest, but courses 2-4 were pretty unbelievable. I don't believe I'd ever had quail before (pictured above), but I could eat that dish every day for the rest of my life and be perfectly content.

I'm not sure when the next of these dinners is, but the friendly folks at the Glenwood did tell us that they will be having a launch party for the local food guide in September - that will probably be something I'll check out. And then there's always the regular menu at the Glenwood that needs to be sampled...

The Poe ladies give the Glenwood farm dinner three thumbs up!

Guest-blogging gig

2008-05-19T12:11:00.003-04:00

Before I left for Berlin, I pitched the AJC on a from-the-road Berlin blog. At first it seemed like it might not work out, but with persistence and patience I was able to get it pushed through the night before our performances began. I will probably blog more here about the trip, but I wanted to link to my AJC debut in case you don't have occasion to visit ajc.com. Here they be!

1) Willkommen in Berlin!

2) One down, two to go

3) Alle gute Dinge sind drei

(All photos taken by yours truly. Except for that one I was in. I think Anne Marie's boyfriend David took that one...)

My favorite Scot! (Huch-hi!)

2008-05-16T11:52:00.004-04:00

Last night at the opening night afterparty I finally spoke with Donald Runnicles, however briefly. Turns out he was music director in Freiburg for about 5 years in the late '80s! So we talked about that, though I forgot to ask if he knows my voice teacher or voice coach from my Freiburg days. Anyway, Thursday's picture is of Donald and me at the reception. I love this man. He is BRILLIANT.

Fotografiert im Osten

2008-05-15T11:01:00.004-04:00

I went out wandering Tuesday morning before our first rehearsal with the Berliner Philharmoniker (I'm here with the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra chorus) in the east-side "artsy" neighborhood of Prenzlauer Berg. This is my favorite photo from that excursion:

yeah, hot dog!

More from Berlin later... For now, it's off to the Philharmonie!

Shake o' the Irish

2008-03-11T01:13:00.008-04:00

It's 1:15 a.m. on a Tuesday. In recent weeks I've attended many remarkable cultural events, but instead of writing about any of those things I want to articulate a personal mission, a goal to accomplish within the next week. St. Patrick's Day is fast approaching, as you know, but before the season is out, I pledge to locate, purchase and consume at least one Shamrock Shake. A post on www.shamrockshake.com informs me that they have been sighted somewhere in the Atlanta area...

It will be mine -- oh yes! -- it will be mine!

(Clearly I am a woman of high aspirations.)

Suggested viewing/reading

2008-01-24T00:10:00.000-05:00

1) "Lester Hobbs: Free Radical Hunter" in the POM Tea Video Contest

From 140 video entries into the POM Tea video contest, my brilliant friends' spot made the cut to the top 10 finalists. You can watch it here:

Now you should go immediately to http://www.pomvideo.com/ and vote for it! There are also three other award categories: Best Comedy, Most Original and Best POM Spirit. To vote for this masterpiece of short-form cinema, the YouTube username is "brockriggs" and the video title is "Lester Hobbs: Free Radical Hunter" -- this could be their big break!

2) Love is a Mix Tape, by Rob Sheffield

I read this a year ago when it first came out and loved it. I laughed a lot, I cried a lot -- the latter on a half-empty, snowy midnight Greyhound journey from New York City to Syracuse, awkwardly spotlighted by the ceiling-panel reading lamp. That was a sort of embarrassing/quite draining undertaking. Whew.

Tonight Sheffield came to Wordsmiths Books in Decatur, which is fast becoming one of my favorite places in town. He read a couple of chapters to a good-sized crowd (a few of his family members included) and then signed books as a local band geared up for an in-store set. As he read, I couldn't help smiling and laughing out loud, and I resolved to revisit Love is a Mix Tape -- just as soon as my sister finishes it, because I lent it to her as soon as I got home tonight. It's a quick, engaging must-read for anyone who loves pop culture, who has ever thoughtfully compiled a mix tape (or CD, or playlist, as the case may be) or who generally enjoys reading about the sometimes complicated, sometimes not-so-complicated lives of twenty-somethings -- and especially if you're a twenty-something yourself.

Me, Rob Sheffield and Jon at Wordsmiths

That's all for tonight... more soon.

So this is the new year (and I have some resolutions)

2008-01-01T00:01:00.000-05:00

sleep more

fret less

move out

laugh (heartily!)

sing (seriously)

be healthy

be joyful - seek the joy of being alive

Holiday onslaught 2007

2007-12-31T22:44:00.000-05:00

- A Photo Essay -

MJ's sweater party

gingerbread cheesecake!

Jon's first Poe party

Matt's swan song/grand exit

warm kitties

junior high would-have-been loves at
Brock's engagement party

DuPriest nutcrackers

Emily & Winny, a WaHo Christmas eve

Christmas day, in the morning

ornery, hissing Little Man

Jon in Idaho, shoveling the walk

postcard shot

new snow, beneath the trees

(post-)Christmas in Moscow

'bout damn time!

2007-12-13T23:36:00.001-05:00

I know, I know. It's been a while. I've been busy with lots of exciting things, among them a weekend jaunt to Costa Rica (and obligatory accompanying sunburn), my first 10k jog/bounce, fried turkeys (yes, that's plural), a hockey game, festive symphony concerts, fruitless shopping excursions and the first holiday parties of the season.

Now, all of that is well and good, but I've got some real excitement to share with y'all: The results of the 2007 I Love Waffle House Essay Contest are in, and I am a WINNER! [note: I am A winner, not THE winner.]

Last year my brilliantly crafted poetic tribute was spurned by the humorless judges, who favored my sister's 100-word entry over mine and awarded her a first place prize. (When they posted the results on their website, we discovered she had not in fact gotten first place, but third. They gave her the first place goods all the same. NICE.) My loving sister, sensing my dismay at this unwarranted rejection -- Waffle House even sent a letter apologizing for the fact that I hadn't made it into the pool of the top 275 submissions -- graciously gave me her free waffle coupons, which my classmates and I put to good use at a WaHo outside Scranton, Pa.

This year the rules changed, with a prescribed topic and a limit of 300 words. I nixed the verse and didn't broadcast my essay on my blog, waiting instead to hear the results before I went public so as not to jinx myself. I'm sure that's what happened last year...

I digress. I got a letter last week in a Waffle House envelope when I got home from symphony rehearsal informing me that I had been awarded a second place prize (one of about 50) in this year's essay contest! I only needed to fill out the enclosed affidavit certifying that I am indeed me (confirmed by my mother as witness) and send it back to claim my victory t-shirt and Waffle House prize pack. (Those should arrive in 6-8 weeks.)

So, without any further ado, I present to you my 2007 I Love Waffle House essay, about what my favorite Waffle House original song is and why. My dad asserted that there was no way an essay using the word "anthropomorphic" could win -- Ha! I sure showed him. Enjoy!

I Love Waffle House, 2007

Over my years of Waffle House visits, I’ve fallen into a routine: grab a booth, greet the salesperson and order a vanilla Coke, then dig four quarters out of my change purse and head for the jukebox. I’ve got a regular playlist of Patsy Cline, Elvis, Johnny Cash and the like. Some restaurants don’t stock all my usual tunes, but no matter the location or how old or newfangled the jukebox, I can always round out my selections with an original Waffle House song or two.

I admit there must be dozens of these ditties I have yet to hear. My Waffle House repertoire consists primarily of the songs on “Waffle House Jukebox Favorites, Vol. 1” – a gift from a WaHo breakfast buddy. Designed to resemble a waffle, the CD is one of my most prized recordings. It also started my ever-expanding collection of Waffle House paraphernalia.

Much to the chagrin of many Waffle House employees, “There are Raisins in my Toast,” holds a spot among my regular jukebox picks. I don’t even like raisins (or raisin toast), but the song – a riff on the hit “Sherry” by Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons – is catchy as all get-out.

On top of its exuberant call-and-response chorus, the song’s storyline creates an endlessly amusing mental picture: anthropomorphic raisins stroll across the counter, joke affably with the hungry customer who will soon devour them, then do a promotional song-and-dance number – all before breakfast!

It’s a little nutty, but that’s what makes it irresistible. Whether on my iPod or in-store, “Raisin Toast” conjures memories of roadtrips, Christmas Eve dinner at WaHo with my sister and that unmistakable feeling of waffle-induced euphoria. Employees might groan when they hear “Raisin Toast”, but deep down they love it, too.

Robert Spano, conductor of the year

2007-11-06T23:32:00.000-05:00

Monday evening's Brahms Requiem recording session ended with a surprising, ecstatic coda: ASO President Allison Vulgamore, along with various other ASO staffers, clattered onto the stage around 10:40, to the maestro's great consternation, as we were about to put down 10 seconds of ambience. The chorus and remaining orchestra members were then witness to the announcement that our very own Robert Spano was named Musical America's 2008 conductor of the year. Vulgamore & co. came prepared, with a rollout banner all ready to go:

Spano, along with fellow honorees Charles Rosen and Anna Netrebko
(among others), will be feted in NYC on December 13.

Spano was clearly floored by the announcement, especially since it came on the heels of a long and intensive recording session. It was a truly joyful and gratifying moment to be a part of.

It's always a thrill to work with Spano in performance, and recording is no different. Keep your eyes out for the ASO recording of Ein Deutsches Requiem (May 2008), because it's going to be phenomenal.

Reasons the New Pornographers are great

2007-10-31T00:29:00.000-04:00

see nos. 3, 4, 6, 9 and 11

1. they're Canadian

2. they used an instrument I couldn't identify

3. the lead guitarist plays a pointy guitar

4. each of the band members had a microphone (except for the bass player, who resembled Will Ferrell as depressed, unemployed Ron Burgundy and was busy drinking anyway, so that's OK) -- and used it

5. there are at least nine people in the band

6. the drummer, who is now on my list of favorite drummers

7. they're lo-tech -- they wore black earpieces and had their mic/monitor packs clipped visibly to their pants

8. they love what they do, and you can tell

9. Neko Case: not only a beautiful, earnest singer, but a heck of a tambourine player!

10. the other girl (Kathryn Calder) plays the accordion, among other things

11. harmony! lots of it!

see nos. 2, 4, 5 and 8

We've got a lunch (that's what I think of it)

2007-10-02T22:18:00.000-04:00

One of the perks of employment is that it sometimes includes lunch out. Better still, the company will often pay for said lunch, under the guise that "work" is being accomplished at the "offsite meeting." I had one such meal today at Tamarind Seed Thai Bistro, recently relocated to Colony Square from somewhere on 14th Street. I had heard raves from my sister and coworkers about this place, so I was excited to check it out.

I had a delicious dish of Pla-Lad-Prik -- baked grouper with a sweet-spicy sauce of minced shrimp and garlic. I think this snapshot of my side dish says a lot about the restaurant's attention to detail and quality, so I'll let it the food speak for itself. Beyond that, all I can say is that I will definitely be going back...

Seriously? They cut the carrots out into tiny bird-shapes? This place RULES.

This is a Public Service Announcement

2007-09-25T23:35:00.000-04:00

Due to the overwhelming (and overwhelmingly negative) response to my most recent post regarding Bob Dylan's performance on Sept. 22, I've decided to do away with anonymous commenting on my blog.

I have no problem with disagreement. In fact, I welcome other opinions and am very interested in discussing thoughts contrary to my own -- I think we all can learn a lot that way. So let's talk, OK?

Henceforth, in the spirit of good sportsmanship and lively debate, you'll have to let me know who you are before you go insulting my intelligence or impugning my professional integrity. (You could also tell me I'm brilliant and that you wholeheartedly agree with me, but you'll still need to give Blogger your name.)

Thanks for reading!

(P.S. - I'm not sure how opining that Bob Dylan gave an unexpectedly not good performance and suggesting that he is perhaps past his prime makes me an Eagles or a Britney Spears fan, but, just for the record, I am neither of those things.)

The jingle-jangle morning after

2007-09-23T13:11:00.000-04:00

Bob Dylan has got a major racket running. I can't say for certain how long it's been going on, since I only recently bought in, but Mr. Zimmerman has surely been laughing all the way to the bank for at least the last few years.

Last night, Dylan performed at the Arena at Gwinnett Center, a mid-size venue north of Atlanta that's part of a larger convention center complex. With a capacity of 13,000, there was plenty of room to spare. Initially this surprised me because of Dylan's iconic status, but he is forever touring, which probably cuts down on his per-show draw.

Now, I don't consider myself much of a Dylan fan -- I don't have any of his albums, and I probably only know his big hit songs -- but I felt like seeing Bob Dylan is one of those things any reasonably well informed music critic should do before the man dies or stops touring, whichever happens first. What sealed the deal was the opening act: Elvis Costello. With these things in mind, I approached Saturday's concert with high hopes for a legendary concert -- or at least a good one. The odds were in my favor after Costello's stellar opening set, but it was immediately apparent once Dylan mounted the stage that this was not to be.

His arrival onstage was heralded by a bizarre, garbled announcement over the sound system. Tottering across the stage on toothpick legs, Dylan, in a black suit and tan cowboy hat, assumed his position front and center before a five-man backup band attired in matching gray suits. A guitar hanging across Dylan's shoulders on a glittering strap went mostly unplayed for two songs before he gave up that charade, opting instead to pretend to play a keyboard. Thereafter he stood bobbing up and down at a gray console that gave no evidence of being plugged in. Each song came in one of two forms that dominated the eventing: insipid, adult-contemp balladry or a sloppy, soulless 12-bar blues.

The audience clapped and howled its approval every time Dylan reached a chorus (oh that's what this song is...Woooo!) or blew into his harmonica. The second tune of the evening was "Don't Think Twice, it's Alright," by all previous accounts an excellent and poignant song. Here, however, Dylan croaked along arhythmically while his band barreled through, throwing in half-hearted guitar licks and nonsensical drum fills wherever they saw fit. The musicians seemed to be each in his own different world -- but as bad and unmusical as the whole outfit was, the drummer was unparalleled in his hackdom, hardly able to maintain a steady beat. (A cousin or nephew, perhaps?) And, just for the record, the way Dylan sang "Just like a woman" will give me nightmares for weeks.

The songs kept coming in much the same manner for the next hour. I know the man can't really sing and has famously indecipherable diction, but he truly made no effort. Not at playing, not at singing -- or even at being a gracious host. Not once did he address the audience members, who had shelled out at least $40 a pop to see him.

After nearly an hour of unrelenting aural assault, I asked myself what I was doing still there. I had hopes that the band would depart the stage, leaving Dylan alone to strum his guitar for the audience. Or maybe Costello would return and a mind-boggling collaboration of two rock greats would unfold before my very eyes. At this point, it wasn't worth it to me to find out.

It's shocking that someone known for controversial and pointed lyrics doesn't seem to care if anyone understands what he has to say. Dylan clearly doesn't perform to serve his texts, nor does he strive to serve the music -- that was woefully apparent through the band's uniform treatment of every song. The only thing Dylan is trying to serve here is his bank account, and he's got a pretty good scam going.

On the upside, Elvis Costello was excellent. On stage alone with four guitars to choose from, he delivered straightforward, honest, impassioned music, making the vast room feel a little more intimate. He addressed the audience -- he even went so far as to specify the arena's Duluth location, avoiding the general and assuredly more common "Atlanta" designation -- and thanked the crowd before leaving the stage. I feel truly sorry for those who showed up late and missed the opening set.

Costello almost made it worth the price of tickets, but not quite. If any of you were planning on catching this tour, save your money. Go buy Dylan's acclaimed albums instead, and then wait for Elvis Costello to announce a solo tour.

Speaking of Waffle House...

2007-08-30T14:18:00.000-04:00

It's that time of year again, folks. Yes, you guessed it: the second annual I Love Waffle House Essay Contest. You blog faithful will surely remember my poetic mastery of the 100-word essay for last year's competition, which was not only (wrongly) overlooked, but lost out to an (assuredly inferior) essay submission by my older sister. We weren't speaking for a while, but Emily and I buried the hatchet when she offered me her free waffle coupons.

But this year -- oh, this year! The powers that be have graciously increased the word count to 300 AND provided guidance for those parties so overwhelmed with love for WaHo that they simply wouldn't know where to begin. The topic? What is your favorite Waffle House song and why? The prize? Not just a WaHo prize pack, but a JACKET. This was made for me.

It will be mine. Oh yes! It will be mine.

Happy National Waffle Day!

2007-08-24T14:13:00.001-04:00

Today, August 24, is National Waffle Day! [Not to be confused with INTERnational Waffle Day, which falls on March 5, or National Waffle Week, Sept. 2-8 this year.] In honor of this momentous celebration of what may well be the best breakfast food ever, I treated myself to a Waffle House lunch at the intriguing new Waffle House on Sidney Marcus Boulevard.

What first caught my eye about this particular unit, located at the corner of a big-box strip off of I-85 in town, was its shape. Instead of a long, rectangular building, this is a tall, square-shaped structure. Pat Warner, director of Waffle House communications, informed me back in 2005 that the restaurants are built using one of two layouts with the grill out front and a maximum capacity of 44 patrons. On the inside, this one actually reminded me of my friendly Yankee WaHo road stop in Clarks Summit, Pa. As at every Waffle House I've ever been to, the seating area forms an L-shape around the kitchen; but at these newer locations, the bathroom is a right-angle hallway off the long end, making the customer area a U-shape, as opposed to just extending the long end of the L straight back and having the bathroom adjacent to the employees-only section of the restaurant. (I hope that made sense.)

So, with that mystery solved, I set about ordering my usual -- waffle; hashbrowns scattered, covered, chunked -- when what should catch my eye but a revamped waffle selection! (Swank new locations around Atlanta, usually company-owned, often serve as test locations for new menu items; this one had a biscuit menu, too!) I asked the waitress what the new "Lite" buttermilk waffle was all about. Turns out it's made with buttermilk as opposed to the sweet cream in the original recipe. When I asked if she'd tried it, she replied that she hadn't even entertained the notion because she hates buttermilk. Fair enough. Ever curious, I decided I'd try it...

Minutes later, my waffle arrived, crisp and brown and made with one of those awesome irons that stamp the Waffle House logo into the waffle. (See photo at top.) I cut my waffle into little squares, as is my custom, and dug in, hoping for a delicious revelation in breakfast-time nutrition. Sure, the cooked waffle looked as though it had been made with a lighter batter than the original recipe, but I think the real key to the lite-ness of this edition is the fact that it is SO SOUR you can't eat more than three bites. You know how you check, double-check and triple-check a carton of buttermilk every time you use one because it smells like it's gone bad even if you just bought it? Yeah. That's what this tasted like. (Not only that, but the underside of my waffle and its insides bordered on uncooked. Goo.)

In the end, I summoned my waitress and put in for an original sweet cream waffle, calories be damned. Go big or go home, right? Before the jukebox tune was through, a golden, pillowy waffle was placed before me, steaming hot off the iron. Heaven.

Oh Waffle House, what would I do without you?

Getting to know me

2007-07-09T13:35:00.000-04:00

My fellow Goldring graduate Raquel hit me with this meme via her blog, Electric Warrior. This provides a chance for you, dear readers, to gain a fuller understanding of what makes me tick, aside from things musical and taking pictures of my cat.

But first, THE RULES:

1. We have to post these rules before we give you the facts.
2. Players start with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
3. People who are tagged write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.
4. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.

So, here are eight of my deepest, darkest secrets. Kind of.

1. I collect spoons. Yes, the kitschy, touristy kind. If you are the type to buy presents for friends when traveling and consider me a friend worthy of gifting, let it be known that I am generally quite pleased to receive new additions to my collection.

2. I have a strange and somewhat inexplicable obsession with Waffle House restaurants. Stranger still is the fact that, for the first three years or so that I recall eating there with some regularity, I only ordered grilled cheese sandwiches. I distinctly remember being miffed that they didn't offer french fries to complement my anytime meal of grilled cheese and chocolate milk; just those hashbrown things. What was I thinking?

3. I met Bono once. We spoke briefly, and he put his arm around me. I have photographic evidence of this. (I also met the Edge and Adam Clayton. This makes me cool.)

4. I still hold the record for 7-and-under girls' 25-yard backstroke at the Brittany Club, my old neighborhood pool. I mean, 17 years and they still haven't broken my record? I am awesome.

5. My "friends" cast me as Tina Turner singing "Proud Mary" in the finale of my high school's Black History Month production in 2001, complete with orange wig, red fringe dress, and stage full of backup dancers. Unfortunately, I had no Ike -- and I certainly didn't have the legs for the job, either.

6. Although I fancy myself something of a photographer -- I was photo editor of my high school's enormous yearbook -- I don't know much about the manual operation of my Canon Rebel 2000, nor can I develop my own pictures.

7. I was a driver in John Edwards's motorcade in Atlanta the summer before the 2004 election. They gave me a Kerry/Edwards Atlanta staff badge and a secret service lapel clip and, unsurprisingly, assigned me to chauffeur the veterans.

8. I love circus peanuts.

There you have it. Because I don't know eight bloggers, or at least eight who haven't yet been named, here's my abbreviated list of who's next on the docket (apologies for any duplications):
Abby at People Say She's Crazy
Tricia at fshhh...
Brock at 214 Studios
Jon at Noise Forest
Dave at Sincere Syllables
Bob at The B-Zone

I'll be checking up on y'all...get to it!

Karaoke by flashes of lightning

2007-07-02T23:54:00.000-04:00

Goodnight, Syracuse

2007-06-29T22:21:00.001-04:00

What a year it's been...

Breathe easy, ATL

2007-06-10T23:39:00.000-04:00

Alex Ross, the classical critic for The New Yorker, has been in contact with the folks at the Atlanta Journal-Constitution in an attempt to clear up the confusion surrounding the staff shake-up and its effects on arts coverage. Check out his findings here.

Things aren't nearly as bad as they seemed, and this is certainly the best handling of the situation I've encountered thus far. So, Atlantans, take heart: when the dust settles a few months from now, the paper could emerge a better publication for all the tumult...

Fruity Cheerios: Cheeri-eww

2007-05-27T17:46:00.003-04:00

I went to the grocery store yesterday in search of staples that would sustain me through a long period of intensive, in-apartment work, restocking the kitchen with the knowledge that not only would I not be leaving town on a weekly basis anymore, but that I'd also be chained to my desk for much of the coming weeks. On my list? Cereal.

Certain cereals have been problematic for me in the past, so I went with an open mind, the nonspecific "cereal" scribbled on my list. I wanted to avoid something like the delicious, environmentally responsible varieties of Barbara's Puffins, which, too easily assimilated into the realm of finger food, tend to spell disaster for me; I also wanted to stay out of the Lucky Charms trap. Last summer, at age 23, I developed a fiendish addiction to them - an affliction I blame entirely on the "free song on iTunes!" promotion splashed across the front of the box, which, to be frank, is already enticing enough for me.

What I was looking for was a happy medium, which led me to Fruity Cheerios. The latest in an ever-expanding line of Cheerios cereals, this is to General Mills what the "Pink" line of lingerie is to Victoria's Secret - an early builder of brand allegiance. Once consumers graduate from the bright colors and fun patterns, they'll trust the name they grew up with. Alternatively viewed, it's the health-minded parent's answer to the would-you-like-some-cereal-with-your-sugar confections their children pitch fits over in the aisle. The box even imitates that of its model cereal, Froot Loops, with brightly colored Os zestfully splashing into a spoonful of milk on a vibrant red background. With whole grains, real fruit juice, less sugar, and dietary fiber to boot, Fruity Cheerios promised a responsible balance of fortification and breakfast-time fun. (But be warned: the back-of-the-box games are lame: "Which Fruity Cheerios® flower has a bigger yellow center?" Please.)

Inside the box, though, I found nothing but disappointment. True, these Cheerios were less finger-foody than Puffins or even any other Cheerio on the market - but that was mostly on account of the cereal's glaze, a hard, clear shellac that is entirely to the detriment of the cereal. (Well, maybe not entirely - I think it's responsible for the lack of the weird sugary film that other fruity cereals like Fruity Pebbles leave on the roof of your mouth.) Cosmetically, the glaze made the cereal look plastic. Combined with the irregularly sized, anemic Os (ironic, given that one serving provides 25% of your daily iron needs!), it makes for a pretty sad picture in the bowl. Handling the cereal sans spoon was an unpleasantly sticky endeavor, as well (all the better to keep me from snacking, but unfortunate all the same). Finally, because of their crystalline crust, Fruity Cheerios lack the hearty, whole-grain mouthfeel of any of its Cheerio kin and lack any semblance of flavor; not only do they look plasticky, they sort of taste it, too. Blech.

After sampling from the box to these disappointments, I had hoped that the cereal might fare better with milk. This was not to be, however, as my milk (whose expiration date is tomorrow, by the way) had gone bad. That question will have to be answered another day. In the meantime, I'd recommend that you go buy yourself a box of Froot Loops. Toucan Sam takes the day, any day.

(image courtesy of cheerios.com)

Premiere!

2007-05-19T16:51:00.000-04:00

This week I drove to New York for what was probably my penultimate NYC-bound roadtrip to do some work on my capstone/thesis project. The main event was the world premiere performance of the complete (In)Habitation: Musical Settings of Margaret Atwood Poetry on Thursday night, a project conceived, commissioned and performed by the fabulous and lovely soprano Eileen Strempel (below, right) and pianist Sylvie Beaudette.

Me & Eileen

Four of the six commissioned composers were there for the performance at St. Bartholomew's (at 51st and Park Ave), which attracted a decent crowd even without the clutch of SU trustee-types sitting in the chapel's front pews.

I had a chance to meet up with composer Lori Laitman and song expert Dr. Carol Kimball the next morning and interview them about their involvement in the project for my capstone story. I'm pretty far along in the reporting and info-gathering stages, but after this weekend, the capstone work begins in earnest - especially now that I'm parked back in Syracuse with no further rehearsals or concerts to observe or attend.

If you're interested in Margaret Atwood, check out her poetry if you've not before - it's pretty interesting (even for the Atwood-uninitiated, like me). And be sure to keep your eyes out for a recording of this Atwood-in-song project, because they'll be recording it this summer.

Sticking up for Atlanta arts coverage

2007-04-23T11:25:00.000-04:00

Publisher's Weekly reports that the currently-restructuring Atlanta Journal-Constitution has cut its books editor (see story copied below). In the most recent poll, Atlanta was ranked #15 on the list of the country's most literate cities - what kind of message is the paper sending with this decision? If you are at all distressed by the prospect of replacing a local critical voice in the Atlanta paper with wire-service copy, please take a moment to sign the online petition here.

Atlanta Journal Constitution Cuts Book Review Editor Job

By Lynn Andriani -- Publishers Weekly, 4/18/2007 2:34:00 PM

Following a major restructuring of its newsroom, the Atlanta Journal Constitution has eliminated the books editor position formerly held by Teresa Weaver. However, Mary Dugenske, the paper’s director of communications, said, "We will continue to publish our arts and book section every Sunday." Dugenske said Weaver has been offered to apply for another job within the organization.

The newspaper announced impending staff changes in February, citing its desire to better support its online presence. Dugenske said that since that restructuring, more than half of the jobs in the paper's newsroom have changed. "Its not just a books thing," she said. "It’s affecting all of our editors."

The newspaper’s editor, Julia Wallace, said, "We’re not changing our books coverage" but that Weaver, "along with half the staff, is reapplying for a job."

Um, OK...

2007-04-20T16:07:00.000-04:00

What I want to know is, how did Eddie Izzard get lumped in with this crowd? Nevermind Robert Kennedy, Jr. ...

Yikes.

************

Sanjaya to attend D.C. dinner

4/20/2007, 3:07 p.m. EDT The Associated Press

NEW YORK (AP) — Sanjaya Malakar, who was just voted off "American Idol," could meet President Bush on Saturday. Malakar is attending the White House Correspondents Association Dinner in Washington. He's a guest of People magazine.

Bush will be attending the annual dinner.

Malakar will share a table with People magazine's other guests, Valerie Bertinelli, Zac Efron of "High School Musical," comedian Eddie Izzard and Robert Kennedy Jr.

Peace up, A-town down

2007-04-17T18:08:00.000-04:00

It's been nearly a month since I returned from my spring break adventures abroad, so by last weekend it was about time to get out of town again - and clearly to some place warm. Where better to go than HOTlanta? (what what!) Jon graciously agreed to come with me and endured me dragging him around my old stomping grounds for a few days with a smile on his face (of course, the Atlanta Symphony and Braves tickets I threw in sort of sweetened the deal).

I've gotta say our timing was brilliant; we left town just before a mean ol' Nor'easter blew in, walloping Syracuse with about 8 inches of snow. Georgia's April weather wasn't entirely peachy all weekend (see pictures from the blustery Braves game on an overcast, 45-degree Sunday afternoon), but Thursday, Friday and Monday's restorative sunshine worked wonders while it lasted.

In summary, here are a few ATL sights for your enjoyment:

Peachtree Street, 6:48 p.m. Thursday. The interior is logoed to match.
Dude's rearview was shaking from the bass. Pretty awesome.

Looking from balcony no. 2 of Dad's new office digs at the Cobb Energy Centre,
the new venue for Atlanta Opera performances, scheduled to open this fall.

Looking at the downtown skyline from balcony no. 1 -
it's a little hazy, but it was a gorgeous day.

Braves game, Sunday afternoon. Um, it was 45 degrees. And WINDY.
But the AMAZING seats kinda made up for it. Yeah.

Reformed Yankees (Midwesterners, actually) enjoying the Braves game
despite the rather frigid conditions. Erin (Wisc.) is a senior at SU and a
fellow former Post-Standard intern whose folks moved to Atlanta in the fall;
John (Mich.) is nowin his second year of Emory Law - he said "y'all" once
in the course of conversation and it just warmed my little heart.

CHIPPAH!

Jon, ever the good sport, bundled up in sundry retired Poe-family
outerwear, and me in my awesome, on-sale old school Braves hat.

Happy Easter from Syracuse

2007-04-08T17:16:00.000-04:00

0.6" and counting...

Totally UN-kewl

2007-04-05T23:58:00.000-04:00

One of the many e-newsletters in my inbox today pointed me to an article at Folio magazine detailing a new magazine aimed at the so-called "tween" demographic. Magazine launches these days are often accompanied by a prediction of how long the new titles will last, given the imminent death of the printed word and the rise of internet culture. And, although it is a lovely gesture to devote an entire magazine to 10-12 year old girls, I am vehemently opposed to this one, before even considering its content.

Why, you might ask? You only have to look at the title: KEWL.

KEWL, published quarterly, will focus on celebrities (start 'em young!) and music (better - but it's probably not good music), and is part of a multi-platform brand that will include a TV show, Everything Kewl, and an interactive website, kewlmag.com

But the multi-pronged attack isn't the issue here. In case you're confused (and if you're above the age of 20 or so, you probably are), "kewl" is synonymous with "cool," pronounced the same way. Hypothetically, it's the same word. For reasons unknown, the former, alternative spelling proliferated when the instant-messaging craze took hold of middle school students across the nation, negating years of Wordly Wise drills and obliterating the spelling skills of American youth.

What editor/literate person thought it was a good idea to sanction internetspeak for use in the real world by adopting KEWL as a brand? (One that targets an incredibly impressionable age group, at that.) Journalists - if this counts as journalism - ought to be more responsible than this. Adults in general ought to be more responsible than this, for the sake of educated youth and the future of American culture.

"Cool" is just a small word, and one of thousands employed in the parlance of our times; but when kids either can't or refuse to spell simple, monosyllabic words correctly, prospects for the future of intelligent publications start to look pretty bleak.

Abbreviated spellings and unfortunate phonetic interpretations tailored for internet use have distorted the written teenage vernacular, resulting in a popular lexicon of un-words. I for one hope Kewl is a spectacular failure (or at least an unsuccessful launch). If writers - of all sorts - don't stand up for the integrity of words and language, who will?

What Kathleen's been up to...

2007-04-02T20:02:00.001-04:00

"Julius Caesar" at Dublin's Abbey Theatre

2007-03-14T10:36:00.000-04:00

In most modern productions of Shakespeare’s “Julius Caesar,” Mark Antony’s famous oration brings the first act to a close. At the Abbey Theatre’s uneven production Tuesday night, it might as well have ended the entire show – it seemed as if an entirely new one began after intermission.

Music from Handel’s “Giulio Cesare” lent a sense of weight and solemnity to what would soon unfold onstage as the audience filtered in. This sober tone permeated Jon Bausor’s set and costumes throughout the first act, but this elegance was lost entirely in the second.

The set in the first act, consisting of light grey panels that extended to the ceiling, was easily manipulated in concert with Paul Keoghan’s outstanding lighting design to evoke diverse locations and atmospheres. Openings in the wall panels defined architecture and entryways; lighting from the sides of the stage created dramatic contrasts and, with director Jason Byrne’s adept blocking, cast moody, telling shadows.

Thoughtfully rendered in layers of dusty neutrals, the costumes were neither particularly ancient nor particularly Roman; they did nothing to pin down a temporal context for the play. But that may have been the point – political strife is not restricted to any one era, after all. When Caesar appeared in the senate to accept the crown, the costumes became more historical: draped, cream-colored fabrics, accented in purple and gold, lent a sense of formality to the proceedings.

These elements contributed to the general seamlessness of the first half, even as time passed and locations changed. Buoyed by moments of Shakespearean elegance, the first act crescendoed to Antony’s well-known speech. In spite of the loutish Antony’s (Aidan Kelly) awkward declamation, the affective energy of the crowd of plebeians onstage, but 25 people strong, lent the scene its stirring passion.

Perhaps it was the change to darker scenery, the turn to military action, or the encampment of snickering adolescent boys filling the back rows of the theater – most likely it was a confluence of these conditions – but the second act failed to captivate as the former had. The minimalism of the first act gave way to busier costumes (complete with armor and capes), more synthetic sounds, and a plethora of props in the second – although some semblance of the first act aesthetic was retained in the lack of a backdrop to cover the stage wall or legs to hide the lights. When measured against the austerity of the first act, these elements served as distractions more than anything else, and heightened the jarring sense of detachment.

Despite this disparity, many players were constant in their performances across both acts. As Cassius, Frank McCusker bellowed and conspired with fiery fervor, entirely convincing in his radical actions. Declan Conlon’s Brutus was appropriately less volatile, but his nuanced performance occasionally suffered from a surfeit of energy and soft-spoken lines. Initially bringing some comic relief, Peter Hanly’s Casca, strangely bespectacled, was the most sympathetic conspirator of them all.

But for all these players’ talk, the actor with the greatest presence had the fewest lines of all. All rolled R’s and hissing S’s, Robert O’Mahoney played Caesar with a charismatic swagger. Unfortunately, when he died before intermission, he took the best of this production with him.

Thank God for Peter Gelb

2007-02-24T17:04:00.000-05:00

I just had the most moving opera experience of my life.

In a movie theater.

In the Carousel mall.

Today the Met broadcast Tchaikovsky's Eugene Onegin into movie theaters the world over, starring American household-name soprano Renee Fleming as Tatiana, opposite Russian baritone Dmitri Hvorostovsky in the title role.

(As I watched, rapt, a thought flickered briefly across my mind: why did I give this up, again?

Oh, right. Because I'm not Renee Fleming.)

I went not only because I'd never seen the opera, but also because I'd never seen Renee Fleming in action. Sure, I'd heard some recordings, seen a PBS gala performance or something, and read roughly 4/5 of her book (note to Mom: can you ship that to me?), but I've never, until today, seen the goods to back up all the fawning praise. This is probably not a secret to anybody who knows anything about opera, but Fleming is indeed all she's cracked up to be, and twenty times more. As a 48 year-old woman playing a girl of 16, Fleming was utterly convincing. More than that, her portrayal was effortless, natural. There are very few vocalists I've ever seen who can make opera-singing look unaffected, even conversational (or any sort of singing, for that matter), and Fleming's impressive showing sets an incredibly high standard for other performers of her stature.

Not to mention that she is an irresistibly gorgeous, elegantly expressive singer. It's not that she upstages her costars; everything about her is captivating. Her charisma seems expansive enough to translate to the back rows of the Met, for sure, but the movie theater experience provides an intimacy here that is unattainable in the opera house; Fleming's expressive eyes amplified every emotion. Fleming reads so well on a movie theater screen because the passion with which she infuses her role is not overwrought melodrama; rather, she acts and reacts intensely, as a normal person would, free of contrivance or artifice.

Vocally, Fleming's performance was smooth and seamless. I'm no Russian scholar, but to my ear, her diction sounded at times like French rather than Russian - that might be my only inexpert complaint. But, since I didn't understand the language anyway, I was more than happy to let the lush legato of indiscernible syllables wash over me. Fleming's voice has a lovely color to it from top to bottom, and it seems well suited to Tchaikovsky's music.

As Onegin, the silver-haired Hvorostovsky gave an equally impassioned and impressive performance. Also playing a much younger character, Hvorostovsky was boyish and headstrong, the archetypal cocksure twenty-something male. Onegin begins the opera as such, patronizing and cold in his exchanges with the bookish Tatiana. In the second act, Hvorostovsky demonstrated commendable range as a singing actor, from a smarmy seducer to a listless youth to a man crazed and consumed by an impossible, tumultuous love.

Both leads were spellbinding in their roles, yet so natural I felt as if I weren't watching theatrics of any sort, just observing a real-life tale unfold. As the poet Lenski, the man who introduces Onegin into the story, tenor Ramon Vargas sang confidently and with a touching sincerity; Olga, the object of his affections and Tatiana's sister, was playfully sung and acted by mezzo-soprano Elena Zaremba. These four main characters carried the production, but the supporting cast and chorus certainly pulled their weight.

I've seen a fair amount of opera productions in my day, in houses all across Europe and from respected American companies, but none as memorable as this performance. Maybe it was the immediacy, or the intimacy; or maybe Fleming and Hvorostovsky are just that good. All I know is that goosebumps rippled down my arms on more than one occasion, and the climactic moment at the very end of the opera (perhaps Tatiana's highest note sung) was so intense that, had I not been in a very public place surrounded by complete strangers, I would have burst into very messy tears.

Those of you who missed it, fret not: the Met has encored every opera so far, I think, and this should be no exception. You can find information on this and other movie theater broadcasts on the Met's website.

GO. Especially if you've never seen an opera. You will not regret it.

Not from around here, are you?

2007-02-17T16:47:00.000-05:00

Johanna Keller, director of my graduate program, is herself a displaced Southern gal with roots in North Carolina. When she moved from New York City to sleepy Syracuse a few years ago, she found she was initially disheartened by the unremitting winter weather; but she and her husband soon learned to love the snow by taking up showshoeing. Realizing that many of the AJ cohort are not accustomed to such inclement weather, Johanna takes every opportunity to enthusiastically encourage us to love the snow. Love it!

This afternoon, I tried. I tried, and I failed.

Witness my feeble attempt at a snowman on my apartment balcony:

As you can see, I hit a few snags in the process. In my windstop fleece-gloved hands, the snow wouldn't pack properly into a spherical shape. This was easy enough to work around for the base and midsection of my snowman, but his head proved problematic.

I set aside my gloves and discovered, to my great delight, that it was much easier to make a tightly packed snowball between two bare hands. I affixed my snowman's head atop his body and lovingly wrapped a scarf of scrap yarn around his non-neck. So far, so good.

I had to work quickly, as I was losing feeling in my fingers. I shook out some Ghirardelli chocolate chips from the bag and attempted to give him eyes. His right eye took just fine, but the left refused to stay put, and any time I applied some force, a chunk of his face would fall to the concrete. Three tries yielded the same result. I moved onto the nose - a half-eaten baby carrot - which posed the same problem as his left eye. Every time I'd get his nose to stick, an eye would pop out.

At this point, I couldn't feel anything in my hands but the burning of extreme cold. Defeated, I decided to head back inside; but I COULD NOT OPEN THE DOOR. Did I seriously shut my sock-footed self out on a 12th-story porch just so I could build a mini-snowman friend? I cursed the sliding porch door mechanism - not a handle at all, but a 3/4" deep vertical groove, useless in times of a dexterity crisis. After about two minutes of blowing on my hands in my sweatshirt sleeves, I regained some feeling in my fingers and slid open the door to my warm, welcoming apartment.

All said, my snowman could certainly be worse. At least he has a complete body, and a scarf to keep him warm. Maybe he's just a pirate snowman, minus the eyepatch. Next time, though, I'm leaving the door cracked.

The Adventures of Little Man

2007-02-16T01:14:00.000-05:00

Tonight, my cat, Little Man, got himself wound up in a Borders shopping bag that hadn't yet made it to the Land of Empty Bags (aka my coat closet). For nearly fifteen minutes, I heard a persistent rustling from the other room, during which time Little Man evidently determined that he couldn't disentangle himself on his own. Head through the handle of the bag, he crept into the living room, parked himself nonchalantly by the coffee table, and waited for help to arrive.

Naturally, my first instinct was to laugh out loud, followed immediately by retrieving my camera. After a brief photo session (for my first foray into catblogging), I helped him out of his plastic bag predicament.

He certainly does carry it well though - doesn't he look like a superhero? It's almost like he did it on purpose. Now all he needs is a theme song. And perhaps some magical powers.

Restaurant Re-creations, vol. 2

2007-02-15T22:07:00.000-05:00

In a previous dispatch from the NYC food field, I blogged about the unbelievable deliciousness that is Sylvia’s banana pudding. Well, thanks be to God and the Internet, because I was able to locate what purports to be the recipe of Sylvia herself with minimal reconnaissance work. Upon discovering said recipe, I got myself to the store as soon as I could to gather the ingredients. Given the proximity to February 14, I decided to make this a homemade sort of holiday and whipped up a Valentine’s batch of Sylvia’s banana pudding for my Puddin’. (Awww.)

Once you get past the alarming hue, it's really quite delicious!

To my great delight, I was able to replicate, more or less, the delectable dessert we devoured in Harlem. Since this restaurant re-creation recipe is not as readily apparent as the first, I give you my edit of the recipe I found online for Sylvia's Banana Pudding:

2 cups milk
4 tbsp unsalted butter (1/2 stick)
1 cup sugar
½ tsp yellow food coloring*
1 tbsp vanilla extract
3 tbsp cornstarch
½ cup water
2 large egg yolks, beaten, room temperature
4 large ripe bananas
½ box Nilla Wafers

*(optional – and, might I add, NOT recommended unless you like neon food)

- Combine milk, butter, sugar, and vanilla (and food coloring, if using) in a heavy saucepan. Stir occasionally, until sugar is dissolved and milk is simmering.

- In a small bowl, stir together the cornstarch and water until cornstarch is dissolved. Stir cornstarch paste into the milk mixture and summer, stirring constantly, until thickened.

- Add the egg yolks and continue stirring constantly, one minute. (Tip: add some of the hot liquid to the egg before adding to the mixture – that way the egg won’t cook or scramble immediately when added to the simmering pudding and will integrate smoothly)

- Transfer to a bowl and cool to room temperature. Stir pudding occasionally while cooking to prevent a skin from forming.

- Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Slice two of the bananas and arrange slices in an even layer in the bottom of an 8x8-inch baking dish. Cover with a slightly overlapping layer of about half of the Nilla Wafers. Spoon half of the cooled pudding over the layers. Repeat with the remaining bananas, Nilla Wafers and pudding.

- Bake until the top of the pudding is golden brown, about 30 minutes. Cool completely before serving. In fact, I’d recommend serving it slightly chilled. YUM.

But don't take my word for it - make it for yourself!

SNOW! Also, the best $100 I ever spent.

2007-02-15T20:20:00.000-05:00

I walked to school today.

Uphill.

In the snow.

But that's where the similarities stop for me with the old parents' tale. (I only walked one way - a bus starts running past my apartment at 5 p.m. on Thursdays - and, thank the lord, I was not barefoot.) Much like running on sand, soldiering uphill through knee-deep snowdrifts with a shoulder bag full of books and a laptop is hard work, and I arrived at my 11:30 appointment eager to peel off my downy layers to get at least to the sweat-soaked cashmere underneath. Delightful.

Here's a taste of what the rest of my leisurely stroll campusward looked like:

Syracuse: where cars come to die.

Looking up the street toward the library. What, you can't see it?

Just as a reference, the snow would hit me a couple of inches above the knee...

When dealing with such inclement weather, it's important to be well-equipped. Two weeks ago, I bought these boots on a whim, because they were literally following me around town - I saw them on Marshall Street, then later that week at a Thai restaurant on Erie boulevard - and my previously purchased winter footwear was KILLing my feet. And what do you know, they were on sale at the shoe store near campus!

BOOTS

I can see now that it was clearly meant to be. Nobody in their right mind would go tromping through unplowed sidewalks (see first picture above) without a trusty set of boots like these.

It's a good thing I like them, because I sense that we're going to be spending a lot of time together.

Restaurant Re-creations, vol. 1

2007-02-11T11:55:00.000-05:00

Pictured above is my at-home re-creation of Penelope's "Sam I Am," as described in my post of January 14. The combination of flavors was as felicitous as I remembered (though I think my execution could stand a little work).

If you've never had feta over your eggs before - especially with asparagus - I'd strongly recommend you try this at home. This is a quick, healthy, incredibly delicious dish that works any time of day. (Or, at least it does if you're a graduate student...)

Pop matters, indeed

2007-02-09T09:30:00.000-05:00

Check out Jon's first piece on PopMatters - it was the lead review on Thursday when it went up. He's writing reviews for the site all semester (and likely beyond). I promise I won't do this every time my friends write something cool (after all, we are in a writing program), but felt compelled to post this one...

Cheap Eats no. 6: Bouchon Bakery

2007-01-27T17:08:00.000-05:00

Since its opening in spring of 2006, Thomas Keller’s Bouchon Bakery has been the subject of near-deafening hype – at least if you’re a reader of foodie mags and newspaper dining sections, as I enthusiastically am. As such, I wanted to see how it stacked up. Fortunately, Bouchon is located in the Time Warner Center at Columbus Circle, serendipitously situated on the same block as the offices of the American Symphony Orchestra League, where I have an internship. So when Winston rang me for a lunch date during my one-day stint in NYC last week, I knew just the place.

We rendezvoused at Borders on the second floor and ascended the escalator to the third, where we found the full-service section of the bakery immediately beneath the glowing SAMSUNG sign, cordoned off by elegant silver-and-frosted-glass barriers. (Down the hall to the left, there is a walk-up counter for take-out and some high tables for diners on the run.) Nearly every table was occupied, from single diners, to lunching friends, to businesspeople, to shopping families with small children. Keller’s menu offered something to suit them all – as long as you’re OK with paying $12 for a bowl of soup.

Keller runs some of the country’s swankiest, most expensive restaurants, among them the French Laundry in Yountville, Calif., and Per Se, also in New York’s Time Warner Center. This bakery is actually Keller’s second (the original Bouchon is located in Las Vegas), and it brings his artful fine dining to the general public in (relatively) affordable style, with salads, soups and sandwiches.

Our waiter, outfitted in a brown, pocketed polo shirt with a buttonless, open placket, welcomed us to the bakery – an exceptionally heartfelt greeting, it seemed to me. Later, he brought us a carafe of water and a breadbasket, filled with bread outwardly resembling ginger root more than rolls or baguettes. The rolls’ outer crust tasted curiously – deliciously – of cornflakes. The soft, air-pocked inside was similarly appealing, especially with the rich butter that came alongside the bread in its own miniature pot.

Winston, ever in pursuit of elusive omega-3 fatty acids to supplement his diet, ordered the tuna salad sandwich, a.k.a. “Tartine of Tuna Nicoise on Pain de Campagne,” served with “nicoise olives, bibb lettuce and garlic aioli with sliced eggs and radishes.” The “sandwich” came open-faced, a long hunk of tuna with olives embedded in its sides, resting atop crusty, light brown bread (and all of those other things) – unquestionably a fork and knife affair.

Having done my research and previously reviewed the menu, I had anticipated I would get the chicken soup with herb dumplings. For $11.75 a bowl, surely the soup might possess some manner of mystical properties – or at the very least, it would be delicious. But the menu at the bakery was slightly different than the one I’d seen online, which must have been from the fall. Now they had, also in the soup section of the menu, a tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwich: “san marzano roma tomato soup with grilled fontina and gruyere cheese sandwich.” Sold.

The tomato soup, served in a small cup, was a smooth puree with a rich vermillion hue and a subtly spiced heat. While delicious in its own right, the soup lost out next to the uniformly golden grilled cheese, cut into two triangles. (Though I’m not sure it’s fair to compare tomatoes to warm, melty cheeses; clearly the tomatoes will lose every time.) Cheese oozed artfully from between perfectly crisped, buttery breadslices, not precisely put together but slightly askew; a presentation of studied messiness. Biting into the sandwich, it became nearly impossible to distinguish the elements from one another; the bread seemed to have absorbed the molten cheese, creating a small-scale warm, cheesy bread-pudding interior.

I once again cleaned my plate; but Bouchon Bakery is one of those rare paragons of perfect portioning where that’s alright to do. The bill for both of us came out around $25 – a bargain for such speedy, courteous service and high-quality food.

Of course I couldn’t leave Bouchon without stopping by the walk-up pastry case. I purchased one of the homemade, oft-written-up Nutter Butters to take back to Syracuse. I don’t like peanut butter (I know, I’m weird), so I didn’t try it myself – but my sources tell me that this is one NYC dessert that definitely deserves its hype.

Bouchon Bakery ranked no. 6 on New York Magazine’s 2006 list of 101 Best Cheap Eats.

Kids these days...

2007-01-23T17:15:00.000-05:00

A Syracuse high school canceled a dance recently because students were "grinding," a dancing style known in some circles as "freaking." Last week, the local section of the Syracuse Post-Standard published a point-counterpoint piece featuring two high school girls arguing for and against the freedom to freak, respectively.

I'm assuming that it is for lack of any better ideas that some school administrators are turning to the website nofreaking.com to deal with the moral downfall of American youth culture through dance. Through this site, a California-based DJ peddles signs and t-shirts (which also come in babydoll sizes - what?) to "help communicate the message of appropriate dancing during school functions."

The newspaper reported that the designer of the nofreaking.com logo is currently devising more signs that feature other "positions" of freaking. I'm certain that posting stick-figure kama sutra will put an end to all this inappropriate dancing and thus to the risky sexual behaviors that each dance-offender must surely take part in. (NOT.) You know this guy is laughing all the way to the bank. I'm just hoping that there's a school administrator somewhere who truly believes that wearing one of these shirts will help eradicate grinding from school dances.

But really - shouldn't they be going after Abercrombie & Fitch?

Cheap Eats no. 72: Westville (plus dessert!)

2007-01-22T15:25:00.000-05:00

“Sometimes you just want a burger or a grilled cheese – but not just any burger or grilled cheese,” New York Magazine proclaimed from the pages of its 101 Best Cheap Eats issue – and, dangit, they were right. One brisk, blustery night in January required just this sort of sustenance, so Jon and I set off from Krista’s Union Square-ish apartment in search of No. 72 on the magazine’s list, Westville.

After pounding pavement for nearly a mile and a half, we breezed right on by the inconspicuous storefront before realizing we had just passed it. We doubled back and ducked into the windless respite of the burgundy-curtained entry, which opened onto a well-lit, narrow dining area probably 12 feet across and 30 feet deep before the kitchen took over the space. Small square tables for two lined the perimeter, five of them aligned along a long booth bench on the wall. A table stood in the front window – that one might have seated four – and another was pushed against the wall opposite the booth, below a set of chalkboards enumerating the day’s specials and a particularly extensive market menu of vegetables. Empty chairs filled in the spaces along the wall, providing seating for waiting patrons.

You could call it cramped, you could call it intimate, but neither would be entirely accurate. Westville falls somewhere in between. I had to push the table next to ours aside to access the booth seat on the wall (as did the two couples who arrived soon after us); but even though we were rubbing elbows with our neighbors, the atmosphere still allowed for personal, private conversation. (In the event of an awkwardly quiet dinner partner, there is abundant opportunity for eavesdropping, if you’re so inclined – I myself enjoyed the musings of the film nuts to the right, though not so much the bickering coworkers to my left). A mix of low-key, offhandedly hip music set the stage for standard American fare done one better in this tidy, toasty West Village charmer.

The menu is mouth-watering even before you consider the dozen or so specials on offer on a given night, making decisions particularly difficult. Most American/eclectic restaurants will offer a grilled cheese sandwich, burgers of various meats, and some riff on a Reuben – but how many sit-down restaurants offer a hot dog platter? (And, no, T.G.I. Friday’s doesn’t count.) Westville has not one, not two, but three options for frankfurter fanatics: Hebrew National, vegan, or Niman Ranch’s “fearless franks,” all natural, all beef hot dogs. This place is serious, and seriously awesome.

Various salads – to which you can add chicken, steak, salmon or walnuts – and enticing soups and appetizers – among them macaroni & cheese with smoky bacon and crab cakes – lead off the menu of nonstop hits. Entrees include char-grilled Newport steak and beer-battered fish & chips, and tuna and chicken salad sandwiches and a codfish po’boy round out the sandwich selections. The night we went, a whole brook trout with mixed greens went for $17 and chicken or lamb sausage served over vegetarian chili went for $12 on the specials board. A litany of intriguing vegetable dishes called out from the blackboard: classic collard greens, garlic or pesto mashed potatoes, sautéed cherry tomatoes, roasted butternut squash, beets with walnuts, snow peas with sesame and ginger, cauliflower with dijonnaise, Asian-style bok choy, and lemon-grilled asparagus. And that’s probably half of the list.

But we ordered none of these things. No, we got what we came for: burgers and grilled cheese. Jon ordered the grilled cheese and added bacon atop their blend of cheddar and gouda cheeses. For my part, I can rarely resist a turkey burger, and Westville’s seemed particularly alluring – somehow appending the modifier “cast-iron” to the description gave off the impression that this would be an exceptional turkey burger. I ordered mine topped with lettuce, tomato, red onion and smoked gouda, with a side of mixed greens.

To our delight, our meals were indeed exceptional. Both sandwiches were built on a Portuguese muffin – sort of like an English one, only without the nooks, crannies or sourdough-y kick. Everything was made with top-quality ingredients, from the shredded gouda atop my burger to the golden-toasted muffin to the fresh, vibrantly colored mixed greens. My only complaint is that the 8 oz. burger had to be so thick to fit within the circumference of the muffin that I could hardly open my mouth wide enough to take a bite. Yet somehow I soldiered through, and left nought but a sandwich pick and a few stray crumbs on my plate. It's my understanding that the grilled cheese, served with fries, was similarly delicious, but I was too involved in my own dinner to steal some of Jon’s.

After we paid the bill, which rang up in the ballpark of $30 for the two of us, we suited up for the cold and ambled north on Bleeker Street to that bastion of snacktime hiptitude, the much-hyped Magnolia Bakery. Last year I had been to Billy’s Bakery –somehow related to Magnolia, as I understand it – and split a couple of their picture-perfect cupcake confections. The buttercream frosting, rendered in pillows of soft pastels, was the desserts’ best feature, but couldn’t mask the dry cake underneath.

Magnolia’s goods suffered from much the same problem. The “special” red velvet cupcakes caught my eye this time, so I nabbed one of those and a ginger molasses cookie (I’ve yet to find one of those anywhere to beat Whole Foods’ version) for me and a banana pudding cup for Jon. (Actually, the ginger cookie I finished before even reaching the cash register – it was uncharacteristically small for a commercial cookie, if you can classify it as such.)

If you are at all familiar with red velvet cake and are at all a fan of it, do not go to Magnolia’s and try their cupcake. You will only be disappointed – and out $1.75. The cream cheese icing tasted like nothing, and was piled on so thick that it seemed they were consciously trying to cover up the deficient cake below. Jon was similarly disappointed in his banana pudding (though whose could match Sylvia’s?).

My advice for a post-Westville sweet? Stock up on the ginger molasses cookies – or better yet, if you’ve got a little extra cash, stick around Westville for a slice of homemade pie, or maybe a fresh-baked cookie the size of your face. It might cost a little more, but I doubt if anything Westville has the culinary capacity to disappoint like Magnolia’s surface-over-substance cupcakery.

Notable noshing in NYC

2007-01-14T00:20:00.000-05:00

My classmates and I recently returned from our arts and culture immersion in New York City, an eight-day trip that constituted an entire semester’s worth of a class credit. Not only did we immerse ourselves in the city’s arts scene, we also immersed ourselves in delicious, delicious food. With the myriad multi-course meals the cohort consumed, it seems like we each took in a semester’s worth of calories in the process. Fortunately for us, New York involves a lot of walking.

As a group, we ate better than any crowd I’ve ever traveled with – hats off to Janet and Johanna for arranging countless lovely meals of countless lovely courses. (Special thanks are due as well to those restaurants that included a fruity dessert option alongside the ubiquitous cheesecake or chocolate torte/mousse – and extra points to Josephina’s at Lincoln Center for the gorgeous blackberries that accompanied their tasty key lime tart.)

Among these fantastic meals, there were standout dishes that must be mentioned, detailed below.

Bottino (246 10th Ave, between 24th and 25th)
Bottino, an Italian restaurant in the Chelsea gallery district, was particularly refreshing – we ate there on Saturday, after three decadent days of intensive, immersion-style indulgence. Their light fare suited the unseasonably warm and sunny day perfectly. Though my entrée of grilled Norwegian salmon was lovely, the standout course of this meal was the starting salad: thick-sliced tomatoes under a mound of baby arugula, finished off with a light vinaigrette and sheets of shaved parmigiana. Strips of freshly cut basil interspersed throughout the greens gave the mild salad a boost to balance the dry, salty Parmesan. I was seriously talking about this salad for days – and I’m historically not a salad person.

Penelope's (at 30th and Lexington)
The very next day I experienced another culinary revelation. We had all day Sunday free. Rather than going to museums, films or performances, as so many of my more studious classmates did, I met up with friends for brunch, at Penelope’s in Murray Hill. As with most brunch menus, I found myself drawn to at least half of the items listed; but since my neighbors to the right and left were both ordering the enticing pumpkin waffles, I opted for the “Sam I Am,” a breakfast-time tribute to Dr. Seuss that, thankfully, avoids the use of food coloring.

This incarnation of green eggs (sans ham) differed from any I’ve seen before. The color came not from spinach, not from pesto, but from grilled asparagus, which was scrambled with two farm-fresh eggs, per the menu’s description. Once again, the finishing touch – a sprinkling of tangy feta cheese crumbles – brought the dish to life, enhancing the intermingled flavors of egg and asparagus. Penelope’s scored even more points by allowing the substitution fresh fruit – honeydew melon and berries in rich reds and blues – for the dish’s usual French fry accompaniment; and their portion sizes were spot-on, perfectly satisfying.

Sylvia's
Monday brought with it another dining delight, about a hundred blocks north of Penelope’s at Sylvia’s soul food restaurant in Harlem. (Sylvia has another outpost in Atlanta, and, for everywhere in between, two cookbooks and a line of canned vegetables and bagged mixes for the home convenience cook.) The bookends of the meal were the high points here: you just knew, when the waitress appeared bearing plastic pitchers of orange drink, that this would be a down home, feel-good meal. Just behind the beverages came a procession of family style platters piled high with lightly crispy fried chicken and fish and heaping bowls of rice, potato salad, and deliciously addictive collard greens; sweet, crumbly cornbread nestled in red plastic baskets completed the Southern spread.

But the crowning glory of the meal was Sylvia’s dessert: banana pudding (a menu choice that Jon desirously foretold). To me, banana pudding at a large-scale operation usually means goo of an alarming yellow tint, bordered in its tiny bowl by Nilla wafers and buried beneath a swirl of Reddi-Whip. But the similarities stopped at the beige cafeteria-plastic mini-bowls. I had no idea something as generic and ubiquitous as banana pudding could be this delicious. I’m not sure how they did it: all I know is that it involved real bananas – I found slices amid the velvety pudding – and a scoop of some miraculous mixture involving Nilla wafers, delicately garnished with a tasteful dollop of whipped cream. As this was family-style dining, the wait staff didn’t bother to count and just kept bringing desserts: Somehow I resisted, but a good few classmates helped themselves to seconds. Needless to say, I’m trying to hunt down the recipe…

Taboon
The next day, our last full day in the city before returning to Syracuse, held one last food find. At Taboon, a Middle Eastern restaurant in Hell’s Kitchen, we were overwhelmed by the onslaught of various mouthwatering meze (appetizers), but somehow managed to save room for the main meal (and who could forget dessert?). My entrée of heraime – a halibut filet, baked in a tomato-based, lightly spiced sauce with roasted pepper and cilantro and served in the skillet – came with a side of couscous.

Oh my God, this couscous. It wasn’t even seasoned, at least not overtly, but it was simply awe-inspiring. Finer than the instant grains available in grocery stores, this couscous felt to the mouth how one imagines the fluffiest cloud might feel. I always found the instruction to “fluff” one’s couscous ridiculous, but it makes total sense after this meal; however, I don’t think any couscous poured from a box or rendered by my hand could ever attain the downy texture of Taboon’s miraculous side dish. Delicious on its own, when combined with the subtle flavors of the fish and its sauce, it turned a merely OK dish into a very good one.

Of these places, I highly recommend Bottino and Penelope’s. As I scout out more restaurants in NYC, most likely of the grad-budget-friendly persuasion, you should expect further posts and recommendations...

"A Chorus Line," revived - Dance: five; Voice: yikes

2007-01-09T20:58:00.000-05:00

It’s a good thing “A Chorus Line” isn’t a musical about auditioning triple-threat leads for a Broadway show. If it were, nobody in the 2006 revival cast would make it past the first round.

Now three months into its run, the highly publicized revival of Michael Bennett’s “A Chorus Line” is playing at the Schoenfeld Theater under direction of Bob Avian, co-choreographer of the original.

Set in 1975, the show centers on 17 dancers auditioning for a Broadway ensemble. Each performer has a story to tell – a true-life story, drawn from Bennett’s recorded interviews with professional dancers. The musical unfolds as the onstage choreographer calls on the dancers, one by one, to explain why they want to dance.

Widely criticized as being too reverential toward the original, this revival has problems even before casting issues enter the mix. James Kirkwood and Nicholas Dante’s book relies on homosexuality, cross-dressing and plastic surgery for dramatic color; but what was taboo in the 1970s carries little shock value in the new millennium. As a result, the cast must work harder to engage and sustain the audience’s interest.

The ensemble opener, “I Hope I Get It,” showcased the strongest singing and dancing of the night. Taken together, the singers sounded great. But when it came time for solos, most performers favored a pinched, nasal sound, closer to shouting than singing. Admittedly, this is the (unfortunate) norm on Broadway – but even by those standards, the cast left much to be desired.

This production’s biggest Broadway name, Charlotte d’Amboise, was also its biggest disappointment. As Cassie, the Tony-nominated actress incorporated nearly every cliché of musical theater vocalism – breathless talk-singing, overdone consonants – into her performance, which teetered perilously on the edge of parody.

Paired with uninspired choreography by original-cast alum Baayork Lee, this revival never came to life. Song after low-energy song fell short of its showstopper potential.

As Bobby and Sheila, Ken Alan and Deidre Goodwin rescued the evening with convincingly drawn characters. Although these parts aren’t much of a stretch for Broadway actors, Alan and Goodwin’s unaffected performances stood out.

It defies logic that the best part of a musical about dancers should be the acting, but such was the case at Wednesday’s performance.

Immersion snippet

2007-01-06T17:27:00.000-05:00

After visiting painstakingly selected art galleries in Chelsea, art critic Karen Wilkin on the fabled gallery scene:

"I don't understand people who 'do' Chelsea. [Something about trudging 'doggedly from gallery to gallery' that I didn't catch verbatim]...
The risk of seeing terrible art is so high. I don't know why you would do that to yourself."

Happy New Year!

2007-01-01T01:15:00.000-05:00

New Year's Eve 2007

- a (brief) photo essay -

Mountain Man & Old Man Wolbe, all prettied up and festive

Our hosts for the evening, Dan & Judy

Me and my Llama!

Gayle Noel and her newly pierced ears
(My, is that CZ you're wearing?)

Me and Jo, warming up for the big moment

Farmer Jim and Judy, makin' some noise post-midnight

Noisemaker war! Happy New Year, indeed...