Slow down there, cowgirl...

To the very angry woman who was deeply offended that Ryan and I were crossing the street when she squealed around the corner in her car: Whoa!!! Calm down already. Now perhaps we weren't running across the previously empty street quickly enough for you, but when we saw you, we both hurried to get out of the way. I don't really think the stream of obscenities flying out of your contemptuously curled, probably nicotine-stained, thin, disappointed lips was warranted, nor suitable for the ears of young children potentially in the vicinity of our unforgivable traffic transgression. But I did really enjoy the production you put on for us as we walked into Whole Foods. I'd like to thank you for the way you dramatically related your tale of woe (complete with gutter profanity in the Boston nasalese dialect) to your significant other as he packed up your trunk, more than loudly enough for us to hear you all the way into the produce section. So, if we hadn't already figured out you were pissed by cursing us into oblivion, you gave us the opportunity to further witness your righteous disdain. Thanks so much for that. You're awesome.

I want a T-shirt that says: Jason Robert Brown Rocks My Face Off!!!

Cause he does. So, last night, the North Shore Theatre Company people put on a benefit to raise money to help rebuild their previously incinerated theatre... with the help of Jason Robert Brown, the Caucasian Rhythm Kings, Lauren Kennedy (premiered the Last Five Years), and a small cast of newenglanders (probably isn't one word, but I'll go with it). Freaking awesome. Now, I'll say that the show as a whole was very good--there were some impressive performances from the local singers. But the best things about the whole night were J.R.B's absolutely entertaining stage-mumblings, the song with Lauren Kennedy singing her guts out, and J.R.B. singing "She Cries," and his encore. Seriously, to utilize an oft-applied NEC/jazzer term, he is so sick. It's absolutely disgusting how uniquely talented he is. A pioneering composer who sings to great effect while killing on the piano. In the musical theatre genre. The little theatre geek inside me was in heaven, and the jazz critic/musician inside was satisfied. Yay. Plus, Karissa and I met him, had him sign our newly-purchased cds, and took a picture with him. In the words of Emilie, (shaking hands) it was a phenomenal night!!!

Oh, and did I forget to mention that I met Julie Andrews a couple weeks ago? Um, yeah, I did. She was signing books at Barnes and Noble, and she signed my book, complimented me on my grammar, and we spoke the word "misting" in unison. We're best friends. It was kind of surreal to be talking to her, because her face and voice were such an integral part of my movie/musical exposure from childhood into adulthood. It was honestly a little like being in a movie with her. Oh well, I suppose that's the closest I'll get. But what a great month for me and musical theatre. Did I mention that my little sister is jealous? Bonus!

In school and real life-related news, here's what's on the burner:
MIDTERMS! Oh, woe. My Bergonzi improv seminar midterm is going to leave a mark. My bum still hurts a little from where his class kicked my ass the other day. Oh well, I'll think positively and practice, and it should be fine.

Deadlines! Yeah, so I'm applying for this IAJE (international association of jazz educators) Sisters in Jazz competition thingy, and the deadline is November 4. This means I have to get two recommendations, record two tunes, and get a cheesy, cheap Sears headshot done before then. Woo hoo. Yep. We'll see how that goes.

Band! So I'm sort of in a band now, being led by a killing vibes player, Mike Pfaff, and I'm writing lyrics to some of his originals, and we're also doing a bunch of covers. Oh, and this is not a jazz band. We're covering an eclectic mix of genres, and I might actually be singing "Toxic" of Britney Spears fame. Anyway, I'm pretty excited about it, especially as it's the closest I'll probably ever get to singing in a rock band. Yay for indirectly fulfilled guilty pleasures.

Singing! My friend Ryan has arranged a ballad for me to sing with NEC's jazz composer's orchestra. We rehearsed tonight, and it sounded good. Anyway, it's really nice to sing with a big band again, as the last time was with Joyner's jazz band at PLU when we did the Kenny Wheeler suite. Yay for performing.

I heart Fall

I really do. It's my favorite season. I can start sleeping under my quilt again, my nose gets cold when I get outside, and people start buying pumpkins. Also, the smell. I wish someone could put that smell into a candle. And not one that smells like cinnamon and cider. Fall smell is part musty decay, part crisp wind, part burning wood smoke, and partly a sighing from the earth as it downshifts into winter.

Oddities

Oh, Boston. Boston, Boston, Boston. I just don't understand. Why are you spending money and man hours on pounding faux-brick-shaped crosswalks into the pavement at intersections? 1) the orange color does NOT match the brick of the sidewalks. 2) why are the brick-shaped things just outlined? 3) it looks so tacky. 4) I'm sure there are plenty of potholes and other such cracks upon which to fix your financial focus. Why tacky up our streets?

And another thing: What is with all the vomit? Now, I know I live in the midst of Northeastern University, and that implies a profusion of students with a tendency towards early-twenties alcoholism, but I have seriously seen about five obscene puddles of vomit on the streets around my apartment in the last two weeks. These puddles are obviously new, and have mostly occurred on week days (not including Thursday, which is the new Friday). Their spray radius also implies a certain violence and urgency of action. What the heck? Why can't anyone figure out how to guage their alcohol tolerance? I do not want a repeat of last night, when I was walking home with my friend Ryan. We were talking, and all of a sudden, mid-step, he grabbed my arm and pulled me roughly to the side, and shouted "VOMIT!!!" Thank God he did, because I had been inches away from sliding into the largest, freshest puddle of vomit I have ever seen. Ew. People. I know you're just being young and impetuous, but please attempt to keep the digestive pyrotechnics to your bathroom. Even the gutter would be better than smack in the middle of the sidewalk. I beseech you. Stop throwing up in public.

And what is with opera singers being the most obnoxiously germophobic people ever? I understand that it's easy to catch things, but why must they keep talking and talking and talking and talking about how they're sure they're getting sick, and projecting it onto you, if you so much as sniffle, clear your throat, or cough. I really don't need people constantly suggesting that I'm going to get the bubonic plague. Really. The mind is a powerful thing, and if they would just try to concentrate it on being well, instead of being ill, I think there'd be a lot less going around. And honestly, please keep the horror at being handed a phone used by a sick person to a minimum, and if you must slather your entire body with Purell, please do it in private. The smell of that much alcohol might actually make me sick.