in britannia

Last night was a historic event in my family: four of us were on stage for the first time at Tanglewood. We’ve sung together a few times before, church choir, family gatherings, etc., but we had never before sung en masse with the Boston Symphony. It’s probably the last time in a while, since I’m moving to England and my younger brother Andrew is moving to New Jersey to start medical school.

The concert was a pretty nice event too, if it hadn’t been for the humidity. I was pretty much drenched when I came off stage. We sang the Haydn Te Deum, which is a beautiful and spritely piece full of joyous praise and excitement. Second was the Mozart Ave Verum Corpus, an intensely quiet and introspective work. Though the two are fairly close in the realm of music history (relatively speaking), they could not have been more different. At this point I had an opportunity to change and sit in the audience for a fantastic Mozart piano concerto and Haydn’s Symphony no. 92. I had never been a huge fan of Haydn symphonies, but this one hit me pretty hard: it was full of little jokes and quirks that, I’m told, are a huge part of Haydn’s personal compositional style. Incidentally, the 92nd symphony is nicknamed “Oxford” as it was performed there to great applause when Haydn was receiving his honorary doctorate degree from the university.

Still, I was surprised to find that people who pay upwards of $80 per ticket still act just as boorishly as those who pay $14 to sit on the lawn at Tanglewood. I was given one of the empty seats in the front row by an usher who knew that I was a singer. Two rows back and across the aisle sat a woman who, for the first movement of the Oxford, proceeded to conduct along with maestro Edo de Waart, but about a half-beat behind. In the second movement, she was relatively passive, but the third movement saw her slapping her knee and tapping to the music. She fell asleep in the fourth movement. Weird.

Incidentally, that there were open seats in the front row indicates, perhaps, how poorly attended Tanglewood has been of late. It is interesting, too, that a concert of Haydn and Mozart should be so poorly sold when it seems that Classical radio stations in America, and in particular the several with which I am most familiar, can’t get enough of Haydn and Mozart (and Albinoni).

Got back from a delightful lunch with a friend of mine from Princeton: she’s here as a Tanglewood Music Center Fellow, which means that she is a top-notch musician. Indeed, she just finished a masters degree from Juilliard on piano and is one of the most talented pianists I’ve ever had the pleasure of hearing. However, she was also one of the valedictorians of my class at Princeton, having earned, in a tie, the highest GPA of our class. As a PHYSICS major. While most of the TMC fellows go on to careers in orchestras and concert halls around the country and around the world, Christine is off to build a supercomputer that maps protein folding next year. All this and she can kick my behind in soccer pretty much any day of the week. Amazing...

This was written but not uploaded at about 12:30 AM on July 30th, thus I have adjusted the time and date accordingly.
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On Iron Chef, 'chairman' Kaga just referred to duck as an old woman and quail as the virgin. Japanese TV is frighteningly weird.

A couple of new restaurants to review; I referenced the new Japanese restaurant in Lenox, Fin, a few weeks ago. Also, a review of Il Trattoria Vesuvio in Pittsfield.

Fin: two stars out of five. This was, as my brother ably described, fusion cuisine: the restauranteurs, none of whom are Japanese, it seems, have successfully fused classical Japanese with crap Japanese, coming up with a very chic and very poor menu. Completely out of touch with the locals who inhabit Lenox, MA, the three sushi dinners are $50, $75, and $100 per plate 'omakase' specials. My father ordered the absurdly priced pork tonkatsu. My mother had a fantastic tempura dinner, replete with a chicken skewer (I've never seen this in a tempura dish before), and a whole soft-shell crab. My two brothers ordered between them a strange tempura udon and a bizarrely named "bowl of rice" topped with broiled eel. The udon wasn't even udon: it looked like linguini. The broiled eel was dwarfed by the massively large bowl of rice. I had the bowl of rice topped with grilled fish. What kind of self-respecting sushi bar grills a perfectly good piece of tuna? To top it all off, the wait-staff couldn't pronounce the things that we were ordering, missed what my dad ordered ("here's the pork pancake, sir" "no, I ordered the pork tonkatsu" "oh, you did?") and forgot to bring us miso soup which, frankly, I wish we'd left unsaid. One of the easiest things to make is miso soup. Who messes up miso soup? Made with water instead of bish stock, this was bland and luke-warm. To its credit, the maki rolls we ordered as an appetizer were very good, and my mom's tempura dinner was fantastic. Also, Fin bills itself as a sushi and sake bar, and having tried neither for reasons that a) i'm too poor for sushi at Fin and b) i really wasn't in the mood for sake, perhaps I am misjudging this eatery on foodstuffs that are outside of its expertise. Then again, what Japanese restaurant can't cook rice? Ew.

Il Trattoria Vesuvio was a good deal better: My family’s average was about 3.4 stars out of five. The calamari appetizer was delightfully crispy, but unfortunately was less seasoned that one would have hoped. The other appetizer, was a delicious bowl of mussels. The steak with mushrooms was perfectly cooked but the marsala sauce could have used more flavor. The frutti di mare looked delicious, but my father informed us that the mussels and shrimp were overcooked. The veal medallions with prosciutto was delicious but over salted, and the spicy pasta with shrimp was delicious, if only mildly spicy. Then again, I drink Tabasco sauce, so it’s not like I can tell. I ordered the pollo saltimbocca, which was marvelous: the sauce was rich and buttery with a perfect blend of cheese and herb, paired nicely with my pino grigio/chardonnay blend. The chicken, which could so easily have turned out dry, was kept moist by the prosciutto and cheese stuffed inside. Each of the dishes, save the spicy pasta, was served with a side of penne marinara which, though bland, cut a nice contrast with the main dishes. As expected, dessert did not disappoint: the mandarin orange sorbet was refreshing, but a little too sweet. The tiramisu had been constructed in single portions rather than cutting slices out of a larger dish. Each ladyfinger was perfectly soaked in coffee syrup and the entire confection was outstanding. We also ordered a chocolate mousse pyramid filled with caramel, which was delicious, if a little cloyingly sweet. Overall, I’d go back here and try something else on the menu.

still cleaning the desk. I discovered that magnetic poetry is a real pain in the neck to remove. Also clearing out the Quiz Bowl trophy part of my desk: seven trophies that we have, at least one that was lost from 2001 - 2002, and that's only in 3 years of Quiz Bowl. On a related note, someone needs to get on Jeopardy and kick the crap out of Ken Jennings. I'd do it, except that I'm leaving the country. I was watching the reruns from College Jeopardy last night and I realized that the Ivy League students have it especially tough - not only are students from Harvard and Yale dumber than posts just on average, but then they lose to places like USC and feel stupid too.

But then Alex Trebek pronounced the band R.E.O. Speedwagon as "rio speedwagon" (ie. not an acronym) last week. So I bet he feels pretty stupid too.

Thanks to M.L. for clueing me into JibJab. For those of you out there who are wondering, and I know that Mr. T.T. is *not*, I'm voting Democratic. However, I live in Massachusetts, so it's not like it matters. :)

So I'm back at the P. school, cleaning off my desk and trying to vacate this part of my life for good. It's tough when I've developed such good friendships here, just to leave like that. It would have been different if, like some of the other folks who have left, to go straight to administrating another school on July 1st. I'd be busy now, rather than patiently and calmly packing up my desk.

Had a nice conversation with R. today: one of my 8th graders this past year. She said, and I quote "our class was like a class from hell" and "i know we got disrespectful at times also, which was unfair to you, and i apologize for that." I wish that I had been able to tell all of my students that despite their being disrespectful at times (and I think we all were a little less than honorable at some point during the year despite our best attempts), I really truly did enjoy teaching. In fact, many of my most vivid and wonderful memories involve my most challenging classes, as they were also the most vibrant and colorful. It is very easy to be merely "satisfied" with a class in which the students all nod in unison and are quiet and responsive without being rude. But it really is the class that asks the impertinent question, the student that just won't shut up, and the lesson that, goodness help you WILL NOT be taught that provides the most challenge and thus the most exhileration when overcome. My favorite teaching moments don't involve the 3rd person plural or the pluperfect tense or the accusative case. They include that time that J. wouldn't stop shouting out the answers in period 4, and when G. in my period 6 class tried to hide under my desk, and A.'s incisive, edgy, and mature project on Roman Prostitution, not to mention the skits from my period 4 class in 2001-2002 when E. and L. and A. just could not stop laughing. It's an amazing thing to see students laughing their heads off in a Latin class, nowadays especially. It makes me really honored to have been a teacher.

I'm not telling my students to be rude or obnoxious for the sake of a laugh, but I am saying that variety is what keeps life fun: my students were vibrant, silly, exciting, and yes, at times, disrespectful. But it was never out of a sense of meanness or ill will, only out of the joy and angst of being a middle-schooler.

For the record, though, while I do enjoy a good laugh at my own expense on "Ratemyteachers.com", I am disappointed that many of the comments refered to you all hating me and wanting to see me gone or thinking that I hated all of you. That's patently untrue. I didn't hate any of my students and I don't hate any of them now that they're not my students. I think it's unfair that students equate doing poorly on a test with animosity shown by the teacher. I didn't give you a 78% because I thought that you were a bad person; I gave you a 78% because you got 39 points out of a 50 point test.

Anyway, that's my musing for today. Music ripped to my iPod today includes the following:
Angels in America Soundtrack
Russian Overtures: Russian National Orchestra, Mikhail Pletnev, cond.
The Raymond Scott Project
Marin Marais: Pieces de viole
The Canadian Brass in Berlin with members of the Berlin Philharmonic
Opera Overtures: New York Philharmonic, Leonard Bernstein, cond.
Fiedler Encores: Boston Pops Orchestra, Arthur Fiedler, cond.
Great Baroque Arias
Sibelius: The Complete Symphonies: Boston Symphony Orchestra, Sir Colin Davis cond.
Sibelius: Karelia Suite and others: London Symphony Orchestra, Sir Colin Davis cond.
Schumann: Symphonies No. 3 & 4: London Classical Players, Roger Norrington, cond.
Schubert in Vienna: various performers and works

I saw Reneé Fleming in concert tonight at the Tanglewood. It was the best darn Pops concert I've ever heard, mainly because unlike the Boston Pops Orchestra or, goodness forbid, the Boston Pops Esplanade Orchestra, the Boston Symphony Orchestra played with all of its musicians in the ranks tonight. Usually, the Boston Pops is the BSO without the first stand strings and without principal winds and brass. The BPEO is almost entirely different personnel. Tonight the orchestra played five orchestral interludes to give Ms. Fleming some time to relax between sets. Never before has such an orchestra played such an assortment of "lite" fare so well: The Overtures to two operas, a prelude to Act III of Lohengrin, and two dances: the Carousel Waltz and the Bohemian Dance from Carmen; each one sparkling with a vitality and clarity that one only finds in the playing of semi-serious music by serious musicians who aren't afraid to give it their all.

Ms. Fleming was in top form for the first half of the concert: her voice was playful and robust, even in the chill of a partially outdoor venue such as Tanglewood. It rose to fiery and indignant and then cooled to heartstring-tugging sadness with ease. Truly, the first half of the concert was rare stuff indeed.

The second half of the concert brought on what Ms. Fleming referred to as an "enhanced" set of songs from popular Americana: tunes from Broadway and the odd Shenandoah: sea chanty turned pop ballad. She explained that the arrangements being as they were in a different part of her vocal range, and being as they are for full orchestra, some electronic "enhancement" was necessary. In short, Ms. Fleming sighed, inhaled, warbled, and bent notes to her hearts delight into a microphone. Melismae were thrown in liberally, as were pop conventions of randomly placed 'oooh'ing and an attempt at a Britney Spears-style moan. What had been almost sublime in the first half was assaulting our sensibilities the second.

Her next and final set featured the welcome disappearance of the microphone for two an aria from the very poorly known "La Wally" about a heroine named 'Wally'. Really. The program made specific mention to "O mio babbino caro" by Puccini, but evidently there were concertgoers in droves who had heard this piece earlier but were completely ignorant of its name. As the orchestra started what should have been the soft chords of the introduction, a collective gasp and "oh, it's this!" could be heard throughout the hall, thus dashing the hopes of those of us in the know of quiet and conscious appreciation of the work.

Ms. Fleming performed three encores: Summertime, Somewhere Over The Rainbow, and one other which escapes the mind at the moment. I was disappointed to hear such microphone use in the second half of the concert; so much so that I would fire the programmers in charge. Still, it is clear that she has done this before (she made reference to having done almost this exact concert in Europe throughout the summer and in DC just two days prior). It was nice to see a full house at Tanglewood for a change: and I did take the time to get a Reneé Fleming autograph, which she was most kind to sign.

I got an interesting piece of mail a few days ago that stated that Keble College is very happy to have me (and to have confirmation of my ability to pay for the next two years of Oxford, but that they could not guarantee me housing for the first year. This puts a significant amount of additional stress on me, as I was kind of depending on not having to seek alternative housing. Knowing nothing of the area and having never been, I have NO idea what I'll be doing next year. That said, the college administrators have stated that I am on the waiting list (number 10) and will receive a room if 10 people do not end up coming. This includes 10 high school seniors that don't pass the requisite examinations. My success depends on the failure of high schoolers. Excellent...

So I'm driving back to Boston when I'm cut off by a black Mercedes bearing the enigmatic model mark 543 D (I've looked it up everywhere; can't find it). This luxurious car is being piloted by a big, beefy man in a crisp white shirt who looks over at me as he passes and puffs a huge puff on his monster cigar. I check out the license plate: New York (of course), TAX•PLNR. Sir, I hope you are unsatisfied with your materialistic life.

There was a nice debate on NPR about "values" and what it means now that both the Republicans and Democrats are insisting (loudly) that they have values. It seems that Republican "values" are faith, family, and the constitutional right to have the government butt out of your business. I'll amend that by also saying that there's the constitutional right for the government to step in to shove your agenda down someone else's throat, ala the Constitutional amendment defining marriage as monogamous heterosexual. Democratic "values" on the other hand are the Poor Richard's axioms: pull yourself up by your bootstraps, work hard and be free, and be socially responsible, even when it means giving up some of your income so that the less fortunate can live decent lives. Democratic "values" include supporting welfare, even when its recipients don't work for it, making it easier to distribute the morning after pill in schools without parental consent, and allowing abortion-clinic assisted murder.

I'm on the fence for many of these and, before anyone gets angry, I'm also taking the devil's advocate position for many of these. It's just interesting that "values" can mean such different things to two disparate groups who are about to argue exactly over the issue of who's got more values, better values, or stronger values. At the beginning of high school debates, we'd always go over a definition of the terms over which we would be debating, just to make sure we had it right. That might be a useful process if what we're after is a debate about where this country should be going. But that's not what each party wants, the Republicans want to scare Americans into thinking that the liberals and their aging-hippie friends are leading to the moral degeneration of this great nation. And the Democrats are trying to convince people that freedom and liberty are just as valid as the more recognizable "good-old values" of church and apple pie. I don't think that Republicans are anti-heathen, and I certainly don't think that Democrats are anti-pie (just look at Ted Kennedy), but I think that there's good money to be made in opening the divide, if only because it'll help you get elected.

This weekend was quite an interesting excursion (incursion?) into New York City, beginning with a disastrous outing by the New York Mets against the Philadelphia cream-cheeses. This was not a case of the Phillies winning the ballgame as much as it was the Mets bowing down and handing them the game on a beautiful platter. The Mets made enough mistakes and blown opportunities or plays to fill the entire SportsCenter Not Top Ten list in that one single game. On the subway, the Mets poster advertisement is “The New York Mets: Catch The Excitement!” I’d like to amend that.

The New York Mets: Catch The Baseball! That said, I was happy not to be watching the Yankees.

This was my first live game of the season, and the first time I’ve been to a live game in a stadium other than Fenway Park. I must say that Shea is an extraordinarily boring ballpark, but not nearly as boring as Busch Stadium, which I’ve toured but in which have not seen a game.

Went and got some Kati Rolls in the West Village: tasty, portable, but not very fast. The gentleman behind the counter was moving excruciatingly slowly. If I had not been so hungry and if the Kati Rolls had not been so delicious, I might have grown impatient.

Afterward, Ray and I saw a fantastic production of The Merry Wives of Windsor by the Prospect Theater Company in Central Park. Not the big Shakespeare in Central Park, this was a good deal smaller, much more intimate, and brutally funny. Adding to the atmosphere were a good number of peripheral distractions, like a gondolier paddling by and singing, various inept boaters in the lagoon (including a couple that beached themselves and got stuck while watching the show), a gentleman who traversed the underside of the bridge as if on a set of monkey-bars, two ridiculously attired rollerbladers speaking loudly in French waddling their way through the crowd, and a woman with horrid hair dressed in what could only have been a bra and boxer shorts walking her dog. As reported before, my friend Micah was playing tuba – quite a production: Shakespeare for the people, so to speak. If you can, go: it’s a great show.

Had dinner at a nice place: Hudson Corner Café. Delightful; completely unpretentious. We both had the Prix Fixe dinner; Ray had bamboo steamed dumplings, pork tenderloin, and apple brown betty. The dumpling dipping sauces brought back memories of my grandmother’s cooking: I miss my grandma… The pork was delicately flavored with honey and fresh herbs, served on a mash of sweet potatoes (a bit too much butter here) and sautéed vegetables with slivers of sun-dried tomato. The brown betty was very dense and cinnamony. Well chosen, Ray.

As for my meal, I started with the Caesar salad (invented, as discussed in Latin class last year, in Tijuana), which was a bit weak but very fresh. I also had a sesame-encrusted salmon, which was very pedestrian, but which was served over some delightfully plain steamed vegetables (squash, etc.) in butter sauce and a truly inspired and very different soba noodle alfredo. Honestly, this was new, but extremely good. My tiramisu was excellent. Their wine offerings were, unfortunately, decidedly subpar: the Chardonnay was decent (a bit too much acid), and the Sauvignon Blanc was awful, tasting of harsh alcohol and menthol (I’m not kidding). Ray tried the Chianti, which was far too strong to have been a normal Chianti. This was Welch’s grape juice spiked with vodka or something. Ew.

Met up with my friend Igor, who brought us to Marie’s Crisis; a piano bar where the entire clientele spends the night singing Broadway showtunes. This was at once both hilarious and dreadfully frightening. I think we got through all of Annie, Sound of Music, Chicago, Grease, Oklahoma, and West Side Story. Met a 42 year old trained opera singer out for her birthday – her parents have a horrid sense of humor. Born on Bastille Day, her name is Antoinette. Hee…

Went out for some late Mexican food and stuffed myself to the point of nausea. Getting to Ray’s building, we noticed another group behind us. I looked back, and being tired, slightly tipsy, and still nauseous, it took me way too long to realize that, at 2:45, the group behind us included Russell, my college roommate. Talk about your coincidences. Ray, Russell and I lost it and were on the ground howling with laughter, Russell’s friends, Tom and Aparna, remained upright. I had known that Russell was going to be in NYC this weekend, but I had neglected to call him to try to meet up. Fate has a funny way of going about.

Brunch this morning was a delightful ham, cheese, and herb omelette with vegetables on the side, along with pomme frittes and a delicious fresh mayonnaise. Life is too short to eat poorly. One of the trainers at my gym showed me what he eats for lunch every day: two cups of plain white rice, three steamed chicken breasts with no added flavorings, and steamed broccoli. He said, and I quote, “I hate eating this, it’s miserable food. I don’t eat for pleasure, I eat for fuel.” He’ll live longer than I will, but I’ll have eaten well and enjoyed life.

I finally saw The Italian Job last night.  Excellent movie: I really like Donald Sutherland.  Great actor.
 
I spent the day helping my younger brother and a few of his friends find an apartment in New Brunswick today.  The apartments ran the gamut from impeccably clean, sunny, and gorgeous to total stinking hell-hole.  There was one very amusing one where we entered to find remnants of food EVERYWHERE.  Also, a shirtless guy typing away on a computer while three pairs of jeans hung to dry on a clothesline over his mattress (not bed, mattress).  The only food visible on the counter were a couple of sliced limes, and when the landlady knocked on the door to a bedroom to let us see the space, we heard the tenant reply "um, I'm in here with my girlfriend..." before he finally relented and let us open the door.  He then proceeds to tell the landlady that he does not want to have to leave the apartment, or if he must, he will be handing the lease over to a long line of his friends who "would love to rent this apartment."  Landlady looks disgusted.
 
Another property was a house which had been rented to 6 people, though the house itself has so many nooks and crannies that it could have slept 15.  The owner herself said that one of the actual leaseholders was an immigrant who might (shrug?) possibly have been helping his fellow immigrants find places to live.  Rent was steep, but not if you factor in the 15 Malaysian immigrants sleeping inside bookcases.
 
All was not lost: a few excellent prospects arose.  I expect Andrew and his friends will be most pleased next year.
 
Ate dinner at the Rutgers University Grease Trucks, where I had a Fat Knight sandwich.  For those of you unfamiliar, a gentleman by the name of Darrel had a hankerin' for some deep fried food about 6 years back.  He asked the food truck guy to make him a sandwich that included mozzarella sticks, chicken fingers, fries, lettuce, tomato, and ketchup.  Thus, the Fat Darrel, and the rest of the Fat Cat sandwich line, was born.  The Fat Knight consists of: cheesesteak, mozzarella sticks, chicken fingers, marinara sauce, and french fries.  My friend had one with gyro instead of cheesesteak.  mmm mmm good.
 
Finally, a scary thought: I was flipping between VH1's I love the 90's and Comedy Central when I was accosted by a television ad for the Twelve Girls Band: a pop group of twelve Chinese girls who play traditional Chinese instruments in strange arrangements of pop hits such as "Only Time" and "Clocks".  Come on, China - is this the best you could come up with?!? This is why Communism loses.  Because of this.

As part of my plan to get my iPod back on track, I have begun a strict regimen of ripping CDs and putting the music back on my computer. So far, I have ripped 93 CDs. These take a LONG time, as I have to double check the listings on the tracks before they can be ripped.

Today's menu includes the following:

Alexander Borodin: 2nd Symphony and other works, played by the Moscow Radio Grand Symphony Orchestra
Aaron Copland: Billy the Kid, Tender Land, and Appalachian Spring, played by the Boston Symphony, conducted by Copland himself
Aaron Copland: Appalachian Spring and other works, played by the Orpheus Chamber Ensemble
Antonin Dvorak: Cello Concerto played by Mstislav Rostropovitch and the Boston Symphony, led by Ozawa
Antonin Dvorak: Symphonies 7 and 8, played by the Philharmonia Orchestra, cond. by Andrew Davies
Antonin Dvorak: Symphony No. 9 and Smetana's Moldau, played by the Cleveland Orchestra under George Szell
Soundtracks to Henry V (played by the City of Birmingham Symphony Orhcestra led by Simon Rattle) and Much Ado About Nothing, both by Patrick Doyle
Edward Elgar's Enigma Variations, conducted by the composer with the Royal Albert Hall Orchestra

and many more.

This is interesting, but dreary work.

Somehow, I just can't leave New Jersey. It's, like, the black hole of America.

Saw Spiderman 2 yesterday. However, I had heard many of my friends that I could not see Spiderman 2 without having seen Spiderman 1. So I sat myself down in front of the TV and watched Spiderman 1. Then we went out and watched Spiderman 2. Entertaining. Kirsten Dunst is a good MJ; she's got the attitude and spunk and cuteness that the old comic book Mary Jane Watson had. I was amused that both movies felt the need to show her being completely drenched. My friend Eric had said two years ago that a better MJ would have been Laura Prepon from That 70's Show. I think he's wrong.

I felt that this was a pretty decent movie series overall. Both movies deal with the pressures and trials associated with having something great and having to do something with it as well. However, I think that they started to go a little heavy handed on the whiny Spiderman late in the movie. Also, the tree-hugging "what are your feelings?" doctor who gets Parker believing that the will to be Spiderman is what causes his powers to appear and disappear is an all-too-convenient plot hole.

I also felt that the slow-motion scene of MJ running through New York in a wedding dress was far too cheesy for this movie. Perhaps the filmmakers were leaving both options open: the reunification of these two star-crossed neighborhood kids ensures that the series has a happy ending if Spiderman 2 doesn't do well in the theaters, while simultaneously the hints of the reemergence of the Green Goblin says 'wait for Spiderman 3.'

ps. what I said earlier about babies on red-eye flights goes double for parents who bring babies into movie theaters; especially for 8pm shows.

Three places today.

1) Carol's Cafe, Lenox Center, Lenox MA
This used to be a nice dive of a diner, a counter for regulars, decent coffee, low prices. Somehow, three years ago, the owner (presumably Carol) decided that holistic faith healing, pastel walls, paintings of waif-like angels that, I kid you not, resemble Bjork, and a resident psychic (Saturday Mornings) would make interesting decor. The food is still the same, but now it's not a diner anymore, it's a "cafe" serving truck stop food at high prices. Today I had the "Paisano Omelette", which was an onion and pepper omelette with cheese served over two spicy italian sausage links over toast. Weird; like being at a ballpark and eating breakfast. Next time I go (it's a family tradition when we're in the Berkshires), I'll try the "Deli Omelette", which is a pastrami, onion, and cheese omelette with horseradish sauce. Intriguing...

2) Napa, Church Stree, Lenox MA
This opened in 1999, but we just noticed it. It's supposed to be California Cuisine, but I'm a pretty bad judge of what is or is not California Cuisine. However, we tried Napa for lunch today and it's pretty good. Except that my pasta did not look like it was supposed to. I don't know how you cook "garlic, roma tomatoes, basil, cheese, and chicken" into a brown gravy. It's not supposed to happen. I'd bring my friend from California here to explain to me what's going on, but she's pretty opposed to serving chicken on pasta, so I may not get an answer. My brother's shrimp and avocado salad would have been a better choice.

3) Shiro, Great Barrington MA
This is, like, the 6th year in a row we've had Andrew's birthday dinner at Shiro, save the one summer he spent in Beijing. It's a sushi/hibachi restaurant, and we always go for the hibachi option. Ambiance needs help, as does the hibachi grill guy, whose performance was, say, lackluster. This might have been because there was this really cute little girl eating with her parents who was FREAKED by the fire. Adorable, though at times a bit loud in her vehement dislike of flame. The filet mignon was exactly what one might expect a filet mignon to be: tender, a bit flavorless on its own, but with all of the flavor of the garlic and soy in which it was cooked. The chicken was pretty awful: dry and unpalatable, with a sticky teriyaki sauce which was unable to mask the cardboard-like chicken underneath. The sirloin was cooked far too long in general, and far too long without any sort of flavoring around it. The result was, like the chicken, an acceptable sauce on a very disappointing little cube of meat, which had prior held such promise. Finally, the shrimp was a bit on the overcooked side, and I notice that they've stopped chopping the shrimp in half. Whole shrimp, while nice, are much more noticable when they're rubbery. All in all, not bad, but I've had better. Not that we'll do anything differently next year.

ps. one potential review: Fin on Housatonic Street in Lenox MA. This just opened, it doesn't even have proper signage, and I wasn't able to get a meal. I did grab a menu though. Whatever place serves Tonkatsu at $20 and NY Strip Steak with Wasabi/Soy glaze for $23 is doing something very wrong. How on earth can you charge $20 for Tonkatsu. For shame... Looks good, though; might have to try it. I'm pretty sure what I'm NOT going to order, though.

First and foremost, a hearty Happy Birthday to my younger brother Andrew, who is 23, and will be heading to Robert Wood Johnson Medical School next month. I hope he finds it to his liking; he's much smarter than I am.

So I've been watching Airline on A&E, which is addictive simply because I've been flying so much in the past two weeks, but also because it's horrible. Usually, I side with the staff: they're overworked, underpaid, every cliche about the "working man" or "working woman" in America. They deal with gruesomely horrible people all day long (myself included) and what do they get? The chance to do it all tomorrow.

In preparation for my upcoming UK adventure, I've even been watching Airline UK, which is even funnier, because the accents are different than ours are. And that's funny. Plus, the storylines involve international travel, smaller airports with which I am less likely to be acquainted (or in which I am likely to be photographed) and, in one episode this morning, silly French people.

But tonight's episode was scary. First off, a sad-looking Canadian exchange student was headed to Scotland with a quartet of live lobsters for his host family. This sad-looking Canadian became positively unravelled when he found that "live" animals are not allowed on EasyJet. The following is a running commentary.
Stupid comment #1: Student: "but they're not really alive"
yes they are. dead lobsters are rotten lobsters. you don't show up to a host family's house with dead crustacea.
Stupid comment #2: Check-In Manager: "of course they're alive, they've got the little rubber-bandie things on them"
right. if that were the only criteria for alive, I'd never leave home without my little rubber-bandie things.
This is where things go from scary to sad-scary. This Canadian is forced to leave his little lobsters in the airport with the check-in manager who, when out of range of their previous owner, but still on camera, shouts "dinner!" First you steal prized lobsters, then you have the gall to rejoice. This is the sad part. Now the scary:
Scary comment #1: Office girl: "that's cruel - can't we release them in a pond or something?"
right. shut up.
Scary comment #2: Different office girl: "Ooh, I love lobsters! Wait, you mean, we'd have to cook them?"
not so scary on its own, just that these women have NO idea what to do with a lobster.
Scary comment #3: Check-In Manager: "I had no idea what they'd look like! I was thinking they'd try to pinch me and grab me by the wrists when I opened their box!"
She's thinking of what happens when you lay flowers down on top of a grave in horror movies...
And then back to sad: Canadian Student: "Well, someone who works for EasyJet is going to be eating well tonight..."
If this is any indication of the people I have to dupe to get good grades in England, I've got no more worries...

Just, for the record, the lobsters are kept alive with a combination of dry ice, which keeps them cold, and Carbon Dioxide, which keeps them knocked out. And no, they don't scream when you cook them. That's just the pressure equalizing as the lobster boils to death inside its shell. For a fun book, check out "The Secret Lives of Lobsters." I don't know who wrote it, but I heard about it on NPR. Sounds like great summer reading.

We've been lucky this past weekend to have eight houseguests come cycling through. First, a couple of friends from home who are, sadly, moving to Houston to escape the bitter New England winters. Before leaving, they went to the Juilliard String Quartet concert at Tanglewood. A review, such as it is from the Berkshire Eagle, can be found here. It's sad to see our friends go, especially to a place like Texas, but it was wonderful to see them one last time on their drive down. The husband is retiring as a heart surgeon, and his expertise in carving our Christmas turkey will be sorely missed.

Then, a friend of my Mom's came by for the Marsalis concert, as did a family of three from New York City, and another couple from Boston who run a wonderful social services program in Boston's Chinatown (a place I used to work, and a place for which I have much affection). It was nice to see everyone, even if the house was a bit cramped.

Yesterday afternoon, we were all treated to a round of my Dad's outstanding grilled food. We invited some of our friends from the chorus and ate and talked and ate more. Steak strips marinated in a Southeast Asian satay barbecue sauce, chicken in a curry marinade, and excellent (but store-bought) chicken sausage. Nobody grills food like my Dad. It's one of the things I'll miss in England. That, and, y'know, America. Thanks to our friends for supplying fruits, wines, ice creams, and other assorted commestibles.

My friend Micah emailed today to say that he's playing tuba in a Shakespearean play in Central Park. As Yaakov Smirnoff would say, "what a country!"

On a more serious note, please check the general tone of my blog post before deciding to post to it a comment that's either irrelevant or insensitive, or possibly both. Posts like today's are probably OK for it, but yesterday's posts were a bit more serious. The Marsalis concert was truly inspirational and challenging on a level of humanity that has not been challenged in a long time. To have a comment about how far back the Sox are from the Evil Empire seemed a bit jarring. It's unfair to single out a single posting for this, but better that we deal with this the first time, I guess.

I forgot my friend's birthday today until about a half hour ago. I feel really stupid, since it's the day before my younger brother's. She was an ex-girlfriend, too, but we remain friends and I even went to her wedding. For a view of her wedding gown, please click here. Hers is the last one on the page, and the gown, while gorgeous in its display, was even more gorgeous on her. It was a wonderful wedding, and I still treasure my memories of it: She and her husband are adorable. :) So Happy Birthday Vicki. Sorry I didn't call.

I know that I just published another entry. I didn't want to add the absurdity of this post onto the last one. This is the post-concert blog. Just got back from an amazing concert. Like I said, this was a wonderful piece: the artistry and the humanity are unmatched and the Boston Symphony Orchestra, Tanglewood Festival Chorus, Lincoln Center Jazz Ensemble, and four vocal soloists all came together for a truly transcendant evening of music.

Maestro Masur seemed to lose track of the music in a few of the faster, more rhythmically challenging movements, but the musicians didn't mind. The music was fantastic. Soaring high notes, crashing lows, brass, strings, everything really gelled at the last moment (which was nice, because our rehearsal schedule did not allow for a full run-through). It was wonderful and terrifying and electrifying all at once.

Then, the real treat: not only was this a fantastic musical experience, it was capped off by two encores, first by Wynton Marsalis and his rhythm section, and secondly a 4-bar blues jam session by the entire Lincoln Center Jazz Ensemble. Not everyday that we see a full jam session by a jazz great. :)

I am currently at Tanglewood in Western Massachusetts to sing Wynton Marsalis' All Rise with the Boston Symphony Orchestra. It's been a heck of a week with a doubtlessly talented but also frustrating conductor and wonderful but long rehearsals. This afternoon, Mr. Marsalis hiimself came to talk with the chorus about his piece. I am a very poor storyteller and have quite a failing memory sometimes. I will attempt, to the best of my ability, to paraphrase some of what he said.

He said that more than anything else, music had to have a humanity about it. Without that humanity, the craft of music is nothing. If in doubt, sacrifice a little bit of the craft to bring out the humanity of the music. The same, he said, goes for just about anything else. Everything has a rhythm, whether it is Gregorian Chant or Blues or Baroque or Jazz. Find that rhythm, then groove with it. And in all things, imbue what you do with meaning. It takes little skill to play the same notes as Louis Armstrong or speak the same words of Dr. King, but to do so with their meaning and gravitas and art and passion takes much more. It is the meaning more than the notes or words themselves which make what we do important.

It was more than I could have imagined: his piece is beautiful, and it has been recorded by the Los Angeles Symphony and the Lincoln Center Jazz Ensemble. Buy this recording and hear what Marsalis has to say.

My dear Latin teacher Mrs. Behnke from Boston is now the poster-child for being in the right place at the right time. She is the coordinator for the entire Latin program at the University of Chicago despite reaching (she says "only", I say "it's more than I've got") two Master's Degrees and no PhD. She has always been an inspiration to me in terms of the type of teacher I want to be. I had the very great luck to be able to visit her in Chicago here to grab coffee. She is awesome, and I am so thrilled I got to see her. I hope someday to touch as many lives as she has.

I went to my friend Peter's house to play videogames and he alerted me that it was almost 1, when I was to meet Mrs. Behnke. Unfortunately, his watch (or more, his cellphone) had yet to switch time zones (he'd just come back from the East coast). Sol we rushed and rushed and darn near ran to the coffeeshop to meet her, but when I got there, it seemed that it was in fact, only noon. Thanks, Peter.

Yesterday was an excellent dinner at the Chicago Brauhaus. Bing had an excellent Brauhaus Special, which contained two types of sausage, a slab (yes) of ham and some of their homemade headcheese. Believe it or not, it was delicious. Tacy had the Sauerbat, which I think was meat smothered in sauerkraut and gravy. The gravy was tasty, but the meat was a bit overcooked and dry. Graham had some sort of German style braciole (a rolled up beef thing), but filled with pickles and with an excellent onion gravy. Quite good. And as for me, I started with a delicious steak tartare with a raw egg, anchovies, paprika, capers, and onions. Very very tasty. I also had a specialty of the house: a veal hock in a gravy so tasty it stuck to everything. The veal had cooked so completely that it almost disintegrated: so tender and juicy and fantastic. My father has been searching for this dish since he left Wisconsin in the 1970's. Well, I found it, and it was yummy. :) Am cooking tonight, must go prepare.

Props go to the Chicago Transit System, with its low fares and remarkably efficient service. I was very taken by the disembodied voice, which clearly stated the names of stations on both the bus and the train. Especially significant was the announcement for Chicago station: “This is Chicago” (me: really?) and for Grand station: “This is Grand” (me: why yes, it is).

I would like to say, for the record, that I do not take phenomenal dislike of anyone lightly. But I have to say that I have an intense hatred for people who bring babies on red-eye flights. I am sympathetic to folks who feel the need to travel with small children. But on RED-EYE FLIGHTS?!? We need mandatory sedation programs for children under 5.

Given that much of my supposed readership is in high school or middle school, this may not apply to that many people. But if you’re thinking about getting married and planning an outdoor wedding: think again. Look, I love mirth and merriment and the bright sunshine as much as the next person, but if you’re going to get married outside in what, God-willing, will be a nice sunny day, know that corsages will wilt, as will the guests wearing them.

Also, if I am ever considering a themed wedding, please talk me off of the ledge as soon as humanly possible. Just a thought.

With that in mind, it’s been a fantastic weekend. Weddings are cool.

Yesterday I bore witness to one of the most beautiful wedding ceremonies I've ever seen. Two people who are so very much in love are now married: my cousin Andrea and her new husband Steve are on their way to St. Lucia for their honeymoon. It was spectacular: everything was perfect. It was an outdoor wedding with lovely music, flowers, a wonderful homily and a truly outstanding reception. We had 12 out of 13 grandkids there on my Mom's side. The last time this happened was in 1994 in Beijing. It's amazing that it takes something like a wedding to bring us all together (everyone but a new 8-month old cousin in Hong Kong). Aunts, Uncles, new in-laws, Andrea and Steve are fantastic people surrounded by fantastic people. All in all, it could not have gone better. How does one follow this up?

With another wedding! I'm singing a wedding in the same town tonight: these are family friends from back in Boston and I'm excited to be singing. From here, it's a red-eye to Chicago.

Spent some time today with a good friend from college. This is someone whom I have not seen since 2001, and whose company I rather enjoy: not an ex-girlfriend, but a very good friend of, actually, two exes. We met freshman year of college and during their sophomore year, their room became something of a second-room for me since they lived closer to the college entrance than I did. So I'd come back from class at 3:00, go to their room and fall asleep on their futon, wake up for dinner, and then do work. It was a wonderful system, and it got me plenty of sleep. I am a firm believer in the mid-afternoon nap. If you ask me, the Spanish siesta is the way to go. Annie's a med student at UCSF and it was a pleasure to see her. She insisted on paying for lunch, which was silly, so I bought dessert: a coconut mousse over mocha mousse cup for her, and a cheesecake mousse with a delightful bitter chocolate dusting for me. Outstanding.

For the record, Annie is not a bad driver. Most of the time. :P

The state motto of California. sweet.

After a close to 2 hour delay, we made it to San Jose airport where I was seated across from an fairly attractive girl and her ghetto-looking brother. This was interesting, as this kid was holding a skateboard with the very thought provoking "second-rate poets, second rate sonnets" scrawled on the bottom, a wool hat pulled down almost over his eyes (remember, we're in California in July), and a messenger bag with a Chase Bank logo on it.

Yes. a Chase Bank logo. What is this - ghetto-I-banker? Bizarre. Word to your trust-fund.

The Californian adventure commences: After some minor issues (like finding out that I hadn’t actually been ticketed to San Jose), I am now seated at gate B36 at Logan International Airport – an institution unlike any other. 5 Terminals: A through E. A has been closed for as long as I can remember. D is not a terminal as much as it is parking. Which leaves, of course, C (a beautiful, well-lit terminal with amenities galore), E (the international terminal, but brand new and sparkling, not to mention almost completely empty at this time of day; this is the terminal from which my two brothers are flying), and I sit here in terminal B. I waited in a line for about 30 minutes this morning. At least, when you’re in line at Disneyworld, there’s lights and music and a ride at the end. In this line were a ton of small children, people rushing to catch flights to exotic locales being rushed past us in line, and few racist old ladies muttering about all of the “Mexicans and Chinese” around them. I think they spoke loud enough to let me hear because they didn’t think I could speak English. And at the end of the line? You get to get in another line and go through airport security. How delightful. I’d have used the self-check-in desks, but I swear, the line was twice as long.

Or alternatively, yet another reason to vote Democratic in the next election. As reported by the New York Times, Dick Cheney spent some time in the Yankees clubhouse before yesterday's game. Said Joe Torre, "It's great any time a dignitary like that visits. It slaps you with pride." I can think of a couple other things I'd like to slap Joe Torre with right now, but I digress... Rather, I am amazed that the Yankees had the gall to put Vice-President Cheney on the scoreboard during the "God Bless America" segment of the 7th inning, only to remove it in a hurry because the crowd started to shout "boo!"

Montgomery Burns: "Wait - are you saying 'boo!' or 'boo-URNS!'?"
Crowd: "BOOOOO!"
Hans Moleman: "I was saying 'boo-urns...'"

So I went back to the Apple Store today: it turns out that when I bought the Powerbook, the salesperson told me that it was identical in specs to the current 15-inch model, save processor speed. In reality, I also bought a wireless-capable computer, but not a wireless computer. That is, it had everything except a wireless card. The folks at Apple were kind enough to provide one and install it completely free of charge. They were appreciative of the fact that I just dropped a lot of money into their laps yesterday and were not about to annoy me.

Here's the thing: I had been talking to my salesperson about how cursed I've been recently with electronics, since I wanted to make absolutely certain that my computer was warrantied and such. When I went in today, she introduced me to another salesperson while I was waiting for my wireless card. I joked that a friend had suggested that I perform some sort of purification ritual before I used the computer. She glances over at her friend and tells me that I'm "talking to two people who take that very seriously." They go on to describe that negative energy can arise from a cluttered room or still water. So I should get a small rock fountain for my apartment. Finally, they suggest that I take a bundle of sage leaves, light them, and draw circles in the air, though pragmatically, they also suggest that I leave the window open a crack while I'm "saging." I'm sorry, but that was a bit too much for me. That said, I did wash my hands first...

Scary: I was just typing in an IM and forgot what Haydn's first names were. How weird.