If You're Going To Move, Be Out Of Town

I have moved three times since I got married, although if you ask my wife she will tell you that I have not moved at all.  And technically, both things are true.  This weekend I am moving again.  And I am also not moving again.  But this time I sort of am!  Sort of.

I mean, I should make it back for at least half of it...

When Simone and I got married we lived in an apartment in Silver Spring, MD.  It was nice enough, but eventually we needed a change and so we moved to Baltimore.  The funny thing is (or not funny if you ask my wife), I sprained my wrist right before we moved, and so was unable to lift any boxes.  Luckily we had a lot of great friends who helped us, and thanks to Simone’s ingenious box labeling system and my expert watching abilities the move went very well.

We stayed in Baltimore for 5 years, but we always kind of knew that we wanted to move back to Vermont, and so eventually we took the plunge and just did it.  We moved.  Wait, did I say “we” moved?  I mean, I guess we did.  I wasn’t there for most of it.  I was in New York, singing with New York City Opera, as long-time readers may recall.  While I was gone singing, my wife single-handedly (with help from my family and hers) moved the family and all of our stuff from Maryland to a small apartment over her sister’s garage in South Hero, VT.

We knew that this was only temporary.  Simone was looking for a job, and once she found one in Richmond, VT, we knew that we wanted to find a place to live somewhere in that town.  Well, we did.  We found a place, and move-in day happened to be, well, during my first contract with St. Petersburg Opera in Florida.  Now, to be fair, I did get home in time to help with that move.  We were able to delay it until I got back.  But to also be fair, most of the horribleness of moving is really the packing and organizing and prepping for the move, and I was gone for that whole process.

So that brings us to this week.  Today, as I sit and write this in New York, fulfilling my contract with the Metropolitan Opera, Simone is picking up the keys to our new place in Burlington.  You see, she got a new job there, and suddenly living in Richmond is very inconvenient.  Her 5 minute commute turned into a 45 minute commute, and so we are picking up and moving again.  Wait, did I say “we” were moving?

If any of my Catholic readers would like to nominate my wife for sainthood, I think now would be a good time.

My First Angry Troll

I suppose it had to happen eventually.  When you write things and post them on the internet, you are making yourself vulnerable.  That is part of what being an artist is in the first place.  Whether you sing on stage, act, paint, write, or otherwise create, you have to make yourself vulnerable, to criticism, indifference, rejection, and sometimes obnoxious bullying.  You must realize that some people out there just like to cause trouble, say nasty stuff, and stir things up in a non-helpful manner.  The internet has a special name for these people.  We call them trolls.

Trolls are not to be taken seriously.  That is the first thing you must realize when dealing with one.  The trick is to spot them early, before they make you too upset.  Their sole purpose is to be as horrible as possible, under the protection of internet anonymity, just for the sake of being horrible.  Whether any of those things they are saying are true or not doesn't matter.  Trolls are like the devil's advocate played by the devil himself.  Contrarians, annoying, mean, and word-twisting, and I got one myself on this very blog.

As Tenor Dad continues to slowly grow in popularity, it goes without saying that new and different kinds of people are paying attention to it.  Trolls are a rite of passage, albeit not a very fun one.  I was surfing the internet the other night when my computer informed me that someone had left a comment on one of my posts.  Naturally I was very excited, because no one ever leaves comments on my posts.  Not that I don't get feedback, but it is normally via Facebook.

Well, I read the comment, and it was pretty horrible.  In fact, it was downright upsetting.  The things they said about me, and my family, were quite hurtful, and I re-read the post in question, wondering if they were right.  That was when the second comment appeared.  This comment was even worse (and much longer) than the first, on a different post, and used foul language to insult everyone from me to my dead great-grandmother.  That was when I knew I had a troll.

Someone had discovered my blog and was going post to post saying monstrous things about me and the people I loved.  Ahhhhh, problem solved.  I no longer had to take what they were saying seriously.  Even if they really did think I was a terrible parent, it didn't matter.  The troll was not trying to engage me in productive debate, or even trying to offer any constructive criticism.  No, the goal of the troll is to be an a-hole.  Mission accomplished, my anonymously posting buddy.

I quickly went through and deleted the evil comments, and every time a new one was posted I would immediately take it down.  Eventually they got bored and went away.  It's been a few days now and they haven't been back, so I think I was just a momentary late-night distraction for them and not some holy crusade (thank goodness).

What the incident really did for me was to reaffirm my desire to be the best parent I can be.  Someone once told me, and I have held it as true ever since, that when someone insults you, it really only hurts when it was something you were upset about anyway.  If you are happy with your life and with who you are, you don't have to be upset when someone calls you names.  You can laugh it off, because you know they are just being a jerk.  No, it only hurts if it was hurting anyway.  If you get good grades and feel confident in your general problem solving abilities, you are only slightly annoyed and offended when someone calls you stupid, but if you have been struggling with your weight and feeling unattractive and they call you fat, well, that just cuts too deep.

The only times in my life when I have been truly hurt by other people's comments are when they have really hit home and touched on things in my life that I wish were different.  That's why when the troll told me in that first comment that my wife should divorce me because I was always traveling and never there for my kids, it made me sad.  Because I do worry about how my being gone for weeks at a time will affect my family.  And all I can do is work hard to make sure that they know that I love them and that I am there for them.  So thanks troll, for reminding me that I love my family.  And thanks for not saying that I am fat.  I am a little sensitive about my weight.

Attending a Letterman Taping

It is very easy to attend a live taping of "The Late Show" starring David Letterman.  Sure, I know on their website it says that you have to either fill out a form online or apply in person at the studio, and then you have only a small chance at getting a ticket and must rely on a ticket lottery where you will be up against thousands of other people for only a few hundred seats, but that is all just talk.  I went to a taping yesterday, and it was much easier than that.

I finished up my rehearsal at Lincoln Center and decided to walk down to the comic book store in Times Square (note to comic book retailers: please open an Upper West Side location) because I had nothing better to do and I wanted to look for some trading cards that Ruby wanted.  As I was walking down Broadway I passed the CBS studios building where they film "The Late Show" and saw a huge crowd of people waiting outside to get in.  But I guess it wasn't as huge a crowd as I thought.

Some guy on the street with a clipboard asked me if I wanted to go see Letterman, and I instinctively kept walking and did not make eye contact.  There are a lot of people in New York on the sidewalks holding clipboards, and they are not to be trusted.  I did have the courtesy to fire off this scathing one-liner as I passed though: "Sorry Buddy, looks like there are already more than enough people in that huge line back there."  Zing!

But then he came a step closer, and shouted that he could guarantee me a seat and it started in 5 minutes.  My curiosity piqued, I paused and approached the young lad.  He told me that a big group had cancelled and they needed to fill spots and would I please go to the show.  Well, what the heck, right?  I put my name on the list and walked over to the line.  After a few minutes they moved my stand-by line over to the regular line, handed me a ticket, and before I knew it I was going through security.

Because I was basically the last person in line, and because I was alone, I was shoved into the first available single free seat, which happened to be the middle of the third row.  Hey, a great seat!  They told us the rules: No cell phones, No cameras, lots of clapping, no yelling "Woooo" in a high pitched manner.  I guess high pitched noises do something bad to the microphones, so whistling was banned, and shrieking was also out.

First we were warmed up with a little stand-up comedy and then the band came out and started jamming.  Dave appeared and said hi to us, and then the show started.  And it pretty much ran like a normal show.  Rob Lowe was there, as well as the Governor of Montana and the band "The War on Drugs" which I had never heard of, but were actually pretty good.

When the show ended we were quickly ushered out of the theater and back onto the streets, where I continued my walk to Times Square, only to find out that the comic book store was completely sold out of the cards I wanted.  Oh well.  A small price to pay for an interesting afternoon.

The Megabus Goes to Vermont

Guys!  I cannot tell you how excited I am about this!  The Megabus goes to Vermont!  One of the biggest obstacles in my way of becoming a full-time professional singer is that it is way too damn expensive to be a full time professional singer.  And a big part of that problem is getting back and forth to New York.

Previously I have done the math and discovered that a quick overnight to NYC for an audition costs me about $200.  With gas, tolls, a few $5 foot longs, and paying the accompanist, it took a huge chunk out of our budget, especially during audition season when I was traveling there once a week or more.  But then I discovered the train.

Amtrak was a little better, bringing the total cost of the trip down to about $170.  I still had to use some gas because I had to drive to Albany to catch the train, but it was a lot less of that ridiculously expensive gasoline.  Even so, $170-340 a week is more than I have to be spending on travel.  Us minimum wage pizza workers have to watch our money very carefully.

But now, salvation!  I used to take the Megabus (or the Bolt Bus, or whatever bus) back and forth to Baltimore, and it is just as nice as the train, but way cheaper.  You still get free wi-fi and outlets for plugging things in.  There is still a bathroom on board.  And you also don't make nearly as many stops.  And the best part is, and maybe I forgot to mention this, it's way cheaper!

My bus ticket to NY for this current gig cost me $14.  Compared to a $40-60 train ticket that is a huge improvement.  But get this!  I just bought three more tickets, one quick round trip home between performances and my final ride home, and the total cost of all three tickets combined was $11.  ELEVEN DOLLARS!  Are you kidding me!?  The cost of a trip to New York and back is now around $6 plus food!  This is amazing! 

So if you live in Vermont and would like to visit New York, first make sure you are well-versed in proper bus etiquette, and then hop on board the ol' Megabus!  The earlier you buy your ticket, the cheaper it is!  You just can't lose!

(still excited)

The Wrong Kind of A-Hole

On Sunday we decided to check out the Children's Museum of Manhattan.  We'd heard good things about it, the best thing being that it was located one block away from our apartment, so we walked over in the morning and stood outside in the rain, waiting for it to open.

When it opened we checked our raincoats and stroller at the coat check, because they do not allow strollers or wet coats in the museum, and started walking through the various exhibits.  The place was definitely geared toward children, so we adults stood around and watched the kids enjoy themselves until it was time for me to go to rehearsal.

Simone stayed at the museum with the kids while I went back to the coat check to retrieve my bag and my coat,  Unfortunately by this time there was a huge line out the door of people arriving to check their coats and strollers.  I walked up to the desk and asked them for my things, and I was told that there was only one line for pick-up and drop-off, and so I would have to go to the back of the line and wait.  Which I did.

As I stood in line, I started to realize that this line was going to make me late for my rehearsal.  I also reflected that I had been in many other lines before in which other people had made a huge stink about something and subsequently gotten their way.  I felt like maybe I was being a push-over, so I went over to the counter again to plead my case.

I don't know where I go wrong with these things.  Obnoxious a-holes get their way in this world all the time.  I guess I am just the wrong kind of a-hole, but I just don't know how to march up to someone and get my way.  I started by politely explaining to the person that I was going to be late for a rehearsal and I just needed my bag, and one of the people behind the counter wasn't really doing anything anyway, and could they please make an exception.  No dice.  Back of the line buddy.

At this point I made a bigger fuss.  I told them that it was not a good policy to have only one line for both pick-up and drop-off, and that I could not wait in that line for my coat.  They got very annoyed/angry with me and told me I had better get back in line.  So I tried to go full blown obnoxious.  I asked for a manager.  I told them I was going to tell everyone I knew that this museum was horrible.  I kicked and screamed and gnashed my teeth.  And eventually, I went to the back of the line and waited a really long time to get my stuff.

I ended up taking the train to rehearsal and made it in time, although I normally walk and I had hoped to have lunch first, which I was not able to do.  But the whole thing just left a sour taste in my mouth.  Especially as I see other people so often break rules, cut lines, and get what they want at the expense of the rest of humanity.  How do they do it?!

Yesterday we went to see the Chimpanzee movie that is currently out in theaters, and we got two large drinks to share (for $15).  We had not finished them when the movie ended, but while we were in the aisle putting Edward's coat on him, the cleaning crew came along and threw away our half-full beverages.  Simone was upset about this, so she went up to the counter to get a replacement drink.  I stood to the side with the kids, and a few minutes later Simone came back with a free replacement drink.  HOW!?  What did she say or do?!  Obviously I questioned her about this, but she just said she asked nicely and the person sighed and looked suspiciously at her, and then got the drink anyway.  I would never have gotten the drink.  I would have been banned from the theater for life.

I wish I knew the secret to getting around rules and being the exception, but I don't.  I am terrible at getting my way.  If I order food, and they bring me something other than what I order, I can't even get them to bring me the right food.  I just end up getting yelled at somehow.  Does anyone out there know the secret?  Please share!  I am tired of having to live like a normal person in a world where everyone else gets special treatment!

The Bronx Zoo

Saturday was my birthday, and I turned mid-thirties.  Not so bad in the grand scheme of things, but when you still kind of think you are 20, it is a little too old.  Regardless of my personal preference however, time marches on, and this year, like last year, I was away for an opera gig on my big day.  Luckily, my family was able to come visit this time, as New York is much closer to Vermont than Florida was.  With wife and kids in town, and a miraculous free day from the Met, we decided to take a train up to the Bronx to visit the zoo.

We are big zoo people, although that may be because we lived in Washington, DC for a long time where the zoo is awesome and free.  When we lived in Baltimore we hardly ever went to the zoo, and when we did we traveled back to DC to do it.  Just before we moved home to Vermont, we did take a trip to the Baltimore Zoo, and it was actually pretty awesome as well (but less free).  We got to feed a giraffe and everything!  So anyway, we love zoos, but none of us had ever been to the Bronx Zoo, arguably one of the top zoos in the country, if not the world.  Clearly we had no choice but to check it out.

In order to get to the zoo we had to ride the subway, and honestly I think my kids would have been thrilled to just do that all day.  Ruby was excited to stand up and hold the pole all by herself, and Edward just yelled "CHOO-CHOO!" at the top of his lungs for most of the ride.  Sadly for everyone else on the train, we eventually got off, and Edward screamed "BYE CHOO-CHOO!" at them as we walked away, down 2,000 flights of stairs and up four blocks to the zoo entrance.

To take in the entirety of the zoo, I feel confident in my non-exaggeration by saying you would probably need three full days.  We knew from the outset that we had only one day, and that the children would become tired and cranky well before the day was over.  Accordingly, we planned out the whole schedule in advance and started our day with the African animals.  Ruby was very pleased to have heard a lion yawn, and we saw our first peacocks of the day.

The peacocks became a recurring motif throughout the day, as they tend to wander freely about the zoo, eating french fries and making loud noises.  Every time we found a peacock on the path, Ruby would laugh really hard and tell us that another peacock had escaped.  Edward enjoyed feeding them his lunch, and we all had made a lot of peaocky friends by the end of it.

Because we had purchased the online discounted total experience passes in advance, we were able to see the 4-D Dora and Diego movie, which the kids loved.  Now, I thought the 4th dimension was time, so therefore all 3-D movies are really in 4-D since they include a running time, but apparently this is not the case.  4-D just means your seats shake and they squirt things at you.  The movie was geared towards little kids for sure, but who doesn't enjoyed being shaken around and squirted in the face?  Needless to say, it was enjoyed by all.

Everyone's favorite part of the zoo was the gorilla section.  To start out, there is a little movie about the gorillas and efforts to protect them, and when the movie is over the curtains pull back dramatically to reveal a large enclosure filled with...nothing.  I mean, I guess sometimes there are some gorillas there, but all we got were trees.  Luckily we were then ushered into the next room over, where there were plenty of gorillas.

Another highlight for us was the children's zoo area, where they had human prairie dog tunnels for kid to climb in, rope spider webs to climb up, and tons of other cool stuff to mess with.  We fed goats, slid down slides, and saw all kinds of cool animals there, although by that time we were getting pretty tired.

We saw lemurs and rhinos and tigers, and we even went inside a giant butterfly house where, if you were lucky, butterflies would land right on you.  We rode the bug carousel and avoided the 10 mile long line to meet Yo Gabba Gabba.  By the afternoon we could barely walk or form cohesive sentences, and we hadn't even seen half of the zoo!  I must say that we should get parental bonus points for perfectly timing the length of our stay.  The tigers were our last stop, and the whining only really started around that time, and as we walked from the tigers to the exit, Edward fell asleep in the stroller.  Parenting Win!

After the zoo we went home to nap for an hour and then spent the evening on the roof of my agent's building looking out at the skyline.  A wonderful way to spend a birthday.  Starah even made us dinner and we talked about singing and birthdays and kids and life as my children slowly destroyed her apartment.  She didn't mind though, and as we left Starah to clean the rocks up off of her floor (don't ask), we all agreed that it had been a great day, and as I sat at home and read the 150 facebook posts on my timeline, I felt sure that I had just experienced one of my best birthdays ever.

Ordered it Median, Got it Mode

I think my waitress must have been confused.  Perhaps she got her mathematical terms mixed up.  I know that many people leave school and quickly forget about the differences between the mean, the median, and the mode, but the differences were quite plain to see in my cheeseburger.

Now first of all, if you stand there and ask me how I want it cooked, that means that I am expecting it to be cooked to my specifications.  If you didn't want to do what I wanted, you could have just not asked.  But since you did ask, I said that I wanted a burger that was cooked "medium."  I suppose that 'medium' is a subjective term, much like 'average,' so let me quickly clear up that what I was asking for was a median burger.

The median is the middle value.  Not the highest value, or the lowest value, but the one right in between, with the same number of values above it as there are values below it.  This is how I wished for my burger to be cooked.  I could have been clearer, and next time I will definitely order it cooked "median," just so there is no confusion.

I also would have been okay with the mean burger.  I assume that some people want their burgers cooked very rare, and probably even more people want them cooked well-done, so the mean, or true average doneness of all the burgers probably sits around medium-well, although I do not have any statistical evidence to back up these wild claims.  I am just going on what I have casually observed in my life.  Plus all the overcooked McDonald's burgers alone probably spike that average up well past medium.

In fact, I would go so far as to say that, for multiple reasons including health-code regulations, fast food, and people being squeamish around blood, more burgers are served well-done than any other one way.  This is the mode.  The most repeated value in a set.  And this is how my burger was given to me.  Very, very well done.

Again, so we are clear, when I say that the burger you gave me was well done, it does not mean that you did a good job.  Just so we are clear.  You served me a mode burger.  The burger most often served.  Probably very often served at your restaurant, since it appears that this is what you get no matter what you order.  And it was not a bad burger.  I actually kind of enjoyed it.  Maybe not quite as much as if it had been cooked a little less, but it was still okay.  It's just...why did you ask me how I wanted it cooked!?  You got my hopes up for a median burger, and all I got was the mode.  And that's just mean.

The NYIOPS

For those of you who don’t know, NYIOPS stands for “New York International Opera Auditions.”  “But wait,” you say, “shouldn’t the acronym be NYIOAS instead?”  Yes, it should be, but it is not, because Nigh-Ops is easier to say than Nah-ee-oh-wahs.  And anyway, I think we can all agree that it would be far better to call them the “New York City Loud Opera Person Sessions,” or NYCLOPS.

Now, the NYIOPS have been a source of some controversy among singers since their inception about ten years ago, and this is due to one very controversial reason, that being that they are very expensive.  Singers worry greatly about things that are expensive, because, being singers, they cannot afford them.  The NYIOPS will tell you that you are actually saving money, because what they do is bring a lot of people in from around the world (the world being Europe [Europe being Germany]) and listen to you audition.  This saves the struggling young singer the cost of actually traveling to all of these Germanies and singing for each person individually.  And all it costs is several hundreds of dollars.

Singers do not like things that cost several hundreds of dollars.  They get mad if an audition fee approaches $50, much less hundreds of dollars.  There is also the question of whether or not any of these people sitting on the NYIOPS panel actually hire any singers from these auditions.  People seem to think not, but I have to say that when I did the audition myself two years ago, the Metropolitan Opera heard me, and subsequently hired me.  So there you go.  I am living proof that the process works, or has worked at least once.  Which brings us to yesterday.

There I was, at my rehearsal for the Metropolitan Opera, which I got indirectly via the NYIOPS two years ago, and I suddenly receive, directly via my agent, an offer to sing for the NYIOPS again.  And for a reduced fee!  Fewer hundreds of dollars for me to pay!  Hooray!  The problem was that I was having a very busy day.  You know, what with rehearsals and whatnot.

Yesterday was actually payday, which was lucky for me, but it meant I had to go to the bank after rehearsal to put money in so I could take money out so I could sing for all of those nice people.  And then I had to run home and get my suit.  And then I had to run over to my voice teacher’s so he could warm me up and get me ready and psyched to sing.  The point of this being that I put on the wrong shoes.

I showed up at my voice teacher’s apartment wearing not my black audition shoes, but my black sneakers.  Not good.  I am a mess of a human being.  But it gets worse.  I also realized that I was supposed to bring eight copies of my headshot, resume, bio, etc and I did not have this with me, nor did I have time to go find these things.  Here in New York I do not have access to a printer, or even the internet half the time, and I was not prepared for such a request.

Well, I called my agent, and because she is the best agent ever, she printed that stuff for me, and I jumped in a cab and made it to the audition early, which was good because they were running ahead of schedule.  Now imagine my horror when they ask what I will be singing, and I put my hand into my bag to get out my music, only to discover that I have left all of my music at my voice teacher’s apartment.

Honestly, I don’t know how I have survived this long without being killed or otherwise destroyed.  I should not be let out of the house.  If my proverbial head was not proverbially screwed on, it would probably be at my voice teacher's apartment.  My wife is always getting upset with me over the high level of scatterbrainedness that I often display, and I think you can now add my agent and my voice teacher to that list of frustrated people as well.  I called my voice teacher in a panic, who confirmed that my music was there, but he was supposed to be teaching another lesson at that time.  The guy at the NYIOPS registration desk ran upstairs to looks for any opera scores that might be lying around that could possibly contain things that I knew how to sing in them.  Everyone was very helpful,  but I was in a tizzy, and you do not want to be singing for important people in a tizzy, let me assure you.

Suddenly, my phone rang.  It was my voice teacher telling me that he was in a cab on his way over with my music.  Time was ticking away, and I ran outside to meet him.  3 singers left before me.  Now 2.  I was on deck.  And my phone rang again.  My voice teacher wanted to know why I wasn’t outside waiting…because he had gone to the wrong place.  Really, universe?  REALLY?!!

Luckily the place he had gone was only a few blocks away from where I was, so in a few minutes he drove by, holding my music out the window.  I snatched it up and ran inside, ready to sing my best, or a reasonable facsimile thereof.  And actually, I think I did sing pretty well.  I don’t know if anyone is going to hire me, but we’ll see.  So if you want to know if the NYIOPS are worth it…well…they’d better be.

Life's Like a Movie

One of the best things about being in New York City is walking down the street with your iPod blasting dramatic music into your ears and pretending that you are in a movie.  If you have visited New York and for some reason have not done this, you are missing out.

New York is such a dramatic place anyway, and they set tons of movies and TV shows here, so it is only natural to feel as though you too are in a movie when you find yourself in the big apple.  Don't fight it; go with it.  It is super fun!  And it can be any kind of movie you want.  Are you feeling sad and lonely in the big city?  Just throw on an appropriate soundtrack (I would recommend "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" by The Beatles, or almost anything by James Taylor or Counting Crows - "Holiday in Spain" or "Sullivan Street" maybe?  "Fire and Rain?") and walk sadly down the street, feeling the camera on you at all times.

The camera part is pretend; you have to imagine that part.  But it's very easy to feel as though there is one there, tracking your every move.  And you don't have to be in a sad movie.  Maybe you are the hero in a crime caper, or an action flick.  In this case, put on "Black Betty" by Ram Jam (or "Stop the Rock" by Apollo 440 if you prefer.  "Short Skirt, Long Jacket" by Cake is also acceptable) and let your inner rebel-with-a-heart-of-gold ooze out of you and onto the street as you stride confidently by the other pedestrians, who may or may not give you funny looks due to your new sense of fame and importance.

You can do this for any kind of movie really, that's not the important part.  Heck, put on the theme from "Beetlejuice" if you want (thank you Danny Elfman!), and pretend you are an hilarious ghost back to haunt the local New Yorkers.  The important part is that you feel awesome and dramatic and excited to be wherever you are going.

Now, I'm not sure about this because I haven't tried it out yet, but this may work in other places besides NYC.  It seems reasonable to assume that other favorite movie settings could have a similar effect on you.  Los Angles and Washington, D.C. for instance.  I'm not sure how this will play out back in Vermont.  It might be hard to release your inner badass to the tunes of Jet while walking past a cow pasture, but it might be possible.  All I know is that in New York, every emotion seems right, and life just feels like a movie.

Change of Climate, Change of Attitude

Hey weather people!  Yeah, you folks on TV that tell us what you think the weather is going to be!  I'm talking to you!  I have something to say that you might want to think about.  You need to update your attitudes in terms of what people are hoping for in their weather patterns.

Sure, when it is late May or early June and the temperatures are around 80 with bright sun all day long, we are okay with you telling us that we are going to be pleased with the weather.  But when it is March and the temperature is 80, please do not put on your huge stupid smile and tell us that we are going to be thrilled that the weekend temperatures are going to be twice what they should be.

I get it.  Back in the old days before the climate started changing like crazy, an 80 degree day in March or April was very unusual, and people were excited.  We got out there and enjoyed it because we knew it was not going to happen again for years.  What made us like it was that it was not the norm.  We were not worried that perhaps the temperatures would stay overly high for the rest of the season, because we knew that it would be 35 again in a day or two and remain that way until Spring properly started.  But times have changed.

It would be nice if, instead of saying "You folks out there are going to love the weather this April weekend.  Temperatures will be approaching 90 and nothing but sun and clear skies!" you could maybe at least say "We are going to have some gorgeous sunny days this weekend, with temperatures well above normal."  Just that little change would be okay!  You can still smile vapidly and point to your charts, just don't presume to tell us that we are happy about a near-constant increase in average temperatures.

Look, let me be very clear here.  You weather people are the front lines in terms of how we get our weather information.  You have the power to influence minds and opinions about stuff like this, but if you keep on grinning every time we get a heat wave in the middle of winter, people are going to be less concerned than they ought to be.  And we ought to be concerned.  As I have said before, I am not totally blaming all of climate change on your corporate masters.  It could very well be a natural progression of earthly warming and cooling.  But honestly, it doesn't matter why it is happening.  What matters is that we acknowledge that it is happening and that it is going to be a problem for us.  We can get to the blame game later.

So the next time you are standing in front of your green screen in February, and you see that it is going to be in the 60's for a week in New England, put on your concerned face.  You know, your hurricane face.  If those guys across the room can sit there and report murder after grisly murder, and fire after horrible fire, you can get serious too.  Bad news boosts news ratings, right?  Isn't that what they tell us?  So do your part for your ratings, and for your planet.  Let us know that you have bad news for us too.

Voice Lesson at Hooters

My voice teacher is crazy.  I mean that in the most affection way possible, obviously, but there it is.  And I have proof of this fact.  How else could I schedule a voice lesson that ultimately led me to be hiding in the back corner of a Hooters while trying to say goodnight to my daughter on the phone?  But I should start at the beginning.

Nark, my voice teacher of almost 3 years now, was very excited that was going to be in New York for 5 weeks, because it means that I can have a lot of lessons to make up for those months when I was in Vermont and had none.  I called him to set up a time to come over and work on my audition rep with him, and he suggested that afterwards I stay and he would make dinner.  Since no singer on the planet can resist the siren call of free food, I readily agreed.

After my lesson, Nark told me that we were going on a walk first.  And when Nark goes on a walk, he goes on a walk.  You measure these walks in the hours, not the minutes, but since we are both trying to be healthy and fit, I agreed to it.  We walked all over central park for about an hour and a half, and suddenly realized that we were starving.  And so Nark led me to one of his favorite diners, and promised to make dinner for me another night.  Does a bacon cheeseburger and a chocolate milkshake cancel out 90 minutes of walking?  I hope not...

So then Nark asks me to come sing for a group voice class that he runs at his apartment on Saturday afternoons.  I said that I would do it, and he said that we could do another walk and then he would make me that dinner that he owed me.  Well, I told him that no way in heck was I going on another crazy walk, especially as I had already gone on my own crazy walk earlier in the day.  Finally I agreed that we would walk down to Lincoln Center and back (about a 50 minute round trip walk) in order to buy advance tickets to see The Avengers in a few weeks.  They are already selling out; get your tickets now folks!

Anyway, we get to the theater, buy our tickets, and, wouldn't you know it, we are hungry again.  "I know!" says Nark.  "Hooters!"  Now, I don't have time to explain to you in this paragraph just how non-into women my voice teacher is, but suffice it to say that he was excited about the wings, not the boobs.  I told him that he was going to have to explain to my wife why I was going to Hooters with my gay voice teacher, but he was not to be deterred.  He is on a low-carb, high protein diet, and the wings were summoning him.

Well, we found the Hooters (he knew exactly where it was...) and went in, ready for kitsch and camp.  And wings.  And boobs.  And we found it all.  I was doing okay, until my five-year-old daughter called to say goodnight to me.  Not that she knew where I was, or what a Hooter was anyway, but suddenly I felt a little uncomfortable.  So much so, in fact, that I jumped up out of my seat and ran out the door into the street.  I mean, come on, it was pretty loud in there; I had to find a quieter place to talk!

So I said goodnight to Ruby while Nark took pictures of the Hooters menu, put them on Facebook, and tagged me in a long series of Hooters-related posts, just so everyone I know would know what was going on.   Maybe I shouldn't have felt weird about being there; the family at the table next to us brought their 7-year-old.  I guess it's a family restaurant.

Actually, the wings were pretty good, and my feet were happy to have the break before we walked back to Nark's apartment.  But he still owes me a dinner.  Maybe we'll try again tonight.  I hope it actually happens though, because him making me dinner all the time is getting expensive.

Sock Shopping

It's time to go sock shopping.  Last time I was in New York I was all about pants, but this time I seem to be having a sock problem.  I first noticed this problem, oh, I don't know, a long time ago.  Sadly, I did not care at that time that all of my socks were getting threadbare and full of holes.  But then I had my costume fitting at the Metropolitan Opera the other day, and let me tell you, it is embarrassing to be at such a fine institution with holes in your socks.

My problem is that I like interesting socks.  No boring white tube socks or plain black dress socks for me!  No, I like a little excitement in my footly underwear.  And this is only really a problem because I am a boy.  Girls have a much easier time finding cool socks to wear.  For guys, we are stuck with lame socks, or perhaps sports-themes socks, which I am not that into.

Currently, I have several pairs of pirate socks in different colors, I have some Red Sox socks, I have some tasmanian devil socks, and other such whimsical designs, but they are all wearing out.  *sigh*  I need some new socks, but I don't want to just settle.  I demand fun and excitement from my socks!  But where to go?

Well, I am in New York City, sock fashion capitol of America, so I'm sure there are plenty of places that I can go to get a few pairs of non-lame socks, right?  Unfortunately, when I type "New York non-lame socks" into google, I get some Red Sox info and a page about Albert Einstein.  Not helpful.  But I am off to buy socks today, regardless of my lack of information.  That has certainly never stopped me before!  Wish me luck, and if you know of any secret sock locations, send them my way!

My Other Life

I live two completely different lives.  In one, I am a stay-at-home dad, doing dishes and laundry, taking the kids to school, changing diapers and making dinner.  In the other, I am a young opera singer spending my time at rehearsals and the rest of my time reading, going out with friends, and eating a lot of different restaurants.  Hmmmm, on paper one of them seems more appealing, but believe me, it's really not.

It's very strange to have two lives, and stranger still is the relative ease with which I can now slip between them.  Yes, the transitions are always hard, but now that I am in New York again I am back into my "New York" patterns.  There are one or two places that I usually stay, I know where the places I like to eat and shop are, and I know how long it takes me to walk from the apartment to Lincoln Center for a rehearsal.  I have regular voice lessons, I have lunch with my agent, I see old friends, and I spend a lot of time by myself.

Just a few days ago I lived in Vermont.  I spent the days with my children and the evenings with my wife.  I had a fairly regular routine established, and I was almost never alone.  How strange then, that I can live in an almost opposite way and have it feel completely normal.  I wonder if this is what it is like for those guys you always used to hear about that had two or three families scattered all over the country.  Is it so easy to just step in and out of different lives?

As an opera singer, that is sort of my job.  To step in and out of different lives, different characters, and different scenes.  Most opera singers in this country have to travel a lot.  Every show is a different city, a different group of people to work with, and a different life.  I guess we are all doing constant research for our profession.  It is hard though, to always be somewhere else, and to always be someone else.  Because aren't we all just a little bit different, depending on the group of people we are with?  What if that group was never the same?

So far in my career, I haven't worked in so many places that I can't tell them apart.  I have mostly worked in Vermont, New York, DC/Baltimore, and Florida.  And I have my routines and my lives in all of those places.  And how strange to think that I could just walk in the door after years of being away and restart an old life.  But I can.  And I do.  So here I am, in my other life, if only for a few more weeks.  And when it's over I will go back to my "real life."  Or is this my real life?  Or are they both my real life?  Being an opera singer is hard.

Prayers of Specification

I have a few religious questions to mull over today, so for those of you who are very anti-religion, this might not be of interest to you.  I will say, however, that this topic could be applicable to a variety of religions, so even though I am a Christian myself, everything I say may apply to most other faiths as well.  I think most religions have some form of this, right?  What I am thinking about today is prayer.

I am specifically thinking about the specificity of prayer, which already sounds confusing to me even in my own head, so let me try to be a bit clearer.  At my church we have a practice of writing prayer requests, either joys or concerns, on little cards and passing them up front for the pastor to read.  This past Sunday, the pastor received a card and had to stop himself from reading it.  He explained that the people for whom the concern was, well, concerning, had anticipated the prayer request and had called in ahead of time to ask that their troubles not be shared publicly at church.  This raises a whole host of other moral/ethical questions in regards to the sharing of other people's private lives in order to pray for them, but it brought me to another question.

How specific do you have to be in your prayers to make them effective?  And when I say effective, I mean that they accomplish what you are trying to do in regards to your belief system.  If you want to call it "sending good energy," or if you believe that if you pray hard enough that God will directly intervene, or if you are just hoping for comfort in hard times, you are praying/chanting/meditating for a reason.  You are hoping for something.  You are praying for something.

Normally, when we find out about something terrible, a death, a terrible illness, failing relationships, we ask for good things for those people.  Peace, comfort, health, that God be with them and their families, etc.  But what if we don't know what the problem is?  Does it still work?  Can we say, "Joe Jones would like to be kept in our prayers for unspecified reasons?"  Because that does happen.

And what if you don't know who you are praying for?  What if you hear that someone in your church who wishes to remain anonymous has been diagnosed with cancer?  Can you pray for health, comfort, and relief for "whomever in my church needs it?"  And then we come to my first example; what if you don't know who is afflicted, or what the affliction is?


Dear God, there is someone in my church who is suffering in some way.  Please be with them as you are able.  Amen.

Is that okay?  Because honestly, you could pray that prayer every day.  We all have struggles and hardships, some of which we share, and some of which we don't (because some of us don't have Facebook).  If I pray in a general manner for everyone on Earth, does that do anything?

I think it comes down to what prayer is for.  When you ask someone to pray for you, or when someone tells you they are praying for you, that is for you, the prayee.  You receive comfort knowing that the prayers and thoughts of your family and friends are with you.  And when you pray anonymously, that is for you, the prayer.  The person does not know you are praying for them (heck, even you do not know you are praying for them), but it brings you a sense of comfort that you are sending your prayers out into the world, hopefully to do some good.

So the final question is, where is God in all of this?  And that is maybe where things differ from belief system to belief system.  I, personally, have no idea how God works, or why things happen the way they do, or what the grand plan for the universe is.  Maybe some of you know, and if so, please share those answers in the comments below.  But to me, it seems too easy to just pray for the whole of creation and leave it at that.  Shouldn't you have to be more specific?  But if you can't be, it seems wrong not to pray at all, doesn't it?  Man.  I know God left us some rules, but sometimes I wish those were more specific too.

Billy Budd

Billy Budd is a 20th century opera written by English composer Herman Melville, under the pen name of Benjamin Britten, which is only to say that you will not go home humming anything from this opera, if you know what I mean.  I suppose technically it was also written by librettists E.M. Forster and Eric Crozier, but as I have mentioned before, nobody cares about librettists.  Do you see their names on the cover?

No, I didn't think so.

Billy Budd is the captivating story of a young novice sailor who overcomes his fears and self-doubts to make something of himself on the British war ship, The Interminable (named after the traditional lengths of most operas).  The story starts out with the Captain of the ship, years in the future.  He is old now, and wanting to relive his glory days in his mind, so he thinks back to his favorite time in life, the time when the young novice was coming into his own...

We move into Act 1 without any warning, and we find the sailors running about the ship yelling stuff and that sort of thing.  Almost immediately the novice enters and crashes into the Bosun.  Bosun is a nautical variant of the word 'boatswain,' which is derived from the old English word 'bat' and the old Norse word 'sveinn,' which means follower, so technically bosun means 'follower of the bat,' or 'vampire.'  Anyway, the novice bumps into the vampire, who gets really mad and threatens to flog him if it weren't daylight, when his powers of darkness were weakened.  The novice scurries off, only to come back two pages later and bump into him again.

At this point, the vampire is so angry that he decides to have our hero flogged anyway, and so the young novice is dragged off screaming.  While he is gone, some new sailors are pressed into service on The Interminable, one of whom is Billy Budd.  Billy is important to the novice's journey later on, and also important because the show is named after him for reasons I do not entirely understand.

After Billy is introduced the novice reenters, having been severely flogged, and bemoans his fate.  This is the sad part of the show, but luckily it is all uphill from here.  You see, in the next scene we learn that the Captain is afraid of mutiny on his ship, and his master-at-arms hates Billy Budd.  This is all set up for the next bit, in which the novice finally proves himself.

The scene is the ship at night.  The master-at-arms has called the novice over to be his right hand man in the task of taking down Billy Budd, suspected mutineer.  The novice, now ready to do what it takes to move up the ranks, agrees to go and trick Billy Budd into mutiny while he sleeps.  The novice offers a confused and half-asleep Billy some money if he will lead a mutiny.  Now, this doesn't work exactly, it just confuses Billy a lot and makes him stammer a lot, but it works well enough for our purposes.

At this point Act 1 is over and there will be an intermission.  This is a good time to leave, because the novice does not actually appear in Act 2, but if you want to stay and find out if the novice's brilliant scheming was successful, I guess that's ok.  But I will just tell you right now, it was a huge success.

The master-at-arms brings Billy to the Captain and accuses him of mutiny.  Luckily, Billy still cannot speak and just stammers at them for a bit, and then punches the master-at-arms to death.  Win!  Now Billy gets hanged for his crimes, and with his boss dead the novice most assuredly take his place as the new master-of-arms and the only people to know it was all trickery are dead.  A happy ending all around.

To sum up, this is a great opera for you if you don't want anything stuck in your head on the drive home, and if you enjoy happy, light-hearted stories of young underdogs overcoming the odds and reaching their full potential.  Also, it full of weird homo-erotic stuff because it is about a bunch of half-naked guys on a boat, so if you are into that too, you will love Billy Budd!

Peep Cake!

I have to be honest.  We did not have the best Easter ever this year.  At least 50-100% of us were sick, and Edward was the sickest of all.  His eyes were a little goopy, and for that reason we decided that we could not take him to church.  And what is Easter without church?  It's like Halloween with trick-or-treating, like St. Patrick's Day without wearing green, like Bastille Day without pardoning criminals (thanks a lot, Sarkozy!)!  It was finally agreed that Simone, also not feeling great, would stay home with Edward while Ruby and I, feeling slightly better than awful, would go to church.

We also had big plans to have Easter lunch at my sister-in-law's house, but since she is scheduled to have a baby tomorrow, we stayed away and kept our germs to ourselves.  I got a bucket of KFC on the way home from the service and we feasted on the finest that the Colonel had to offer, while sneezing and rubbing our eyes.

This is not to say that we didn't have fun.  We found our baskets hidden around the house, filled with lovely things that had been procured during a healthier time.  When Ruby and I got home, we found dozens of eggs hidden all over the yard and we had a blast finding them.  And of course we had the Peep Cake.

In our original plan, it was our job to bring the dessert to the lunch, and so we decided to make the most Easterful dessert we could think of.  Simone had seen some pictures of various Easter-themes desserts online, and so I went for it.  A Peep Cake!

To start with, I purchased a Funfetti cake mix, because what could be more spring-holiday-y than funfetti?!  Then I picked up a new sort of frosting that you can mix different flavor packets into to make, incredibly, different flavors of frosting.  The cotton candy flavor was exactly the color of blue I was looking for!  To top off the cake I got some springtime M&Ms, and to finish it all off: Peeps!

Now, in order to complete my vision, I needed the bunny peeps, which took me a few places to find.  Everybody just had the chicks!  The chicks would not look awesome around my cake!  They would look lame!  I needed the bunnies!  Luckily, the Christmas Tree Shop (of all places) had the ones I was looking for.

The making of the cake was very simple.  Bake two cakes, stick them together with frosting.  Cover it all up with frosting, surround it with peeps, and cover the top with M&Ms.  Instant Easter success!  I think you will agree that it looks awesome, and we got to eat it all up ourselves.  Or at least a small bit of it.  OMG, that cake was so sweet!  I think Simone's co-workers and Ruby's teachers are in for a treat!   There is no way we are finishing this thing alone.  Also, if you live within a 30 minute radius of my house come on over and grab a piece.  One bunny, or two?

Trypanophobia

Trypanophobia is the fear of medical injections and needles.  It can make you pass out from getting a shot, and it can make you attempt an escape from the emergency room back in college and cause the security guards to hold you down while your friends try to explain to them that you are not generally like that.  Or so I have heard anyway.

I generally try not to think about my crippling fear of having my skin pierced by a foreign object in a medical way, but it was hard to avoid this morning, as I was at the hospital to have my blood drawn.  Here we are, thousands of years in the future, and we still haven't figured out a better way to get blood out of ourselves than by sucking it out with a needle.  One would think that they could just transport it out by now or something, but I guess people have more important scientific research to do, so I was out of luck.

I am happy to say that it has been along time since I kicked a nurse, because I have developed certain methods for dealing with my irrational fear.  For instance, I know for a fact that I cannot look at the needle.  At all.  Ever.  If I see it before, or even after, the fact, I'm doomed.  I will not be able to control myself and I will do something stupid/illegal.  So I look away.  No problem.  That doesn't solve everything of course.  I still get lightheaded and dizzy, even thinking about what is going to happen.  So far I have not been able to solve this problem, but if I keep talking at a rapid pace about stupid stuff, I just might get through the whole thing conscious.

Now the silly thing is, it took about 10 seconds for them to give me a little poke and suck my blood out like the hospital vampires that they are.  I barely even noticed.  She said I was going to feel a little pinch, and I said "Don't tell me that!  Why are you telling me that!?" and then a few moments later it was all over.  Here's another tip I learned from my wife, who has a similar phobia, but had to endure two pregnancies.  Take the little band-aid thingy off right away.  Leaving it there just reminds you that something is not right with the world.  Once it is gone, the memory starts to fade and you can go home and calmly write a blog about the whole experience without passing out.

So I am happy to report that I survived the morning and did not die, or attack anyone, or try to escape (to be fair, I did have a severe concussion that one time...), and am now safe at home, waiting to see what the lab has to say about my blood.  Hopefully It will say my cholesterol is too low and I should eat more bacon double cheeseburgers.  Because then it would almost be worth it.

Games With Friends and the Responsibilities Entailed

It all started with "Words With Friends."  Not really.  Technically it started with Scrabulous, which was shut down by Scrabble to protect its copyright, but for purposes of this discussion, let's start with Words With Friends.  This game, which is extremely similar to Scrabble (but not at all the same, for trademark reasons), was sprung upon an unsuspecting world in 2009 and became a runaway addiction hit.

Almost as soon as I started playing Words With Friends, I started having Guilt With Friends.  Not right away of course.  At the beginning I was checking my app every hour or two to see if anyone had made a move yet.  But after a while I began to get distracted.  A whole day would go by without me playing my turns, and when I logged back in, there they would all be, waiting for me, telling me exactly how long it had been since my opponent had played.  All of my games staring back at me, letting me know that my friend had been waiting 23 hours for me to play my word.  Angry Birds was a guilty pleasure, sure, but I never felt real social guilt over not playing it!

This was very stressful for me, and the first time a week went by without my checking in, I felt terrible.  Some of my games had auto-closed.  I had lost because I hadn't played in so long.  I forfeited by default.  I felt like a terrible friend.  And then it only got worse.

It got worse because they released the companion game, "Hanging With Friends."  Now this, this game was way better!  Totally fun, and totally addicting.  But I spent so much time on it, that I completely forgot about Words With Friends.  I had new friends now, and I was hanging with them!  A combination of Scrabble and Hangman, this new distraction was unbeatable, until they released "Scramble With Friends."

Now here was a game I could get down with.  It was basically Scrabble Boggle, and before I knew it, I had forfeited all of my Hanging With Friends matches, due to lack of attention.  And once again, I felt bad.  When you start a game with someone, you have a responsibility to finish it, and to finish it in a timely manner.  Don't you?  Or do you not, because it is the internet, and all common courtesy goes out the window when you interact with people online?

I don't know what the protocol is, but lately I have been playing "Draw Something."  It's like Scrabble Pictionary, and it is super fun!  My Scramble With Friends games are all but forgotten as I draw silly pictures for people on my phone.  And I've actually been playing some Words With Friends again.  It is still fun.  But there are days I don't play.  And yesterday, for the first time since I started, I didn't log in to Draw Something.  Don't worry, I felt immediate guilt about it when I realized it this morning, and I quickly played all of my turns.

So what are the rules in this new weird culture of ours?  When you play games on your phone with "friends," some of whom are your actual friends, and some of whom are your former landlord's cousin that you met at a party once four years ago, what are the social protocols?  What happens when you decide to give up a game?  What if, someday, you want to come back and play again?  Will those people be waiting for you, or will they remember how you abandoned them before and refuse your requests?  It is a brave new world of social interaction out there today, and I just hope I can get through it all unscathed.

The Irrational Fears of an Opera Singer

My rehearsals start in less than a week.  I am prepared.  I have my music memorized and every day I go over it again anyway.  I sing it in the shower.  I listen to a recording.  I pour over the pages of the score.  And I am terrified.

Maybe not terrified exactly, but I am kept up at night by the stupidest little things.  Like:

What if I missed a part that I am supposed to sing?  What if I show up and they say, "Ok, ready for Act 3?"  and I say that I am not in Act 3, and they say, "Well, what about those two lines on page 297?" and then I look and see that I have, in fact, totally skipped over one of my entrances and not learned it at all.

What if they are taking bizarre tempos that do not match either the score or the recording?  Maybe I will get there, ready to sing my line, and they are taking it double time and I can't get the words out.  Or maybe they will take it so slow that I run out of air in the middle of a word or a phrase, having never practiced it at that speed before!

What if I get lost on the way to the first rehearsal?  What if I can't find the right door, or the right room, and miss the rehearsal entirely?  This is not completely irrational, as it has happened to me before.  My first rehearsal with the late Baltimore Opera was in what looked like, to me anyway, a crumbling down abandoned warehouse that I drove by about 10 times looking for the rehearsal space.  Eventually I gave up and went home, leaving increasingly desperate messages with the rehearsal department.  For the second rehearsal I had a friend from the chorus lead me there personally.

What if I am just completely terrible and not what they want at all?  Yeah, I know they heard me sing and then hired me anyway, but what if, when I get there, they don't like my interpretation in the slightest?  I suppose if that happened they would just tell me to adjust some things and it would be fine.  But I don't want that to happen!  First impressions are very important!  I want to be awesome right away!

I don't know why I am worried about these things.  I tell myself not to be, and when I sit down and really think about it, none of these situations are that likely, and even if they do happen they are probably not the end of the world.  As long as I am prepared and do my homework, I can be reasonably sure that I have not missed any parts to sing in the score  And I can go super early to scout out the rehearsal location.  I try to practice at varying tempos anyway, just in case, and if they don't like me, well, there's nothing I can do about that anyway.  So why doesn't telling myself that make me feel any better?

My Carpet Is So Dirty...

I'm not trying to brag or anything here, but my carpet is so dirty, that

- You have to sweep it before you can vacuum it

- You can't actually see it

- I can't clean it, for fear of exterminating the Who colony that has moved in

- It has changed colors more times than Michael Jackson  (too soon?)

- It is now a federally protected habitat

- Some men in black suits showed up to investigate the weird markings on it

- We got an offer to buy it from Oscar the Grouch

- Ke$ha refused to walk on it

- Our landlord asked if we would please take it with us when we move out

- We use it for indoor gardening

- They are scouting it as a possible location for a future season of Survivor

- I think it may have gained sentience

Okay, maybe it's not quite as bad as all all that, but I do need to go vacuum.  I discovered the other day, after disassembling the whole thing, that the belt in my vacuum cleaner had snapped and it hadn't really been picking much stuff up.  I noticed this when it recently stopped picking stuff up, but I just thought maybe I was bad at vacuuming.  Nope, it turns out it was legitimately broken, and who knows how long it has not really been cleaning effectively!?  So now I am concerned that new life forms may be hiding in my carpet somewhere.  But I fixed the vacuum, so watch out carpet!  I'm coming for you.

A Joyful Noise

When we arrived at church yesterday morning, there was no one signed up to run the nursery.  This happens fairly frequently (although it has been better as of late) and what usually ends up happening is that my wife stays downstairs in the nursery with Edward, and I take Ruby up to church.  But yesterday was Palm Sunday, and we all really wanted to be upstairs.  So we decided, even though we knew what was going to happen, to take Edward upstairs with us.

Now Edward is not a fussy baby.  He is a very happy baby (can I still call him a baby now that he is 2?).  I was not at all worried about him crying during the service.  But the thing is, he does like to express his happiness in a loud sort of way.  We distracted him with crackers for a while, but they only lasted so long, and before we knew it he was ready to make his presence known in an ebulliently noisy way.

Edward was very interested in church.  He really seemed to be getting into the architecture of the sanctuary.  He loved the music for sure.  Every thing he saw or heard would elicit an "Ohhh!" or a "Yeah!"  What seemed to get him the most excited were the silences.  He really loved still, quiet moments, because those would be the times that he would definitely exclaim the loudest.  The hymnals were thrilling, the bulletin a source or constant wonder.  Eventually we couldn't take it anymore.

My wife brought him downstairs, where she met three or four other parents who were down there with their kids.  They said they would watch Edward for her, so she got to come back up after all.  The rest of the service was pretty quiet, as far as our pew was concerned anyway, and we felt better about being there and not disturbing anyone else.  Several people told us it was fine for Edward to be there, and they didn't mind his cooing and squeaking, but I personally feel that it is not respectful to the other congregants, or the pastor, to have a squawking child all throughout worship.  Maybe it's just me, but I find it distracting, even if it is a joyful noise.