Best a cappella group evar.

So tonite was the aforementioned concert. Now, I might've mentioned once or twice how I used to be in a classical a cappella group in college. I like to think that the Madrigals were pretty darn good. Maybe not the greatest singing group ever, but pretty good nonetheless. The Chamber Chorus, for whom I am merely an understudy, make the Madrigals look like a high school choir. The music is more complex, everybody in there (with the exception of me, most of the time) can sing and sight read like a son-of-a-bitch, and the Music Director is a goddam genius.

Back to tonight's concert. A total of seven choirs, including the Chamber Chorus, sang. One of them was called the Ambassadors of Harmony. They're an all-male choir, and from what I had heard about them, I was under the impression they were mainly devoted to barbershop-type music. But I also knew that they had some 160 or so members, so I wasn't quite sure how the whole barbershop aesthetic fit in to that.

Well, it turns out that they're not just in to barbershop. Really, they're in to kicking ass and taking names, musically-speaking. These dudes made the Chamber Chorus look like the Madrigals. Besides everyone in the group being able to sing like nobody's business, they throw in a few little visual performance-type things that really grab you by the balls and kick you in the face ... again, musically-speaking. Simple things, really, like this thing they do on every choral breath where all the singers simultaneously take a little step in place. It's hard to explain, but it looks really cool. Plus, everybody looked like they were really digging what they were doing, which is not something you're supposed to do in a traditional classical-music-type choir, but these guys ain't no classical-music-type choir. To wit, they sang an arrangement of "The Man of Lamancha". Now, my first impression was that it was a bit stereotypical-college-a-cappella-esque, what with musical instrument sound effects being provided by dudes going "da da da", but they made it about 1000 times cooler and 1000 times less dorky than, say, the Jabberwocks (a group from my alma mater who are every bit a stereotypical college a cappella group) doing 'N Sync.

Anyway, check out their website. It's a shame they don't perform more often -- I think they only have two shows a year or something. But goddam it, I'm going to the next one. Even if it is Christmas-themed.

Ode to the busblog

I've decided that I love Tony Pierce. Not in a gay way, mind. Although, if that helped me be cool like Tony, I'd consider it. Plus, you know, it'd help me get rid of the Jesus Brigade -- that's my new name for David et al. Anyway, read this entry, and if you don't love him after that, then read this one. Man, I want to print out that list and carry it around in my wallet. But I've already fucked up on #5 ... oh well. The point is, he's awesome.

In other news -- if you're into classical music and/or helping vicitms of Katrina (and live in St. Louis), come to the Manchester United Methodist Church this Sunday at 7:30 p.m. There will be singing a-plenty, including yours truly in the St. Louis Chamber Chorus, and admission is free. But feel free to donate money -- all proceeds go to the Red Cross.

Can't you take a hint?

The last time I hung out with David, a.k.a., my Personal Lord and Savior, was about 2 weeks ago. After our last get-together, he said to me, "I've always been the one to call you to invite you to hang out. I tell you what -- the next time, you call me." I'm thinking, Yes! A way out!

The motherfucker won't. stop. calling. me. Repeatedly. At work.

Last week he invited me to go camping with him and his family. I told him I had a doctor's appointment and had to go to the gym on Saturday, so I couldn't. Yeah, lame, I know, but short of telling him to fuck off, I couldn't think of a way to get rid of him. He just called me and invited me on another camping trip, this time with, not only his family, but "40 of his friends". Other selling points included the friends' children, David's brother bringing his guitar and leading group singalongs, and swimming.

Not for all the video games in Japan.

I told him Saturday is a Jewish holiday (which is true ... Selichot). Then began the harassment -- "Well, you can just come out on Friday and drive back that night..." "It's not that far away..." "There'll be barbecue..."

And the clincher: "You told me you didn't have a lot friends in St. Louis. Here's your chance!"

Okay, folks. I may not be Mr. Social Butterfly, but I don't see myself becoming bosom buddies with the Christian Coalition. In fact, I'm still kind of suspicious that this whole deal is just to convert me. So while it would be kind of nice to have a bunch of friends or whatever, I'd rather not hang out with people who make me want to strangle them.

Maybe I should just tell him I'm gay. That'd shut him up right quick.

I feel the cosmos

It occurs to me that I haven't talked about anything geek-related in a while. Fortunately, I just got my copy of Katamari Damacy.

Holy. Crap.

I love this game. It's the most bizarre damn thing ever made. Quick summary: The King of All Cosmos gets drunk one night (in the original Japanese version, at least...it seems like he just gets stoned or something in the American version) and wrecks all the stars in the sky. He sends his son, you, to Earth to rebuild the stars. How? By rolling up anything and everything you can find with your sticky ball of wonder, the Katamari. That's pretty much it for the plot.

The soundtrack is so friggin' awesome/hilarious that I want to cry. It ranges from crazy classical-Clockwork-Orange-techno style stuff to J-Pop tunes. My favorite song so far: the lounge-singer-style "I want to roll you into my life". It's so cheesy it's funny.

The controls take some getting used to -- the buttons don't do anything in the game. You control the Katamari solely with the right and left thumbsticks, which kind of makes it feel like you're driving a tank around.

Other than that, it's awesome. Go play it now. Especially if you happen to have some hallucinogenic drugs lying around. That will definitely enhance your gaming experience.

David's Inferno

Lo, God hath granted me a vision of what awaits those who do not follow the path of Goodness and Light. Verily, I shall share it with thee. Hold on to thine hats.

Okay, so actually, the dream started out with me watching "Angel", my Joss Wheadon-created guilty pleasure. Somehow, the characters all ended up in hell. Why not? Now, at this point, I either join them or take the place of one of them (Angel maybe?). Hell is pretty bad, it turns out, but not as bad as you might think. More like a maximum security prison with psychological torments added in for fun. For example, everyone is compelled to obey Satan and kneel before him.

Quick description of Satan: He's fat, bearded, and has an English accent. And his skin, while fairly reddish, also has splotches of black. Oh, and he has a big ol' tail that he can use like a branding iron. I learned about that little feature when some chick I was with tried to get uppity. She said something like, "What are you going to do to me if I don't do what you want? I'm already dead; you can't kill me again." And Satan said, "Well, you're right about that," and then proceeded to whip out his tail and burn her arm with it. This hurt real bad, as one might imagine.

Back to hell. Most of one's time, it seems, is spent just trying to make a living, so to speak. Everybody has little tasks they're assigned to, like washing the dishes or foraging for food. Oh yeah, the food. The meals in hell pretty much suck, it turns out. There are these nasty little sprouts that grow all over the place that look kind of like seaweed, but ... erm ... nastier. That's all you get to eat.

Now, I mentioned some psychological torments: you're not allowed to have fun. What I mean is, there's some kind of magical field surrounding the place that monitors your state of mind. If you start to relax or become accustomed to the state of things, it's like you're given a dose of anti-Prozac. Also, and I'm not sure if this is part of the deal for everyone or just me, you share your sleeping quarters with someone you find really attractive and who feels the same way about you, but, of course, you're not allowed to have sex. Anti-Prozac field, don't you know.

However, there is good news. It seems it's possible to escape from hell. Not quite sure of the details, but it involves Satan's back being turned and you closing your mind off somehow. So you get out of hell, but you're still a spirit. So to de-spiritfy yourself, you have to find a big ol' machine that looks kind of like one of those ferris wheels with the egg-shaped cars. Now, you have to move quick, because the minions of hell are, as you'd expect, highly pissed that you've escaped and are coming after you full steam. So hop in the ferris-wheel-thingie and press the big "Go" button. Here's the tricky part -- the machine takes a few minutes to run. So you've got to find someway to distract the hellions while that's going on. But assuming you've managed that and the machine can run its full course, you're back to mortal form once again. However, you may be deaf. But hey, it beats being in hell.

Now ye are warned, children. Avoid the nasty tubers and branding-tail of Satan. Beware the magical misery field and the hot chick who putteth out not. Amen.

Music history lesson of the day

Listen to this song. It'll sound familiar. But keep in mind, this song was written first. Here are the lyrics. Now, maybe, like most things, I'm the last guy to know about this, but I thought it was pretty interesting.

Attention my erstwhile colleagues in the Brown Madrigal Singers: y'all should sing this song. It'll blow the audience's mind. And educate 'em, too. Oh, and while I'm giving you unasked-for advice -- your programs should include the lyrics to the songs. It'll make your audience much happier.

Your assignment, class ...

Okay, read this poem and tell me what you think it means. I have my own ideas, but I want to see if somebody else agrees with me. I'm actually learning this in song-form as part of my music lessons. Did I mention I did finally manage to find a vocal music teacher? And he's quite affordable, too. Yay!

Oh, here's another assignment. Tell me what the Jewish holiday "S'lichot" (or "Selichot" or "Slichot"...I've seen it spelled a bunch of different ways) is all about. Or if you've even heard of it. I sure hadn't until I found out that I need to sing in the service for it in a couple of weeks.

Speaking of being Jewish, I got an email today telling me that I need to come to a mandatory NASD certification dealie on Oct. 13. Which, if you're keeping score, is the same day as Yom Kippur. So I told 'em I couldn't make it. You know, you'd think an organization that deals with money would be more sensitive to the needs of Jews. Other fun "token Jew" fact -- I got an email from one of my old bosses in RI asking me if it was "appropriate" to have a little party-at-work on Rosh Hashannah. I told her that, besides Jews not actually being at work to participate, it's fine, as long as there are plenty of virgins and goats around to sacrifice to Cthulu.

Another "token Jew" conversation I had at work between me and a coworker named Sonya, who is Black:

Me: "You know, it's kind of tough being the token minority around here."

Sonya: "Kid, you're preaching to the choir."

For the record, though -- there are at least 4 other Black people in my department. Haven't found any other Jews yet. Maybe we just blend in too well.

In which I meet a cute puppy and almost die in an elevator

Tonight I hung out with a friend of mine from high school at her fancy-shmancy loft in downtown St. Louis. It is one helluva loft, I tell you what. She got it because her parents do some kind of real estate dealings, and the place isn't going to be sold for another year, so they let her and her boyfriend have it. I got to meet and play with their cute puppy that they named "Monster". He was not at all Monster-like. Well, he did try to bite me a few times, but they were play bites.

So I'm heading back down to the basement to my car via an elevator. I press the "B" button, the elevator descends, stops ... and nothing happens. I hit the Open Door button. Nothin'. I hit some other buttons trying to get the elevator to go to another floor. Nada. I wait a minute, then try pressing some more buttons. They light up for a few seconds, then nothing. There wasn't one of those stop/run switches, so I press the button that says "press to call". A dial tone comes out of a speaker, then some pre-programmed number gets dialed, followed by the operator-lady telling me the number I'm trying to call has been disconnected. I check my cell phone -- no signal.

Hmm...this is interesting...

Figuring I have no choice left, I press the alarm button. A bell rings while I hold the button down, then nothing. I figure somebody must've heard that, so I hold it down for a little while longer.

Well, obviously, I'm not going to be stuck in an elevator all night. One of these damn buttons must do something.

About 10 minutes later, I decide to switch up my tactics a bit. Maybe the bell isn't loud enough. So I start yelling for help. I figure in a few minutes, somebody will at least notice a dude screaming in an elevator.

Another 10 minutes go by, my throat is starting to get hoarse. The thought that crosses my mind is:

I probably should save my voice for the morning when somebody will actually walk by and hear me yelling.

Pretty much resigned to the fact that I'm going to be sleeping in an elevator tonight, I sit on the floor and try to get comfortable. It's not an uncomfortable elevator, actually. Definitely long enough so that I can stretch out. More time passes. Then the next thought that crosses my mind is:

I remember when I was a kid I had a deathly fear of elevators. I always thought I was going to die in one...

Then I notice that it's actually uncomfortably warm in there. Is this thing airtight? How much air can an elevator hold?

So I'm up and yelling and pressing the alarm button again. Still nothing. I try to pry the door open with my fingers. Shut too tight. I kick it ninja-style a few times. Probably not going to kick through a half foot of metal, chief. I press the call button again. This time I get a different recording:

"Thank you for calling. Our normal office hours are 8:00 AM to 5:00 PM central time, Monday through Friday..."

Well, I guess I can make it 'til Monday. I had a pretty big dinner...

Now I notice that the screaming has made my throat dry, so I stop. I pull out my keys and manage to wedge one into the door. I try to pry the doors open, but my key just bends. Check my cell phone again -- still no signal. I take a few deep breaths. I try the key thing again, still no luck. So then I get a bright idea: Use two keys. So I cram two keys into the door, and that works well enough so that I can fit my hands in the gap. I brace myself, then pull as hard as I can. I manage to pry the doors open.

The elevator is stuck about a foot above the floor. I hop out and down, get in my car, and drive away. Then I make a phone call to the friend.

Me: Jenny?

Jenny: Yes?

Me: I have something important to tell you.

Jenny: What's that?

Me: Your elevator is broken.

Jenny: What?

Me: I just spent a half hour stuck in your elevator.

Jenny: ...Are you joking?

Me: I am dead-fucking-serious. You should probably call somebody about that.

Jenny: Wow...I'm really sorry.

Me: Well, just thought you should know. Give Monster a kiss for me. 'Night.

Okay, I didn't actually tell her to give her dog a kiss. But the rest is true. Now, in the end, I was only stuck in there for about a half hour. But goddam, did that freak me out.

Other random music thoughts

1) I've decided that I really like that song "100 Years" by Five for Fighting. Does that make me a pansy?

2) I also really like the band Travis. Or, at least, the song "Writing to Reach You". Mikey, any opinions on this one?

By the way... no more anonymous comments on this blog. Not after teh spammorz found me. Fuckin' spammers. Don't make me turn on word verification.

Midi master

So, um, is it illegal to make and then distribute midi files from sheet music? 'Cuz I've made a bunch of 'em based on the music we're singing in the ol' chorus, and I'd love to share 'em with y'all so you can get a taste of the awesomeness. But I'd rather not get arrested if at all possible.

I do love me some midis.

Archaic vocabulary lesson of the day

Dight = dressed, covered. From the Old English "dihtan" (where the "h" is pronounced like a kind of Hebrew "ch") meaning "to arrange".

Now you can read "Faire is the Heav'n" by Edmund Spenser. And tell me what the hell is going on with the rhyme scheme. It gets funky about halfway through.

We're singing that song in the Chamber Chorus. It's awesome. As is everything else we're/they're singing. Y'all should come see the concert. It's gonna be hawt.

Other random thing I learned yesterday -- since the rehearsal took place on a holiday, the normal place we rehearse was closed. So instead, we rehearsed at the school where the director teaches, John Burroughs. Those of you from the Lou may recognize that as the hoity-toity private school where all the rich people send their kids. Anyway, their school day is really strange -- they go from about 8:15 to 4:30, divided into 10 periods of about 42 minutes each. What the hell? Plus, I'm told that that schedule includes time for sports, as every student has to play a sport. What the double hell? I also happened to find a pamphlet lying around that showed the top 20 or so colleges the class of '05 went to. Harvard got 15. Brown got 6. What the mother fuck? Don't you people know Harvard sucks?

Huh. I should probably be doing something work-related now.