A decent proposal

The other night, en route to food after visiting MoMA, my friends and I stopped by to see the Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree. (The fad for Christmas decorations this year in New York is "environmentally friendly", so the lights on the tree are LEDs. Way to be, Mayor Bloomberg. There is usually a small crowd of tourists around the area, watching the people who paid way too much to skate on the rink. However, tonight there were a few hundred people cramming around the edges, looking down into the rink, and our curiosity was thoroughly piqued. Perhaps some celebrity was performing? As it would turn out, there were no celebrities, only a man with enough money to clear the rink so he could skate with his girlfriend, and with a dramatic flourish, propose to her at center ice. The tourists loved it. My friend yelled, "Say no!" Perhaps Sarah wasn't able to make her voice heard among the cheers of hundreds of onlookers; the girl said yes.

Aliens and Rats and Girls

I have heard a lot of different speeches from various panhandlers, musicians, and other displaced, subway-riding bums, but what I heard yesterday as my friend Mike and I made our way to Union Square was the most bizarre yet. No one really talks on the subway, so whenever one begins a tirade asking for handouts, it's not hard to hear exactly what he, or she is saying. This particular gentleman began as most do, yelling some crazy jargon about God, the government, and the Apocalypse. I had my back toward his end of the train, and having heard similar things before, did not turn around. However, this man carried things a bit further, shouting that "he was an alien!" and that he brought a message from his home planet. He then proceeded to pull out a saxophone, and make a fast-paced series of squeaks and blips, what he called the "language of his planet." There was also a brief, yet terribly painful interlude of the Twilight Zone and Outer Limits theme songs.Thinking that this was a performance worthy of payment, he then made a plea to his fellow "travelers" that he needed earthly currency in order to return home safely. There was also some quip about taking Bush and Cheney with him when he left. A nice gesture, but it was still not winsome enough to overcome the annoyance of the pervious five minutes. As he left though the door near me, I saw that he was wearing antenna made out of wire. Yeah.

Later that evening, as Mike and I were enjoying some organic chocolate chip banana bread from the Union Square Green Market, a rat crawled right under our feet, as if neither one of us were sitting there. I said, rather nonchalantly, "Um, Mike, there's a rat under your foot," something I though I'd never say. But, in New York, one never knows. Eating organic banana bread in Union Square Park, after dark is not the best idea, that is if unless one wants to see the local "wildlife."

In other subway news, the ride home brought with it a very cinematic moment.
The scene: a crowded subway car.
A beautiful girl was stares pensively into empty space. Our eyes met briefly. We smile, if only slightly. I pretend not to steal glances out of the corner of my eye. The train arrives at my stop. It is hers too. She gets out first. I watch as she is swallowed by the undulating masses in the Times Square station.
If this were really a movie, we would randomly meet while browsing through books at the library, where we both make small talk about out mutual love for the short stories of Kleist- either that, or at a dog park.

Did You Know?

Did you know that in 1981, Honeytree released a holiday album entitled "Merry Christmas, Love Honeytree?"

I thought you might not.

It's Sunday Mornin', Y'all...

I'm not sure why I haven't written about this yet, but about four weeks ago, I found a new church. It's pretty nifty, and very small (not that I'm not used to small.) NYC Church (creative, I know) is a fledgling church, founded as an offshoot of another church in Portland, Oregon. Essentially, the pastor had had a heart for the the city, and recently felt that God was calling him to plant a church in the Battery Park area. (Yes, I go to church right next to Ground Zero.) So, he and his young family, and a bunch of others that felt called from that church uprooted from Portland, and moved to New York.
It's been pretty good so far, and it's been encouraging to get to know and fellowship with other believers. I've really felt welcome there, which is something I cannot say about some of the other churches I have visited here.
Ironically, we don't have our own building, and meet in a movie theatre. And yes, we have to set up and tear down the sound system each week. Oh, and there's coffee and donuts EVERY Sunday. Ha, ha.

All the World Might Be a Stage (but it more than likely isn't playing something I want to see)

That's the bad thing about plays; you usually can't walk out of them without getting noticed. In movie theatres, which are often designed for people to come and go, one cannot disturb the performance, save blocking another's view for a few moments. After all, it's actors are merely projections. Also, while live theatre generally limits bathroom and concession stand use to the intermission, coming and going during a film does not carry the same stigma that the same type of movement would in a theatrical performance. In other words, should things turn sour on the big screen, one can leave gracefully. It is usually not so in theatre.
I seem to have been having some bad luck with plays lately. All of the one's I've seen in New York this year have taken, at some point or another, that aforementioned sour turn. And no, none of the three had an intermission. These were a mixture of plays: two being Fordham productions, and the other, an off-Broadway show. From gratuitous and sexualized murder scenes, beyond-bawdy comic songs, and insanity coupled with incest, these plays left you with a bit of a sour taste in your mouth (the latter two plays were not nearly as bad as the first, which in addition to being the most unsavory, was poorly written and weakly directed).
I wish I could have walked out on them, or not have gone in the first place. (Thankfully all three plays together cost roughly $25.00, which in New York, is a steal!) However, one cannot always look into the exact details of the show before attending. I guess I will try to be much more cautious in the future, or at the very least sit near the aisle to make a speedy and unobtrusive exit.

Halloween: A Dialogue

I know it's a day late, but here's a little something. I'll be back with more real updates soon. There have just been a few more important things going on of late.


Halloween: A Dialogue*

Male: So what are you dressed as?

Female: Oh, I'm LeBron James.

Male: Oh really? I don't ever recall Mr. James wearing garter hose and pumps.

Female: Duh. That's because I'm a sexy LeBron James.


*All events described within are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, or events is purely coincidental.

Lititz?!?!!?!

Oh, Lititz, you sure know how to capture the Associated Press' attention.

I found this on Yahoo's new spash page, right under word of Turkey threatening the U.S.: http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20071011/ap_on_re_us/high_school_racism.

That's Entertainment- Dance

Just for fun, here are ten random (okay, they're really my favorite) videos featuring dance, or something like it. Some are better then others. Sit back, relax, laugh, cry, sing, even get up and dance along. Above all, enjoy!

Cameras and Yo-YoMa

I realize I have not written in some time. There is a lot to share; little things, mostly.

I finally have a digital camera, thanks to some generous re-gifting on the part of our landlady and family friend.
(It turns out that the one she sent is the exact one I was looking at buying.)

You can expect more work, more often, very soon.

Two Tuesdays ago, I went to see Yo-Yo Ma and the New York Philharmonic, play an all Dvorak concert, for free. My friends Mike, Steve and I got up at 5 AM, arrived at ten till 6 AM, and stood in line for the 8:30 AM ticket handout and the 9:45 AM concert. The concert itself was beautiful. Ma was phenomenal, as always, and entertained the crowd, joking and laughing with the principal violinist, while playing (beautifully, I might add.) I now count the last movement of Dvorak's Cello Concerto as one of my favorites.

As beautiful as the concert was, even more entertaining, was the wait. Let me remind you that this was a Tuesday morning, and a free concert. That means, it attracted all of the crazies, and privileged folk who could afford to take off from work, and decided to forego the gala opening later in the evening. The line was enormous. (The Times reported that they had to turn several hundred ticket-bearing people away.) Never have I seen so many people try to cut the line, feign ignorance or confusion, go to the front of the line (which was right before a gigantic table with a red cloth over it) and ask if it was the end, and other such tomfoolery to get a better spot in line. It was ridiculous. There was this one lady who hid behind a pillar, and then cut in front of the first person in line (who had gotten there at midnight) at precisely the right time, to get the very first ticket. My friends and I were watching her, and as she laughed and talked to herself, and continually pulled her coat collar over her face, we knew she was up to something. It turns out she was.

When we got inside, adults who seemed respectable otherwise were pushing, shoving, running, and resorting to kindergarten tactics to get the best seats. (Did I mention that this was not well organized?) I was appalled, really, and a bit angry. Adults in suits and nice dresses were acting as juvenile, or worse, than preschoolers. That craziness, punctuated by an outburst from several members of the audience during the opening speech about how the microphone was too soft, and mass clapping between movements, made for an unforgettable experience.

In other news, I'm getting a roommate on Monday. If it is who I think it is, there might be trouble on the horizon. I really hope not. Invisible roommates are the best ever; they're so quiet.

That is all for now. I may write more later.

Birthdays...

I know this is going to sound trite, but trust me, I'm being sincere. Thanks to everyone who made my birthday truly a happy one. Wow. How bad can I get? That statement was much worse than I expected. Perhaps I should start writing Hallmark cards, and not the sometimes witty Shoebox ones either. Then, I'd be able to give to others that same birthday feeling you guys gave to me. Oh gosh. Someone help me, please.


Here is an example of the card in which one could fine either of the above birthday messages.

Photography: A Musing

Though this may be a more pensive blog entry, I am going to try my best not to be too negative. I am not writing this, holed up in my dorm room, on a cold, rainy fall night, feeling lonely and sorry for myself. On the contrary, I am home for the weekend, my birthday is tomorrow, and I get to see my best friend this afternoon. In other words, I am doing quite well. Anyway, onto the topic at hand.

I've been thinking lately about my flirtation with this thing called photography. I use the word flirtation, simply because, I can now see that I have not been entirely passionate about it. Whether this was because of my depression, or because I have attempted to venture into this art using borrowed cameras remains irrelevant. I even feel, that that latter fact is a key hallmark of my mere flirtation. There have been countless times I have thought about buying a camera, a few I have looking into purchasing one, and none where I have actually bought a camera. I have survived four years of high school photography classes, and one in college on other people's cameras, which has has limited me quite a bit. Those were four years and a class too many.

Any excellent photographer will tell you, you must be photographing constantly. It cannot be a just a weekend hobby, or something you do for an art class when it comes around, or just an activity to fill some spare time. Harsh? Yes. But to improve your art, just like a sport, one must be shooting daily. Much to the giggles and knowing glances of my class, my photography teacher would repeatedly exhort us to carry our cameras with us everywhere. I really don't think people did too much. For the girls from the Bronx, this may have been a wise choice. However, those that did shoot often, those that make their cameras a part of their bodies improved dramatically. Not only was their overall art better in quality, but they had a tremendous amount of photos, allowing them to choose the best of the best, and not have to scrounge around for a few decent photos to show during critique. I, however, was too busy wallowing in my own self pity to take notice.

I notice now.

Over the past year, I have been content to take a few pictures here and there, (whether or not they are good is a non-issue), look at a lot of other people's photography, engage in artistic communities (although minimally) and call myself a photographer.

Frankly, I am not.

But, I can be.

I am not working this as a sort of "end of my teenage years" rant about how in my twenties, I'm going to take more initiative and be a more diligent photographer. Photography is not really the issue at heart. I feel as though I've been living my life as if it were that photography class. I have not been entirely diligent. I've had bursts of doing well, and then have fallen back into procrastinating, then rushing to do just enough to get by. That's not good enough; that's not what God calls us to.

He calls us not to perfection, but to excellence. God calls us to do our work for Him, not those around us. I've been forgetting that. I have made the habit of my life not even to do my work for others, let alone God. I've been working for myself.

I did not intend for this entry, which was indeed supposed to be about photography, to extend to some of the things God has been teaching me toward the end of this summer. But perhaps it was appropriate. This past week, I has been starting to forget.

I was reminded, and inspired to write this by reading an interview of a photographer whose work I really have come to like. Not only did it clear up some serious misconceptions about his personal character, but also got me to thinking about my work, which led me to think about how it mirrored my life.

Sometimes, God can be pretty clever.

Laundry room confession #3

Very, very early this morning, I went up to the laundry room to get my clothes out of the dryer. As I came to the room, i noticed another guy was in there, sitting on tip of the washers, reading. "Oh," I thought to myself," he must just be sitting there while his clothes are in the wash. I guess I'm not the only one doing laundry at 3AM." However, as I proceeded to remove and fold my clothes, I noticed that it was quiet- too quiet. No washers and no dryers were running at all, yet this guy was still sitting in there, diligently reading several class assignments. I tried to get my stuff together as quickly as I could, without seeming disturbed. After I left, I knew two things: one, I am the only one who does laundry at 3AM, and two, I am not the only crazy person at Fordham.

A few things

Is seems it has been almost a week since I have last updated. So, I leave you with a few random thoughts.

Perhaps it is because we moved back to school during fashion week, or perhaps the face of New York has changed dramatically while I was away, but everyone has gotten a lot prettier and much more stylish. Those who themselves do not carry the face of body of ideal beauty, still look as though they are extras in a movie. I felt very much out of place.

I have both the Hebrew Bible and the Apocrypha sitting in my room. Do not worry; I will not be reading the latter.

I desperately want to be in a play this fall, but I know that doing so would mean certain and swift academic suicide.

I need a camera.

Next weekend, I am (hopefully) planning a get-together dinner with a few of my friends, who are all on floors with double digits. In other words, since I am on the sixth floor, I do not get to see them too often. As I was telling my friend Matt, I was hesitating calling the dinner a potluck (even though that's what it is), because that would make us sound too old, and might require the implementation of a "kid's table", so our middle-aged selves could stuff our faces and discuss the details of our middle class existence in relative peace. I think I will be making vegetarian lasagna (for my vegetarian friends, or course).

Art History

My art history book is the most ginormous thing on the face of the planet. I believe it is a bit over 1000 pages.

Don't let this small picture fool you. This book is a beast.

First Day of Class

In the words of the illustrious Dan Zecher, this year is going to be "the brutes." I'm looking at a lot of writing, and day-to-day work, but, I'm up for it.

In other news, I think I'm coming down with some type of cold/flu symptoms. Also, I was just approved to take the night Chemistry class. That's a huge load of of my shoulders. Now, all I need to do is work out my problem with my English class. Bigger things have been solved in a shorter amount of time, so I'm not terribly worried.

Blog, Take 2

Those of you who have read my blog know that at times, it was very depressing. I am going to make a significant effort to not use this to bring those that might read this down as well. Things are looking up, and I'm confident that they're going to remain that way.

In other news, I have officaly moved back to school, unpacked, and and am waiting for classes to start tomorrow. I am going into this new school year with a bit of trepidation, but I am mostly just excited for a fresh start. I found out today that I have no roommate, as the one with whom I am supposed to room (yuck, it rhymes) has transferred. Thus, I have my room nicely to myself.

Finally, as proof that this blog has taken, and will continue to take a decided turn for the happier, I give you this picture I took toward the end of this past summer.

Married

Someone's getting married under a willow tree, and I'm going to be taking pictures...

As the the train slows into the station, and the woman over the loudspeaker says "Please remain seated until the car comes to a complete stop. Thank you for riding New York, enjoy the rest of your time here at Life," I squeeze my lapbar, not wanting to get off.

A question...

Perhaps this is due to the fact that I no longer watch television, but I can't help but wonder if we have become so jaded as a culture that the events at Virgnia Tech, of unprecidented and vile proportions, have only affected us in terms of a new sensational story to take our minds off of Anna Nicole, or a few moments of shock before returning to our own Starbucks-cup-of-coffee lives.

AIM

I just love it when you sign on to AIM, and you start talking to someone. And then they get mad at you and tell you that they "can't talk right now, because they've got a lot of work to do," even though they don't have an away message up. And then they say something that implied that all you ever do is sit around and chat on AIM, even though this is certainly not the case. (One such person even went as far to state this explicitly.) And then they tell you to stop talking to them, yet they continue to remain online, sans away message, never once having an inactive satus. It must be of tremendous difficulty to set one's away message, to "homework", or "busy", or even the default "away". And it most certainly be too much to sign off, or even not sign on in the first place. Sigh... This must be the new, unspoken ettiquite of AIM, along with letting messages go entirely unanswered, despite being online for hours on end. That, and never bothering to answer emails either. Hmmmm... Such is life, and it stinks.

Hmmm...

Today a girl told me that my eyes were dreamy...

No, I'm not Amish.

This is one of the most amazing t-shirt designs ever!

Ugh.

Milk and Cookies

This evening, several of my friends and I went down to this little shop in the Village called Milk and Cookies. There, I think I had one of the best, if not the best oatmeal rasin cookie I have ever tasted. It was truly dee-lish. You can check out the bakery at http://www.milkandcookiesbakery.com/.

tonight I dream of sunken ships...

I want to tear my hair out.

Laundry room confession #2

Tonight, or should I say this morning, I had to do laundry on the 10th floor: officially upperclassmen territory. I was folding my laundry, as was Kit Williamson, an unusual playwright with a thing for rifles and Budsby Berkley. Ask me for photos. Anyway, we, the only ones in the laundry room, stood there folding clothes (coincidetally, each of us had a massive pile) in complete and utter silence. After he left, I raised the awkward flag to its rightful and proper place.

For my Faith and Critical Reason class, we have to opprotunity to take part in a service-learning initiative in lieu of writing several formal papers. I chose to volunteer at the Momentum soup kitchen, right across the street from Fordham LC's campus, in St. Paul's Church. This particular outreach serves low-income and homeless members of the local community suffering from HIV/AIDS. Today was my first time volunteering there. Though housed in a church, Momentum has no religious affiliation, or so they say. Despite this, really I felt led to choose this location for my volunteer work. I do it in faith, that it will bear good fruit. Regardless, it will be an imensely interesting and enlightinging experience, to say the least. Oh, and I get to wear a soda jerk hat. Nifty, huh?

Ten seconds of sheer brilliance

My name is Arthur Fhardy
Welcome to my yodel party
If you want to yodel along
Come join our happy throng

Since I have recieved a few complaints about my blog merely being a place for random wistful musings, I am going to try to add some more expository entires. Last evening, I had the pleasure of seeing a new production of C.S. Lewis' book "The Great Divorce"... for free. I must say, even though I would have done a few things differently, it was a great production. It stayed true to the spirit, and much of the original text, and Lewis' beautiful message about grace and redemption were clear throughout. The show was also filled with Renaissance vocal work, which not only were a tribute to Lewis' own interest in Medival and Renaissance history, but also added a beauty and depth to the production as a whole. Humorously, the man who played Lewis, the story and show's nararator, looked and had a very similar acting style to my friend Jeff Fisher. I leaned over to a friend and said that that is what he'll be like in 10 years. After the show, there was a talk-back session with the writer/director and the actors. Unfortunately, this was dominated (all but two questions) by two women in the front who felt that Lewis' conception of heaven and hell was "adolecent", and couldn't "comprehend how a free thinker, such as Lewis, could regress to such conceptions." I wanted to tear my hair out, as did many of the other Fordham students (most of whom were, interestingly not religious). Despite me own agreeance with what Lewis presented, his message trancends differnt faiths (though much of his purpose, and much of the beauty is lost), and cannot be evaluated simply on the basis of his religious influence. These unfortunately all-to-vocal women did not seem to grasp that concept. Despite the quite annoying talk-back session, my evening with Lewis(quite literally) was quite enjoyable. And it was also great to see what Jeff would look like in 10 years...

You see,there's this thing (a thing I can't talk about) that makes me very frustrated. This thing (the one I can't talk about) has made me frustrated for some time (oh, roughly 8 or 9 years). And since I can't talk about the thing, this thing makes me even more frustrated. If you will excuse me, I am going to go listen to some frustrating music, and be frustrated about the frustrating thing (which no, I still can't talk about). Grrrrrrr...

Lonliness sets in... again.

Is there a particular reason that no one even responds to my messages, emails, comments, tags, queries and the like?

I think I've shrunk.

Easily my most intense class: Faith and Critical Reason. Oh, my gosh. In this case, perhaps God would have been more appropriate.

Today I woke up to find the entire Plaza dusted with powdered sugar.

Okay, let's face it; I'm a nerd. Yes, I do watch PBS. However, right now they are showing a documentary about a supposedly groundbreaking for its time, violin teaching program and school. Of couse in usual PBS fashion, foliowing the example of such programs as from the top, the documentary showcases the talents of many young vituosos and child prodegies. I've seen the show (though I most certainly haven't watched it) air about five times over the past few weeks. The entire thing makes me sick. It brings back the same ill will I felt the summer I watched the Disney Channel at my grandmother's house, when they aired such shows as Totally Circus (a show about a circus made entirely of young performers), Totally In Tune (a follow-up show which showcased the life of teens enrolled in a performing arts school), and Z-Games (which featured creative young people inventing new sports.) In fact, I could even at shows life Outward Bound, Knock First, Switched, The Brendan Leonard Show and Endurance to that list, and even the PBS specials on the high school Presidential Scholars who won for visual and performing arts, another about the PA State Band, Chorus and Orchestra, and one on the production of a critically acclaimed, young dancers' production of the Nutcracker. I felt a similar emotion, a strange mixture of desire and disgust when I considered applying for the Interlochen Summer Arts Camp, but never did. I feel the same whenever I see my clarinet sitting unused in my closet, and every time I hear From the Top. Sigh. I guess each of these things, in one way or another, reminds me of my failures, and the person I want(ed) to be, and can now never be because it's too late. I don't know. It seems to be more complicated than that. Yes, most of these people were creating somthing. Yes, they represent my ideal self, but too, they were part of a community. It's not really what these teens were/are doing (I really have no interest in doing ballet, or hanging from a trapeeze.), but it was all of them, working together to create something beautiful. Don't misunderstand me, I don't want recognition. Each of these people seemed to have found it. I have not.