(no subject)

[sanura]

It's difficult to describe how unpleasant I found my church gig to be, this morning, and it's not because I hadn't slept enough. The whole religion based on glorification of suffering, abasement of self and humanity, and elimination of the individual will just seemed particularly reprehensible. The mindless, brainwashed recitation of precomposed litanies, no reflection, skill, or composition necessary, and not even the clergy had them memorized well enough to put speechlike inflections on the most common of the prayers. The sermon was a self-aggrandizing account of how, on a financial pledge drive for his church, a noted philanthopist turned him away with a pittance while a near-penniless widow made sacrifices in her and her cat's food budget to give him all she could, and how the discernment the widow had was somehow like the Magdalene's when she annointed Jesus's feet on the day of his crucifixion, because she would not always have him, but would always have the poor to whom Judas wanted to give the money the ointment would bring. Yeah, because church is certainly going to die within the next little while. I could hardly sing for wanting to cry, the concept of the Church seemed so cruel and stupid to me then.

The people are all nice, and practically begged my mom to get me to come, and individuals are paying me outside the music budget. They tell me how nice it is that I'm there, thank me for coming, and it's all I can do not to tell them I'm sorry, but I never want to come back again, don't they see what they're doing? Drowning life's greatness every week to proclaim their inferiority and humiliation, and crush their worldly relationships and responsibilities in favor of a wish for eternal death with the thoughtless peace of savior-drunken stupor? It was all I could do not to compare myself to the worst sellouts I could think of, being paid to participate in this kind of twisted ethical mess. It didn't help that all the music was terrible and in exactly the wrong range, so that by the end I was both vocally exhausted and philosophically miserable.

Anyway, I couldn't stand church. Bryan called to invite me to lunch right as mama and I were driving back, which was, to understate it terribly, a pleasant surprise. I showered (a great relief, after an opera and a drunk party and a few hours of sleep on a couch before a gig) and changed, and had a Thai tea with Stephan and Bryan at Patu with a good deal of banter and inside jokes, before it was time to make the long haul to Roger's.

I felt registrally incompetent due to the morning's struggle, but focus was right on. I had to really hang in there with the support or the top would disappear, so things were louder than they ought to have been for balance, and I mentioned that and apologized, but Roger sent me this superlatively sweet email:

Responding to something you said while we were singing: you apologised for
singing inappropriately loudly. Or something like that.

Actually, I had noticed what you were talking about before you mentioned it
... and I was really enjoying it. Call it pushing us or leading us -- I
liked it a lot. Please feel free, as far as I am concerned, to challenge us
as much as you feel like doing so. I don't care what the reason for doing
so is. If it's because you are tired and maybe a little less flexible,
that's fine with me. You're plenty flexible in your most rigid moments as
far as I am concerned. Singing with you is a great pleasure. Period.



Dinner was different but not bad. Steaks with very strong vinegary marinade, plus normal salad, shiitakes from the grill, and corn on the cob (I skipped the corn). There was more silliness than usual, and giggling and hiccups and slurring of words, which I suppose made up for the terrible mood I was in in the morning.

Home to get more clothes, and to Stephan's, where I found he is suffering terribly from some sort of stomach bug, but he read me some of his paper and it's hilarious (while still being properly academic) with terms like "Verdi's trumpet-strewn, filigree-spangled monolith" in reference to Aida. And then we watched about an hour of Robin Williams Live he had on DVD. I was fascinated by the gamut of nearly perfect accents, as well as the content; I may never have actually encountered good stand-up before.

Now, to crash verily. Up too late last night. And the night before. And tonight. Probably tomorrow night and the night after, too, because of the opera, and then is work again. Oh, well. This week's a bust for sleep.

Comments

[drewids.livejournal.com]

The funny thing is how many people don't like Robin Williams. From what I understand, there have been at least a few accusations that he's stolen material. Of course, not on the level of Carlos Mencia, but still more than he ought to. Nothing ever comes of it, though, cause Williams' performances are so damn good that anyone who makes the accusation finally just says have it, he does it better anyway. His live on Broadway is absolutely fabulous. The thing I love the most is watching his table of water bottles. It just disappears. It's ridiculous...

[ohtori-akio.livejournal.com]

One thing to consider when thinking about forms of worship with fixed liturgy is that it can actually be a blessing in disguise: if the doctrinal focus is on saying the right things in church, it barely matters at all what you actually think about them. (This is basically how Elizabeth I kept England from tearing itself apart even more badly about the whole church thing -- decreeing that what really held English worship together was the Book of Common Prayer and not some bold new theology that nobody would ever have agreed on.)