Showtime! - WSHS Jazz Band.

Photos with Moira.

I'm Happy Being A Little Bit Peculiar.

Once upon a time, on a farm in a strange land, far away, there lived a little pig who was different from all the other pigs around. He was different from all the other pigs because he was bright green. Like, almost glow -in-the-dark green. The little pig really liked being green. Not that he didn't like the color of the normal pigs, he thought pink was nice too, but what he liked was, he liked being a little bit different, a little bit peculiar. The other pigs around him didn't like him being green, though. They were jealous and they bullied him and made his life a misery.

All this complaining just aggravated the farmers and they thought, "Hmmm, we'd better do something about this." So, one night, as all the pigs lay sleeping out in the open fields, they crept out and snatched up the little green pig and brought him back to the barn and the little pig was squealing and all the other pigs were just laughing at him. And when the farmers got him to the barn, what they did was they opened up this big pot of this very special pink paint and they dunked him in till he was covered from head to foot and not a patch of green was left, and they held him down until he dried. And what was special about this pink paint was it could never be washed off and it could never be painted over. It could never be washed off and and it could never be painted over. And the little green pig said in his little piggy voice - "Oh please, please don't let them make me like the rest. I'm happy being a little bit peculiar." But it was too late, the paint was dry, and the farmers sent him back out into the fields, and all the pink pigs laughed at him as he passed and sad down on his favorite little patch of grass, and he tried to understand why no one has listened to his prayers, but he couldn't understand, and he cried himself to sleep, and even all the thousand tears he cried couldn't help wash off the horrible pink paint, because it could never be washed off and it could never be painted over. And he went to sleep.

But that night, as all the pigs in the fields lay a-sleeping, these strange, strange storm clouds began to gather overhead and it began to rain, slowly at first but getting heavier and heavier and heavier. But this was no ordinary rain, this was a very special green rain, almost as this as paint and not only that, there was something else special about it. It could never be washed off and and it could never be painted over. It could never be washed off and and it could never be painted over. And when the morning came and the rain had stopped all the awoke, they found that every single one of the had turned bright green. Every single one except, of course, the old little green pig, who was now the little pink pig upon whom the strange rain had washed right off because of the unpaintoverable paint the farmers had covered him in earlier. And as he looked at the strange sea of green pigs that around him, most of which were crying like babies, he smiled, and he thanked goodness because he knew that he was still, and always would be, just a little bit peculiar.
                 
             An except from The Pillowman, Martin McDonagh.

Breaking Down The Riffs with Natalie Weiss, Episode 2.

One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish.

Oh me! Oh my!
Oh me! Oh my!
What a lot of funny things go by.

Where do they come from? I can't say.
But I bet they have come a long, long way.

The moon was out
and we saw some sheep.
We saw some sheep
take a walk in their sleep.

By the light of the moon,
by the light of a star,
they walked all night
from near to far.

Did you ever
fly a kite
in bed?

Did you you ever walk
with ten cats
on your head?

If you never did,
you should.
These things are fun
and fun is good.

From near to far
from here to there.
funny things are everywhere.

Today is gone. Today was fun.
Tomorrow is another one.
Every day,
from here to there,
funny things are everywhere.
                Dr. Seuss

Breaking Down the Riffs with Natalie Weiss, Episode 1.

Side by Side.

The 2006 Broadway revival of Sondhiem's Company has to be one of the most brilliant innovations to modern day theatre in the last ten years. The pure wit and precision demonstrated in this cast's audio and video recording blow me away after every intake. To a world full of love, relations of loneliness and mere company..

Leaving, Lam Tung Lai.

You lay in bed,

legs curled up to your chest,

hands clasped around your knees,

your curious face buried

with innocence too painful to speak,

your soft lips parted, dark strikes of your hair unfurled like lightning,

asking

how long I will live.

I don't know if

the far moon should ever come back to the sea, if

there stood a mirror garden above the fated clouds, if

the last horizon could bear the struggling glare of the sun falling

into the lap of the universe, sleeping into peace.

But I know about the little birds

chirping on the windowsill,

the worm rolling under the quiet earth,

and the lone pine tree in the wind.

I don't know know what you meant

when your hands stirred along

to a song you used to whisper to me,

or when your wide, dry eyes gazed at the air enormous,

unmoving, each slow breath mounting

endlessly.

I stood watching your beautiful light

carry you to where you were leaving.

Photos with Maddie 2.

Same Love.

Translations.

"But remember that words are signals; counters. They are not immortal. And it can happen- to use an image you can understand- it can happen that a civilization can be imprisoned in a linguistic contour which no longer matches the landscape of fact." Brian Friel

The God In Us.

"Humans fear the supernatural, both the undivine (the animal impulses such as sexuality, the unconscious, the unknown  and the divine (the superhuman - the god in us). Culture and religion seek to protect us from these two forces."

But then what are we as living souls?

Army.

White Winter Hymnal, Sonos.

A Discovery, Lam Tung Lai.

The room lit, no air stirred,

silence watched on in vacuum.

The mind trembled, hands proceeding

to a sinful act. Rummaging through

the artifacts of a mysterious being.

To stop I endeavored. Yet the mischief

clung to my heart like a crush. A rush

of time and thought: to be caught? be

exposed? to a confession never known?

The fleeting danger passed.

Made so bold, my adventure asserted

nebulous findings upon the things mundanely vague.

Here's a driver license, a worn notebook,

some glasses, a Polaroid photo, coins, and stuff,

all projecting a despair certain, unlocked.

I had them lie across empty as a balloon,

mocked by time and thought, sinking

into the insipid silence.

Paying the price of am unsolicited discovery.

Knowing now what meanings befitted.

West Side Story.

Speaks so accurately on the complex and diverse motives found in Bernstein's masterpiece. 

The young passion in life is only to be expressed through art and innovation.

I Am An Artist.

Finding Wonderland.

Progressive Success.

"Success is the progressive realization of worthwhile, predetermined, personal goals." Paul J. Meyer

I'm Going Home, Rocky Horror Picture Show.

'Cause I've seen, oh, blue skies 

Through the tears in my eyes 

And I realize, I'm going home. 

I'm going home. 

As much as I've tried, I am unable to find a recording that makes me feel as much as our performance does. In life we all just waiting to see those skies and be home once again.

Sweet Transvestite, Rocky Horror Picture Show.

I am currently playing piano for a production of this in La Crosse and let me tell you - we let loose. It may be the boxed wine in back or the pre-show shots our guitar player takes, but regardless we get down & jam. 

Wisdom - 10.18.12

Life can be beautiful.

Tomorrow, Dennis O’Driscoll.

                            I

Tomorrow I will start to be happy.

The morning will light up like a celebratory cigar.

Sunbeams sprawling on the lawn will set

dew sparkling like a cut-glass tumbler of champagne.

Today will end the worst phase of my life.

I will put my shapeless days behind me,

fencing off the past, as a golden rind

of sand parts slipshod sea from solid land.

It is tomorrow I want to look back on, not today.

Tomorrow I start to be happy; today is almost yesterday.

                             II

Australia, how wise you are to get the day

over and done with first, out of the way.

You have eaten the fruit of knowledge, while

we are dithering about which main course to choose.

How liberated you must feel, how free from doubt:

the rise and fall of stocks, today’s closing prices

are revealed to you before our bidding has begun.

Australia, you can gather in your accident statistics

like a harvest while our roads still have hours to kill.

When we are in the dark, you have sagely seen the light.

                             III

Cagily, presumptuously, I dare to write 2018.

A date without character or tone. 2018.

A year without interest rates or mean daily temperature.

Its hit songs have yet to be written, its new-year

babies yet to be induced, its truces to be signed.

Much too far off for prophecy, though one hazards

a tentative guess—a so-so year most likely,

vague in retrospect, fizzling out with the usual

end-of-season sales; everything slashed:

your last chance to salvage something of its style.

When Love Takes Over.

Shenandoah Conservatory's Wind Ensemble.

Freebirds.

I was to be studying at this Conservatory this Fall.

I think I need to get practicing a little more often..

Presence.

"There is a mutual feeling of content when we all three sit on the bed. You, me and the cat. He purrs next to me, a ball of grey fur, occasionally twitching as he dreams kitten dreams. The fan blows white noise into the room, filtering out the clicks of me typing. You flip pages of a book, something about wars or other times gone by, and clear your throat. The mattress creaks as I adjust myself, trying to find some more comfortable position to sit. For much of my life I've taken a lack of conversation to mean something troubling but the quiet with you has always been comforting."

Dream of the Rarebit Fiend.

 Welsh Rarebit is a dish made with a savory sauce of melted cheeses served hot over slices of toasted bread.

Julie-O, Kevin Olusola.

Stinkin Garbage.

Ants Marching, Dave Matthews Band.

What's Up, 4 Non Blondes.

And I pray, oh my god do I pray
I pray every single day - 
For a revolution.

Twenty-five years I'm alive here still
Trying to get up that great big hill of hope
For a destination.

I realized quickly when I knew I should
That the world was made up of this brotherhood of man
For whatever that means.

And so I cry sometimes
When I'm lying in bed Just to get it all out
What's in my head
And I, I am feeling a little peculiar.

And so I wake in the morning
And I step outside
And I take a deep breath and I get real high
And I scream from the top of my lungs
What's going on?

And I say - hey
I said hey, what's going on?

And I say - hey
I said hey, what's going on?


And I try, oh my god do I try
I try all the time, in this institution

And I pray, oh my god do I pray
I pray every single day
For a revolution.

Your Face, Nina Grollman.

This song is about friendship, adventures, summertime, and lakes.

It's All Over, Dreamgirls.

Hahahahahahahahah this dude is so ridiculous and I so love it. 

This song always blows me away. I can't even comprehend all of the great vocal action that is being displayed. Each soloist brings something crucial to the plate and this performance would be severely lacking with any other vocal blend and focus. 

1:34 AM.

I have never felt so alive and so present as in the time of my extrication from the days trials and shortcomings.