Day 27: Never have I ever... done an amazingly Amazing Race

I'm not a racer. Generally, I don't find rushing fun. And I became even less of a race person in the past year after being exposed to the nutty world of "adventure races." I totally respect the people that do them; but it just doesn't light the fire for me. And here's what I learned in this past year: there are people that seriously get off on wicking shirts, timing chips, training watches, hydration belts, and doing stuff faster than other people. Hey, it's cool. Competition is human. 

But, when my friend Christie told me that she was hosting an Amazing Race adventure for her birthday, I decided to lift my instinctual ban on races. This wouldn't be a typical race. Because when Mrs. Christie G. puts a project together, this is what you get--------------------> Hilarious+Creative+Clever+Cool+Unexpected+Awesome+SoMuchFunYouAlmostPeeYourPants+SomeoneLosesSomeCriticalItem. That is exactly what we got. And did I mention awesome? It was totally awesome. 

Team Blhite crossing the river

Birthday girl Christie, plus her family, served as the magistrates/masterminds for the day. She had the whole dang family in on it! I don't know how much time they spent putting it all together... days? weeks? There were so many thoughtful details, but I'll get into that later. There were six teams of two competing, for 12 total competitors. My team was a champion four-pack fusion of the Blue and White duos. We called ourselves Team Blhite. 

This blog post could have several titles, such as:  
Never have I ever... spent 45 minutes digging through five huge piles of leaf mulch with my bare hands in search of tiny plastic eggs. (One of which we never found) 
Never have I ever... sipped a blended concoction of coffee grinds, canned corn, peanut butter, sour gummy worms, and enough water to make it nice and frothy.
Never have I ever... crossed a rotting railroad track bridge with open ties, and a raging river 15 feet below. (Hello, vertigo. BTW, this was not part of the race. Team Blhite likes to find trouble.) 
Never have I ever... gobbled 7 saltines in a minute. (Ok, couldn't do it in a minute. No one can!) 
Never have I ever... crossed a freezing cold river in rubber waders. 
Never have I ever... crossed a freezing cold river in rubber waders... with a hole in them. (Yep. Wet up to my thighs)

Team Blhite grabbing our bandanas from high in a tree

The race included many more challenges than just those listed above, but some weren't new to me... like climbing trees (which is pretty much my favorite activity ever.) There were custom colored T-shirts, color-coded tasks at every stop of the race, audio clues on CD, and a map to guide the way. We were instructed to run (or at least hustle) from challenge to challenge, some of which were quite a distance apart. Some of the challenges included "war painting" your teammate's face, as well as puzzles and clues to get your from point to point. For instance, we were provided with a word search puzzle. Find all the words, and the remaining letters will form an address: your next location. 

I think you get the gist. The day was so festive and fun. It was like being at camp meets being 13 on the most awesome adventure with your most fun girlfriends ever. Except no one tried to make out with each other behind the boat house. 

Unfortunately, the end of the day had to come sooner than later. We couldn't finish the race, and we knew that when we signed up for the challenge. (Sad face.) Three in our foursome had a commitment back in NYC which required us to leave early. We had anticipated being so awesome at the race that we would finish as the victors in record time. Yeah... that didn't happen. We were dead last. In fact, we were dead last and lost. Let's just say we made a few critical errors along the way, as well as having some bad luck (hole in the waders!?!), and we dawdled along to get the full experience rather than even attempting to catch up with the pack. I guess I'm just not a competitor at heart. I'm a giggler, a tree-climber, a trail-singer and a teammate.

It was time to go home. But wait... something was missing. Where are.... my keys??? Here we go, folks. It was inevitable that during this day, someone was going to lose a critical item (see equation in first paragraph), and on this particular day, that someone was me. I will spare you all the details of how the keys got lost. There had been a lot of people, car switches, and location changes. It was now time for us to boogie back to New York, and we had barely left enough time to get home, park, and clean up in time for our commitment. Sadly, it was only then that we realized that my keys *probably* ended up in a granola box in the trunk of Christie's husband's car, which was in a completely different location, about 15 miles away (in the opposite direction from NYC, of course.) Why were the keys in a granola box in a trunk? Well, that doesn't really matter now, does it? In the heat of a race, keys are a trivial, unimportant matter! It was a tense couple of minutes until the keys were located. But luckily, they were. Now it was time for the real race. We sped over to recover the keys, made it back to the highway, and put the pedal the metal on the New Jersey Turnpike. After some coffee, some traffic, and some careful route-planning, we made it back in time. But only by a hair. And it wasn't a shock to anyone that a set of keys were somehow lost during this day. Luckily, no one left her wallet on the roof of a car at a rest stop, or had a stranger throw her cell phone into the ocean.

Results: This day was so much fun, I never wanted it to end. It killed us that we had to quit early. What other fun activities did genius Christie have in store for us? We'll never know. But it was the best Saturday I've had in a long time: Fresh air, sunshine, friends, adventure, and a healthy does of silliness. I think it's pretty awesome that Christie chose to give others a present on her birthday: a really awesome day, and a lasting memory with her and her family. And I can officially say: I did an Amazing Race, and it was amazing! 

Status: Who cares?! Some things are more than pass/fail. (Written like a true loser.) 

Day 26: Never have I ever... channeled my inner Nonna

Ok, I admit it. I grew up in a jar sauce household. The only tomato sauce that ever passed these lips was made by dear old Aunt Millie (--------->) And, boy did we go through a lot of jars. Every week my mom would buy two or three. This was mainly because I dipped everything in tomato sauce. Chicken?  Only edible if dipped in tomato sauce. Steak? Same thing. Hamburgers... no first bite without a thin layer of sauce on top. Without tomato sauce, dinner would have been an endless fight, and I would have become protein-deficient. (For my even more picky sister, her magic food veil was applesauce. Our poor mother...)

I later learned... what I had been weaned on isn't real sauce. And there is nothing quite like a real Italian meal with homemade sauce. Thanks to many generous friends opening their homes and tables to me, I have had the privilege of tasting several different family recipes, every one of which was so good, I would eat it with a rusty spoon if that was the only available utensil.

But, a good sauce recipe is un affari famiglia. So when I decided to cast aside the inauthenticity of an American Irish Jew making sauce, I looked for a recipe that technically is in my family.... it just happens to be by marriage. My sister's husband's family is all about the homemade sauce. In fact, it was very important to my brother-in-law's mom (Linda) that she teach her new daughter-in-law (my sister) her sauce recipe. She passed along the family recipe several years ago, one Sunday afternoon in my sister's kitchen, about a year before she passed on. 

I called my sis and asked if she could email me what I was sure was going to be a very complicated recipe. No written recipe, she informed me. "Linda just taught me what to do by showing me, and now I can just do it." Wow. It was like... legend. 

My sister gave me verbal instructions on the phone and I wrote them down to the letter. Instead of a long list of ingredients I'd imagined, it was very simple: Crushed tomatoes, tomato paste, an onion, fresh basil, garlic, olive oil, S&P. All of those are the most versatile and tasty staples, and I could almost taste their alchemic combination. 

As with any good family recipe, there were a few secret tricks. After the crushed tomatoes, tomato paste, and generous amounts of chopped basil are mixed together, the recipe calls for a whole large onion to be put right into the sauce. I cut the ends of a large whitey, peeled the skin, and submerged the onion, whole and raw, with skepticism. I let this simmer for about three hours on it's own. 

Next, I made the meatballs. This isn't part of Linda's recipe, so I just made my own basic meatball recipe, which isn't anything fancy: Ground sirloin, an egg, whole wheat seasoned bread crumbs, minced fresh onion and garlic, a half a cup of finely grated parmesan, italian spices and S&P. Knead, and ball... presto! I browned the balls lightly, and then plopped them in the sauce to cook through (meatballs in the sauce IS part of Linda's recipe to impart flavor.) 

After 4 hours of total simmering, the onion was not only fully cooked, but beginning to get floppy and fall apart. I could smell all of the onion-y flavor that it had released into the sauce. The last step for the final hour of cooking, also known as secret #2: thinly slice an entire head of garlic and sauté in generous amount of olive oil, and then combine the garlicky oil into the sauce. It was very important not to burn the garlic at this step, my sister told me. The aroma explosion of the garlic and olive oil was wonderful. The garlic almost melted in to the oil, just as my sister said it would, and then I poured the whole bubbling skillet into the crock to simmer for the last hour. 

il risultato finale

All in all, the recipe was simple to execute. I had to fight the urge to make it more complex, which is a knee-jerk reaction to my general mediocrity in the kitchen. What about some wine, I thought? Wine makes everything better. How about some parsley... parsley adds a verdant burst of flavor. Or some oregano. What about a Bay Leaf? Two tablespoons of sugar? A 1/4 cup of beef broth? I reined myself in, and had faith in the simplicity of the ingredients and the expertise of the recipe. After all, this was tradition, and you don't monkey with tradition. 

Results: The effort took the better part of a day. But the meal was simple and delicious. It was accompanied by a glass of Bordeaux, and dressed by more fresh parm. I served the bright red sauce over the healthy-schmealthy penne enriched with protein and omega 3s, which made me feel slightly better about my carb-heavy dinner. But the fresh sauce would have really shone over tender, homemade linguini. Maybe next blog post.  

Status: Success, with a lotta leftovers. And sending thanks up to Linda and her Nonna (recipe courtesy of her cucina) for passing the legend on to an extended branch of her family. 

Day 25: Never have I ever... juice fasted

Spring cleaning is a great feeling. Out with the old, in with the new. I decided that this year, I need a slightly bigger refresh than cleaning out the closet and dusting behind the couch. The long winter made me feel downright sluggish, like, on a cellular level. So I decided to try a juice cleanse (a.k.a. a juice fast), which is rumored to be a detoxifying wonder.  I have wanted to test it out for a while now. 

Background: Fasting is a practice that almost every major world religion incorporates in some way or another. Jews fast on Yom Kippur and Tisha B'Av. Catholics offer the symbolic fast for Lent. Hindus fast on certain days of the month or week, and Ghandi utilized fasting as expression of "suffering love" in modern Hinduism. Fasting is the Third Pillar of Islam, and requires Muslims to fast from sun up to sundown for the entire month of Ramadan. The Bahá'í faith also incorporates a month of daylight fasting (Àla'). The only notable exception is Buddhism, which only encourages the day's meals fall between sunrise and noon, but doesn't call it fasting, it's just considered the most optimal time to fuel up. Holistic healers and nutritionists have long been advocating fasts of varying degrees for all sorts of ailments and cleansing effects. And fasting has many symbols and practicalities in both religious and modern life: Repentance, remembrance of suffering, simplicity, renewal, cleansing. No matter how you look at it, humans have been exploring the concept and effects of fasting for thousands of years. Having never even so much as skipped lunch, I'm a bit curious. And people who swear by it, they really swear by it.

My approach: I looked into the Master Cleanse and two pre-packaged juice cleanses, one called Blueprint Cleanse and one called Cooler Cleanse. The Master cleanse is just too intense for me right now, at 4-5 days of nothing by water with fresh lemon, cayenne pepper, and maple syrup. Ummm, I'm just not there yet. BluePrint Cleanse and Cooler Cleanse are 2-5 day programs of pre-packaged fresh juices made in NYC and delivered right to your door, to the tune of $60 a day. Thought tempting for the convenience factor... $60 a day to not eat? You've got to be kidding me. But, I don't own a juicer. Luckily, thanks to the fact that I live near plenty of health food stores and juice bars, I just decided to do my own thang. (I pretty much used the same juice combos found in the Cooler Cleanse, which looked the best to me.) 

Preparation: Before a juice cleanse, one is supposed to "eat clean" and rest up for the days preceding the detox. No refined carbs, no meat, no sugar, no alcohol, lots of a fruits and veggies. You know, how we should eat all the time, anyway. Yeaaahhhh. I didn't do that. On Friday, I went out to a deliciously decadent Italian meal, had far too many drinks, and went to bed at 3am. On Saturday, I had a near-squeaky clean breakfast and lunch, and then thanks to a packed day of family visits, I ended up eating a Whopper Junior at 5PM on the road with my nephews (ewwww, I know) and then two squares of L&B red-pie sicilian pizza at 9PM. Nutritious. 

Day 1: Sunday. I set out to do a two day cleanse. (Baby steps.) I woke up, and guzzled some water to start the day. For "brunch" at around noon, I headed to the local organic restaurant and ordered the Energy Rocket: 16 ounces of the juice of fresh greens, celery, apples and a shot of wheat grass. A tall glass of bright green liquid arrived, and it tasted grassy and a little sweet. But this bevy ain't a chugger. The strongly verdant flavor requires that one sip the juice very slowly, which is exactly what all juice fast blogs suggest anyway. Even with my patient consumption, I had the distinct feeling of "swimmy stomach" after the meal, and definitely wasn't feeling my best... a little nauseous, tired, drained. My body wanted more nutrition. I denied the pangs, and came home to rest until my only mandatory obligation of the day, a three-hour long Treble business meeting. I was not looking forward to that tedium on an empty stomach, and was feeling cranky. The blogs also told me the first day was the hardest. I can understand why. 

On my way to the subway at 3PM, I stopped at the local health market Pelandra, which also has a juice bar, and ordered the Brooklyn Sunrise: beet, carrot and orange juice with fresh ginger, but I subbed in apple for orange because I read that avoiding the acidic juices was best. This juice was delicious but thick and foamy, and again, required slow sipping. At the health food I also bought some raw organic cashews. I read that a very small quantity of nuts on the first day can really help if you're in a downward spiral. I wasn't hungry at all through the business meeting, and stayed in a relatively good mood, though I did have to endure watching the other ladies munch on Crumbs cupcakes, peanut M&Ms (my favorite), chips, pretzels and who knows what else. I couldn't even look. I drank my juice and chomped three nuts to make it through. Will power, will power, will power. 

After the meeting, some of the girls were going out for drinks. I wanted to go! I agreed to join with my large canister of lemon water, just to be social. On the way there, I said "maybe I'll just say 'fuck it' and stop this stupid fast and get a beer!" I was dangerously close to quitting. Though my friends were highly supportive of this option, I decided to reward myself with a little self discipline, turned around, and hit the 5 train home. 

When I did get home, I was starving. I mean, I really wanted food. And the entire apartment building smelled like fried chicken. I was quickly back to wrestling with my inner quitter, but instead, I headed back to Siggy's for my last juice of the day. The wafting aromas of Fascati's pizza next door to Siggy's was just plain...cruel. I went in and ordered a carrot, celery, cucumber juice, with one apple and one beet for sweetness. This time I got to watch the juice guy make the juice, and I was happy to see an entire bucket of veggies going into the machine to produce my little cup of liquid. Like seriously, a mop-the-kitchen-floor-sized-bucket. Hello, nutrition. I finished my juice feeling OK; the hunger subsided. As per fasting instructions, I downed two tablespoons of olive oil just before bed, and said buh-bye to Day 1. I made it. 

Except............... Day 1 didn't want to end so quickly. It was going down fighting. I had no luck falling asleep; I was hungry, and my body knew it. There was no food coma to lull me into sweet slumber. I tossed and turned...and thought about all the children who go to bed hungry most nights...and how hard it must be for them to go to school the next day tired... and how I really need to do something more to help....and maybe I could get a job working for the Food Bank of New York City.... I hear they are a really great organization... and doesn't that celebrity chef Madison Cowan work with them? My mind raced. And my stomach made strange, low grumbles. At some point, one or both of them gave up, and I slept. But not soundly. 

Day 2: I woke up in fitful starts in the early morning. I felt headachy. Blegh. I was able to go back to sleep for a bit, and then finally got up to begin my quest for today's big juice feat: Homemade almond milk. I looked for it in stores and juice bars, but it's impossible to find fresh almond milk. The pre-packaged brands all have preservatives of some kind, and that seems to go against the very idea of this two day torture-fest. So I bought a big bag of organic raw almonds, and soaked them overnight. In the morning, they were squishy, fleshy teardrops, and the skins popped off with ease. After shelling almonds for 30 solid minutes, I put 1.5 cups of naked nuts in the blender and covered with purified water. I pulsed until they were chopped, and then beat until they were blended evenly. I added in more water, some cinnamon and honey, and blended until the liquid was creamy, frothy, and thick. Next, I strained the liquid through cheesecloth and squeezed all the milk out in batches, leaving only the dry almond pulp behind. The milk was now crisp, nutty and delicious, and I enjoyed 16 ounces of homemade almond milk for my first drink of the day. Delicious. No preservatives. 

This "juice" was far more nutritious and held off the hunger like whoa. I was fine until the afternoon, when I had to go teach a music class in the afternoon. At 3PM, I downed the next juice of the day, a fresh coconut water. It was very sweet and left a weird taste in my mouth. But it felt nourishing and hydrating at the same time. 

Throughout Day 2, I can sum up how I felt in one word: stupid. As promised, Day 2 of the juice cleanse was much easier than Day 1 in terms of overall energy and food cravings, but my brain was simply not functioning properly. When I typed, I was mixing up words like 'their' and 'there', 'you're' and 'your', and making other completely idiotic pet-peeve grammatical mistakes. In class, I was having trouble with musical rhythms. My short-term memory was foggy. I left my phone at home by accident, and I parked my car on the street and forgot to check the parking regulations. Where was my head at? 

I came home feeling uninspired about the juice fast. My body didn't feel any different, but my mind sure did, and I didn't like it. Considering a job interview was scheduled for the next day, I started worrying about whether I'd sleep OK, and how quickly would my brain refuel itself? And at dinnertime, I got really hungry again. So, I decided that 46 hours without food was quite enough, and I got a healthy dinner of a spinach & strawberry salad, and filet of sole with asparagus and leeks. Food tasted so good. You are supposed to break a fast, even a short one with just a small amount of food, but I just went for the full meal. I read that after even a short fast, your body will feel sluggish and heavy after your first meal... and that's exactly how I felt. Like I just needed to lay down. But I definitely slept much better after a real dinner!

Status: I feel pretty lame that I almost made it two whole days and then gave up at the tail end of the fast, when all I had to do was suck down one more juice and go to bed early. But I can't say I was mega-impressed with the juice fast results anyway. I mean, sure, it took will power. And that felt good. And I did feel "lighter", that's undeniable. But the experience wasn't transformative at all. Something tells me I'd need at least 3 full days, if not more, and with a lot more self discipline to get any palpable sense of detox. 

Results: FAIL. But I tried. 

Side note: People have really strong reactions when you say you're juice fasting. Most people said "That's stupid, stop that,"or "Seriously?? WHY?!?!" Though a handful of folks were curious, and had considered the process themselves. If you're considering it, I suggest trying a short fast, and making sure that you're either not working over a weekend or long weekend. Clear your social schedule because you won't feel much like going out. And definitely don't drink the olive oil. It did nothing, except make me want to vom. 

Day 24: Never have I ever... taken a spinning class

The dark, sweaty cave of spin

I am trying to get myself in better shape. In the six months leading up to my blog (which many of you know were some of my, ahem, toughest ever), I never exercised, gave into daily carb cravings, and next thing I know, I'm winded by climbing two flights of stairs. I've done pretty well by my health in 2011, but I want to keep exploring new activities that will keep me engaged and committed to exercising. 

I thought spinning would be a perfect fit. I love bikes! And I like the format of group exercise classes, mainly because you're peer-pressured into not quitting. So today, with water bottle and towel in tow, I hit the New York Sports Club 6:30 p.m. spinning class. Here's how it went: 

6:30  Instructor arrives. The room lights are turned off, save for some red & green mood lighting. Thumping club music is pumped through the speakers. Instructor mounts his bike.  
6:33 Warm up pedaling; It's warming. 
6:35  Instructor shouts garbled commands. Pedal faster? Sweating. Like, beads of sweat. 
6:38  No one seems fazed that instructor shouts inaudible commands.
6:40 A loud shout makes everyone stand up and pedal. 
6:41  Return to seat. Heart pounding. Guzzle some water.
6:43  Dear Lord, I'm sweating. 
6:45  Standing again. Turn resistance up. Pedaling to music's rhythm. Get in groove. 
6:55  Why are we still standing and pedaling and when is he going to let us sit down??!?! 
6:56  Sit; Guzzle more water. Room now has a stifling sweaty stink. Woman next to me is wearing a strong deodorant or perfume. Need fresh air. Should have put on antiperspirant. Tell self to ignore smells, including self-smell. 
7:00  There is no way I'm going to make it 25 more minutes. 
7:02  Water is gone. 23 minutes left. Can you die of dehydration in 23 minutes? 
7:05  He wants us to stand again. Ugggghhhhh. Ok, upsy daisy. 
7:12  Long set of standing is slightly easier. Keep groove consistent. Ignore instructor's possible commands to pedal faster. 
7:15  Sit down. Oh thank God. 
7:16  Cool down. Instructor slowly brings pace down. Class is panting and dripping. 
7:20  Instructor shouts something. Everyone stops pedaling. We're done?! But there's five minutes of this sweatfest left? I'm relieved, but also disappointed because I was prepared to pedal to the bitter end. 
7:21  Instructor leads 5 minute cool down session, and my muscles cry for help. 
7:25  Face is bright red (see below). I'm sweating through my shirt. I feel great. 

My beet-red face post-class

Status: Though I love biking, spinning isn't a "fun" workout. But it's a darn good one. Along with everyone else, I spent most of the class watching the clock obsessively. These are some long minutes, 55 of them. I would definitely do it again, as it torched calories and gets me in much better shape for bike season which is just around the bend. But the difference between biking and spinning, is that you bike to get from point A to point B, so there's a sense of adventure, of travel. Plus, my point B is usually involves pizza or ice cream or tacos or beer, and the promise of any of those makes an equivalent ride go much more quickly. Guilt propels the ride home. 


Results: Success! (ok... fine. I sat down about a minute early on one of the long-standing sets. dock me.) 

Never have we ever had so much fun!

The large recess between my last post and this one is thanks to another sort of new project that I've been working on. It was a weekend-long festival for the quirky and fun world of a cappella, and we called it VoCALnation.

Treble readies in our dressing room

The event was presented by the leading national organization for our little aca-world (CASA), and my a cappella group, Treble, served as the event's local "host". That meant that we had the privilege of performing at the Saturday night headliner concert, and also held much of the event planning responsibility. As part of an event production team of 4 from Treble and 2 from CASA, we spent 14 months creating a brand new event in New York City designed to bring the growing community of post-collegiate singers together. We're the kids who just couldn't leave the glory days of college a cappella behind. You probably remember us as your friendly campus music dorks. Now, we just wear that badge proudly by singing in bars, snapping with one hand, holding a dirty martini with the other. This dork life ain't so bad. 

In the days or so leading up to VoCALnation, I decided to pause on my new experiences blog because I wanted to focus on the event, and still make time for the joys of job-hunting. One of my friends argued that the event itself should be a part of my 30-day project, and I did consider it. But, this event was much more than a one-day new experience. It was months of planning, hundreds of emails, dozens of rehearsals, and three days of the most fun and joyful music event I've ever been a part of. With all do respect to these here interwebs, it's just simply more than a blog post. 

Where the magic happens

It was a fantabulous event. And I don't use amalgamate adjectives often. Semi-pro groups came in from all over the country: North Carolina, Boston, Memphis, LA, Vermont, DC. Our headline act, the Grammy-award winning Swingle Singers, came all the way from London (and blew everyone's minds; if you don't know them, check them out). The evening concert was held at the beautiful Florence Gould Hall, which is a dramatically steep black-box theater with vintage orange-marigold velvet seats. There isn't a bad seat in the house. There were FIVE standing ovations during the performance: one for Duwende, the infectious first headliner that rocked Michael Jackson and Prince, and a whopping 4 standing O's for the Swingles, every one of which they deserved.

Both the Friday night and Saturday night after-parties went until last call. New friendships were made, old ones were enjoyed, none of us wanted the weekend to end. But, we kinda needed it to. We were exhausted. And we just can't party like we're in college anymore (well, OK, seems like we can. But only for a weekend...)

It was a blast, and I'm so grateful to have been a part of this project with the production team, the ladies of Treble, CASA, all the instructors, performers, volunteers, attendees and singers, and especially my incredibly supportive family and friends, who have graciously sat through more a cappella concerts than any human should ever have to endure.  

I'm back to the bloggery, which, admittedly, is dragging on wellllllllllll beyond the 30 days. Oh well, it's fun! The longer, the better. I do plan to wrap up soon, and I have my final "new" experience all planned and booked, and it's a goodie. It won't be happening till April 15, so stay tuned, friends. 

*For those wondering, the odd capitalization in VoCALnation stands for the "Contemporary A Cappella League" which is a membership-based alliance of post-collegiate, semi-pro groups. In other words, we're the grown-up groups. Most of us perform regularly, are known in our local communities, and mostly take only paying gigs, but we don't make a living by doing it (and yes, some groups actually do.) 

Treble's on-stage moment

Duwende, sound-checking

The Swingle Singers, being inhumanly awesome

all photos [except top photo] by Michael Eldredge, (c) LivingFiction Photography 

Day 23: Never have I ever... attended the St. Patrick's Day parade

It's St. Patrick's Day! I'm Irish and unemployed... Parade here I come!

Marching Band

I've never done the St. Patty's Day thing in NYC. I have been in Chicago when they turn the river green, and that is pretty cool. But, I'm generally not into huge mob-crowds. They're oppressive, annoying, and potentially dangerous. But I decided that I'd probably be OK if I got to the parade by noon. How drunk could people be by noon? 

Flag bearers

The answer: Very drunk. People were shoving and pushing, and I felt like cattle being herded onto the slaughterhouse truck. I nearly stepped in puke. And there were more stupid outfits than Halloween at a frat house. Felt leprechaun hats, bouncy shamrock headbands, spray-painted green hair, even green tulle tutus. Everyone was decked out, I was practically blinded by all the reflective green sparkles. 

The un-stupid outfits were all IN the parade. I have to say, the parade itself is really cool. Huge bands with elaborate outfits, bagpipers with kilts, Irish dancers in gorgeous dresses, color guard and flag bearers in uniform. It was festive, indeed. Though it was very difficult to see over the throngs of people. I can only imagine that the people along the front barricades had been there since 8am. You gotta really LOVE St. Patrick's Day to do that. 

All in all, watching the parade on a beautiful, sunny March day with a cold Guinness in a cop-friendly thermos was a lovely treat. This is something that I would never ever take the time to do in regular life, but I'm so glad that this project afforded me the chance to do it. 

A wall of American Flags

Though I probably won't do it again. Because with rare exception, these are the main crowd demographics at the St. Patrick's Day parade: 

1. International Tourists
2. Teenagers
3. Bridge and Tunnel Assholes 
(And to clarify, I'm not saying all B&T'ers are assholes...)

Grand Central Station. Mid-day.

Walking down to the subway, every bar was packed. I picked up the 4 train from Grand Central, and I have never seen it so crowded in the middle of the day. It looked like 8:45 a.m. on a Monday morning. Except a really weird Monday, where everyone is wearing green and falling down the staircase. 

Results: I came. I saw. It was fun. I went home before things really got ugly. 

Status: Slàinte! 

Day 22: Never have I ever... taught a high school music class

I was thrilled when an a cappella friend asked me to volunteer at his after-school music program. He is a volunteer teacher for the program, as well. Every Monday, he works with a group of teens in a high(er) risk high school on the Lower East Side where his wife is a teacher. 

The Alto Section. Go Altos!

Since my music and theater experience are my fondest memories of high school, and it helped me make friends, discover my passions, and find a tiny morsel of teenage confidence, it's an educational offering that I feel is so important. I am totally with VH1. Save the Music! (That sounds trite. It's not. So many kids find their inner voice by way of the performing arts.) 

This Monday was my first class. It was a 75 minute rehearsal, and my friend (we'll call him Mr. G) was directing. He is working with the class on an a cappella performance for their school's annual talent show in early May. My role is to serve as the female vocal teacher. 

We started with warm-ups. Mr. G had them sing an "up" which was fairly complex. I was impressed. Then he turned to me and said "Carrie, what does Treble do for a down"? I started singing our warm-up. "Beeyum Beeyum Beeyoh. Beeeeeeee Ahhhhhhhh Beeeeeee Ohhhhhhh" (going down the scale in intervals of a perfect 4th, minor 3rd and major 3rd, for all you music nerds out there.) He said "Wow, that's a bit too hard." Uh oh. I'm there two seconds and already screwing this up. But I just kept singing. After a few scales of muddy notes and confused looks, they... they were singing it. They got it. OK, this is pretty cool. 

Then he moved on to the meat of the rehearsal. The piece Mr. G is teaching is "Just the Way You Are, as performed by Bruno Mars. I admit it: I kind of like the song. The song is a pop-y piece of crap, but it's a catchy little ditty nonetheless. He was only teaching the Alto and Soprano parts for a two-part harmony. Easy-peasy. I was able to sight-read most of it and right away I could hear where the Altos were having issues. I (politely) corrected some of their rhythms; I felt like such a bitch! I guess that's what a good teachers know how to do... correct students constructively so they want to improve. And not be a bitch. 

I was scared of the kids. I mean, they were looking at me. They were looking at me like I knew what I was doing. And I really don't. I'm not a music teacher; hell, I'm not really that great of a musician. I learn music by grit and repetition. But I wasn't there to just teach them music. I was there to teach them how to sing, how to perform, and how to feel confident doing it. 

A soprano that I worked with one-on-one

I noticed one of the Altos missed a coda and got lost in the music. So, during a pause, I asked her if she knew where to turn back to the coda. She didn't know what a coda was. Well... guess it's me that should explain this concept to her, because, um, I'm the teacher. Right. Ok, this is challenging... how do I explain, in words, a concept  that is now just intrinsic for me? I used the good old "show n' tell" method, and she seemed to get it. Wait, did I just teach someone about codas?! This made me very happy. 

We also worked on where singers should feel the sound  at different points in their range: head, throat, nose, etc. They were really interested in this! Finally, we worked on increasing volume while staying on pitch. I showed them a volume exercise where you sing the same note at increasing levels of volume from pianissamo to fortissamo. Sounds easy? Try it. Yep, try it right now in your living room/office/wherever you are. Try singing a note soft, then a little louder, then a little louder still, without changing your pitch, until you are at your full volume. It's harder than you think! The ladies liked the challenge and we agreed that next week we'd all do it together. Mr. G was pleased to see them engaged. 

The class was winding down, but I didn't feel ready to leave. The energy of the students was incredible. The giggles, the funny comments, the camaraderie, the enthusiasm... I loved being around these girls. In a world where teenagers are being constantly overexposed  and over-sexualized (thank you, MTV's Skins) it was so refreshing to be around kids who just seemed like... kids. They talked about college, graduation, being excited and scared to sing in front of their whole school, being excited and scared to leave high school. They were so relatable. They were just... honest.

Results: I'm not sure how much I really did for these kids, but I'm psyched to go back next Monday, and every Monday until their performance. And I plan to be front and center, clapping loudly, when these ladies perform at their school's talent show. 

I also had a tiny little window into the world of teaching. I have some fabulous educators as friends, and I've never respected and admired them more. Ms. Berkman, Ms. Behrman, Mr. Mosteirin, Dr. Brown, Mrs. Balsam, and all of my former teachers... I'm talking to you. Learning how to teach effectively is tricky. Connecting with kids is HARD. Thank you so much for doing that every day. Where would any of us be without our teachers? 

Status: I'm not the judge of this one. The kids are.