today's word is
Many thanks to Erin, who has coined the perfect term for what I'm going through right now.
In a word, I'm "backblogged."
Which means, over the course of the past week or so, I've encountered about a half dozen neat and remarkable things that are worthy of blog entries. But gosh darn it, I've been too freakin' busy to write about any of them.
For example, I really should write about having the BF's mom and sister in town for five days.
It wasn't a bad visit at all (his Mom carries a gene the BF did not inherit: a love of Vodka Tonics. So she and I get along just fine), but having them around kept us occupied for most of the Memorial Day Weekend. We took in the Met's amazing exhibit of Diane Arbus photos (which I loved but freaked out the rest of the fam, I think) and strolled around the park like good tourists do.
The BF scored us last-minute tickets to see "Mama Mia" Saturday night, and I could write a lenghty and self-indulgent essay about my love/hate relationship such shows, or how pop culture is killing/saving Broadway.
Sunday morning we rose early and went to hear our friend Adam belt some Latin during the 11 a.m. service at St. Mary's the Virgin. (Insert gay joke here -- oh wait, Erin already did.) I'm not Episcopalian, but being with the BF this past year has exposed me to the grandeur and ritual of their services. I'm still not sure I fully get it; growing up in the Pentecostal South we were always taught to sneer at the ornate idolatry of such denominations, and we certainly never had incense in our church services.
The morning took an unexpected turn when we realized that this was one of the three Sundays of the year when St. Mary's leads a procession out its doors and does a lap through Times Square singing "Amazing Grace." There's probably no way to describe this without it sounding flat out bizarre, and I suppose it probably is.
Even though I haven't considered myself a Christian in many long years, I will say I was moved by the procession. As we left the church the sound of the singing grew steadily quieter, soon drowned out by the noise and bustle of New York. "Amazing Grace" got lost next to a steel-drum busker performing a fine rendition of "Margaritaville." But as we drew closer to the church, the singing gradually returned to its former strength.
For an Evangelical, I suppose this would be a great metaphor for the way in which a person can lose their faith as they stray into the "sinful" world of distractions. I'm trying to be less cynical these days so I'll say it's also a good metaphor for the way in which we gain and lose our sense of centeredness. It's easy enough to feel all balanced and spiritually connected when you're in a middle of a sanctuary (be that some grand Episcopal cathedral or simply some private time spent reading Joseph Campbell, whatever gives you that sense of connection), but harder to maintain among the smells and sirens of 46th Street.
Unfortunately, I never got around to blogging about these things, so I fear my amazingly astute insights have dulled in the days since the actual experience.
In a word, I'm "backblogged."
Which means, over the course of the past week or so, I've encountered about a half dozen neat and remarkable things that are worthy of blog entries. But gosh darn it, I've been too freakin' busy to write about any of them.
For example, I really should write about having the BF's mom and sister in town for five days.
It wasn't a bad visit at all (his Mom carries a gene the BF did not inherit: a love of Vodka Tonics. So she and I get along just fine), but having them around kept us occupied for most of the Memorial Day Weekend. We took in the Met's amazing exhibit of Diane Arbus photos (which I loved but freaked out the rest of the fam, I think) and strolled around the park like good tourists do.
The BF scored us last-minute tickets to see "Mama Mia" Saturday night, and I could write a lenghty and self-indulgent essay about my love/hate relationship such shows, or how pop culture is killing/saving Broadway.
Sunday morning we rose early and went to hear our friend Adam belt some Latin during the 11 a.m. service at St. Mary's the Virgin. (Insert gay joke here -- oh wait, Erin already did.) I'm not Episcopalian, but being with the BF this past year has exposed me to the grandeur and ritual of their services. I'm still not sure I fully get it; growing up in the Pentecostal South we were always taught to sneer at the ornate idolatry of such denominations, and we certainly never had incense in our church services.
The morning took an unexpected turn when we realized that this was one of the three Sundays of the year when St. Mary's leads a procession out its doors and does a lap through Times Square singing "Amazing Grace." There's probably no way to describe this without it sounding flat out bizarre, and I suppose it probably is.
Even though I haven't considered myself a Christian in many long years, I will say I was moved by the procession. As we left the church the sound of the singing grew steadily quieter, soon drowned out by the noise and bustle of New York. "Amazing Grace" got lost next to a steel-drum busker performing a fine rendition of "Margaritaville." But as we drew closer to the church, the singing gradually returned to its former strength.
For an Evangelical, I suppose this would be a great metaphor for the way in which a person can lose their faith as they stray into the "sinful" world of distractions. I'm trying to be less cynical these days so I'll say it's also a good metaphor for the way in which we gain and lose our sense of centeredness. It's easy enough to feel all balanced and spiritually connected when you're in a middle of a sanctuary (be that some grand Episcopal cathedral or simply some private time spent reading Joseph Campbell, whatever gives you that sense of connection), but harder to maintain among the smells and sirens of 46th Street.
Unfortunately, I never got around to blogging about these things, so I fear my amazingly astute insights have dulled in the days since the actual experience.
2 Comments:
Next TrayB needs to take his one-man-band out singing amazing grace (or some other apt song -- Martha Wainwright perhaps) into Time Square. Now THAT would be a conversion experience...
opera in the streets ... to follow a string in Jerry's blog...
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