Too Much To Do?

Every now and then I feel that I'm in the land of Too Much To Do. But I decided to vacation here--it's part of how I am.

I have a midterm next week in music history, and the professor handed out a study guide for the test: diagram and explain the three sonata forms discussed in class, then three essays outlining the development of Italian opera, keyboard music, and symphonic music.

I will have 50 minutes to do this, so I am trying to boil it all down to the essentials: a 5-minute speed-writing challenge and three 15-minute essays. We've just covered too much material. And he has specifically asked us to include particular details. Wow.

On top of a listening quiz on Monday that he announced yesterday. And the course's major paper is due in two weeks. And my other course requires a paper that is fully half of my grade. And I haven't had time to start reading the research for that paper, yet. One thing at a time.

And I need to be practicing at least 2 hours each day in preparation for my audition in May.

And I haven't even mentioned grandmother's new health issues that are needing more time/attention, teaching and planning for 30 private piano/theory students, preparing for and teaching/leading a community group, and running Near The Cross.

I listed those quickly and in no particular order of priority. If y'all can see clearly how I should prioritize them, then I could see more clearly which I could cut out. First thought is to cut out the classes at UGa b/c that is the least-important thing on my plate.

Wait! Hark and alas! What is that sound I hear, so faint and so far away? No! No! It is not far away, but it is very near, the sweet yet doleful sound of the world's smallest violins playing a lament for me.

How effing nice.

Working Out = Pain

Back in October, I quit going to my old gym. I got tired of it, so I quit. In January, I joined my new gym, which I like just fine. At my new gym, there are 30 elliptical machines and no time limit, so I can ellipticate (ellipticize without leg warmers) for an hour. I might go longer, but the machine won't run longer than 60 minutes at a time (which is an hour, for you Georgia Tech graduates).

HOWEVER, I decided to start lifting actual weights again last week. I made this decision with some trepidation because I know all too well what it feels like to start lifting again after having taken a lifting hiatus. It entails extended and extensive pain.

It is a well-known effect of having a good workout that one will have muscle soreness for about two days, generally the second day being the more painful. The pain that occurs after a long break, however, lasts a week. So far. I worked out my chest and shoulders last week, and I still can't hold my shoulders back without feeling every muscle pull tight across my chest. With pain. Not just sore, but actual hurt.

Did I hurt myself? Nope. This is just what it's like. It's especially on my mind today because I worked out my back and arms yesterday, and I was already hurting this morning. I can't lift my arms past shoulder-height without great pain, and the proverbial 48-hour burn is just around the corner.

I tell you this because you don't care. That's what makes it interesting, at least for now.

Guess what I saw yesterday?

Just before Ellen walked up and we headed to lunch.

Saturday Fun

I meant to go to the gym this morning and actually lift weights instead of just ellipticating (ellipticizing without the arm motions) for an hour, but my just-washed sheets felt too good. Instead, I got up at 9:00 a.m. (or so), washed some clothes, and took Grandmother to her 11:00 a.m. hair appointment. I went to a couple of men's stores to find a plain, casual, white button-down shirt, but nothing really fit. So I ate at Qdoba in Alps and read more of the book Fools for Christ. After picking Grandmother up at 12:30 p.m., I went home and taught a makeup piano lesson at 1:00 p.m.

Since then, I've been at either Hot Corner (1:45 - 6:45 p.m.) or Jittery's Baxter (8:00 - now) with a break for dinner at Zim's Bagels in Alps. Mitch joined me for a while at Hot Corner, then I saw Ellen and chatted with her and set up a Tuesday lunch date, then Mitch left to hang out with Lanelle and then go swimming. Mitch met me for dinner at Zim's, and now we're studiously ignoring each other across the table at Jittery's Baxter. He thinks I'm studying.

So don't ask me how my day was. There it is, in all its splendor. Maybe something truly noteworthy will happen before I go to bed. (Sorry, Ellen! Talking with you was fun.)

Funniest Thing I've Read In Months

Who would have thought Bach research would be so fun?

In trying to succinctly describe a passage in Bach's Cantata No. 4 where Bach slows down the motion of the music in response to the meaning of the text being sung by the chorus, the author of an analysis of the cantata used the following phrase:

"Text-engendered retardation."

Seriously, I laughed out loud. Does anyone else see the utility of this phrase in other situations? Please suggest some in the comments for this post. I would love to hear where you might use it.

Faith of a Japanese Musicologist

While researching for a class presentation on Bach's Cantata No. 4, I came across a set of CD liner notes that hit me right between the eyes. And I certainly wasn't expecting it.

In 1995, on the 50th anniversary of VJ-Day and the end of WWII, a group of reknown Japanese musicians released the first of a series of recordings of Bach's complete cantatas. Almost 200 of Bach's cantatas have survived, and each lasts between 20 and 30 minutes. This is a very large project.

Maybe you've already picked up on The Issue: the Japanese singers have to sing in flawless German. And if you know anything of the differences in Eastern and Western musical traditions, you know that it is difficult to grasp the nuances of the other when you have been trained and immersed in one tradition all your life.

Furthermore, these recordings are being hailed as the best ever. My curiosity was piqued. (Point of Grammar: that is the correct spelling of that idiom. If you have learned another spelling or have guessed at it with "peaked" or "peeked", please correct yourself. Pseudo-sorry for the aside. You might have missed my "grammar whore" post a while back. Not that I don't make grammar or spelling mistakes: I certainly do. But why not stop and smell the grammatical roses when they present themselves along the Path of Commonly Misused Idioms?)

Back to Bach.

So the director of this project (Masaaki Suzuki), who is also the conductor of the ensemble, addresses this concern right away in the liner notes: Why add a Japanese "complete cantata" series to the others that already exist?

And his response: "First and foremost in easing my hesitation and diffidence in approaching Bach's music was my eventual complete conviction that the God in whose service Bach laboured and the God I worship today are one and the same. In the sight of the God of Abraham, I believe that the two hundred years separating the time of Bach from my own day can be of little account. This conviction has brought the great composer very much closer to me. We are fellows in faith, and equally foreign in our parentage to the people of Israel, God's people of Biblical times. . . .

"All the same, I do not hold with those who say that non-Christians can never approach Bach's cantatas properly, nor do I believe that adherence to the Christian faith is necessary for the beautiful performance of the music. . . . Having said this, however, what is most important in infusing a Bach cantata score with real life in performance is a deep insight into the fundamental religious message each work carries."

Amen, and amen! Anyone familiar with the recordings of Robert Shaw will have heard this principle in action: music performed by Believers in honor of God is qualitatively different, especially when the music itself was composed to honor God.

I was deeply moved by Mr. Suzuki's boldness and motivation, and I agree with his statements about Bach, God, and performing Bach's music.

I Hope You Know Me

Because if you don't and all you know of me is my blog, you probably think I'm a pretty depressing guy. Maybe not, but as I look over some of my posts, I realize that I tend to write when I'm pensive or introspective but not when I'm experiencing joy. I hope to make an effort to post the good stuff, too.

Nocturnal Pensiveness

I normally blog at night because that is one of only two times I get to sit in front of my computer without distraction. Nighttime and lunch, but even lunch has its distractions. The problem is that at night I'm tired and reflective on the previous day. It's also the time that I'm most introspective.

This post is personal. This is something that I've been meditating on the past few days. It is not an original thought, neither to me nor to the world, but it is a current thought of mine. Blogs seem to be the cyber-parking lot for one's current thoughts, so I'm carefully pulling this one into this parking (cyber-) space.

One of the elements of suffering that single people face is not having regular, physical contact with other human beings. It is unnatural, and it positively communicates negative regard.

Every so often, as lately, I realize that I have not actually touched or been touched by another human being in weeks.

Handshakes don't count. They are too fleeting and void of the kind of positive regard that addresses loneliness. Casual brushes don't really count, but I've gone weeks without even those, or other, accidental or incidental contacts.

One day without contact isn't harmful. Weeks, even months, without it, and a profound sense of being disconnected settles in. Disconnected from the world around you, the human world. Disconnected from society. Disconnected from community. In church, disconnected from Christian community.

To me, it seems God has ordained natural provisions for being physically included in community, e.g., our parents. Nothing is the same as a mother's love, and nothing is as safe as a mother's touch. I cannot go around hugging women willy-nilly--Scripture seems to consider that unwise. But you can always hug your mother. I say "you" because my mother is dead and I can't hug her. Nor can she hug me. And that, my friends, would cause a despair beyond my ability to handle were it not for God's grace. But I miss her to the deepest center of my heart. I am still my mama's boy, and I am not ashamed. To this day, no one on this earth has ever shown me abiding unconditional love, save her.

For boys, physical inclusion in the male community is essential to healthy development. I do not blame my father for my unhealthy development, but he and I did not relate in the loving, physical way I saw (and still see) among my peers and their fathers. This is true of our current relationship, although we do hug each other on occasion, which means a great deal to me. However, physical expression of loving regard, and, sadly, verbal expression of the same, is not a defining characteristic of my familial relationships. I pray your family is different in that regard.

So God has deprived me of two of the safest means of my experiencing physical connection to humanity. My memories of dating and relating to other men physically, inappropriate and sinful as my actions were, bear powerful witness to my hunger for touch. One of my defining characteristics is sensitivity, and it is expressed in being emotionally, spiritually, and physically sentitive. It is a primary way I feel and express love.

So what do I do? Hugs or even prolonged physical contact with women seem unwise. My mom isn't around for me to "love on", as I hear it expressed. For me to initiate it in my family would cause confusion and misunderstanding--it's just not how we are. I see my guy friends engaging in all kinds of physical playfulness, from the mild to the truly (inappropriately?) intimate (like jumping all-but-naked in a hot tub together--still not sure about that one)...it seems to be a natural, affectionate way of relating.

But on the very rare occasion when that affection has been directed my way, there is a palpable discomfort that immediately surfaces because of my past sin. I am not making this up for two reasons: 1) I already said that I am senstiive, and I have a well-tuned ability to sense these very things, and 2) my guy friends have straight-out confirmed it. Adding me to the mix, well, a certain caution arises. It's never as uninhibited when directed towards me as it is among them.

I am not writing this for pathos. I believe it is helpful to name suffering and acknowledge the reality of suffering that is not commonly seen as such. Physical violence, death threats, being fired from a job for Christian beliefs, ongoing sickness or physical afflictions = obvious suffering.

But don't forget other forms. This suffering has a particular flavor that I helped create--my particular sin has created these particular difficulties that may exist for the rest of my life.

So I see yet another aspect of how sin has far-reaching consequences. But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which He loved me, even when I was dead in my trespasses, made me alive together with Christ (by grace I have been saved!) and raised me up with Him and seated me with Him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, so that in the coming ages He might show the immeasurable riches of His grace in kindness toward me in Christ Jesus.

Amen!

Making a "Play Date"

One of my young students today couldn't wait to tell me about her best friend coming over to spend the night this weekend. You see, her friend had only come over for play dates before, so this was a big step in their friendship.

I said, "Play what?"

She said, "Play date. You know, when your friend comes over to play, but not to spend the night."

I can't imagine the kids made up that term on their own. I think this is a "mommy" word. But maybe that's what mommies are doing for their kids now, making "play dates" for them with their friends.

Is this an old term that I'm just now hearing, or do y'all think this is a new thing?

Internet Sex and Minors

Due to previous commitments at home last Friday, I could not attend the men's cookout and meeting at my church. This was providential, as always, because I got to watch a Dateline report on internet predators (To Catch a Predator III). This was the third report they have done in the past few years, and while previous operations had only gotten about two dozen men to show up after internet chats promising sex with a minor, this time the setting was southern California, and they netted 50 men in the same three-day period.

This time, however, Dateline coordinated with the local police department (and an internet activist group) who arrested all 50 men, one at a time, in a joint sting operation. Some of the men arrested had criminal backgrounds, including violence and rape, and some had done time in prison. Several already had convictions for child molestation and were registered sex offenders. All of them had chatted online with a decoy posing as either a 13-year-old boy or girl and planning sexual acts. To show intent, the decoy asked the targets to bring condoms, alcohol, or other things. By showing up with the items, the men showed an intent to do what they discussed online with the decoy.

But most did not have criminal backgrounds. One of the man was a minister. One was an active federal agent in the Dept. of Homeland Security. One was a popular local high school teacher. One was an actor, one a successful musician. Many were husbands. Many were fathers. The age range was 18-65, all men, from a surprising range of professions and socio-economic status.

I watched with mixed emotions. What the men were hoping to do was wrong, and that's too soft a word for it. It offends God, shows an utter lack of fear of Him, and is abject rebellion against Him personally and His decrees.

But I also watched with compassion. How could I not? I, too, am a sinner, and I know what it's like to feel under compulsion, to be guided by desires that dishonor God, to be in bondage. I know the feeling of helplessness that these men expressed.

I wanted to hate them. I wanted to call them "pervert", like the website that coordinated the sting with Dateline. Do you know what the near universal response was when Dateline confronted the men in the house where they were expecting to engage in sexual acts with a minor?

"I'm a horrible person."
"I'm wrong."
"This will destroy me."

I'm not saying they're not responsible. But I'm not for adding to their bondage by calling them names. How can one sinner call another sinner "pervert"? A Pharisee can. A self-righteous Christian can. But not the humble Christian who fears God and knows his sin.

No one is beyond God's grace, not even these men caught in this sting. Should they go to jail? Yes, if they broke the law. Should we point our fingers at them, pronounce judgment on them, and feel better about ourselves for not having their particular perverted sin? Hell, no.

Contemporary Christian Whores

In their attempt to appropriate the sounds of secular pop music, many singers of so-called Contemporary Christian Music ("CCM") have adopted the vocal stylings of the singers whose sound they want to emulate. Listen to 104.7 THE FISH and you'll hear female CCM singers emulating Britney Spears, Christine Aguilera, Whitney Houston, Sarah McLachlan, Mandy Moore, and Jessica Simpson. The logic is this: people like the sounds of these secular women, and the CCM singers could sell albums if they sing in a style that is already popular.

I think the CCM women have copied too much, however, because by emulating the grunts, moans, and glottal stops of the pop singers' vocalization techniques, they sound like they are making porn. You see, female pop stars emulate bedroom moans and grunts for the purpose of sounding sexy. Those secular women are popular because they often sound like they are singing while getting it put to them rather well. At least for men, this sounds like a preview of what sounds could be heard were they lucky enough to bed one of the singers. Sex sells, and when the primary medium is a sound recording rather than a video, sex has to be communicated through words and/or sexual vocalizations.

So while the female CCM singers are singing words about Jesus or God (sometimes), they actually sound like they're getting it put to them rather well. I hope that it is obvious that that would detract from the supposed "message" of the songs, e.g., the lyrics themselves.

Let's not mince words: the message is confusing, at best. "Jesus loves you, and I'm getting f__ked."