The sporadic ramblings of Emily C. A. Snyder - devoted to God, theatre, writing, and much randominity.
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Random Thoughts and Belted Bluejeans
First: it is odd, although I am not complaining, to receive a paycheck every two weeks during the summer when one is technically not working. Second: still, it is too little. Ah ca! Must conserve more - summer's been a bit more expensive than anticipated. *nnngh* However, purchases have been either necessary or good or long-range and so am not wholly complaining, except perhaps at myself. Silly self. (Poor heart!)
Sh.'s wedding happened, despite limos not arriving and no one knowing where the readers were supposed to be and men at the reception who could not/would not dance, nor apparently could be taught easily or well. And all swing, which, were the circumstances different, would have been fine - but that by the middle of the evening I was longing for some rock simply so that I could dance without looking like a fool. Danced thrice: once with English organist attempting to teach him jitterbug (no go - my feet were actually stepped upon - must put that in a book somewhere), once with one of Sh's friends from college (in lieu of my sister - I simply had to get in one decent dance! - jitterbug, of course), and once with my fellow reader (two step, in which I stepped on his feet - oy!).
Henry Tilney, in Jane Austen's Northanger Abbey has this marvellous mini-monologue wherein he expresses his opinion of dancing: which is that it is the perfect metaphor for courtship and marriage. There seems to be quite a bit of truth in that. There is nothing worse than a partner with whom one is out of step - either his fault or yours. Knees keep getting knocked, tempo is all wrong, one never seems to be able to get it together, and although one laughs and tries to pass it off, it's more than a little frustrating. Particularly when the music has such a regular beat, and one can feel how one ought to be fox-trotting it nicely all about the dance floor! Conversely, to dance with a good partner - a great partner - a partner with whom one feels comfortable, with whom one has a rapport, who can lead without dragging one about the floor, who almost doesn't need to lead because one can tell simply by the subtle, unconscious shifts in his body - the way he holds your hand, something in the turn of his head, the set of his shoulders, the pressure of his arm around your back, the center of his chest pressed to yours - what step comes next. The twirls outwards, the flourishes, the cuddles, the dips, the sudden polka-like leaps - all utterly natural, necessary, inevitable. And the music guides you both.
Is this not marriage? Is this not what Shakespeare wrote of in 116? Let me not, to the marriage of true minds, admit impediment. Love is not love which alters when it alterations finds, or bends with the remover to remove. Oh no! It is an ever-fixed mark, that looks on tempests and is never shaken. It is the height to every wandering bark, whose worth unknown, although his height be taken. Love's not time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks within his bending sickle's compass come. Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, but bears it out, even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved. Is this not the man leading, the woman following, God instructing, and all three so blent - the two becoming one, that one joined up with the Heavenly, that all move in perfect accord, with no thought of superiority but of compliment. Husbands, love your wives!
Apparently I read my Ephesians well. That's always good news. Very pscyhed to have done the "difficult" reading - bwahahahhahahah! But of course, the most important bit is that the sacrament happened. So God bless them, amen!
In other news, whilst shopping yesterday for an appropriate dress for the wedding - one that fit me well and wasn't in some inbetween thanks to having shifted weight in every direction these last few years - I bought myself a few nice items as well. Most importantly: jeans. The ones I have are either a) comfy but distinctly too large and beyond which rather ripped in certain places that make them inappropriate unless one wears shorts and therefore are fit only for painting in or b) simply too large and dumpy. So, since I've a wealth of shirts but only a few pairs of pants, I got a pair of jeans - very nice, stretch, flared bottoms, and with a pesudo-belt at the top! I'm wearing them now and feeling rather chic. Also got a John Lennon type hat - black leather complete with chain. I haven't worn hats in the longest time, but this one actually looked well on me and was cheaply priced.
In movie-land, I picked up Nicholas Nickolby (sp?) to be seen by familia sometime this week, just went out to see Johnny English with Peter - great movie! Enjoyed it so much! Funny and mild "potty humor" and just simply a delight. Haven't laughed out loud in so long - and am >drumroll< doing pick-ups for Bearskin tomorrow! Hurrah! Alas, that means I won't get to see Peter Pan up in NH this weekend - rain and whatnot - and I'll be in MI next weekend, but since I saw the preview for Peter Pan (the movie) twice now, I feel fairly well satisfied nonetheless. Not entirely sure how that version will hold up, but my heart still belongs to the Pan and I clap faithfully every time I see the preview. *sigh* You've no idea how much my heart aches to be Wendy. Not just to play Wendy - alas, that will never happen *sniff* - but to be her. I so want to fly with Peter Pan forever. And these stupid, black-on-white pixels of words cannot contain that desire, nor express it adequately. I want to BE Wendy!
And so barring that, I will end on this thought. The other night, Jules put on her playlist for Bearskin. And as it ran through the songs - the opening, the tango, Aranjuez, etc. - I couldn't help but re-play the choreography in my head. This is true, too, of every time I hear the songs from Brigadoon. Curious, those songs will most likely forever be branded in my brain as only conceivably moved to a la the choreography from the show. That is the story of that song, and it may not - indeed, it cannot - be changed. (At least in my happy world.) I am only grateful that I had the opportunity to play with those songs, and actors willing to let me see what odd dips and lifts, etc. they could do to tell the story. I don't care much for Miss Saigon, but "The Movie in My Mind" is particularly apt right about now. Nor, to return to the subject, should I say that only those songs I've choreographed are forever etched in a particular manner. No one can ever perform "Singing in the Rain" like Gene Kelly, and although John Williams may attempt to convince me that some of the music from Far and Away is supposed to be such-and-such a boxing match, I am positive that it is truly meant for the story of the Irish boy and girl who are ballroom champions and come to America and he starts leaving his roots, etc.... I can see camera angles in my mind. Same thing for Bartok's "Thus sent the mother, her little daughter" - it is waiting for the trailer about the content of the song - I can see the images now: the low snow-covered tavern, the dark cabin they live in, the wife in layers of clothing still cold, and the long-abandoned garden of her mother forever denied her. There is a greater story there - it must be told.
Hmmm, I'm sure E. M. Forester would have something remarkably clever to say, or that I simply ought to dredge up the "Music and Meaning" chapter of Howard's End. Music, like books, stimulates the imagination so that no two people's "Movies in [their] Mind[s]" is ever quite alike. Which is why to capture either on film, in images - in SET images - so offends some people. Witness Fantasia. Yet, to heck with that - some "songs without words" are very much songs WITH story. And stories have a rather fervent desire to be told....
Mood: Pensive
Music: Julie's piano-playing
Magpie's Next: The Brigadoon picture page is up, Annie is a sweetie for her Niamh song, can't recall the bit that goes "And all the coins which had been tossed, and all the dreams which had been lost, woke up, and coughed, and kissed, and paused...." - what comes before that?
First: it is odd, although I am not complaining, to receive a paycheck every two weeks during the summer when one is technically not working. Second: still, it is too little. Ah ca! Must conserve more - summer's been a bit more expensive than anticipated. *nnngh* However, purchases have been either necessary or good or long-range and so am not wholly complaining, except perhaps at myself. Silly self. (Poor heart!)
Sh.'s wedding happened, despite limos not arriving and no one knowing where the readers were supposed to be and men at the reception who could not/would not dance, nor apparently could be taught easily or well. And all swing, which, were the circumstances different, would have been fine - but that by the middle of the evening I was longing for some rock simply so that I could dance without looking like a fool. Danced thrice: once with English organist attempting to teach him jitterbug (no go - my feet were actually stepped upon - must put that in a book somewhere), once with one of Sh's friends from college (in lieu of my sister - I simply had to get in one decent dance! - jitterbug, of course), and once with my fellow reader (two step, in which I stepped on his feet - oy!).
Henry Tilney, in Jane Austen's Northanger Abbey has this marvellous mini-monologue wherein he expresses his opinion of dancing: which is that it is the perfect metaphor for courtship and marriage. There seems to be quite a bit of truth in that. There is nothing worse than a partner with whom one is out of step - either his fault or yours. Knees keep getting knocked, tempo is all wrong, one never seems to be able to get it together, and although one laughs and tries to pass it off, it's more than a little frustrating. Particularly when the music has such a regular beat, and one can feel how one ought to be fox-trotting it nicely all about the dance floor! Conversely, to dance with a good partner - a great partner - a partner with whom one feels comfortable, with whom one has a rapport, who can lead without dragging one about the floor, who almost doesn't need to lead because one can tell simply by the subtle, unconscious shifts in his body - the way he holds your hand, something in the turn of his head, the set of his shoulders, the pressure of his arm around your back, the center of his chest pressed to yours - what step comes next. The twirls outwards, the flourishes, the cuddles, the dips, the sudden polka-like leaps - all utterly natural, necessary, inevitable. And the music guides you both.
Is this not marriage? Is this not what Shakespeare wrote of in 116? Let me not, to the marriage of true minds, admit impediment. Love is not love which alters when it alterations finds, or bends with the remover to remove. Oh no! It is an ever-fixed mark, that looks on tempests and is never shaken. It is the height to every wandering bark, whose worth unknown, although his height be taken. Love's not time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks within his bending sickle's compass come. Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, but bears it out, even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved. Is this not the man leading, the woman following, God instructing, and all three so blent - the two becoming one, that one joined up with the Heavenly, that all move in perfect accord, with no thought of superiority but of compliment. Husbands, love your wives!
Apparently I read my Ephesians well. That's always good news. Very pscyhed to have done the "difficult" reading - bwahahahhahahah! But of course, the most important bit is that the sacrament happened. So God bless them, amen!
In other news, whilst shopping yesterday for an appropriate dress for the wedding - one that fit me well and wasn't in some inbetween thanks to having shifted weight in every direction these last few years - I bought myself a few nice items as well. Most importantly: jeans. The ones I have are either a) comfy but distinctly too large and beyond which rather ripped in certain places that make them inappropriate unless one wears shorts and therefore are fit only for painting in or b) simply too large and dumpy. So, since I've a wealth of shirts but only a few pairs of pants, I got a pair of jeans - very nice, stretch, flared bottoms, and with a pesudo-belt at the top! I'm wearing them now and feeling rather chic. Also got a John Lennon type hat - black leather complete with chain. I haven't worn hats in the longest time, but this one actually looked well on me and was cheaply priced.
In movie-land, I picked up Nicholas Nickolby (sp?) to be seen by familia sometime this week, just went out to see Johnny English with Peter - great movie! Enjoyed it so much! Funny and mild "potty humor" and just simply a delight. Haven't laughed out loud in so long - and am >drumroll< doing pick-ups for Bearskin tomorrow! Hurrah! Alas, that means I won't get to see Peter Pan up in NH this weekend - rain and whatnot - and I'll be in MI next weekend, but since I saw the preview for Peter Pan (the movie) twice now, I feel fairly well satisfied nonetheless. Not entirely sure how that version will hold up, but my heart still belongs to the Pan and I clap faithfully every time I see the preview. *sigh* You've no idea how much my heart aches to be Wendy. Not just to play Wendy - alas, that will never happen *sniff* - but to be her. I so want to fly with Peter Pan forever. And these stupid, black-on-white pixels of words cannot contain that desire, nor express it adequately. I want to BE Wendy!
And so barring that, I will end on this thought. The other night, Jules put on her playlist for Bearskin. And as it ran through the songs - the opening, the tango, Aranjuez, etc. - I couldn't help but re-play the choreography in my head. This is true, too, of every time I hear the songs from Brigadoon. Curious, those songs will most likely forever be branded in my brain as only conceivably moved to a la the choreography from the show. That is the story of that song, and it may not - indeed, it cannot - be changed. (At least in my happy world.) I am only grateful that I had the opportunity to play with those songs, and actors willing to let me see what odd dips and lifts, etc. they could do to tell the story. I don't care much for Miss Saigon, but "The Movie in My Mind" is particularly apt right about now. Nor, to return to the subject, should I say that only those songs I've choreographed are forever etched in a particular manner. No one can ever perform "Singing in the Rain" like Gene Kelly, and although John Williams may attempt to convince me that some of the music from Far and Away is supposed to be such-and-such a boxing match, I am positive that it is truly meant for the story of the Irish boy and girl who are ballroom champions and come to America and he starts leaving his roots, etc.... I can see camera angles in my mind. Same thing for Bartok's "Thus sent the mother, her little daughter" - it is waiting for the trailer about the content of the song - I can see the images now: the low snow-covered tavern, the dark cabin they live in, the wife in layers of clothing still cold, and the long-abandoned garden of her mother forever denied her. There is a greater story there - it must be told.
Hmmm, I'm sure E. M. Forester would have something remarkably clever to say, or that I simply ought to dredge up the "Music and Meaning" chapter of Howard's End. Music, like books, stimulates the imagination so that no two people's "Movies in [their] Mind[s]" is ever quite alike. Which is why to capture either on film, in images - in SET images - so offends some people. Witness Fantasia. Yet, to heck with that - some "songs without words" are very much songs WITH story. And stories have a rather fervent desire to be told....
Mood: Pensive
Music: Julie's piano-playing
Magpie's Next: The Brigadoon picture page is up, Annie is a sweetie for her Niamh song, can't recall the bit that goes "And all the coins which had been tossed, and all the dreams which had been lost, woke up, and coughed, and kissed, and paused...." - what comes before that?
posted by Emily C. A. Snyder | 5:51 PM
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