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'nuff said.
Jun 9, 2008
Jun 3, 2008
Denn Wir Haben Hier Keine Bleibende Stadt
Then we have here (on Earth) no resting place. Or, secularly paraphrased, there's no rest for the weary.
I've been on a Brahms Requiem kick lately. For some reason, it just fits my mood - and not just because I definitely had no resting place recently. (Quick aside for those who aren't classical music geeks... a requiem is, essentially, music for a funeral. Not that I've been feeling funereal, particularly, but it's comforting music.) On top of that, it relies heavily on the chorus rather than predominantly focusing on soloists. It's also got some great really loud bits that I get a kick out of blasting from my open-windowed car - sort of a classical rebellion, I suppose. ("Heh, don't you give me all that bass, you teenage whippersnapper, or I'll Brahms you!")
I sang the Brahms Requiem (or, more accurately, "Ein Deutsches Requiem" by Johannes Brahms), oh, probably about 10-ish years ago as part of the Springfield Symphony Chorus. I'd never been much of a Brahms fan - a bit thickly layered for me - and this piece was no exception. Until the second run through at the final dress rehearsal. All of a sudden, the piece fell together for me and is, now, probably my all time favorite choral work. 10 years later, I can still sing a goodly portion of the alto part from memory.
So, how, you ask, can a requiem, for God's sake, be comforting? Well, it's kind of funny - but this requiem is far more about addressing the needs of the living than ushering the dead into the next realm. The music is sweepingly complicated and beautiful, simultaneously warm and forceful, filled with wistful longing and gentle reassurance. The text speaks of the beauty of that next realm (Wie lieblich sind deine Wohnungen, Herr Zebaot - how lovely is thy dwelling place, Oh God.), it assures us that we will meet again with those who have gone before (Ich will euch wiedersehen - I will see you again).
Even as it admonishes us to remember that our lives are limited in duration (Herr, lehre doch mich das ein Ende mit mir haben muss, und mein Leben ein Ziel hat, und ich davon muss - Lord, teach me that there will be an end to me, that my life will draw to a close, and I must leave here), it reminds us that God does not forget God's own (Die Erloeseten des Herrn werden wieder kommen und gehn Zion - the beloved of the Lord will come again unto Heaven).
And, you know, there's something really comforting about that. Just my 2 cents, of course.
I've been on a Brahms Requiem kick lately. For some reason, it just fits my mood - and not just because I definitely had no resting place recently. (Quick aside for those who aren't classical music geeks... a requiem is, essentially, music for a funeral. Not that I've been feeling funereal, particularly, but it's comforting music.) On top of that, it relies heavily on the chorus rather than predominantly focusing on soloists. It's also got some great really loud bits that I get a kick out of blasting from my open-windowed car - sort of a classical rebellion, I suppose. ("Heh, don't you give me all that bass, you teenage whippersnapper, or I'll Brahms you!")
I sang the Brahms Requiem (or, more accurately, "Ein Deutsches Requiem" by Johannes Brahms), oh, probably about 10-ish years ago as part of the Springfield Symphony Chorus. I'd never been much of a Brahms fan - a bit thickly layered for me - and this piece was no exception. Until the second run through at the final dress rehearsal. All of a sudden, the piece fell together for me and is, now, probably my all time favorite choral work. 10 years later, I can still sing a goodly portion of the alto part from memory.
So, how, you ask, can a requiem, for God's sake, be comforting? Well, it's kind of funny - but this requiem is far more about addressing the needs of the living than ushering the dead into the next realm. The music is sweepingly complicated and beautiful, simultaneously warm and forceful, filled with wistful longing and gentle reassurance. The text speaks of the beauty of that next realm (Wie lieblich sind deine Wohnungen, Herr Zebaot - how lovely is thy dwelling place, Oh God.), it assures us that we will meet again with those who have gone before (Ich will euch wiedersehen - I will see you again).
Even as it admonishes us to remember that our lives are limited in duration (Herr, lehre doch mich das ein Ende mit mir haben muss, und mein Leben ein Ziel hat, und ich davon muss - Lord, teach me that there will be an end to me, that my life will draw to a close, and I must leave here), it reminds us that God does not forget God's own (Die Erloeseten des Herrn werden wieder kommen und gehn Zion - the beloved of the Lord will come again unto Heaven).
And, you know, there's something really comforting about that. Just my 2 cents, of course.
May 16, 2008
The Snarkiness Conundrum
Why is it that, when faced with oppositional snarkiness, I can never come up with an equally snarky yet witty (or at least cogent) response until afterward?
I was awakened the other morning by a telemarketer who, when I pointed out that I work nights and she woke me up, snottily suggested that I set my phone so that it didn't ring if I wanted to sleep. Did I at the time think to point out that (a) my in-laws are in assisted living and constantly being taken to the hospital for one thing or another so our phone needs to stay "on" so that we can be notified of these things, (b) snarkiness is no way to increase her sales and a polite apology would be a better sales path, (c) there's not a chance in H*ll we want to buy a timeshare (which is what her company sold), and (d) beyond all that, we're on the Do Not Call list and she's not supposed to be calling us anyway? No, of course not; these responses only occurred to me at least an hour or more later. I merely said "Goodbye" grumpily and she hung up in my ear (to which I, not so maturely, replied "bitch" and hung up with a vengeance myself.
Now, you could blame this failure to produce an Oscar-Wilde-worthy response to the fact that I've gotten little sleep lately or that she had just woken me up but, to be perfectly honest, I'm never much better when confronted with such snarkiness. Hours later (or, in some cases, days), the perfect dryly (and snarkily) witty response occurs to me but, at the time, I'm left stammering like a teenage boy faced with conversing with his long time crush.
So, Nancy from InnSeason Resorts, consider this my response: (a) it's none of your business why I don't set my phone to silent but I'll tell you anyway - it's because I want to know when my father-in-law is hauled off to the hospital (again), (b) bitchiness will get you nowhere in sales, (c) we don't want, have never wanted, and (likely) will never want a timeshare, and (d) we're on the Do Not Call list and you're violating federal law by calling us. So there. THPPPPPPBBBBT!!
I was awakened the other morning by a telemarketer who, when I pointed out that I work nights and she woke me up, snottily suggested that I set my phone so that it didn't ring if I wanted to sleep. Did I at the time think to point out that (a) my in-laws are in assisted living and constantly being taken to the hospital for one thing or another so our phone needs to stay "on" so that we can be notified of these things, (b) snarkiness is no way to increase her sales and a polite apology would be a better sales path, (c) there's not a chance in H*ll we want to buy a timeshare (which is what her company sold), and (d) beyond all that, we're on the Do Not Call list and she's not supposed to be calling us anyway? No, of course not; these responses only occurred to me at least an hour or more later. I merely said "Goodbye" grumpily and she hung up in my ear (to which I, not so maturely, replied "bitch" and hung up with a vengeance myself.
Now, you could blame this failure to produce an Oscar-Wilde-worthy response to the fact that I've gotten little sleep lately or that she had just woken me up but, to be perfectly honest, I'm never much better when confronted with such snarkiness. Hours later (or, in some cases, days), the perfect dryly (and snarkily) witty response occurs to me but, at the time, I'm left stammering like a teenage boy faced with conversing with his long time crush.
So, Nancy from InnSeason Resorts, consider this my response: (a) it's none of your business why I don't set my phone to silent but I'll tell you anyway - it's because I want to know when my father-in-law is hauled off to the hospital (again), (b) bitchiness will get you nowhere in sales, (c) we don't want, have never wanted, and (likely) will never want a timeshare, and (d) we're on the Do Not Call list and you're violating federal law by calling us. So there. THPPPPPPBBBBT!!
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