Play it again...

Music is slowly creeping back into my life. It never really left, but for the last three years or so it was pushed aside by various duties--studying, working, writing, planning, growing up. I'm not sure I like the way that sounds--like music was something infantile and unimportant, easy to put into a box and forget about--but to some extent it's the truth, and I just can't think of a sweeter way to put it. See, music has been part of my life for as far back as I can remember--the Beatles, Bruce, Billy Joel and Juice Newton all bring back memories of my childhood. And then there was the interest in musical theater. Peter Pan was the first show I saw on Broadway. I was six. I don't remember much from the show, just Cathy Rigby flying up near the balcony near the end of the show and the neon Joe Camel sign glowing outside the second floor lobby. Les Miserables, the Lion King, 42nd Street, Jersey Boys and Hair have followed, not to mention the touring shows I've seen throughout the Midwest (The Wizard of Oz, Footloose, Wicked, Rent, the Phantom of the Opera). I never considered myself to be a fan of musical theater, but recent reflection on this point has caused me to reconsider that notion. In any event, piano lessons soon followed, and then came the horn. I was in fourth grade and had to pick an instrument for band--I almost immediately gravitated towards the french horn, due to the fact that I loved the way it sounded in Peter and the Wolf (I had an illustrated book and cassette tape of the story that I listened to on a regular basis). Plus, no one else was signing up for the french horn. I never could understand why--it sounds lovely but it's also visually stunning, the metal all looped and twisted together with that brilliant bell at the end. Anyways, band gave way to private lessons, youth orchestras, competitions, summer camps, all-state bands and orchestras and soon I was considering heading off to college as a music major.

I need to back up for a minute and note that something else was happening concurrently with my growing love of playing the horn--I developed an insatiable taste for the sound of guitars and drums. While my love of rock was most likely always present, it exploded after a week at camp, the summer before I entered high school. I was taking a music class and the instructor was sick, so a young camp counselor filled in. Instead of teaching us Bach, he taught us about the Beatles. It was magic...I can still hear him playing the piano and all of us singing Hey Jude. When I returned home I went through all of my mom's records, and well, the rest is simple--live concerts as often as possible (conning my way in when I didn't have enough money or wasn't old enough), scraping together lunch money to buy the newest White Stripes album (it was the only time I ever seriously considered shoplifting something) and spending my Friday nights interning at the local independent radio station. Those shows were some of the best moments of my life--the White Stripes, the Soundtrack of Our Lives, Weezer, the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Pete Yorn, whatever I could get in to. I loved those experiences...but it was a very childish love. I always fancied myself above those around me just there for the booze and socializing...I was there for the music. But, really, was I?

And then college...instead of music I majored in academia and literature-in-a-hurry, and by the time I was halfway through my sophomore year, my horn was put stashed in my closet and I no longer played in ensembles or orchestras. I don't regret those choices, my passions in life extend to so much more than music (just ask me about the American Revolution, I dare you). But lately, as I've thought about this and started falling back into my love (my record player is back in my possession, my horn is getting repaired in the city as I'm writing this, music documentaries have grabbed my attention again, and I've been to four shows in the last six months, with tickets purchased for another show in October), and I'm finding it a lot easier to reconcile my adult self with this love. Sure, it's still all about the music...but this time I mean it.


...Weekend Anna

Hair! (An exercise in whims, control and vanity)

I'm still slacking on this posting thing--I can't believe it's been a month since I went to see "Hair" on Broadway. Weekends since then have brought a trip to Detroit for an old friend's wedding, 4th of July celebrations with the coolest people in New Jersey, and some wonderful times with friends.
In preparation for the coming weekend (and because I felt like it), I got my hair chopped off today. I've always love getting my hair cut--it's almost always an exercise in going with my whims (bangs were a result of walking by a hair salon in Portland, Ore. one rainy afternoon in the fall of 2006). It is also an exercise in restraint--one of my dream haircuts is a pixie a la Audrey Hepburn in "Roman Holiday," a fun 'do that would be a disaster on my large round head. Lately, I've been feeling a pull towards a classic 1930s-style bob--short, blunt, smooth. There's something poetic about having a Depression-era style during the current economic slump...well, I at least there's something poetic about it.
An updated version of this style--and another haircut I've admired for years--is the short, offbeat bob another Audrey (Tautou) sported in "Amelie"--the movie from which I draw almost all of my views on style and aesthetics.


However, the shortness, again, would wreak havoc on my round face. So I opted for a longer version of the traditional 1930s bob--short in the back, slightly angled towards my face.


Ok, I hate posting pictures of myself so this will most likely be the last time my face graces a post. Urgh.


The weekend can't come soon enough...


...Weekend Anna

I believe in love.

Yes, I have continued in my youth-fulfilling adventures. I saw the new Broadway revival of "Hair" on Thursday and it was perfect. The music, the staging, the lighting (so colorful!), the performances...all amazing. There was much dancing and smiling to be had...


...Weekend Anna

Nothing to get hung about...

...yes, a visit to Strawberry Fields in Central Park was in order, although it happened somewhat by accident. The plan was to meet a friend in Central Park for lunch on Saturday before heading to The Met and I intended to arrive a little bit early to just sit and relax. I meant to hop off the subway at 59th/Columbus Circle but I got lost in "Scoop" and didn't realize my mistake until 72nd. I walked into the west side of the park on 72nd expecting to make my way over to the east side, when I realized where I was. I had planned on coming to this mosaic since I was 13, listening to "She Loves You" and running my hand over the print--"Anna (Go to Him)"--on the back of my mom's record, Introducing...the Beatles. In high school I was obsessed with John Lennon...every documentary, book, exhibit (I spent a whole day just in the John Lennon exhibit at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland), article, photograph, video captured my attention and fed my peace/love/rock and roll understanding of the world. I stood at the corner of North Broadway and High Street in Columbus with my No War sign, I wrote Imagine all over my notebooks and on chalk boards, I wanted my life to be like "The Wonder Years"...circa 2001. As I grew up my extremes became much more moderate, as happens to most people as they age and idealism becomes much harder to hold on to...I still love John Lennon's music and I felt nostalgic looking at the Imagine mosaic even though I had never been there before.

I sat on one of the benches to pass the time and it was one of those absolutely perfect moments--a bright sunny day with a slight breeze, light streaming through the trees' branches, a steady flow of people but not too many, the sound of a jazz trumpet far off in the distance--it was satisfying. I took out the paper and began to read, and it was then that all nostalgia left and I was face to face with the older me. The story was about Now Zad, Afghanistan and the stalemate between the U.S. troops stationed there and the militants...this line sums it up: "For the U.S., it’s a prize too valuable to lose, not valuable enough to win." What would have raised only anger in me as a teenager now made me feel sad, intrigued and left me trying to figure out where this story fit in the larger picture of that region...and then came the amusement when I realized the irony of objectively reading a story about war right next to a mosaic dedicated to man who was--and still is--a symbol of peace...


...Weekend Anna

P.S. The awesome photo is courtesy of rootinshootin.

"Just a perfect day, Drink sangria in the park..."

I love May and I love the fact that it actually feels like spring--a rather elusive season I haven't truly experienced in a while since teeth-chattering Chicago winters usually transitioned immediately into sweat-inducing summer. I got a taste of that heat the weekend before last while I was in Florida visiting the family. It's still weird to think of my parents down there among the palm trees, backyard swimming pools and alligators...going to visit them feels like going on vacation instead of going home. Anyways, I thoroughly enjoyed my weekend with my parents and sister. It was filled with lounging, a little bit of swimming, and games of Scrabble, Sorry and Euchre. I miss all of them, although I will get to see my Dad in a few weeks (Yankee game!).

Last weekend was another New York weekend with dear friends--from an exhibit of Picasso's later paintings in a Chelsea gallery to a lovely outdoor brunch in the West Village, a street fair on Barrow St. (whoopie pies!), a stop at Bleeker Street Records, dinner in Little Italy, mass at St. Pat's, the Museum of Natural History and pizza at John's on Bleeker. My wallet was lighter by Sunday night (beautiful stationary--pictured above!--from the street fair, chocolate covered espresso beans from Porto Rico Importing Co., Lou Reed's "Transformer" on vinyl, to name a few culprits), but I was filled with satisfaction, happiness, and a feeling of gratitude for being lucky enough to have some pretty awesome friends, both near and far.

My next weekend is approaching rapidly and Memorial Day means another one of those rare Mondays that I look forward to...and the return of another dear friend...


...Weekend Anna

I'm still here.

I’m sorry. I’ve been failing at the whole weekly posting thing—as the wonderful Papermoon pointed out the other night I haven’t updated in a while. I’ve been busy, but I’ve also found it overwhelming to sit down and write something worthwhile about my weekends. I’ve started a post several times over the last several weeks, but each time I get distracted or don’t like how the words are coming out. I can be very picky sometimes with writing…not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing.

I’ve had five wonderful weekends since my last post, with too many things to fully recount—Easter in Chicago, the return of the lovely RMB, Jersey Boys with my Dad, movies galore courtesy of the Tribeca Film Festival, Glasvegas and Ida Maria at Webster Hall, Pete Seeger’s 90^th Birthday concert—including Bruce!—at Madison Square Garden, “Around the World in 80 Days” at the Shakespeare Theatre of NJ, a visit to my new favorite bookstore Idlewild Books, and lots of time spent with friends.

Today I continue my busy weekend theme with a trip to Jacksonville—I’m giving the gift of myself to my mother for Mother’s Day. The Florida weather will be hotter than I desire, but it is so nice to see the family.

Maybe I’ll even post about it later…

...Weekend Anna

Simple. Wonderful.

It's been a beautiful weekend, the perfect blend of lounging, visiting, seeing, buying and experiencing. Staying in Friday night was a glorious decision--it gave me time to go through some of my files (a task I'm still working on today), watch a couple movies ("Age of Innocence") and chat with that lovely Papermoon girl. My plans for Saturday included a trip to the dry cleaners, a stop by Macy's and Old Navy and a visit with my darling cousin who was down from Montreal for a quick weekend trip with her boyfriend. Oversleeping caused me to miss the dry cleaners and to rearrange the rest of my day, but it was perfect. I met up with my cousin in Midtown and we walked up Broadway, through Times Square and over to Fifth Ave. Some coffee at Dean & DeLuca kept me caffeinated and on a slight whim I decided to go over to the Museum of Modern Art and become a member. I had come across a coupon in a special museum section of Thursday's Times and after considering the benefits for a few moments, decided it was worth the expense. Now I can visit the museum whenever I want in addition to bringing guests for only five bucks, free screenings of MoMA movies and entrance to special exhibits and previews. I am official a patron of the arts in my own tiny way.

Next up was a subway ride down to SoHo which was pretty crowded with shoppers and tourists. The sun was so uplifting--and so was my second stop for coffee--that I didn't mind all of the people. We made our way all the way up to St. Mark's Place and stopped at a bakery, recommended by my cousin's boyfriend, on 1st ave. and 11th. The cases in the front of Veniero's Pasticceria were filled with cannoli, biscotti, zeppole, pignolli and at least twenty other kinds of cookies. I had a chocolate chocolate cannoli that was perfection. After I parted ways with my cousin, I fulfilled part of my original plan for the with a stop at Old Navy for some jeans, a fun red spring jacket and some black, gray and white t-shirts--hey, at least the jacket was red (I'm still working on the whole incorporating color into my wardrobe thing)!

Today has been a lazy day thus far filled with more filing, taxes and some clean up. Simple. Wonderful.

Now it's time for some old movie viewing--"Niagara," a 1953 thriller starring Joseph Cotten and Marilyn Monroe...


...Weekend Anna