So, yes, the concert.

It was great to sing at Carnegie Hall. We performed in the main hall, the Stern Auditorium, which looks much smaller from the stage than it does from the seats. There are more tiers of seats than in an ordinary auditorium or theater, though. I had to tilt my neck up at a 45-degree angle to see the nosebleeds. And the way the arrangement of the singers worked out, I got to stand front row center of the chorus. (With an orchestra and conductor in front of me, of course.)

The concert itself: in Matt’s words, it was like a high school concert transplanted to Carnegie Hall. Many cameras flashed as we walked onto the stage, likely coming from parents’ cameras. And, to my annoyance, much of the audience clapped between movements, which is improper classical etiquette. (The program even said, on the same page on which it listed the name of the piece, to please withhold applause until the end.)

The performance was rather sloppy; many mistakes were made out of carelessness. One alto fell off the risers, and one bass kept crouching almost into a sitting position; he’d probably been keeping his knees locked, which makes you light-headed.

Singing with high school and college choruses was a big flashback for me. One group of guys (whether they were from high school or college, I’m not sure) had this little meme they kept doing during our only rehearsal at Carnegie Hall, this annoying little vocalized glottal-stop thing, when we were supposed to be listening to the conductor. Boys will be boys…

As for the piece we sang, Beethoven’s Mass in C: to be honest, it was kind of boring, although my opinion is probably tainted by the overall experience. Had I been more familiar and comfortable with the piece, I might have liked it more (and the same might have been true had I been singing with my own chorus). But it just doesn’t compare with, say, the Mozart Requiem, which, despite being a serious piece, is tons of fun to sing. Sometimes Beethoven is a bit too heavy for my tastes. (And yet I’m listening to MIDI files of the piece now and enjoying it.)

Anyway, it’s over, and I’m glad I had the chance both to sing in Carnegie Hall and to learn a new piece of music. It was great sight-reading training, and now I can say that I sang in Carnegie Hall.

There is some confusion between continual and continuous. I remember them this way:

Continual refers to something that happens again and again. It happens, then stops, then happens again, then stops, then happens again, etc. The word’s suffix, -al, begins with an A, which is the first letter of again.

Continuous refers to something that happens without stopping. The suffix -ous begins with an O, which is a circle, which is something that never ends.

Continual: – – – – – – – –
Continuous: ____________

– Your Friendly Neighborhood Grammarian

Matt hit the nail on the head the other night when he told me that he’s like a cat, while I’m like a dog.

He was talking about physical affection. Like a cat, Matt is very protective of his personal space; like a dog, I’m all Mister Cuddly and Snuggly and Kissy. Dogs paw all over you and give you wet sloppies; cats raise their hackles and tense up when you try to pet them.

It’s better than it used to be, though. Over the 16 months that Matt and I have been dating, I’ve broken down his defenses somewhat. Before me, he’d never really been big on cuddling and snuggling, but now he is. I think I’ve taught him to be more physical. Still, certain parts of his body are very ticklish, although only sometimes. When I touch him in certain places – his stomach, his legs, and, uh, elsewhere — I can never tell if I’m going to send him into spasms of laughter and flinching or not. And sometimes when I try to put my finger in his mouth (don’t ask), he clams up like a little boy who doesn’t want to eat his vegetables. (It’s actually kind of cute.)

So I’m a dog and he’s a cat. But lttle by little, I’m bring out his latent canine tendencies. Someday he’ll be drooling all over me, fetching newspapers and eating Science Diet.

Woof.