Larry Picard: A Life in the Musical Theater

Captain Horrible's Sing-along Blog

larrypicard@earthlink.net — Mon, 14 Jul 08 08:15:00 UT

I like being a part of cool, new things because that makes me cool, too. And younger. And that's doubly true with the internet. So here's something so happening it hasn't happened yet (if you read this before July 15). To be a young cool person, go directly to Captain Horrible's Sing-Along Blog.

Hazard Ahead

larrypicard@earthlink.net — Wed, 9 Jul 08 20:52:00 UT

This week I've been able to ride my bicycle three times in a row without the tire deflating. Good news. I guess it was the Mr. Tuffy that the very close cycle shop (On the Move) put on my wheel (or somewhere) when they repaired my most recent flat back tire. It looks like I'll be able to ride to work tomorrow as well. Yippee!

All this riding has made me think about bicycle riding. One conclusion I've reached is that I'm a hazard on a bicycle. Not on purpose, of course. No one is, I think. But, I believe my riding can be a hazard to others using the road. I try to follow all the rules.

But, truth be told, I don't know many of the rules.

Like, should I pass another cyclist on the right or the left? Is it permissible to ride against traffic if I'm on a bicycle path? Is it really o.k. to ride through a red light if I carefully look both ways? These are a few that come to mind.

As I was driving Keith from Covenant Baptist to his motel somewhere else in San Antonio, he mentioned to me that I was an unsure driver. "At least on roads you haven't driven on before" (the only kind he's traveled with me). He's right. I believe that quality is reflected in my cycling as well. I don't have the confidence to boldly pull out into the middle of Atlantic Avenue on my bicycle against the red light. When I've ridden through the red light on smaller, less-traveled streets, my eyes are like blinkers: looking at possible oncoming cars with my right, switching my focus to the left to see what's ahead of me (pedestrians? someone else on a bicycle?). Back and forth several times in the course of the crossing.

So, maybe I shouldn't do that. Or maybe I can because I'm so cautious. Maybe the hazard doesn't come from my caution, but those moments when, no matter how focused I am on my path (across the Brooklyn Bridge, let's say), I space out for a moment and another cyclist momentarily unnerves me as he breezes by me and into the distance. I'm not "The Night Train" streamlining up to the North Pole; I'm "The Little Engine That Could" chugging and chugging to his destination. (How can it be that both ways, to and from work, are uphill?) Maybe I'm not a hazard; maybe I only feel like a hazard.

Now, I'm not the only hazard, mind you. And, I guess, that's why I'm so cautious. The pedestrian walking directly in front of me, the bicyclist riding right toward me, against traffic, the guy who opened the driver's-side door of his parked car at the top of Union Street right in my path (luckily, I was traveling so slowly, there was no drama or injury; "Sorry. I didn't seen you," was his only reaction. I hope he didn't see me. That would have added a whole other, disturbing wrinkle to his opening the car door): these are a few of my daily mini-conflicts that prevent me from enjoying a worry-free ride.

You might say, "hey, if you don't want to deal with that stuff, ride a stationary bike twice a day." "Watch yourself," I might respond, "on your right," "I mean, your left," "I mean your right."

Now Sings My Soul

larrypicard@earthlink.net — Mon, 30 Jun 08 20:49:00 UT

After Samuel Bartos played the entire Goldberg Variations (including all the repeats) on our little Yamaha grand piano some years ago, the piano glowed for about 2 weeks. Really. There was an energy in the room, emanating from the piano that you could feel. Just like after the AIDS-educating, South African group of singers and dancers, Siyaya, performed at First Presbyterian Church a few weeks ago. The air was electric. It just was.

And so is my heart. My chest is actually tingling. Ummm. Just take my word for it.

This is, of course, my post-spiritual-retreat blog entry. It's taking me a while to put this together because I want to describe the actual experience of it and I know I really can't. One of those you've-got-to-be-me-there kind of stories. And already my world is returning to its pre-retreat state. If I can (and I will) retain a portion of what I've learned and felt this past weekend, I'll be lucky indeed.

I've been reading Gordon Atkinson's thoughts and reflections and stories about Covenant for some years through his blog, reallivepreacher.com. And actually meeting the folk from his ongoing narrative was more satisfying than the casting of the Harry Potter movies. But, that's just the surface stuff. That's what made it easy for me to be drawn into this community of real, live and loving people.

On only a few occasions, have I received such warm and generous hospitality. Delicious, homemade meals, warm, comfortable bedding, easy, meaningful conversation and rolling humor. Providing for our comfort as though we were old friends.

Standing around the kitchen. "She thinks she's my psychiatrist," Paul said. "He thinks I'm not," Cynthia countered.

And this is another tie that binds the hearts and minds in Christian love. (That's a hymn quote, more or less.) In Tim, Gordon, Ben, Paul, Lexie, Cynthia and Jeanene (the friends from Covenant who facilitated the weekend) I experienced a love of life, for the scripture, for service and for the services we participated in throughout the weekend. Vespers at 8pm, Compline at 10pm, Matins at 3am (I soloed at 2am), Lauds at 5am, Terce at 9am, Sext at 12pm and finally None at 3pm. Yes. Baptists. Services that began with the gentle ringing of handbells. Then Chants Psalms and finally, during None, Communion unlike any I've experienced since and including my First Holy Communion in 1964. Not because of the ritual per se, but the attention and love that infused it.

This was a profound weekend for me and, I believe, healing for some of the other pilgrims who found their way to San Antonio after experiencing pain and devastating disappointment from their experiences with their various churches. People, who are so connected to God, through Jesus, that they want to get beyond their painful experiences and find their way back to the source of their love. Looking, maybe, to Gordon for some Truth and finding Love (what some call God, others, Jesus) in all the people of and around Covenant Baptist.

The Desire for Hermitage

larrypicard@earthlink.net — Thu, 26 Jun 08 16:50:00 UT

Ah! To be all alone in a little cell
with nobody near me;
beloved that pilgrimage before the last pilgrimage to death.
Singing the passing hours to cloudy Heaven;
Feeding upon dry bread and water from the cold spring.
That will be an end to evil when I am alone
in a lovely little corner among tombs
far from the houses of the great.
Ah! To be all alone in a little cell,
to be alone,
all alone:
Alone I came into the world
alone I shall go from it.

That's what some monk wrote somewhere and then Samuel Barber found it and included it in a goooooorrrrrgeous cycle of songs titled, "The Hermit Songs." But that's only the introduction.

Early tomorrow morning I leave for San Antonio, Texas to participate in a Franciscan Retreat at Covenant Baptist Church. I learned about it from reallivepreacher.com. I've never really been on a religious retreat before. I've been on musical retreats and musical theater retreats and performance workshop retreats and, of course, Hawaiian retreats and family retreats. Sometimes, I spend so much time at church, that might be considered a religious retreat. Any time I spend away from the everyday doing something I love, I consider a retreat.

I'm really excited about this.

Accessaride

larrypicard@earthlink.net — Tue, 24 Jun 08 22:02:00 UT

Yesterday, Keith met me after work to show me how to repair the handlebars on my bike. Bless him, he brought me a tool with 3 little differently sized Allen wrenches on it. It proved immediately helpful in adjusting my saddle (what we cyclists call the seat). "You can store this in your saddle bag ... Next you should buy gloves. Really."

The "Really" is what drove it home. After retrieving my wallet in the church office (I thought I'd leave it there and pray, then pick it up after God added another $100 to it), I went to my cycle shop and bought a saddle bag (which I still can't figure out how to put on) and my gloves (the padding does make a difference, thank you).

While I was shopping (telling the sales assistant what I wanted while standing between someone's bike that was just repaired, the counter and 5 other waiting customers), I kept glancing outside to check that my bicycle wasn't stolen. So, I bought a chain lock, too. I guess I'll use that whenever I go to the cycle shop. (I look very bike-messenger when I wear it across my chest.) Otherwise, I'll just fold up the bicycle and schlepp it inside.

You should have seen me hoist it with one hand over the turnstile at the office. Even I was impressed. My lower back is still in spasm.

Walking my Bicycle Back Home

larrypicard@earthlink.net — Sat, 21 Jun 08 19:25:00 UT

Friday was a bit of an achievement. I rode my bicycle from home to work and back again. Work is now Wall Street and not midtown, but still. And when you consider that for the three weeks I've owned my little Dahon I've had three flat tires, well, making it over the Brooklyn Bridge twice without having to take the train is quite an achievement.

My first trip was from home to Brooklyn Heights. A practice run, testing out the journey with no time limit. There and back and arriving in Park Slope to find my back tire was flat. Back to R&A Cycles to repair the flat--change the tire tube.

Last Saturday I took a test ride to Wall Street. Or, rather, over the Brooklyn Bridge. I got over the bridge, stopped for traffic and felt my back tire. Flat. Really, really flat. Walked the bike to the nearest 4,5 train (the R wasn't running) and brought it back to R&A. "It's not the bike; it's you," the guy at R&A said. He changed his tune when the hole appeared on the side of the tube. "It's the bike; not you." Tire repaired and inflated, off I went.

The next day I rode to church in Brooklyn Heights. Got home. Flat. Flat flat flat. No time (or desire in the rain) to go back across the neighborhood to A&R, so Monday I rushed home from work, put the bike in the trunk of a car service and got there before it closed. There was a piece of glass in the tire. Now there isn't.

I think I need crustier tires. Something that can withstand NYC streets. I also need to find a good route from Wall Street to the Brooklyn Bridge. I was a hazard Friday evening. A hazard. But a thoughtful one. I was a thoughtful hazard.

I'm Voting Republican

larrypicard@earthlink.net — Sat, 14 Jun 08 18:07:00 UT

Bringing Up Baby: Part 12

larrypicard@earthlink.net — Sat, 14 Jun 08 06:54:00 UT

Well, Stella never learned how to poop in the toilet (out of sheer lack of desire, I'm convinced), but she can now open the door using the door handle.

Every morning Stella wakes us up around 5:30 for breakfast. I resist; Sam usually relents. I tell him not to do it. It will only reward her waking us up way too early. Ignoring her attention-getting activities (toying with something on the bureau, scratching the box spring to our mattress into a shredded mess, playing with the brass curtain rings) should only result in her being put out of the bedroom and closing the door.

This morning, it did. Yea Sam. Then, in the semi-far reaches of my consciousness, I heard scratching. I recognized it as Stella doing something but never identified it clearly. Then, I (we) hear the jostle of the door handle (the apartment was designed with handicapped-ready door handles rather than knobs. Do they make knobs anymore?). The door opens and Stella and Maggie saunter into the bedroom. Sam announced from a dead sleep, "Hey! Stella opened the door! YEA Stella." He's a big fan.

I Look Sweet Upon the Seat of My Bicycle That Folds In Half

larrypicard@earthlink.net — Mon, 2 Jun 08 14:12:00 UT

I thought it would be a good idea to ride a bicycle to church. And then try riding it to work after we relocate to Wall Street. So, two weeks ago I started looking for a new bike. First I went to my very local bike store, On The Move, three blocks away. They were very nice, but had nothing in stock. They told me what kind of bike I should get, though.

So, then I went to the second closest bike store in Park Slope: Dixon's. Dixon's has been around forever. They didn't have the one I should get, so the salesman suggested I try A&R. How did I know which one I should get? The guy at Dixon's said that all the folding bikes they had would be too expensive and not worth it. I should go to A&R and ask for the Speed 7.

So, off to A&R I went. Down to 5th Ave. and to the right 3 blocks or so. They had a ton of bikes, shoes, tight-fitting clothes and the Dahon Speed 7. In green. So, I bought it.

I bought my helmet this past Saturday (after riding to Brooklyn Heights without one). I decided on the shot-from-the-canon version rather than the Mr.-Speedy-Bikey-Guy one.

And now, I'm ready to ride it to church. But not until after the Global Arts Street Festival I organized between 12:00 and 4:00 p.m. on Sunday, June 8. Four hours of music with crafts and food vendors, not to mention face painting and a music circle for the kids. You should definitely go.

Donât miss this wonderful opportunity to hear the amazing Latin pop group â2Divine,â exotic Oud player David Cohen, jazz violinist Gwen Laster, R&B Diva Jami Jackson (right before her Bitter End Debut) as well as the FPC Choir and the amazing Dzieci Theater and sample handicrafts and taste delicious food from around the world.
Also featuring a special Kids Music Circle at 2:00 p.m. and face painting. Take part in rituals and performances (both sacred and profane), and taste from a tantalizing array of international cuisine.

Performance Schedule:
12:00 PM, Jami Jackson, R&B Pop Vocalist
12:45 PM, Gwen Laster, Jazz Violinist
1:30 PM, David Cohen, Oud
2:00 PM, Kids Music Circle
2:30 PM, 2Divine, Latina Christian Pop
3:15 PM FPC Choir, Contemporary & Traditional Gospel

124 Henry Street (cross streets, Henry & Clark) Brooklyn Heights

By Subway: 2/3 to Clark Street, R to Court Street, 4/5 to Borough Hall & A/C to High Street

Another Doughnut Sunrise

larrypicard@earthlink.net — Thu, 29 May 08 14:08:00 UT

I always know when I'm having a bad day because I buy something other than my yogurt and fruit at Starbucks on my way to work. Today, it was an Old-Fashioned Glazed Doughnut. Boy, was that good. So crunchy with the perfectly deep-fried dough and the thick glaze. Greasy inside. Yum. I didn't know whether I should enjoy the flavor or deaden the pain. Oh, if I could only do both.

I must be horribly depressed.

The Trail of the Pinion Pine

larrypicard@earthlink.net — Mon, 28 Apr 08 15:55:00 UT

I'm walking on the edge of the Grand Canyon. Something distracts me. I turn. I fall. I wake up.

I'm leaping from one flat rock to the next. The rock vanishes. I fall. I wake up.

I'm walking on the grass near the edge of the Grand Canyon. I slip. I fall. I wake up.

And so on.

This was the second night at the Grand Canyon last week after I tried to color correct my scalp and face. Actually, two causes for these nightmares were in effect. Oooch.

I'm afraid of heights. And so is 75% of the rest of the tourists that visit the Grand Canyon. "I thought the whole thing would be fenced off," one man told me. "I'm completely petrified," his son added. Sam and I eventually agreed that whenever he had the urge to walk to the edge, he would tell me and I would face away. Then when he moved away from the edge he'd tell me and I could look at him (or the canyon) again. I can usually sort of stand at the edge of a cliff; I just can't look out. When I look out at the miles-long view, I project myself out to the center and imagine myself falling. And falling. And landing. Maybe I've watched too many Roadrunner cartoons.

Adding to my enjoyment were the parents who thought it would be a great idea to take their 4-7 year-olds to the Grand Canyon for Spring Break. It just isn't and you know why so I'm not even going to bother reliving the moments of horror and dismay. And the whines of the disappointment. And the stubborn screams. And the bored tears.

We arrived at the Grand Canyon at 12:15 p.m. via the Grand Canyon Railway. We had a delightful time on the old train. Sam loves trains. We had one of those cynical, funny and helpful hosts who shared with us her idea of the most quiet spot on the rim of the canyon and she was right. Our hike to that spot added immensely to an already wonderful trip. We'll be sure to show you the 300+ photos.

Anyway, we couldn't check into our lodge until 4:00 p.m., so we hiked and strolled about until then. When we got to our room, I noticed that I had the strangest sunburn ("color" Sam calls it) on my neck, face and lower part of my head. Well, I couldn't have that, so I removed my baseball hat the next day and burnt the rest of my skull to the color of a skull that shouldn't be that color. By Friday, my face was falling off and even now I'm wearing a hat to keep people from staring at the tragedy that was once my head.

That evening I had a fever and the feverish nightmares. As I'd enter and leave consciousness I'd watch this documentary about a dance company that was repelling off the side of a waterfall cliff in Yosemite National Park in the name of the Dance. Ooooohhhhhh.

Anyway, that's one of the things I did on my Spring vacation.

Untitled

larrypicard@earthlink.net — Tue, 8 Jan 08 16:01:00 UT

Many, many nights ago as we were falling asleep I told Sam, "Honey, shut the door." "I love you, too, honey." (Je t'adores.)

Today at 6 a.m. the radio alarm went off. "Morning Edition" was reporting a story about a gun that plays Barry Manilow. Something like that. Out of a sound sleep, Sam comments, "Cock taser."

Homework Assignment

larrypicard@earthlink.net — Fri, 4 Jan 08 17:16:00 UT

The following is a student's essay in response to one of Sam's homework assignments. I'm not sure what the assignment was. It could have been something about the Classical Period in music and balance and form. Anyway, this kid's and many of Sam's students' self-expression is much more intense and precise than anything as a teenager I ever said out loud, much less in a school essay.

*****

I simply cannot just make a list of the unbalanced things in my life because my life itself is an unbalanced equation just waiting to get solved. And imagine how difficult it is trying to solve an unbalanced equation when your teacher left you to study on your own without giving you the formula and expects you to solve it.

My life consists of two: my adult life and my teenage/student life. I compared by life to an unbalanced equation because equations are meant to be solved just like life needs to be lived at your best intensity, with your best dreams and with happiness. And when an equation is unbalanced, that makes the process of solving that equation one step longer. Which is the same with my life because instead of only focusing on school, I too have to work to take care of myself and deal with issues that no one my age is supposed to be going through. At this point in my life, I find myself actually balancing the equation that my teacher forces me to solve early without the formula. I truly believe that "what doesn't kill you, in fact, makes you stronger." And with that being said I feel like I can use the rainy weather to create a beautiful day. How could I have had stayed in this mindset without music.

Music is more than words that rhyme with harmony. Music is the reaching of the soul by sounds and words that can't be explained and is meant to keep you in a good place. Certain songs that I listen to that relate to my life or keep me motivated are:

2pac - Dear mama = "Me and my momma had beef. 17 years old kicked me out on the streets." (This song relates to my life, but does not at all motivate me.)

I am very open minded when it comes down to music. I listen to every genre, creating a different mood per genre.

Dites-moi pourquoi la vie est belle?

larrypicard@earthlink.net — Fri, 28 Dec 07 08:59:00 UT

Yesterday I received a nifty gift from a vendor. It's a white plastic sphere that, when you open it up, is actually two speakers for your Windows OS computer so you can listen to start up sounds and error bings in full, rich stereo. As I'm one of two people working today, I'm listening to my few CDs that I have here in the office. Below are quotes from the instructions that came with the gift.

NOTICE:
"In order to prevent influencing the usage function of the product, it should take lightly to put and prevent from violent vibration during the period of use."

"Its outward appearance adopts high accuracy instrument to spray. Please not produce friction mutually with small the strong and tough material."

OPERATION STEPS:
1. Open a colorful box and take out the machine body, checking the machine body surface should have no obvious damnification and nick, otherwise you should contact with dealers.

2. Pull up the flexible line to insert the USB plug to the corresponding computer connects. The operate system will hint to find out new hardware immediately (according to the difference of the computer processing speed, hinting of time will have a dissimilarity slightly).

3. The system installing automatically to

And there it ends.

I should speak foreign languages so well.
Is it possible that the vendor is now receiving information from my computer wirelessly since "the operating system will hint to find out new hardware immediately"? It sounds very un-informationally secure.

Have Yourself a Merry Little Holiday

larrypicard@earthlink.net — Thu, 27 Dec 07 09:45:00 UT

For 2-3 weeks, I've been walking around singing Christmas songs. Just doing what came naturally. Then the CD of the most depressing Christmas Special ever, "A Charlie Brown Christmas" went into the work computer. Then last week, I did my annual Truman Capote Christmas Read. There's nothing like a sentimental Christmas cry to get you in the proper holiday mood. Then Dickens' "A Christmas Carol," of course. On Christmas Eve after service, I searched cable for the classic film version only to find, in my opinion, the inferior 1938 predecessor to the 1951 Alastair Sim version.

Anyway, something was still missing. And I realized it was that no one was wishing me "Merry Christmas." I like "Merry Christmas." "Happy Holidays" is something your milk carton says to you. "Merry Christmas" brings to mind Baby Jesus in the manger, shepherds, big stars and Glory To God In The Highest and on Earth Peace to Men of Goodwill. And kids and carols and snow falling. So, yeah, my focus is sentimental. Definitely. And hopeful. And, if you look for Christmas in the right places, you receive little pointers on living a good life. I like that. And I like the Merry Christmas shortcut to all that. So, for a week or so, if I wish you a Merry Christmas and it's not entirely appropriate, would it be asking too much if you think of it as "Have a Nice Day on December 25"?