The other day I put some food in the dispenser in the rabbits' cage. It was dinner time, and Pig was waiting inside the cage. He took his time getting to the food but after a few moments he was eating quite contentedly. Chicken was wandering outside the cage, but she heard and saw me with the food. Chicken eventually hopped into the cage, but she, too, didn't go straight for the food. Pig was still chowing down. At the time, I was reading or typing something at the computer, so I wasn't watching them very closely. Well, it seemed that Chicken was more in the mood for something other than food, because the next time I looked over at the cage she had mounted him. And there was that ... mounting motion. Pig was minding his own business, and she wanted to get down to business. The whole act lasted all of a few seconds, because Pig could not eat with such a distraction. So he squirmed out from under his sister, away from the food. He scurried on out of the cage, leaving Chicken by herself right next to the food dispenser. She then stuck her nose in the food and started eating as if nothing had just happened. I think she planned the whole thing. What a sly little bunner.


     

Larger versions at flickr.

So, while I was at the counter at the DMV waiting for my test yesterday, the woman behind the counter asked me, "English or Chinese?" In my clearest nondistinguishing American accent, I said, "English" without even looking up. I was signing some forms at the time. Interesting assumption, eh? Once an older Asian man approached me in Times Square a few years ago and started speaking Chinese to me. I said to him, "Sorry, no Chinese." Do I really look Chinese? If so, then why do the filipino people I meet always get my nationality correct? The DMV woman meant well, but it would have been a little more proper if she asked me if I would like an English test. A lot gets misunderstood in this world, people get offended because of so many assumptions. If I spoke a different language, I would have let her know. Chinese isn't even my native language. And I took French in high school. But, what if - what if - I had said instead, "Wha? Wha you say? Me speakah no Engrish" followed by a sequence of ching-chongs that would have offended the actual Chinese speakers in the room? Would have that made me a better person? No. Would I have laughed like the hypocrite I can sometimes be? Probably. So I guess my initial response was more appropriate.

***I'm going to copy and paste the beginning of yesterday's story here, for your convenience.***

My mom joined the church when we lived in Guam. This was my first conscious exposure to hymns. I was in kindergarten or 1st grade. I had been to Catholic mass a few times, but I don't recall much of the music there. My reading was good for my grade level, but I hadn't been exposed to much outside of Sesame Street. So when I opened one of those old brown hymn books for the very first time, I had no idea what kind of treat I was in for. 

We met in an old doublewide trailer. The living room/kitchen area was the chapel, and the other half of the building were bedrooms converted (ha!) into classrooms. It was Guam, so it was tropic. It probably wasn't very comfortable. I remember sitting off to the side of the chapel with my family our first Sunday. Singing hymns instantly became my favorite part of the sacrament meeting service. The pianist plunked away on that long-used, scratched-up piano, and everyone was singing along, together. It was just SO cool how those words and syllables went to notes on a staff and all the holy melodies I had experienced up to that point were lovely and catchy, and I wanted to have a hymnbook of my very own, so that I could learn the words. I didn't know how to read music back then, but boy, were my ears ever-so poised to catch and memorize every single note of those tunes.

One Sunday in particular, I was sitting at the back of the chapel, which bothered me, because  I liked being able to watch the chorister. I think my mom was pregnant with Frank - she might have been at home, and my dad probably had to help up front. I ended up sitting next to a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark hair and a full beard. He had a strong brow, and he seemed nice but quiet.

It came time to sing the hymn for preparing the sacrament. We sang "I Stand All Amazed." What I heard from the man sitting next to me I could not believe. He had the richest, most sonorous tenor voice I had ever heard. I looked up at him and his eyebrows were lifted and expressive as he sang the refrain, "Oh it is wonderful that he should care for me enough to die for me!" And he sang the ends of the phrases with a slight lilt then clipped it off with a huff of breath. It was impeccable. This was around the time when advertisements for Pavarotti's greatest hits were playing on television. All the arias from all his operas, and even a few bonus tracks. And this man at church - with the dark beard and hair, and the hefty build, and the expressive eyebrows, and THAT VOICE - I was so confused. Wasn't Pavarotti in Italy? Wasn't he Catholic? What if this was Pavarotti sitting right beside me? And why had no one else in the congregation noticed?

I'm sure I was convinced every time I saw a Pavarotti commercial that it was the same guy from church. I would compare their features every time I saw Church Guy. Church Guy's hair was dark, but it wasn't as dark. And Church Guy's face was differently shaped. And Church Guy's name was not Luciano Pavarotti. That probably should have been the big selling point, but who can really contain a 6-year-old's imagination? What I did know was that I wanted to sit next to Church Guy every Sunday, so that I could hear him sing. What I wanted was for us to sing "I Stand All Amazed" whenever I did sit by him, because I wanted to feel the thrill of a live concert the first time I heard him.

This past Sunday, we sang "I Stand All Amazed" for the sacrament hymn. The memory as a 6-year-old revisited my conscious and took me completely by surprise. I heard Church Guy's voice echo from the recesses of my mind. Sitting next to me was a little boy, maybe 8 years old. He had dark hair, neatly combed, and a cute face that will develop into a very handsome face. He wore a dark, pin-striped suit and black shoes and tan socks that weren't pulled up but bunched down toward his ankles.  

We were sitting smack dab in the middle of the chapel. The hymnal covers are green now, and the boy was holding a hymnal turned to the correct page in his lap, his head down and focused, following and singing the words as the melody progressed. This child's voice was sweet. And innocent. And earnest. And sometimes sang a word or two too soon. It struck me how truly beautiful that was. I stopped singing for a few seconds so that I could hear him. How lucky was I to sit next to such a wonder, an inspiration, this beautiful soul? It took a lot of effort to keep tears from streaming down my cheeks, I was so incredibly grateful. I guess I have a new Church Guy now.

Oh, it is wonderful, wonderful to me. 

I started writing a little account about a childhood memory while at the DMV waiting for the results for the written test for my learner's permit. Yes, I let my Florida's driver's license expire, then I didn't do anything about it for over two years, so I got a non-driver's ID card, then finally I've gotten around to the whole teenager's process and I can't wait to drive my mom's souped-up station wagon with the wood veneer paneling. The written test was really easy. I've signed up for a driver's education course, and I've signed for a road test. In about six weeks, I'm going to be a legal driver in the state of New York, whereas I was driving illegally in New York and Florida. Please don't tell.

I'll finish the rest of this account tomorrow.

***
My mom joined the church when we lived in Guam. This was my first conscious exposure to hymns. I was in kindergarten or 1st grade. I had been to Catholic mass a few times, but I don't recall much of the music there. My reading was good for my grade level, but I hadn't been exposed to much outside of Sesame Street. So when I opened one of those old brown hymn books for the very first time, I had no idea what kind of treat I was in for. 

We met in an old doublewide trailer. The living room/kitchen area was the chapel, and the other half of the building were bedrooms converted (ha!) into classrooms. It was Guam, so it was tropic. It probably wasn't very comfortable. I remember sitting off to the side of the chapel with my family our first Sunday. Singing hymns instantly became my favorite part of the sacrament meeting service. The pianist plunked away on that long-used, scratched-up piano, and everyone was singing along, together. It was just SO cool how those words and syllables went to notes on a staff and all the holy melodies I had experienced up to that point were lovely and catchy, and I wanted to have a hymnbook of my very own, so that I could learn the words. I didn't know how to read music back then, but boy, were my ears ever-so poised to catch and memorize every single note of those tunes.

One Sunday in particular, I was sitting at the back of the chapel, which bothered me, because  I liked being able to watch the chorister. I think my mom was pregnant with Frank - she might have been at home, and my dad probably had to help up front. I ended up sitting next to a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark hair and a full beard. He had a strong brow, and he seemed nice but quiet.

5/7, Wed - Heather Armstrong will be in town for a book signing. (Her latest newsletter is out, by the way.)
5/17, Sat - Healthy Kidney 10K. I signed up to run this. Subject to change.
5/18, Sun - Meg Hutchinson will be performing on WFUV 90.7FM. See if you can catch it online.
5/22, Thurs - The day yours truly was born. SYTYCD premiere. Indiana Jones 4 release.
5/23-5/26, Fri-Mon - Road trip to NC to visit old friend who used to live here.
5/29-5/30, Thurs-Fri - National Spelling Bee.
6/18, Wed - Meg Hutchinson performs at the Bryant Park Concert Series.
6/18-6/19, Wed-Thurs - Emmylou Harris performs at Town Hall.
6/22, Sun - Yael Naim performs at Central Park Summerstage.

It feels like it's barely spring here, but let the summer begin.

If you're a member of LJ and signed in, I'll know who you are when you comment. I like this. I like knowing who's talking to me. If you're not a member of LJ, LJ lists you as "anonymous." I do not like this. If you don't know me, that's a different story, but if you do know me, please remember to identify yourself in some way. Either with your initials or a first name or a pseudonym I could figure out or a brief description, like, "Loves artificial cherry pie filling" or "Dated your brother briefly" or "Slightly polygamist with no food storage." I'd greatly appreciate it.

I just got back from a 50s birthday party for a friend. I'm cheating and backdating this entry to reflect May 2, because that's her birthday. And the party was on a rooftop, in Harlem, and it was going very swimmingly. It was a little chilly and cloudy and the sky was thick. Fog settled around the buildings like collars. The buildings were low, and the view from the roof allowed for some seriously rare, uninterrupted sky. People were dancing - sometimes lindy-hopping - and talking and playing Twister and eating birthday cake and cupcakes, and 50s songs played sporadically between Britney Spears and the JT and Madonna collaboration and other non-50s songs. There were poodle skirts and saddle shoes and leather jackets and pomade in men's hair shaped like ducktails and cutesy little 45rpms hanging from a string of lights that outlined the walls keeping us from falling off the roof but then the police came and broke the entire thing up. It was loudish, but not rowdyruckus by any means. Two officers walked around, checking out the surroundings. Somebody turned down the music then one of the officers said in a firm, serious voice, "Everyone off the roof!" Then the next few moments were magic, because police generally expect some resistance but we gave them none. We thanked our trusty NYPD and started cleaning up, and the officers stayed on the roof maybe another two minutes because they saw perhaps the most compliant crowd they have ever seen. Look at all the God-fearers, causing all this "trouble." Afterward while we looked back on the situation and laughed, someone suggested we should have asked the officers to pray with us. Officers, is it okay if we bless your journey? That probably would have been more scary to them than if we were drinking and engaging in all manner of lascivious behavior. I laughed the entire time I helped clean up; I had never been to a party that had been broken up by the police. I don't think a New York City experience would have been complete without it. Thanks, Brook, for having such a kickin' party.

[The lawyer] also said putting/changing locks on doors is illegal, but since
the roommate did it back to us, it might balance out. I pointed out to
her that if the roommate doesn't appear for her summons, we get stuck
with a judgment/order that's only enforceable in the state of New
York. Then we'd only keep standing around feeling the slap in the face
of her not paying rent. [The lawyer] said we could go to California to file a
complaint there, but that would require us being there - a lawyer
couldn't stand in for us. 

Guys, the roommate is so not cool. 

[I've written more, but I won't post that here.] 

I spoke to another lawyer today (they're swarming around these parts!), and he said because of the time the third roommate spent in the room - just a couple of months, she supposedly has rights. Well, if that doesn't uglify things. 

And here's an excerpt of a draft of something else:

...we reserve our rights, you inconsiderate child. All we did was extend kindness to you and expect responsible adult behavior from you; we're very hurt and insulted that you took advantage of us. All we want now is for this whole matter to be resolved. So give us our effing money ...

It's not all that close to the final draft. We might change the part about reserving our rights and leave in the mock swearing.

I'm not acting like a very good Mormon right now. Sorry about that. Third roommate, if you're reading this? Hi there! I noticed you dropped the New York network from your facebook profile, so we can't look at your photos anymore. That's a bummer. To be completely honest, I can't wait for this whole thing to be over with. You play a really big part in putting the situation behind us so we can let the bygones be.