#the saxophone man on thanksgivings end party..

[dreamkeeperstomb]

id just had a most strange occurrence.. i thought id mention it here.. i was walking my dog just now and crossed through an empty feild area where a jungle gym is placed for children and there was someone around the area alone, playing the saxophone.. it was loud and very odd, i didnt say anything, and i didnt want to interupt them.. i couldnt see who it was cause it was so dark.. they were just standing somewhere in the jungle gym area playing the saxophone alone at 8:30 at night….. …

then after i saw a gaggle of men in white.. they were playing in the street and ran away when they saw me.. i was by myself..

though i did have a good time.. the music was really beautiful.. and i am sort of used to it by now as i have strange things happen all the time like that.. but this one was much stranger in particular cause of how loud the saxophone was.. and that i couldnt see literally anyone ?? i feel really at peace, i think this experience is very comforting regardless..

i just wonder deeply for the energy i attract.. life is so interesting.. no matter what i imagine theres always something else..

[fbis-most-unwanted]

Things that have happened at the grocery store where I work

a man who would pick up a loaf of bread, inspect it, then throw it onto the ground, adding to the pile of bread on the floor

a man who comes in every Sunday dressed like a pirate

it was warm on Christmas eve, so I wasn’t wearing a jacket. A woman came up to me and said, “merry Christmas, put a coat on!”

a car I see in the parking lot all the time with a bumper sticker that says, “music too loud? 1-800-eat shit” and right below that one, “Ron Paul 2012”

a go cart designed to look like a casket

a cashier went over the intercom and, to the whole store, said, “frito lay-o-lay-o-lay”

at about 7:30 one morning, a manager walked by and said, “it’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to” and then walked away. I didn’t see him again for the rest of my shift

also really early, a cashier was talking to me and a couple other people, the phone at his station rang, he dramatically screeched and sprinted across the store to answer it

the same guy later explained in dissertation-level detail why crystal Pepsi is a good business decision

a woman so high she went up to my coworker, pushing her cart with her items, and said, “excuse me, where are my groceries?”

a man in the parking lot who brought his own gardening shovel and would scoop dirt out from near the trees and throw it in the trash can

a teenager wearing a shirt patterned with stripes made of machine guns

a man wearing a shirt with guns on the sleeves and in cheerful rainbow font read “this is my killing shirt”

several people with guns casually tucked into the waistband of their jeans

a pair of used underwear in a shopping cart left in the darkest part of the parking lot

two shopping carts that have made their way into our collection that are not from our store

an old man buying about six birthday cards who said, “excuse me, I need to put these in the file cabinet” then unbuttoned his shirt, put the cards in, buttoned it back up and said, “okay, I’ll see you in a few minutes” and walked back into the store. I did not see him again

I was outside taking in shopping carts at about 7:30 at night. This guy walks out of the store (he has bought nothing) carrying a basketball and a small tree branch. He says, “do you want to see something cool?” I said sure, and he put the branch in his mouth, started spinning the basketball on his finger then put it on top of the branch and walked away. Almost exactly 2 hours later, I saw him walk out of the store again, minus the branch and still having purchased nothing

This was the Saturday before the election. A man came through my line wearing a make america great again hat and a shirt with the presidential seal with Trump’s face photoshopped over it. I asked him what kind of bags he wanted. He said nothing. I assumed he didn’t hear me, so I asked again. He would not speak to me, but firmly pointed at the plastic bags. He needed help outside, so I said, “I’ll follow you to your car.” He made me walk in front of him so I had no idea where I was going. We got outside, and he spoke his first words to me: “Can you run inside and get me two plastic bags?” I did. When I got back to his car, a woman, seeing the bat signal of two Trump bumper stickers, had struck up a conversation. She asked me, “Are you 21?” I told her I wasn’t, and she said, “Oh, I guess you won’t be able to vote then.” She then went on to tell me, “I told my kids that I’m not going to feed them if they don’t vote for Trump.”

A woman was paying for her stuff with 3 gift cards that were so old the computer couldn’t read them. A manager had to come fix it. The woman said, “This happened last time too. I bought these out of a van.”

The store started playing Christmas music the Sunday before Thanksgiving and did not stop until January. I think I heard two versions of every Christmas song created by human beings, including one version of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer that, instead of “you’ll go down in history,” said, “play your saxophone for me”.

Right after we got software to read chip credit cards, a cashier was explaining this to a customer by saying, “This way is slower. I don’t know why we switched over. They’ve already hacked it, and pretty soon all our jobs are going to be done by robots anyway. Then the only jobs will be for people to program the robots and it won’t matter because we won’t have jobs and won’t be able to consume, so there won’t be a reason for any of us to be alive anymore.”

a strange man in a suspiciously stained apron pacing around in the back of the parking lot at 10p.m.

There are people who sit in their parked cars staring out of open windows in the parking lot at night for absolutely no reason

a man who said, “do they think this music makes people buy things? Because it doesn’t and it seriously needs to stop.” when asked how he was doing

late one night this guy came through my lane and said, “did you guys see the van?” “what van?” “the van. in the Sprint” when I got off I saw that someone had, indeed, driven a van through the front of the Sprint store at the other side of the parking lot.

at 9:45 one Friday these two girls came in and pointed at a picture in the ad of a bottle of chocolate milk and said, “they’re just like this but 32 ounces and I need 6 of them. They’re on sale for a dollar apiece. I know because my mom was here earlier and bought 10 of them.” That’s 320 ounces of chocolate milk sitting at home and she wants 192 more ounces. I go check, and as I predicted, we don’t even sell them

This old woman was talking to me and said, “I know a Kayla (my name)...She’s a little older than you. She’s with the spiders at the zoo now.”

a woman buying a metric fuckton of gingerbread and pine tree air fresheners on October 26

a man buying tortillas, shredded cheese, and 25 cans of whipped cream

the day I found out the hard way that when lettuce goes bad it turns to liquid

these teenagers who were high out of their minds and walking in slow motion

an old, old man who came in at about 7:30 one morning. the cashier was trying to make conversation and asked him how he was doing. he was not having a 5-star experience and thus began, “I hate shopping this early. I don’t know why I came here, etc. Then when I was leaving my wife asked me to pick up a birthday card. I don’t even know who this card is for, but you know how it is, we can’t say no.” He then turned to me (a female) and the female cashier and says, out loud, “You women are such shrews.”

the enigma that is Serial Killer Jeff

he was a cashier for a few months

he was really tall, had deep-set eyes and bags under them no matter what time of day it was, walked with his head hunched over, had a very quiet monotone voice, always walked with his hands behind his back as if he was at all times ready to be handcuffed, like he knew someone was coming for him

was going to school to be a truck driver

claimed to have once spent 36 hours in the same bar and that he smokes pot with his mom

one time was holding one of those of those grocery dividers and said, “boy, it would hurt to get cracked with one of these.”

we lock one set of doors at 9 (there is a giant sign that says this too). this couple comes in at about 10 to use the machine that counts change and asked, “I know those doors are locked, but can we still get to the change machine?” We said no, but they still went over and tried to open the doors. Jeff leans over and says, cryptically, “You know, this is just like the sign that says ‘Don’t feed the bears’ we all know not to feed the bears, but we have the sign for those high functioning idiots who do it anyway.”

on the 4th of July the pharmacy closed early. when this guy realized it, he yelled “FUCK” at the top of his lungs and then went down the list of every other curse word he knew while running out of the store and throwing open the automatic doors because they were not fast enough for him

I got called down to the customer service counter and the manager handed me a container of mac ‘n cheese and asked me to check the price because there was a man who thought they were on sale for 2/$5 but it rings up as 2/$7. She said, “He’s over there now. You can’t miss him, he’s very tall.” I go back there and discover two things: 1.there is no tall man in sight. 2. the mac ‘n cheese in question is clearly marked as 2/$7. I go back to tell the manager and lo and behold this giant is looming over the counter. I told him the price, and he insisted I was wrong, saying “Just show me the ones that are 2 for $5″ while walking backward away from the counter

we have different bags depending on the time of year. For Halloween, they are orange and say “happy Halloween”. I was told the story of the guy that apparently refuses to have the bags because he thinks Halloween is satanic and doesn’t believe in dressing up in costumes

there is a woman who always insists on bagging her own groceries so she can put one item in each bag and then double or triple bag it. She and her friend come in to the store to walk laps sometimes

on my first day I was getting a tour of the store and we were in the back where one of the maintenance guys said, “Are you new?” I said yes and he looked me dead in the eyes and said, “Run.” I should have listened

on Christmas Eve the manager made me stand outside and tell people we were closed. he then locked the doors, with me still outside

one of the training videos was literally just an infomercial for a boxcutter

It was about to storm one night and I had to go outside to bring carts in. a manager came up to me and said, “If you see lightning, come inside. No one can get hurt if I’m still on the clock.”

one cashier whose personal manga ended up in the backstock cart

this old lady was arguing about the price of a soda and her maybe 8 year old grandson interrupted, “grandma, do you know how long we’ve been here? two hours!” he was right

an old man who approached me 45 minutes into my 8 and a half hour shift and said, “here, for your hard work” and handed me a bag of peanuts

I was outside taking in carts with one of the other baggers. I was going to grab one of the smaller carts that was at the end of the cart corral surrounded by bigger carts. He said, “do you want that one?” I said yeah, and he just picked it up, lifted it over the cart corral, and handed it to me.

one time I was outside getting carts. It smelled like fire, but I couldn’t see smoke anywhere. Periodically, thick black ashes rained down from the sky like some lovecraftian nightmare.

Whenever this one bagger wants the store to get new florescent vests we have to wear when we’re outside, he cuts the straps off of all the ones we have

one bagger (who once made me sort every paper bag in the store to make sure the Christmas ones were on top) stepped away from his register in the middle of a rush to announce to the other baggers, “I just wanted to let you guys know we can wear shorts now. I know they don’t tell anyone, but it’s April 15th, we’re allowed to wear shorts.”

a middle-aged woman who said to the man in front of her in line , “It’s so nice to see a man using the big boy carts!” (as opposed to the smaller carts that are made for when you’re only buying a few things)

a woman who called me over from across the parking lot to hand her a cart that was two feet away from her

[local-events]

6 Year-Round Festivals That Give You a Reason to Celebrate in Barbados

After winning the NBA championship, legend Kawhi Leonard toasted his huge win with a trip to Barbados. But you don't have to be a basketball hero to celebrate in Barbados.

 Beyond the beaches, this eastern Caribbean island, outside the principal hurricane belt, has a year round calendar of festivities that gives nearly every traveler a reason to pack a bag for Barbados.

 Crop Over Festival

 When: May to August

This months-long festival is a 200 year-old tradition of marking the end of the sugar cane harvest. It's the most popular celebration on the island, an extravaganza of live music and traditional dancing. This is the ultimate Bajan festival with all-night parties, arts and crafts markets, street fairs with local cuisine, and the culmination of the Crop Over Festival in the final week in August, with a masquerade band parade complete with costumed partiers, music trucks and moving bars.

 Crop Over Festival Tip: Barbados' most famous native daughter, Rihanna herself is known to show up for the final day of the festival in support of her brother Rorrey Fenty's band Aura Experience! Sign up to 'jump' with the band and you could be partying with Rihanna's costumed crew.

  Dive Fest

 When: Early July 2 – 7 | Website:

 Get a little underwater in Barbados. Or simply swim, float, or soak up some sun on the beach. Dive Fest features water awareness programs, scuba and freediving demonstrations and trials, beach clean ups, conservation tips, lionfish hunting and tasting, as well as scuba dives all over the island - including the island's acclaimed east coast!

 Dive Fest Tip: Don't miss Carlisle Bay Marine Park, a wreck diver's dream, with over half a dozen ship wrecks, including a Canadian freighter sunk by a Germany U-boat in WWII, and other ships sunk as dive sites. Some wrecks are as shallow as 12 feet under, all the way to over 55 feet under the surface. In addition to underwater history, you can check out the marine inhabitants: eels, frog fish, seahorses, rays, porcupine fish and squid that make the shipwrecks home.

 Barbados Jazz Excursion & Golf Tournament Weekend

 When: mid-October long weekend (Columbus Day / Canadian Thanksgiving long weekend) |

 Jazz Sax-Man and Barbados-born recording artist Elan Trotman hosts a weekend of concerts, island excursions and charity golf for this annual event. Festivalgoers are treated to an ever-growing lineup of contemporary jazz and R&B artists at the fest along with a schedule that allows time to discover the alluring tropical beauty of Barbados. The weekend benefits the Headstart Music program in the island that provides free music lessons to children on saxophone, flute, clarinet, trumpet and percussion instruments.

 Barbados Jazz Excursion & Golf Weekend Tip: This is shoulder season, so you’ll be sure to get great flight deals.

  Food & Rum Festival

 When: Late October weekend

 For over 10 years, Barbados has been celebrating some of the best local Bajan, regional and international chef and mixology talent. for a unique festival of flavour. Local gastronomy and the island’s signature spirit – rum, are the highlight of this festival of flavor. Add in beach parties and other exciting cultural experiences and foodies and their friends have an island escape to remember!

 Food & Rum Festival Tip: You'll want to check out local restaurants in addition to ticketed food and rum events. Don't miss Chef Damian Leach's restaurant Cocktail Kitchen. The award-winning Bajan chef, who studied in Canada, is bringing innovation and sustainability to the island dining scene; including the use of the invasive species lionfish in his cuisine.

 Open Water Festival

When: Early November weekend

 Join hundreds of swimmers and open water enthusiasts in Barbados’ turquoise waters for races of 3.3, 5 and 10 k. Swimmers also have a chance to rub shoulders (or fins) with aquatic celebrities like Oceans Seven swimmer, Cameron Bellamy!

 Open Water Festival Tip: Don’t miss the Practice Swim #3 on the Friday in 'Miami Beach'. This beach (also known as Enterprise Beach) is a hidden gem and known to locals as the most beautiful beach in the Caribbean, boasting white sand and pristine blue-green seas. 

 Run Barbados Marathon

 When: Early December weekend

 Barbados' largest running event is your opportunity to test your running endurance in an idyllic tropical landscape. Sign up for the 10k, or half marathon too, and you'll run through Barbados' beautiful capital city and UNESCO World Heritage Site of Bridgetown, as well as its spellbinding natural harbor at Carlisle Bay.

 Run Barbados Marathon Tip: North Americans dominate Barbados during this marathon, with US /Canadian running program partners bringing hundreds of participants and even Olympic Athletes to the marathon you may encounter during your run or at arm's length cheering on from the sidelines.

 Start your Trip!

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[lefeusacre-editions]

VANISHING WITH JOHN | JOHN LURIE — PAR ARTHUR-LOUIS CINGUALTE

Portrait de quelqu’un dont on n’est pas certain de se souvenir 

« a very big actor and musicist that in the world everybody know... between Ray Charles and Brigitte Bardot. » Roberto Benigni

La présence des personnages dans les films de Jim Jarmusch est si incertaine qu’ils semblent constamment en train de disparaître. Si la plupart du temps ils n’y parviennent jamais avant la fin, tout le long durant - qu’ils quittent l’écran ou non une poignée de secondes — chacune de leur apparition demeure pour le spectateur un véritable miracle qui exalte le sentiment lié à leur possible disparition. C’est comme s’ils baissaient le volume sonore de tous les éléments du monde pour pouvoir y passer comme des anges — question d’allure et de tempérament, de ‘cool’, autant au sens physique qu’au sens mystique du terme (là où le ‘cool’ rejoint le ‘Détachement ‘au cœur de la doctrine de Maître Eckart).

C’est inévitable : que ce soit chez Lynch, Wenders ou Scorsese, à chaque fois que John Lurie apparaît dans un film, il le jarmuchise. Et il le fait si bien qu’une fois disparu on se demande si on l’a bien vu (criblée de trous de mémoire, sa filmographie, de fait, est impossible à retenir). La proposition est toutefois encore plus pertinente si on la retourne. De cette façon, qu’il s’agisse de Forest Whitaker, de Johnny Depp, de Bill Murray, ou d’Isaac de Bankolé, est une question qui importe peu : la caméra de Jim Jarmusch les lurise tous automatiquement.

C’est comme si le réalisateur avait occupé tout son temps de pellicule à ne filmer que John Lurie. Happé par sa présence relative, grande et fine, conduite par une voix si 'première', si 'zéro' qu'elle semble sortie des tréfonds de notre tête (si on parvenait à l’enregistrer on se rendrait compte que la voix de Dieu ressemble à s’y méprendre à la sienne), le cinéma du new-yorkais aux cheveux argentés, son rythme, son cadrage, son sens profond et secret a été déterminé par la première fois où son objectif s’est attardé sur le corps du roi des lézards de salon (nom du groupe de Lurie). Après ça, il ne restait plus qu'à dérouler, c’est-à-dire qu'à 'luriser'.

John Lurie, depuis plusieurs années, est gravement malade (maladie de Lyme). La musique lui est tragiquement devenue physiquement insupportable, les plateaux de cinéma une torture. Sa tête entière est à vif, agressée de toutes parts. Retiré de la rumeur urbaine dans les bois pour peindre en autodidacte, il a totalement disparu des écrans et des scènes. C’est donc toute la mesure définitive de sa classe absolue que d’avoir pris le soin de nous accoutumer à sa disparition et de nous avoir laissé de magnifiques albums et de superbes images pour qu’il puisse, lui, vivre comme un ange.

Bobo didn't believe in evolution so God turned him into a flower, 2014

Les titres de ses toiles sont trop beaux pour ne pas en citer une grosse poignée :

Famous errors in hieroglyphics / It’s deeper than you think / Bison / Dismayed with humanity, he considered other life forms / Herbert was concerned Maude would notice his demons / The Monk Loved His Garden, Though Sometimes He Hated it / I have moved to a bucket inside a cave. Do not visit. Thanks / I hate to stand on line / Anchor Is Stuck Now. I Cannot Go Anywhere. Time For A Sandwich / I try to blend in everywhere / King pig turned flowers into language. This was later seen as a mistake / "Ignorance Is Not Only Not Knowing, It Also Includes Not Wanting To Know" / Some Wallflowers Are Evil / Sometimes I let my heart out for a while / Towards the end she would sit on the porch and see things that might not be there. / The King and Queen Of Upper Delightful. / The sky is falling. I am learning to live with it / Bobo didn't believe in evolution so God turned him into a flower / America has lost its damn mind / The Skeleton In My Closet Has Moved Back Out To The Garden / The Four Chrysanthemums of the Apocalype / This man works with seeds. Seeds are good / After she left, he would stand out in the yard at night and quietly say her name / We want the funk, And some other stuff, We want some other stuff, Just normal stuff / You Have The Right To The Pursuit Of Happiness. Good Luck With That / Man Cannot Destroy Nature, Nature Is Too Mean / Decaying blue lynx head / Photograph of someone we are not sure we remember.

My Trip To The Country. Birds Fly Up / Man Protected From Flowers By Flowers / I Am Thankful For My Skeleton. He Is Still In The Garden / Invention of Animals / Please refrain from looking at the elephant / When the giant toothbrush appeared at the edge of  town, no one was sure if it was a sign from God or just one of those weird things that happen / This would make excellent wallpaper for your children's room / Irma had the most stellar ass of all the impalas / And to this day alchemists still carry the blue thing / Thanksgiving Has Been Cancelled. Best Wishes, The Native Americans / There are things you don't know about / Of Course, Animals Have Souls / I can’t get chikungunya because it’s called chikungunya / No Matter Where You Go, There Is Always A Crazy Neighbor / Men going to work over flowers / Deer and Stoplight / Still Life with Disappearing Snake / The Last Thoughts Of What's His Name / Equally Alone.

Comme l’indique certains titres, l’un des motifs le plus récurrent des œuvres de John Lurie (quand ce n’est pas un sujet) est celui de la fleur. Tour à tour hiéroglyphes, algues, tâches, étoiles, etc…, c’est toute une flore alphabétique et presque aquatique, tout un biotope dont Lurie couvre une grande parties de ses toiles avec une délicatesse remarquable. Leur présence paraît si naturelle qu’on en parvient à penser qu’elles étaient déjà là, en germes, que l’emploi particulier qu’il fait de l’aquarelle semble faire fleurir des couleurs, comme le sang fait frétiller une sirène tatouée sur les bras d’un marin, qui ne demandent que ça. Il y a dans les œuvres de Lurie comme l’impossibilité de faire autrement que ce métier de jardinier des couleurs. Chaque forme préalablement imaginée éclos sous l’action photosynthétique du pinceau. Diluer, mouiller, mélanger, répartir c’est faire éclore des graines de couleurs.

Henri Matisse disait qu’Il y a des fleurs partout pour qui veut bien les voir. Chez John Lurie, conformément à la déclaration de l’illustre peintre, la peinture est l’art de faire pousser des fleurs ; ou plutôt, puisque tout y est fleur, elle est l’art de faire fleurir le monde, de l’épiphaniser. Le geste revient à sa magie primitive : le pinceau se fait baguette. Une baguette comme le saxophone, dans une autre mesure l’était autrefois, puisque un cuivre n’est toujours qu’un vase duquel les mélodies jaillissent en bouquets. De la même façon que pour la peinture et la musique, c’est en comparaissant à l’image que fleurit John Lurie, c’est-à-dire que la menace de sa disparition est configurée comme la condition même de son apparition.

King pig turned flowers into language. This was later seen as a mistake. 2014

L’intermittence, l’éphémère, cette façon d’être — comme tous bons pratiquant du swing le savent — toujours à temps, en place et en rythme, de ne jamais rien surinvestir, cette façon de ne jamais peser et de resplendir d’évidence est dans le règne naturel le monopole des fleurs. Cependant comme le signale Shakespeare dans le Sonnet n°94, Les plus douces choses s’aigrissent par l’abus, et les lis qui pourrissent sont plus fétides que les ronces. John Lurie ne fane pas. Et son allure bourgeonne encore c’est parce que le regard, pour compenser les termes de sa disparition qui régissent son apparition, le cueille.

Se laisser cueillir est la véritable mesure des grands artistes. Prélever une fleur, c’est conformément à l’un des titres des peintures de John Lurie, prendre, mentalement, une photographie de quelqu’un dont on n’est pas certain de se souvenir. Le roi cochon transforme les fleurs en langage, dit une autre toile, mais ajoute ce qui sera plus tard considéré comme une erreur — il faut se prévenir de la prétention de faire des bouquets, ils finissent toujours pas pourrir. Ce qu’il faut c’est se souvenir du chemin qui mène au jardin. Et dans ce cas-ci force est de constater qu’on est vernis puisque John Lurie en cultive un qui ne serait être épuisé.

[eugesounds]

Back... and Forth

Like many folks, I usually take this time of year to count my blessings and reflect on highlights from the past 12 months. In scrolling through my social media timelines, the things that jump out most are how fortunate I am to have played so many fun gigs with terrific musicians, how blessed I am to have worked with so many talented students, and how lucky I was to have spent some time with family, both here and in the northeast.

In January I purchased a new car which was long overdo. I always say that cars are like computers; both are great until they stop working one day. My old Kia had no A/C, spare brakes, and a gazillion miles (I would have posted a definite number but the odometer stopped working in ‘16). I also started a “practice journal” which I kept up for most of the year (I’ll be posting about that later). 

In February I got to play at Ticket Stock, an annual event presented by my favorite radio station, 1310 AM/96.7 FM “The Ticket”. I am as they say a “day one, P1″, since I arrived in Dallas almost at the exact time that the Ticket started some 25 years ago. I listen daily and have gotten to meet and to know many of the show hosts. But getting a first hand view from “behind the curtain” made me appreciate the guys even more as I got to see up-close just how hard they all work to make their product seem effortless and fun.

In March Gracie and I took in the “hyper-realistic” sculptures of Ron Mueck. I love visiting museums and this show at the Fort Worth Modern did not fail to amaze and inspire. In April Captain and Camille played a few big private functions including a wedding in Waco, TX. Gracie and I made it a fun little “getaway” by dipping our toe into the AirB&B water to great success, and we even spent some time visiting the Silos area and a handful of fun shops and restaurants. I am a lucky boy to have Lady Sax as a traveling partner as she is not afraid to tag along on my many crazy excursions. :)

In May I traveled solo to visit my mom in New England. At 97 she is still kicking along with a good attitude and generally good health... 3 cheers for genetics! Aside from seeing mom and hanging out with my big sister Nancy, a highlight of the trip was taking a long walk at dusk around Westboro Country Club where I had spent so many wonderful hours with my dad. In June I played a bunch of gigs including another memorable wedding with my brother from another mother Mike Finkel, guitarist Chris Holt, drummer John Bryant, bassist and singer Bach Norwood and Captain and Camille’s own Michelle Sanguinetti.

By July Captain and Camille was hitting a nice stride, playing lots of fun shows with some new (vintage 70′s) material. The momentum carried into August with a private “lake home” bash hosted by our friend Scott Cecil who owns the Barley House near the campus of SMU in Dallas. Scott and his venue have been very, very good for our band, providing a steady “residency” and in turn creating good buzz that has led to a handful of terrific private shows. The band also added a new venue in far north Dallas. This was something we wanted and had been working on for some time. The Box Garden at Legacy Hall met and exceeded our expectations. They simply do a great job of taking care of their bands; from parking and load in, to sound and eats, they succeed at every turn.

In September Gracie and I headed to the Jersey Shore to spend some time at my brother Corky’s place just a couple blocks from the beach in Ocean City. Cork and I took a quick ride up to visit my mom one day, but otherwise, Gracie and I simply enjoyed a solid week of down time at the beach. Even though it rained pretty much every day, it turned out to be a fun and relaxing get away. As usual, Corky and his wife Peggy were amazing hosts. I was recharged and ready for the long push toward the end of the year. In October I focused on teaching, practicing (both saxophone and golf!), playing a bunch of gigs, and cooking some really yummy new dishes with Lady Sax.

Captain and Camille was back at the Box Garden in November, and though it was a chilly evening, we played one of our more memorable shows to a packed house. The Thanksgiving break from teaching provided some nice down time before a busy December that included a few big private gigs, student performances, and a new playing opportunity for me. 

I had seen the Bastards of Soul a few times as Captain and Camille drummer Matt Trimble plays with them as well. And when they were left in a bind with no sax player, I was flattered and honored that my name came up as an option. I was unsure how Lady Sax might feel about me taking on another gig (and hence encroaching on more of our date nights) but to my delight she was all for it as she knew it was an opportunity I relished. 

It was a great challenge to play a few Bastards shows with no rehearsal and only limited practice time, but aside from one false start and a couple fuzzy endings, I think things came off as well as can be expected. I really look forward to playing more shows with them this year. 

2018 ended fittingly, with Captain and Camille at Barley House (see photo above). It was a sold-out private party with many of our closest friends and it couldn't have been a better evening. The stage looked great, our sound-man Jeremy did a great job, and the staff a Barley were outstanding. 

I start the year recharged and ready to focus on my teaching and practicing as I have no gigs scheduled for the next couple of weeks. I’ve made plans to have my horn worked on by the master Greg Dunihoo (aka the “sax whisperer”) and I look forward to seeing how ’19 unfolds.

Happy new year!

[fifteenstrawberries]

Surely Someday

So, once upon a time, I had an idea for a music au. and, well . . . 

Also please please check out the song in the description, you will not regret it, I promise.

Surely Someday

Modern college/ jazz band au. Title and the lyrics at the end come from “Because” by Yoko Kanno. Which is emphatically Not Jazz, but it worked so well I couldn’t help it. The legendary jazz quintet, Voltron, of Altea University, started out as just Hunk and Lance jamming out in an empty music room. They would get back from their afternoon classes, grab Lance's trumpet and Hunk's bass from the orchestra room lockers, then find a good space and chill for an hour or so, unwinding from the stress of the day. They never set out to play anything specific-- Lance liked to improvise and Hunk was good at riffing off his notes, but by the time Pidge found them, they'd practiced enough songs for a pretty decent length set.

Pidge-- better known as Katie Holt to everyone but Hunk and Lance-- was one of those child musical genius prodigy types, who came to the university for classes and was on track to graduate early with a degree in music composition. She took lessons for five different instruments (only piano was required for her degree, the rest were just for fun) and had apparently never heard of improv jazz before in her life. She had burst into their practice room and demanded to know what exactly they were doing, that chord would work much better if you raised the bass line by a half step, and could they please decide whether they were playing in four/four time or not? Her brother had dragged her out, apologizing profusely, as Katie shouted back questions, wanting to know if they actually knew how to play their instruments because that would explain a lot, really.

Needless to say, they kept her.

It was just the three of them for the first few weeks. And that was good! Pidge kept bringing different instruments to their jam sessions and had a knack for harmonizing, and kept bringing new music for them to play, either her favorite songs arranged for trumpet, bass, and clarinet, or pieces that she'd written for her music composition class with Professor Coran. They even performed during the Homecoming concert as 'the Voltron Jazz trio.'

"Which is why," Lance argued, as Hunk stapled another 'looking for player' notice on the student board, "We don't need another player. Jazz trios are a thing, dude."

"Jazz quartets are also a thing," Hunk gave him an amused look, "It'll be nice to have another person to play with. Besides, we're getting to the point where we could really use a decent drummer."

"Oh no. The legendary Voltron jazz trio does not need a drummer."

"Do you want to give Pidge an excuse to bring her metronome again?"

Lance shuddered. That practice had been a nightmare and didn't bear remembering.

"Exactly," Hunk said grimly. "The only way we're going to keep her from bringing that monstrosity again is if we put someone on drums." He stapled the next flier to the cafeteria message board with unnecessary force, muttering to himself, "Bringing a metronome to jazz practice, honestly . . . ."

Lance patted his shoulder in silent, sympathetic commiseration.

In the end, only one person got in touch with them. Hunk refused to tell Lance who it was, and it wasn't until Lance saw a familiar mullet sitting at a table at the student café, waiting to meet them, that he understood why.

"You've got to be kidding me!" Lance hissed, clutching at Hunk's arm.

"Nope."

"Keith? Really? Keith?!"

"He's the only one that responded and he's good, Lance, don't you dare ruin this because of that one thing when you were a freshman."

"It was marching band! Do you know how cool I would've been if I'd gotten into marching band?"

Pidge rolled her eyes at their whispered argument, pulling the café door open, "Hey," she said, walking up to Keith, "Are you here for us?"

Keith blinked at her, "I think so. Are you guys the--" He consulted one of Hunk's fliers, now wrinkled almost beyond recognition, "Voltron jazz ensemble?"

"That's us," Hunk said agreeably, pulling up a chair.

Lance flung himself into the chair opposite Keith, who eyed him uncertainly. "So, Keith," Lance drawled, "Since when were you interested in jazz?"

"I'm not, really," Keith shrugged, "But I need another extracurricular if I'm going to keep my scholarship next semester and the rock band I was going to join fell through."

"Lucky for us then," Hunk noted, ignoring the strangled sound Lance was making, "You said you play drums, right?"

"For the past ten years."

"Cool. I play bass, Pidge here plays either clarinet or saxophone depending, and you know that Lance plays trumpet."

 “Ummm . . . .”

Lance could actually see the moment where Keith failed to remember how he had ruined Lance's life.

No. No nononono no no nope, Lance refused to play with a guy who didn't even have the decency to remember his part in one of the more humiliating moments in Lance's life. Keith wasn't getting into Voltron. Period.

But Hunk might actually kill him if he just stood up and walked away, so Lance needed to figure out a way to dispose of Keith subtly . . . .

His eyes lit on Pidge.

Perfect.

"You the only person who replied to the flier," Hunk was saying.

"But we have a minor in our group," Lance interrupted, ignoring the strange looks all three were giving him, "So Pidge gets a final say in who joins."

There, Lance thought smugly. Keith looked nervous as Pidge inspected him over the top of her glasses. Hunk couldn't even give him a hard time about it, they'd already agreed that they would defer to Pidge's judgement since she was the closest thing they had to a conductor. And Pidge had ridiculously high standards when it came to the people she played with so there was no way she'd ever, ever--

"Keith can stay." Pidge said.

"Oh, cool," Hunk said, as Lance gaped, "Keith you heard her, you're in."

"Why?!" Lance exclaimed, staring at Pidge in betrayal.

Pidge pushed up her glasses, "He can play the percussion piece I composed."

Hunk and Lance paused.

"The one you brought in last week?" Hunk ventured.

"The one you wrote specifically to be physically impossible to play?" Lance yelped.

They both turned to Keith, who shrugged. "It was pretty challenging." He admitted.

Hunk and Lance exchanged long, speaking looks.

"Fine," Lance sighed, at the end of their silent conversation, "Keith," He paused, then said begrudgingly, "Welcome to Voltron."

Keith grinned.

"Do you have some time right now?" Hunk asked, as Pidge offered Keith a high five, "We're going to find a practice room to jam in. You can come and get a feel for how we play together."

"Yeah, sounds good." Keith nodded, still smiling faintly, and stood up.

"You're in charge of whatever sticks or tambourines or whatever you need to play." Lance told him, "Don't expect us to help you lug around your equipment. It's every man for himself."

Pidge cleared her throat pointedly.

"Every person for themselves." Lance amended.

"I . . . wasn't expecting you to?" Keith was frowning again, confused.

"Ignore him Keith, he's just mad that you don't remember him." Hunk said, holding the door open for everyone to walk outside.

"Oh," Keith gave Lance another confused look, "Sorry?"

Lance seethed.

Ten minutes later, walking through the halls toward the practice room, Keith stopped dead, "Wait, Lance, weren't you the guy who sent like five people to the hospital during marching band auditions?"

"Minor injuries, only three people, and it was your fault!"

"That's why you've been giving me a hard time? How was it my fault that you tripped over your own feet?!"

"I was distracted by your mullet!" _____________________________________________________________________________

Practices got a lot more . . . intense, after Keith joined--

("Keith, can you at least try to stay on the beat?"

"It's called syncopation, Lance, I know you know what that is.")

--But even Lance could admit that they were better with him than without.

Lance and Hunk finally got the paperwork together to get their little band registered as an official club so Keith could list it on his transcript. They played at the November Thanksgiving concert, the Christmas concert, the faculty holiday party . . . . Miss Allura, who planned college events on top of being Pidge's piano teacher, booked them for like three different alumni parties, telling them that since they were playing anyway, they might as well get paid for it. Things settled into a new kind of normal.

Until one day in early spring when Keith pulled Lance aside, and told him that his friend was joining their next practice. "So try not to be as much of an asshole as you usually are." He said, voice tight.

Lance bristled, "Excuse you, I am not--"

"You are," Keith interrupted, "And I'm warning you now, if you rag on him the way the way you do me, I'm going to melt down your trumpet and turn it into an asshole of the year trophy."

Lance gasped, clutching his trumpet protectively to his chest as Keith turned on his heel and left.

 He spent the rest of the night complaining to Hunk. How dare Keith threaten his trumpet! Would Keith deny the world the sweet music Lance made, over perfectly valid criticisms of his hair, and fashion sense, and ability to stay on beat?

Then Keith's friend stepped into the music room with a shock of white hair and tired eyes, the lower half of his right sleeve hanging empty, and yeah, Lance could see how even the good-natured teasing he indulged in might be out of place here.

Takashi Shirogane. Piano virtuoso and Altea University alumnus extraordinaire. The gift shop still sold recordings of his Carnegie Hall piano concert.

While Lance was standing there tongue tied, Hunk set his bass on its stand and walked over, left hand extended, "You must be the friend Keith was telling us about." He grinned, "I'm Hunk."

"Takashi Shirogane. Call me Shiro, please." Shiro shook his hand with a warm flicker of a smile.

"Good to meet you," Hunk said easily, "The tiny one with three different instruments is Pidge—“

 Pidge waved from where she was putting together her clarinet.

 “—and the guy emptying his spit valve on the carpet like a heathen is my friend Lance. He's the one that got this whole crazy thing started."

"Glad you could join us," Lance said, trying for nonchalant because holy shit, was Takashi Shirogane really going to play with them?? "So do you wanna practice with us or . . . ?" Wait, missing arm, shit.

Hovering at his friend's elbow, Keith's expression went from resting bitch-face to murderous.

The quirk in Shiro's smile was the only indication that he'd noticed Lance's faux pas. "Nah. I don't want to mess you up. Keith tells me you do a lot of improv."

"Oh, improv's not hard," Lance assured him, "Lots of people think that it is, but really, just pick a chord and a key and go from there. You could probably do it with one hand tied behind--" God dammit, if Keith wanted to kick his ass later, Lance was going to let him.

After a long pause where Lance tried to ascend to the astral plane and Keith tried to kill Lance with his brain— Hunk was standing with his eyes raised to the ceiling, hands pressed together in front of his mouth like he was praying-- Pidge said, "You are the living embodiment of tact, Lance."

"Thanks for the salt Pidge, makes the shoe leather taste much better."

Shiro laughed. “It’s okay, really.”

Huh. Maybe Lance could hold off on suicide by Keith after all.

"Seriously though," Pidge added, glancing at Shiro, "You're just going to sit and listen to us?"

Shiro’s smile turned wry, and he shrugged. The movement made the empty part of his sleeve sway.

Keith hesitated, unhappy, "Shiro--"

"It's fine," Shiro interrupted. He nudged Keith in the direction of the drum set, pulling out a chair for himself at the edge of the room, "Do your thing. Just pretend I'm not here."

Lance caught a glimpse of Keith as he walked past . . . .

"Hey Shiro" Lance said suddenly, "Can you sing?"

Shiro paused with his hand on the back of the chair, taken by surprise, "What?"

"Pidge has been working on some stuff with vocals," Lance nodded at her, "Right Pidge?"

"Oh yeah!" Pidge dove for her backpack, pulling out a pile of sheet music, "It started out as an exercise for my music composition class, but it turned out to be really fun, so I kept going."

Shiro blinked at the music she shoved into his hands, "Fall Out Boy?"

"Arranged for jazz band." Pidge agreed, "Now come on, get over here so we can hear you."

"I'm not really a singer," Shiro protested, pulling his chair over slowly.

"Can you carry a tune in a bucket?" Lance asked, arranging his music on his stand.

"Yes?"

"Then you can sing. It's fine man, it's jazz," Lance flashed him a smile, then turned to the rest of the group, "Let's get started. Pidge, Hunk, you all tuned up?"

"Of course." Pidge sniffed at him, picking up her clarinet and playing a short C major. Hunk plucked his strings a couple more times, then gave Lance a thumbs up.

"Keith, we've actually got someone singing with us today. Try not to drown us out the way you usually do."

Keith rolled his eyes, "Right back at ya, buddy."

Lance sneered elegantly at him, then turned to Shiro, "If you get lost, just keep an eye on Hunk, he’ll cue you in. And remember, if you mess up, blame Pidge."

"Hey!" Pidge squawked.

"I can read this sheet music woman! When exactly am I supposed to breath?"

"You talk that long without breathing all the time, you'll be fine."

"Ha. Ha. Everyone all set?" Lance glanced around. Pidge was rolling her eyes at him, Hunk was snickering, Shiro was trying to hide a bemused smile, and Keith kept stealing glances at Shiro.

Lance had never seen that expression on Keith's face before.

"We're ready," Lance decided, "On my count. A-five six seven eight!" _____________________________________________________________________________

They had been good before. But after Shiro joined, something locked into place, and now they were on their way to becoming great.

Shiro had a beautiful, strong tenor, and was surprisingly good at singing the blues for someone who had never studied jazz before. (Which was Not To Be Commented On.)

 It took them a while to convince him to come to practice. He kept trying to bow out, saying that he didn’t want to disrupt their practice, or that he wasn’t a good enough singer, or that he was too old, they couldn’t possibly want him around--

 (Pidge rolled her eyes, “Dude, just shut up and sing with us.”

 “It’s a little hard to do both.” Shiro said drily.)

 But once they’d finally managed to convince him that they didn’t care, he was took to jazz like he’d been waiting for a way to let music back into his life after . . . after. He started taking singing lessons, he audited Lance and Hunk’s music history class, he started making requests and suggestions, looking for ways for all of them to improve—

 Lance felt something warm and soft in his chest when Shiro launched into an impromptu lecture on the historical significance of Harlem jazz clubs, eyes no longer tired but shining with enthusiasm. He glanced at Keith, who was watching Shiro with the same warm, soft expression as Lance, and the two of them shared a smile.

 Shiro took over as music director, with Lance’s blessing. They had a little ceremony to transfer the tuner and everything. It was just as well, really. Shiro was much better at keeping them all in line, and with him in charge Lance could goof off with his friends instead of pretending to be responsible.

 Then Pidge set up a Youtube channel for them, they recorded a couple songs and put them up and . . . suddenly they were kinda sorta famous? People recognized them when they walked around campus now, and usually complemented them on their videos and asked when were they going to put up the next one. Miss Allura and Professor Coran helped them record their first album, carefully making no mention of the fact that this was Shiro’s second time doing this. After finals were over and school let out for the summer, they even got a couple gigs! Nothing too big, just a couple coffee shops in and around the tristate area and one wedding. But it was still enough to justify renting a van to take the Voltron band to their various locations.

 They turned it into a proper road trip. Mr. and Mrs. Holt drove and chose various places for them to stop and have fun, museums and parks and farmers markets. Shiro divided his attention between helping them navigate and keeping peace in the back seat, which became essential when they were forbidden from practicing in the car.

 It was different, more exciting and more stressful than anything Lance had ever done before, and he was sincerely grateful that Shiro was there to talk them down from their pre-concert jitters. Going out there, being on a stage and seeing a whole crowd of people watching . . . .

 Lance never imagined that him and Hunk jamming out in a classroom together would lead to this.

 Then it was over. They went their separate ways for the rest of the summer, promising to meet up when school started.

 Now here they were again, after the first day of classes, Hunk, Lance and Pidge with instruments in hand, and Keith twirling his drumsticks like a cheerleader’s baton, heading for the auditorium where they’d agreed to meet. None of them had heard from Shiro in the past month, but Keith promised he’d be there for practice in a couple hours. In the meantime they had an after-class jam session to get to, which was a tradition dammit, and they weren’t going to let things like an impending concert and a growing case of fame get in the way.

 Only it seemed like some one was already there. A slow melody plinked out from the baby grand on stage, and Lance craned his head to see who was playing . . . .

 That was Shiro.

 In the wings, Lance threw out a hand to stop the others, motioning for silence. Hunk clapped a hand over his mouth and Keith grabbed onto Lance’s shirt. Pidge rolled her eyes at them, but stayed quiet.

 Shiro was frowning in concentration as he picked out the notes, his eyes as tired as they had been the first time he’d come to practice with them.

 Lance couldn’t help but remember the two albums on his computer, played countless times. The piano on them had sung, the notes flowing like water, smooth and easy . . . .

 This wasn’t that.

 Stiff and clumsy, from lack of practice and the use of his non-dominant hand, the music bare without a second hand to play harmony, but he was still playing, and they would never ask for more than that—

 One of Keith’s drumsticks dropped, clattering against the ground. Shiro’s gaze flew up, eyes widening when he saw them in the wings.

 Lance tried for a grin as Hunk waved sheepishly behind him.

 Shiro flushed and looked away, his hand falling from the keyboard.

 No, dammit, that wasn’t—they hadn’t meant--

 Lance, Hunk and Keith slunk on stage, setting up and tuning their instruments guiltily.

 Pidge just stood there with her hands in her pockets, head tilted like a bird, “Why’d you stop?”

 “We’ve got a lot of work to do before our first concert,” Shiro didn’t look up, his remaining hand curled loosely in his lap, “If you’re all here we should start practice.”

 “You were already practicing though.” Pidge pointed out, frowning slightly.

 Shiro didn’t reply.

 Pidge slid onto the bench next to Shiro, picking up his hand and placing it on the keys when he didn’t move. “You take the top, I’ll take the bottom.” She told him, and started to play.

 Hunk joined in next, drawing long, slow, easy notes from his bass. Then Keith, with a soft, rolling beat on the cymbals. Lance took the descant, playing as quietly as he could.

 Then Shiro finally beginning to play again, the counterpoint to Pidge’s harmony, and all of them shifted to match.

 They played their way through the opening one more time. Shiro was smiling now, as music echoed throughout the hall.

____________________________________________________________________________________

 "Someday

Look back On a

Young day We shared

We learned We had

We lost Because

You know Tomorrow had another plan Because

We lose

The future is all we have left We have someday Surely someday Surely someday"

[biofunmy]

A Song in His Heart. It Was for Her.

When he feels the spirit, Isaiah Rothstein bursts into song. He felt it on his first date with Leah Gottfried in early 2018. They were in Bryant Park and bird droppings landed in his food, and so he then took her to the top of Rockefeller Center. Standing next to Ms. Gottfried there, he felt the need to do more than just comment on the view of Manhattan.

“I think in musical language sometimes,” he said. “If this moment were a song, what it would be? And then I’ll just play. People usually jive on it I think.”

She jived on it, though she does not quite remember the lyrics: “It was something about all the miles of the city that he saw,” she said. “Something about miles.”

Mr. Rothstein, 30, and Ms. Gottfried, 28, are a modern Orthodox power couple. He is the rapping, singing frontman of Zayah and a rabbi for Hazon in New York, which calls itself the Jewish lab for sustainability. He was one of Jewish Week’s 36 under 36 for 2019, which applauded his ambition to “follow in the footsteps of the ‘Hamilton’ creator Lin-Manuel Miranda.” Mr. Rothstein is working on a musical about Queen Esther, the figure of legend who foiled a genocide of the Jewish people.

But Mr. Rothstein is a C-lister when compared with Ms. Gottfried, a child actor who had her first agent when she was 11 and is frequently featured in Jewish publications including Kveller.com and Jewess Magazine. Her web series “Soon By You,” reminds its viewers of an Orthodox take on “Friends.”

“Soon By You” makes liberal use of Ms. Gottfried’s own dating experiences. It features a lot of confused men.

“I’ve had guys be really puzzled about filmmaking in general and with a woman wanting to be a filmmaker and how does that work with a family?” said Ms. Gottfried, who runs her own production company. “Or they pitch me their own idea for movies. That has happened so many times. So many of my dates were like bad pitch meetings that I didn’t sign up for.”

Mr. Rothstein didn’t want to one-up Ms. Gottfried; he wanted to impress her. For their third date, he drove from Crown Heights, Brooklyn, to Passaic, N.J., where she was living at the time, in the middle of a snowstorm. Nothing was open, except for a Dunkin’ Donuts, so the two spent hours there, in song (the radio played the Dixie Chicks cover of “Landslide,” prompting a singalong) and in silence.

“There was a stillness,” Mr. Rothstein said, “which is funny for me because I talk a lot.”

He dropped her home at 1 a.m., and by the time he arrived in Brooklyn two hours later, he knew he was in trouble: He really cared about her.

Though Mr. Rothstein is (very) extroverted, he does not like feeling emotionally exposed. He grew up in Monsey, N.Y., feeling different from his peers, as a white-passing member of one of the few multiracial families in town. He was often asked if his mother, who is black, was his nanny, and was told he wasn’t a real Jew. School days would often end in fistfights.

Those experiences pushed Mr. Rothstein to grapple with his Jewish identity as he grew older. He ended up staffing seven separate birthright trips to Israel. By the last few, he had come to realize that he had a passion for “creating positive Jewish experiences for people.” He decided to become a rabbi.

Ms. Gottfried grew up blocks away from Mr. Rothstein in Monsey, but did not meet him until late 2017. She was raised ultra-Orthodox for the first five years of her life, until her parents divorced and her mother transitioned to modern Orthodox, which seeks a balance between Jewish tradition and the modern world.

Her mother, Esther Litchfield-Fink, and she, are “like, ‘Gilmore Girls’ level close,” Ms. Gottfried said, referring to the Amy Sherman Palladino show about a mother and daughter who are best friends. Ms. Gottfried and Ms. Litchfield-Fink love all of Ms. Palladino’s shows including “Bunheads” and, of course, “The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel.”

“For awhile she wanted me to be a lawyer I think because I was so argumentative as a kid,” Ms. Gottfried said. “But she also very much supported my career decisions. Sometimes she doesn’t like how I dress.” (Ms. Litchfield-Fink thinks her daughter’s outfits could stand to be a little more provocative.)

Others in Ms. Gottfried’s community growing up were put off by her chutzpah, and her interest in performing. It took her a long time, she said, to find Jews with whom she could feel completely comfortable being herself. One space that felt particularly right was Hevria, an online community of creative Jews. In November 2017, Ms. Gottfried and Mr. Rothstein attended one of the group’s open-mic nights in Crown Heights, where they met. A month later, Ms. Gottfried read a poem at a Hevria event and afterward, Mr. Rothstein messaged her on Facebook and asked for a copy.

They ran into each other again a few months later at a Jewish conference in Princeton, N.J., where they both gave presentations about their backgrounds; each attended the other’s. Toward the end of the weekend, he asked her out. They already knew so much about each other that small talk barely felt necessary.

By the time, Ms. Gottfried’s mother met Mr. Rothstein, at Leah’s 27th birthday party in April 2018, the relationship had accelerated. In August, the couple posted a music video they had made together (she directed, he starred) to YouTube.

Last Thanksgiving, he proposed. Via song, of course.

Ms. Litchfield-Fink knew Mr. Rothstein was the man for her daughter, she said, when Ms. Gottfried told her he was the right person.

“I trust her judgment 100 percent so I knew that no matter what I thought it was up to her and it had to come from her,” she said.

Their engagement lasted six and a half months. Their secular friends thought that was pretty short. Their Orthodox relatives questioned why it was taking so long.

But on June 16, a diverse group of Jews convened on Oz Farm in Saugerties, N.Y., where rain had turned the fields to mud, leading to a celebration that was as improvisational and joyous as one of Mr. Rothstein’s songs. The marriage was celebrated by a Judaism of dark robes and golden rompers, of flower crowns and shtreimels (fur hats), of side curls and hair dyed scarlet, and of unceasing music.

“This is like a hipster Jewish mecca,” said Chavie Lieber, a journalist for Business of Fashion and one of Mr. Rothstein’s oldest friends. As she explained what about the wedding was traditional and what was not, her husband, Yoni Stokar, walked over and was asked to guess how many rabbis he thought were in attendance.

“Thirty-five,” he said.

“Self-identified rabbis or actually ordained rabbis?” Ms. Lieber asked.

The formal proceedings began with Rabbi Dovid’l Weinberg conducting the bedeken ceremony, as Mr. Rothstein and his guests celebrated the wedding to come, slowly making their way over to where Ms. Gottfried sat with her own guests. The traditional veiling ceremony began, which most of the guests watched through their phones. The groom was flanked by Hasidim in formal wear. A friend of Mr. Rothstein’s, Zach Mayer, played a soprano saxophone as the men swayed and sang.

“I met my girlfriend after Isaiah and I started singing together,” Mr. Mayer said. “I feel like he just radiates love.”

There was a lull after the bedeken, as the band got in place and the more observant attendees paused to observe the afternoon prayer. Ms. Gottfried and her mother disappeared. Mr. Rothstein, clean-shaven and dressed all in white, was flanked by a bearlike South African Jew, Folli Tessler, who served as his shomer, or watchman. Mr. Rothstein excused himself to speak to his mother, Tanya Rothstein, who was dressed in gold.

“Traditionally there was a concept that on the day of a person’s wedding or two days before, they would have someone watch the groom because there was a tradition of persecution before wedding days and exciting things,” Mr. Tessler explained, visibly nervous to be separated from his charge.

The ceremony began, with the band (including Mr. Stokar) leading. Traditional Hebrew songs were paired with Disney melodies from “The Lion King” and “Mulan.” Mr. Rothstein, standing under the huppah, was handed a guitar. “New age,” one guest muttered. “Right, right,” her companion responded.

He started singing, and Ms. Gottfried walked in. She moved toward the huppah and the mothers led her in a circle around Mr. Rothstein. Prayers were offered. As is traditional, men read seven blessings; as is not, they were accompanied by women, who read seven intentions for the marriage.

Babies were introduced to one another. Multiple shofars, or ram’s horns, blew. Guests declined to remain in their seats, and crowded close to the huppah. After about 45 minutes, Ms. Gottfried, not Mr. Rothstein, punctuated the ceremony by smashing a glass. The bride and groom retreated into solitude with several witnesses. Everyone waited. “I’m starving,” Ms. Gottfried said. Finally, they emerged on horseback.

There was wild, gender-segregated dancing and the dinner, where Ms. Gottfried took the microphone.

“Isaiah’s always performing for me, singing and rapping,” she said. “I thought I would perform for you for once.” A drumbeat started, and Ms. Gottfried began to rap about a boy with a guitar who strummed and strummed his way into her heart.

ON THIS DAY

When June 16, 2019

Where Oz Farm, an events space, in Saugerties, N.Y.

Stormy Weather It rained incessantly the day of the wedding, which forced the proceedings inside. The bathrooms, in two trailers outside the barn, were filled with men changing mud-coated sneakers into dress shoes.

Divine Yenta Various people at the wedding, including Mr. Rothstein’s older brother J.R. Rothstein, claimed some responsibility for having introduced the two. The couple had thought this might happen. “People always say like, ‘How’d you meet, were you set up?’ and I very much feel like God orchestrated the entire thing,” the bride said. The groom agreed. “Whenever people try to take credit for setting us up,” he said shaking his head. “We set ourselves up and God set us up. You didn’t set us up. Thank you.”

Roving Shofar The ram’s horn, traditionally blown to celebrate the Jewish New Year, made several appearances during the wedding ceremony, traveling around the room. Its sound is similar to that of a swan whooping with a constricted windpipe.

Breaking the Glass The couple decided, as a gesture of inclusivity, to task Ms. Gottfried with stomping on the wineglass, traditionally a task for the groom. She looked apprehensive but determined, as she lifted her foot and brought it down hard. “I did it!” she shouted into her husband’s ear.

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[viviansjourneytotruelove-blog]

GHO Goes to the DR - DAY 2: 3/19/17 -- Sunday Service at Oasis Church and Testimony Sharing~

sfdThis morning, I overslept. My alarm was set to 9 so that I could meet David at 10 for breakfast. Pick up to go to church was at 10:45. I ended up snoozing my alarm and falling back asleep. I woke up at around 10 and frantically got ready for service by about 10:30, which is the time that breakfast ended. Rushing down in my Sunday best, I was one of the last ones to meet in the lobby of the hotel and by the time I got there, they had already started a meeting. Dr. Kendall Suh, a retired emergency medicine physician was speaking. We introduced ourselves one by one in the circle and then waited for the church vans to arrive. David was scared that I would be hungry since I missed breakfast and saved me some pieces of bread/croissant but I wasn’t hungry so I just took the little piece of bread. Iglesia Cristiana Oasis is about 10 minutes away and we were greeted warmly by the church members. As we walked in, there were rows of seats in the front with tags that said “Reservado” and we were escorted to those seats. As the pastor introduced us and welcomed us, we sprung into service. The person that caught my eye the most was the saxophone player. The worship team was a full team of 5 vocalists, including the pastor himself, a bass player, an electric guitar player, a drummer, a keyboardist, and the saxophone player. I was blown away by the quality of sound and how amazingly gifted every single person up there was. There is something special about the mix of worship between two languages. There’s nothing else that helps me envision Revelation 7:9-10 more. “After this I looked, and behold, a great multitude that no one could number, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, clothed in white robes, with palm branches in their hands, and crying out with a loud voice, ‘Salvation belongs to our God who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb!’ And all the angels were standing around the throne and around the elders and the four living creatures, and they fell on their faces before the throne and worshiped God, saying, ‘Amen! Blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honor and power and might be to our God forever and ever! Amen.’” Every nation, every tongue, praising Him all at once. There is simply nothing more powerful or moving. When I envision heaven, that is how I picture it to be. We are united with a mutual understanding that Jesus Christ came and died for our sins and God is the utmost God. Wow, just wow. When they started to sing the songs that I’ve been singing in English, in Spanish, I immediately started to tear. The Holy Spirit’s presence was simply so apparent at those moments and the unity in Christ was so powerful, so impactful. The entire team was called upon stage to introduce ourselves and when it got to me, I said, “Hola, me llamo Vivian. I’m from Brooklyn.” David was after me and he said, “Hola, me llamo Dabid Canción..” When it got to someone who calls himself JJ, he said, “Hola, me llamo Jota Jota.” I almost fell off the stage laughing. Bob Coulter, our team leader, gave the sermon on how we need to preach the Gospel to ourselves each and every day. After service, we made our way to the back of the church and had a very authentic Dominican lunch. They were served in circular, styrofoam bowls and seemed to be some type of pork with beans and vegetables covered with a super tasty gravy-like sauce. David and I had a mini photoshoot because there was a little children’s playground that was decorated with a very pretty mural on the walls. We stayed there for quite a bit because we had to wait for additional team members to arrive. When they arrived, Bob made a few announcements, they ate. Dr. Kendall also announced that he’s was put in charge of leading the devotionals and if anyone wanted to share a testimony or devotional, to go to him.  When we went back to the hotel, I told Dr. Ken that I’m willing to share my testimony since I already had it on my laptop from when I shared it at my home church in December. I changed into a more comfortable dress and made my way back down to the first floor where people were meeting in the conference room for the “pill-packing party.” The pharmacy team needed help packing their jars of pills into little separate packets for more efficient distribution. I sat on the table with the prenatal vitamins and the children’s vitamins. I spent most of that time counting 15 children’s animal-shaped chewable vitamins and bagging them into little baggies while Doyin and Rachel, Dr. Ken’s daughter, were in charge of labeling each baggie. It was a nice time to get to know the people around me. Afterwards, David picked up Rachel’s guitar and started playing a few songs and we started a little jam session. Todd, one of the pharmacists, is in charge of the music during devotions and ended up joining us. Then, David and I went to check out the 8th floor, which is where the outdoor rooftop pool is and we discovered a sauna! We took a few pictures up there and then went down to sit in on the providers’ meeting. It was so interesting to see how these providers were strategizing on how to efficiently run the clinic tomorrow. Dr. Margaret Go requested all 5 year old and under be sent to her. She was the primary pediatrician. They talked about the types of medicine and care that was appropriate and then made sure to emphasize that the priority is to really dig for the stories of their patients so that they could pray for them and show their care and compassion. Afterwards, Dr. Ken told me that since I volunteered first, I could go first to share my testimony that very night. After our buffet dinner, I went to get my laptop in time for devotional time at 7. Todd’s way of leading worship songs was connecting his iPod to a speaker and we just sang along; I have never seen anyone else do this before. Dr. Kendall then shared about his life as a missionary and about our purpose on this trip. He shared several missions talked about a missions trip in the middle of a jungle. They were doing medical missions from village to village. One day, someone had told Dr. Ken about someone from another village with very severe abdomen pain but they were not planning to go to that village for another few days. So he had some people take him on a boat labeled “AMBULANCIA” and go to the village where that man was. This mans name was Eli and he was only in his early 20s. When Dr. Ken examined him, he realized that Eli had appendicitis and needed surgery ASAP. The nearest hospital was 9 hours away by boat and the people were not willing to spend their resources on this one man. They did not see life as valuable because so many people simply lived and died around them. After two hours of arguing and convincing, they finally agreed to take him. It wasn’t until a few years later did Dr. Ken get the notice that the church there was growing and eventually, Eli became the head pastor of all the churches in the area because of that one medical missionary that saved his life. Afterwards, I gave my testimony and some sisters came up and prayed for me and it was so empowering and encouraging and I’m so thankful for that. A lot of people came up to me afterwards to thank me for sharing my testimony as well. After devotions, David and I made our way to the pool and I went swimming as he waited for me to finish so we could go to the sauna. Randy and Katherine, and engaged medical school couple, joined us. Randy is David’s classmate and roommate for this missions trip. They joined us in the sauna for a little bit and we talked and got to know each other a little more. Then I went back to my room, showered, and called it a day. I went to sleep and prepared my heart for the big day tomorrow: Clinic Day 1!