Far be it from me to complain about my schedule.  After 2 years of bellyaching that no schedule was enough to stifle even the stalwart-est of spirits, I got my wish: structure.  Like I never could have imagined.  And now I run from sun up to sundown 6 days a week.  So I’m tired.  And every Monday looks the same…followed by every Tuesday…then every Wednesday.  The same long day filled with almost no wiggle room.  Will this go on forever? No.  But the end isn’t close enough in sight.  Yet.

Anyway, the past couple weekends I’ve been blessed with lots of singing gigs.  Every Sunday from sun up to sun down it seems like music is in front of me and I’m singin’: at rehearsals, at weddings, at mass, at weird Tridentine masses on the south side.  And it has been a joy.  But it’s interesting taking that step up from good amateur to paid singer…no one celebrates what’s going on.  You do the job and go home.  For awhile I used to be thrilled at blowing the socks off people…one person in particular…Paul…whose standards are incredibly high and who I live to impress.  But I’ve plateaued…in a good place…but in that place where no one comments anymore on your progress.  That kills me. Because there are times when I just cannot believe I’m doing what I’m doing…singing like I am…I literally have no idea how this sound is there or how I am reading this music.  Do.not.know.

So the long and short of it is this: today I got some feedback on this quartet thing we did on Monday.  I was the only untrained one of the bunch…and the feedback was good.  Very good.  And it was a moment long awaited…it was the minute I knew I earned my stripes.  I’m officially where I never thought I’d be.  And it’s better than I expected.

And the hill just got steeper.  And I love it.

To be sure, weddings are not my favorite events.  There will be nothing but grumbling from me when I have to go.  Am I curmudgeon? Yep.  My multiple experiences of truly lackluster weddings (which does not equal the total number I’ve been to…oh, if they could all be like Greg and Barb’s!) have made me the grumpy wedding-goer. Even the cakes are nothing exciting anymore…(c’mon people…throw me a piece of cake that doesn’t taste “white” and automatically I’m happier).

So it’s ironic that, because of a weirdly aligned cosmos, I now sing multiple weddings on any given Saturday (the churchy part…I can bust out an Ave Maria…preferably not the Schubert…with the best of ‘em).  Yesterday I sang three…in a row.  And by the end of the day I’d seen enough tulle and lacquered hair to last until the next solar eclipse (which is not soon, by the by).

But watching all of these circuses roll into the chapel, one more “bouffant” in all ways than the next, allowed me to better articulate my critiques.  I don’t have a beef with marriage and actually not with weddings either.  God willing, there may be circumstances in my life one day such that it all makes perfect sense.  No, my critique is with the lack of personality and intimacy in these hugely expensive extravaganzas of “love.”  (Personally I think it’s funny, and frankly concerning, that it’s love that we fixate on while kind of choking down that whole “commitment thing” which is the point of the whole exercise anyway.)  But, for all of the “love” that we gather to celebrate, those 3 weddings yesterday in rapid succession couldn’t have been more manufactured, pre-designed, or void of any touches that told me about the couple.  Just bunches of people, encumbered by their dress and role expectations,  following some kind of crazy ritualistic choreography with Nazi-like precision; no meaning, no enjoyment, no innovation. (There was, however, a Trolley for the third one which just made me even more annoyed…because what kind of vehicle should escort you to this wonderfully rich and meaningful celebration than something that makes me sing the Rice-a-Roni song in my head…don’t get me started on Trollies.)

So here’s what I realized: I don’t dislike weddings.  I just don’t like that people, in planning, are not doing what I would do.  Obviously, this works for them, so who am I to judge?  Especially when they’re paying me to show up?  Fine.  I’ll sing the Schubert Ave for ya…but I would never plan that myself.  I’ll go ahead and and wear that weird wrist corsage because I’m the “vocalist” and you want to make it appear that we’re friends, but frankly, no stranger would ever be singing at my wedding.  I’ll forgive that you have chosen to wear a tiara today…wait, no…sorry, that I just can’t forgive.

Bottom line: The way I’d line up “my big day” always comes in radically different than what I’m watching a lot of people do.  I think I embrace the idea of innovation when it comes to ritual: How do I take “it” and make it my own?  This was my question as I was walking home, exhausted, and wedding’d out (or so I thought).  But then, I find in my Facebook inbox that Kristine has left me this:

And I just thought, “Yes.”  And what I’d been waiting for all day was delivered.  One wedding that gave me some indication of what that life might look like after the last guest leaves and the #$#@ing Trolley pulls away. (There’s more to come on this video…I have a great analysis of why this is absolutely the best wedding entrance ever…look for that upcoming.)

And then…

I met my friend Kaye to see a musical at the Auditorium Theater…

And it, gave me the most cynical kick-ending to the day than I could have imagined.  Mistresses, as we learn, are just as ubiquitous as the weddings we witness.

It’s all a dicey business and interesting webs we weave.