Bright College Years

Two weeks ago, I celebrated the 10th anniversary of graduating from college by attending my reunion in good ol' still-crime-stricken New Haven. It was, in a word, surreal.

Compared to the 5th year reunion, this weekend was way more chill. There were some similarities -- mediocre food, weird/amazing dance parties (see above photo), pretty low-shelf booze considering how much we all spent on tuition (not to mention spent to attend the damn reunion -- $225!). You see some friends you've stayed in touch with, a few that you haven't and are genuinely delighted to reconnect with even though because of Facebook you know about their new job/spouse/baby/book/sexual orientation. And then there are tons of randos -- folks you literally haven't thought about for ten years and those you never met at college. In other words, complete fucking strangers. But that's okay, that's what the open bar is for.

But after only five years out, reunion felt more cutthroat; many of my peers were in law school or med school, or in the throes of applying to one or the other. We all looked relatively the same. Few had married and there was maybe one baby. We were all basically the same amount of mature at 27 that we were at 22. And instead of just being pleasantly filled with nostalgia, I remember actively longing to still be in college instead of working and paying bills and dealing with shitty Craigslist roommates.

Not so this time around -- now we're in our thirties. Lots of my classmates have "settled down," so to speak. A few are even on their second marriages. Instead of bragging about careers, we have funny stories of failure to share that we all can relate to. Because despite our expensive degrees, we fucked up as much as any other 20-somethings and now we can admit it and have a good laugh.

I appreciated the more mellow vibe. And instead of apologizing/justifying my career choice, like I felt I had to do at the last reunion (one person literally said, "wow, that's so brave!" when I said I was getting my MFA in poetry), I fully owned up to the fact that I am a poet. And instead of snickering, people seemed supportive and curious. Despite not having a ring on my finger or a pregnant belly (babies were THE must-have accessory of this reunion), I felt okay about my life.    

Of course, no Yale reunion would be complete without a ton of a cappella singing. Whiffenpoofs ranging from age 27 to 90 performed, and my senior women's group sang a few songs as well, despite the alumni association's utter inability to provide us with any concert logistics. 

And speaking of singing, I'm proud to say that I was able to refrain from drunkenly wailing Adele's "Someone Like You" to my college sweetheart, who was there with his wife. 

 College boyfriend on the left; the guy on the right is my current roommate. Picture taken Sept. '99. I still have those pajama pants.

I also finally learned the words to our school song, "Bright College Years," and have to admit, they resonate a lot more now.

Bright college years with pleasure rife
The shortest, gladdest years of life
How swiftly are ye gliding by
Oh, why doth time so quickly fly?
The seasons come, the seasons go
The earth is green or white with snow
But time and change cannot avail
To break the friendships formed at Yale.

In after years when troubles rise
To cloud the blue of sunny skies
How bright will seem through memory's haze
Those happy, golden bygone days.
Oh let us strive that ever we  
May let these words our watch-cry be,
Where'er upon life's sea we sail:
For God, for country, and for Yale!

When you are a Yale student and everything is coming up roses/the future seems blindingly bright/you feel invincible, it's hard to believe troubles will ever cloud your skies. But it's true that when that happens, there are friends from your bright college years that will stand by you and remind you that things could always be worse. For instance, you could have gone to Harvard.

At Yale, we sometimes drink alcohol out of giant trophy cups.

Funkin'....eh?

As many of you know, I am a proud member of a Boston "vocal band," a.k.a. non-collegiate adult a cappella group. Yes, I'm even cooler than you thought. When I joined this group back in March 2009, the group had four members (2 guys , 2 girls) and was called Downtown Crossing. Downtown Crossing had existed for some unknown number of years and performed a few regular high-profile gigs (like the Boston AIDS walk) and the occasional private event. However, not long after I joined, 2 of the 4 of us left, and a bunch of new folks came in. And something we all agreed on was that our name kind of sucked. I mean, Downtown Crossing is like my least favorite area in Boston. It's such an eyesore. It brings to mind fast food chains, a urine-soaked T stop, and the sad, gutted remains of the original Filene's Basement.

Filene, I'm glad you're not alive to see this.

So we came up (or, really the friend of a member came up) with a new name: Funkin' A!

The exclamation is part of the name, which will become relevant in a moment.

Funkin' A! is ridiculous, but so is singing a cappella when you're a grown-up. At least with a tongue-and-cheek name, it's clear that we're in on the joke. And let's be real, it's not like people were clamoring to hire us when we were Downtown Crossing.

Now, fast forward to January 2011. Funkin' A! has done a handful of legit gigs, at venues like Harper's Ferry (R.I.P.) and All Asia. We are seven members strong. Our visual blend is excellent (i.e. we're good-looking). We have a functional website, a solid repertoire of more than dozen songs, and a Facebook fan page. Then we received this e-mail:

Hello guys and girls.

My name is Kyle Fitzpatrick. I am the singer/guitarist and primary songwriter of Funkin' A...we have been together using the name "Funkin' A" for 2 years now. Im sending a friendly message telling you I have had this name Trademarked. I have had the official certificate for the past two months. I have known of your existence for a while now, but thought you guys might realize that we did have it first and we play very often. Our website will be up soon. We are going to be recording an album that will be on iTunes in the next few months and your name must change. We will likely come to play Boston. We are completely prepared to take this to the next step if you guys do not comply. Its a great name, and we had it first. I expect to hear back in a timely response, or you will hear from our lawyers.

Kyle Fitzpatrick

Funkin' A


Friendly message? Seemed a little douchey to us. And honestly, how serious can the band be if they don't even have a website? This photo accompanied the e-mail, further convincing us of the ass-itude of Mr. Fitzpatrick, who has yet to master how to flip an image in Photoshop. (That's probably next on the agenda, after setting up a website and leading his Funkin' A incarnation, which happens to be a Long Island-based jam band, to superstardom.)

I mean, he has a goatee and is wearing some kind of beret/beanie chapeau. COME ON.

We composed a polite response to Mr. FitzP, explaining that we hardly pose a threat and hey, isn't the world big enough for two bands with the same silly name? We have no iTunes aspirations. We will never perform outside of Boston. It's unlikely our respective "fans" will ever get confused. And besides, our name has an awesome/hilarious/ironic exclamation point after it. TOTALLY DIFFERENT.

Kyle wrote back a nastier missive than the first one, still threatening legal action and still demonstrating an ignorance of when to use apostrophes. Our group has reached a consensus that if this dude really wants to shell out a grand to pay a lawyer to send us a cease and desist letter, well, let him do that. His money to waste as he pleases. We are doing funking nothing until a certified letter arrives. This is assuming Kyle's crack legal team (apparently he has "lawyers" plural) can even find a physical address for us. Good luck with that, Kyle.

In the meantime, we are considering the following possible names:
1) The Kyle Fitzpatricks
2) Fun$kin' A!!!!!!!!
3) Funkin' B
4) Fuckin' A (though we'd probably lose the AIDS Walk gig)

Finally, for your reading pleasure, I give you Funkin' A's sentence-fragment-infested bio, in which I have highlighted what I believe to be the most mock-able elements:

"Funkin' A is a cognitive ensemble driven by the perpetual quest to rock the funk out. From Long Island, NY - absorbing themselves in as many different styles of music as they can to fuel their diversity....striving to be open vessels to the ever-evolving new possibilities in this musical universe. The band took shape in Jan. 2009. Each musician had been in different projects and various outfits. They are now eclectic groove conductors. Diverse, catchy rhythms...unique songs.. They are not your average band....Come see Funkin' A."

It's true, they are not your average band, excuse me, "cognitive ensemble." They are much, much worse. I would say that if you're in the New York area, avoid this group like the plague, but I don't have to. Unless you're in Patchogue or Amagansett, NY, Funkin' A won't be playing at a venue near you anytime soon.

Weekend update

I rarely use my blog as a forum to merely recap my activities (I like to kid myself by thinking people who don't know me might enjoy reading this), but sometimes, a weekend is so epic that it merits some 'logues love. This past weekend involved celebrity sightings, trips to two cities where I used to live, and a lot of singing women.

On Friday, I took the bus to New York City. The purpose of my 16-hour visit was to see "Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson" at the Public, directed by my friend from college, Alex Timbers. Alex is pretty much a celebrity now in his own right -- when the New York Times profiles you and describes your show as "devastatingly shrewd," you've pretty much made it. (Though my personal favorite description of Alex came from performer/writer Mike Daisey, who described him as "a cross between Jesus Christ and Ashton Kutcher"). I had the pleasure of being directed by Alex back in 2006, when I played a roofied-and-raped suicidal rave girl in Hell House:


Another sign that you've hit the big time? When STEVE MARTIN comes to your show. That's right, I saw Steve motherf*cking Martin on Friday night. I walked past him on the way to the ladies' room at the Public. We locked eyes and I gave him my best "I know who you are but I'm going to be cool about it and not say anything or ask for your autograph" smile and he responded with a relieved "I know you know who I am and thank you for not making a scene" expression. We had a moment, it was nice.

The show is incredible -- definitely check it out if you're in the New York vicinity between now and May 9th. I mean, it's an emo-rock musical about Andrew Jackson and the Populism movement. What's not to love?

After the play, I went to a fundraising party for an indie film some friends of mine are involved with. And who walks into the party just after midnight but Zachary Quinto, a.k.a. Spock from the new Star Trek movie (or Sylar, if you watch Heroes). Now, keep in mind, when I lived in New York, I never saw famous people. Apparently, they don't ride the G train or frequent the midtown Kaplan center. So seeing two in one night was pretty nifty. ZQ was very affable and charming, btw.

So that was Friday night. Saturday morning I boarded a Metro North train bound for New Haven. Now, a lot of people hate on New Haven -- sure, it's a little ghetto and not as shiny and gentrified as, say, Cambridge, but I still love it. I came back to celebrate the 40th anniversary of The New Blue, Yale's oldest women's a cappella group, which was founded in 1969, the first year of coeducation at Yale. New Blue is actually the oldest women's organization of any kind at Yale. And I was lucky enough to be a member, from 1999-2003.

At the reunion, I met women from the original class of New Blue and it was incredibly moving. There was a lot of singing, hugging, and crying. As I'm writing this, I'm realizing there's really no way to describe what I felt singing alongside true pioneers, the first women to graduate from Yale. It sounds cheesy, but they paved the way. And being in a room full of strong, powerful, beautiful, smart women is an experience I can't really put into words.


At one point during reunion, we sang a song called "River of Birds." The lyrics are as follows: "There's a river of birds in migration, a nation of women with wings." Those simple lines are repeated, starting with one voice singing alone and slowly building until there are multiple harmonies and voices. While we were singing, one alum's four-year-old daughter ran up to the stage and started singing along. Not a dry eye in the place, trust me.

So that was my weekend. How was yours?

And so my 30th year of life begins....

Guess what? I turned 29 yesterday!

I had a hangover approximately the size of Montana since the celebrating started the night before, after my first full-length concert with vocal band, Funkin' A! (yes, the exclamation point is part of the name). Or more accurately, the celebrating started during the concert when during an extended instrumental break of one of my solos (Michael Jackson's "Working Day and Night"), I did a shot at the bar. Because I'm just that gangsta. We performed with more established (but less visually stylish) groups Overboard and Similar Jones. Fun times.

Then we went to my former place of work, the Hong Kong, for some karaoke. My brother (visiting from NYC) serenaded the pretty bartender with an amazing version of Taylor Swift's "You Belong With Me." My memory starts to get a little fuzzy around the point where my old boss started buying rounds of shots. Hence, the Monday hangover.

But I pulled it together in time for a lovely birthday dinner at Cuchi Cuchi, where I reserved the Chico Chica Boom Table, New England's first interactive LED (light-emitting diode) table.

It was a great night, with great company. I am a lucky girl. And like a French Bordeaux, I'm only getting better with age. I'm confident that my 30s will be filled with less folly than my 20s, a.k.a. "my salad days/ when I was green in judgment" (Antony and Cleopatra, Act I).

Green in judgment, indeed. That's putting it mildly.

Because mass e-mails are so impersonal

There are some new developments in my life! And if you are reading this blog, you might care about them (emphasis on the "might").

1. I have a new job!

I have been hired as a waitress at a new restaurant opening in the financial district. It's called Exotic Sushi and Tapas. Which is an odd combo, but hey, I'm trying to keep an open mind. I hope people still eat sushi during a recession. I plan to, at least. I could never give up Dragon Rolls.

Yum.

2. I have joined an a cappella group!

It's called Downtown Crossing. I haven't rehearsed with them yet, but I miss singing and performing so I'm looking forward to getting started. And apparently, a cappella is having a bit of a renaissance, what with Ben Fold's Five's new album featuring collegiate a cappella covers of their songs, and the upcoming Conspiracy of Beards (all-male a cappella group that sings only Leonard Cohen) concert at the Highline Ballroom in New York.

3. I am writing for a new sex blog!

It's called The Sex Appeal and I'll be posting twice monthly, on alternate Mondays. In homage to my name and the infamous hard-to-find spot, I hope to call my column The Silent "G". My first post should be up this Monday. It will be a review/adult perspective on Judy Blume's racy teen novel "Forever," which got me quite hot and bothered when I read it at age 11. Will it still seem as raunchy now that I've actually done the deed? Tune in Monday to find out.

So that's all the latest...apologies to people who read this blog and have no interest in the personal life of its author.

Happy Belated Halloween!

Ok, it's two days late, but still...it's the thought that counts.

I spent Halloween night waitressing (in my guitar costume), but yesterday, in honor of the Day of the Dead, I rode the ferry out to Salem, MA with some other Emerson grad students. Though various websites assured us that Halloween festivities would be happening all weekend, the town was actually pretty quiet. By the time we arrived at noon, they had already taken away the 1,000-pound pumpkin. We were greatly disappointed.


We did visit the Salem Witch Museum (which would have been better had it featured an animatronic Tituba) and then hung out at the Psychic Fair, where I received a reading from The Stone Lady. We also pondered our mortality in a historic graveyard, which was conveniently located next to a fried dough stand and the New England Pirate Museum.

Since no one was burned at the stake or wrongfully imprisoned, I guess the trip was a success. And check out the gorgeous sunset we witnessed while waiting for the commuter rail:


And now, two spooky videos, both filmed yesterday by moi. The first is not for the faint at heart!




Listening to a cappella the day after Halloween with a raging hangover = horrifying.

And finally, a Halloween hat that sings and dances.