New York, New York

Man, it’s been a busy few weeks.

I sang my first concert with The Washington Chorus at the end of April. We had a decent turnout and, overall, the performance went well. After several months of rehearsal, it was a disappointment to have it end in a few short hours. I was especially saddened to realize that I’d probably never have the opportunity to sing Barber’s Prayers of Kierkegaard again. What an remarkable piece of music.

Last weekend was insanely busy. Kirstin and I attended the annual dinner and auction for the chorus on Saturday. It was quite an eventful evening for both of us. Kirstin won a beautiful framed photo of pansies and tulips, as well as tickets to a Steelers-Redskins pre-season game, so she’s busy counting the days until she gets to see Mr. Roethlisberger play before her very eyes. I won a weekend in Philadelphia with David Hayes, the guest conductor at the last chorus concert. The weekend includes a stay at the Marriott Courtyard downtown, tickets to a Philadelphia Singers concert with the Philadelphia Orchestra, and a tour of the musical sites of Philly with David. Kirstin and I both spent a little more than we probably should have for these items, but our bidding was well lubricated by the wine we were serving (mostly to ourselves) as volunteer bartenders that evening.

Sunday, we went to the Annual Spring Gala at the Kennedy Center and enjoyed a fantastic concert by Harry Connick, Jr. I have several of his CDs, which I enjoy. But his style seems to work much better in live performance. The cleanliness of the sound on the CDs always bothered me a bit. Hearing him perform live was much more authentic.

Kirstin and I took off Monday and Tuesday to go to NYC. Why? Well, believe it or not, I lucked into two tickets to the CD launch party for Michael Buble’s new album, Call Me Irresponsible. It was a last-minute thing, one I absolutely could not pass up.

Kirstin’s main goal for the trip was to find some convincing knock-off purses, preferably Burberry. At the recommendation of the hotel’s concierge, we headed to Chinatown. Sure enough, Canal Street was lined with shop after shop, stocked floor to ceiling with purses, jewelry and perfume. They all seemed to carry the same styles: Dolce & Gabbana, Prada imitations (called “Pagoda”), Kate Spade…but no Burberry. We were about to give up after browsing at least 20 shops with no luck. We made our way into one of the last shops on the street when, unexpectedly, a hidden door at the back of the shop opened and a little Asian woman motioned us inside. I cautiously peered into the room, not knowing what I’d find. I half expected I’d be dragged into the room, my screams muffled by a Chloroform-soaked rag, leaving me vulnerable to the white slave traders doing business in the bowels of the city. But the little closet-sized room just contained more purses. I slowly stepped into the room and soon put 2 + 2 together: This was where the real counterfeit bags (is that an oxymoron or what?) were kept. Jackpot! Kirstin and I each got two bags. After I paid for mine, I was anxious to escape from the sweltering room, back into the open air of freedom. I tried to open the door, but found it was locked, and panic began to set in. As the Asian woman finished haggling with Kirstin, she radioed to someone outside, from whom she got some kind of confirmation that the coast was clear. She unlocked the door, shooed us out, and quickly closed and locked the door behind us. Kirstin and I marveled at the entire experience, questioning our decision to enter such a place, but decided it was worth it…we got great purses!

We returned to the hotel, got showered and dressed, and headed to Webster Hall for the launch party. We knew that the hall was standing-room only, but that was about it. We had no idea what else to expect. Who would be there? How many people? What was the venue was like?

We arrived around 6:15 to find about 150 fans waiting anxiously. We waited on line until the doors opened at 7:00, then made our way into the hall, up the stairs, through the will-call ticket line, and headed straight for the stage. Amazingly, we were able to get a spot right up front, a mere ten feet from the microphone. I’d say there were about 600 people in attendance. About 98% of the people there were female (big surprise) and I’d guess the average age to be about 40.

MB started the show around 8:00 and he was brilliant, as always. Witty, self-deprecating, charming, goofy…the kind of guy you want to, I don’t know, drink beer and go bowling with. And, of course, his singing was stellar. My only complaint was that the show only lasted about an hour. (Sorry you missed it? Watch the performance here.)

MB was scheduled to perform at the TODAY show on Tuesday, so Kirstin and I headed over there to check it out. The outdoor audience was filled with many of the same people who had been at the party the night before. I was a bit shocked to see the fanaticism of these people. Now, we all know that I’m a huge fan of MB, but these women were completely over the top. Homemade signs professing undying love for him. T-shirts reading, “I HEART MICHAEL!” Frenzied screams every time Al Roker or Meredith Vieira mentioned his name. And when he finally came out of the studio to sign a few autographs, it was mass hysteria. I was able to pose a question to him, which he answered for the TODAY blog, and to have a brief conversation with him outside the studio. Well, maybe “conversation” is a bit generous. I motioned for him to come our way and when he did, I said, “Do you mind if we get a picture with you?” He replied, “Let me get around and sign stuff for everyone, and then I’ll try to get back here. Okay?” Sadly, he didn’t make it back for a picture with us, but I managed to snap a few of him anyway.

Next, we decided to head down to Gound Zero. This was in total contrast with the frivolity of the rest of the trip, but neither of us had been there, so it seemed right. We arrived just in time to participate in a walking tour offered by the Tribute WTC Visitor Center. The tour was led by two individuals whose lives were directly affected by 9/11. One guide lost her husband when his flight from Boston hit the North Tower. The other guide was buried in the rubble and managed to dig his way out.

Upon first glance, the area appears to be just another construction site. But to stop and stand there, to gaze into the open sky, seeing the recently rebuilt 7 WTC building standing 55 stories tall, imagining the twin towers standing twice as high, and replaying the events of 9/11 in your mind. Overwhelming, to say the very least. The tour ended at Eleven Tears, the poignant memorial in the American Express Tower.

Kirstin and I returned home, stopping at my parents’ house for dinner and to pick up Ernie. We arrived at my front door around 10:30 p.m. on Tuesday. Only 37 hours after we left, but it felt like a week had past.