I’m tired of your shit, Dove. PICK ONE.

#SparksOfJoy: A weekly post about something that makes me happy

Jean Sibelius: Symphony No. 2: An early 20th Century work that opens with a gorgeous, watery, almost circular pulse that deliciously grows and evolves and eventually explodes in a brassy, anthemic, triumphant statement of hearty Scandinavian pride. Its ebbing and flowing between muted contemplation and rousing, full-brass glory are textbook Romanticism, though it was written (in 1902) two years after the Romantic movement in music is conventionally defined as ending. I discovered this symphony via a CD that was shipped to me in error from an order I’d placed from a CD club in the mid-1990s, and I was literally enraptured by it within hearing its first subtle, pulsing phrases. Since then, I’ve heard it live more times than I can count, including once from the chorus seats (which are sold to the public for performances that don’t involve a chorus) above the Chicago Symphony Orchestra’s mighty brass section in Chicago’s Orchestra Hall. The experience was profoundly transcendent for me.

Fun fact: Sibelius is probably most famous for his stirring 1889 tone poem Finlandia, which was written as a covert protest against growing censorship against the Russian Empire.

Today's moment of pure ridiculous joy: Bridget rolling around in delirious happiness

Mom and Dad and their 50-year-old on his very happy birthday

#HowToTurn50

I’m tired of your shit, Dove. PICK ONE.

Happy and safe running today, NYC!

Seven years ago this weekend I went to New York, saw some shows, had dinner with some lifelong friends, and ... oh, there’s something else I’m forgetting here ... shows ... dinner ... yes! That’s it! I ran my seventh (and so far last) marathon! With Jared from Subway! Well, not really WITH him; Subway was not going to let him embarrass the company with any kind of marathon-related scandal so they had him running literally in a ring of elite runners who made sure he crossed the finish line ... right in front of me. The jerk. He went on to pursue other scandals soon after the marathon, while I went on to curse my decision to leave all my cash in my hotel room during the marathon so I had to hobble more than two miles around marathon blockades from Central Park West to East 45th Street after the run because I couldn’t pay for a cab. But Woody Allen saw me cross the finish line, so the entire race was like a red carpet gala. I even took home a big shiny award, which I self-congratulatorily wore along with many of my crippled marathon brethren to LAX the next day.

Of course, all of this was back when the only thing runners had to focus on was the joy of running through 26.2 miles of cheering crowds in all five NYC boroughs and not being wounded and murdered by terrorists. The 2017 NYC marathon is happening as we speak, under 26.2 miles of heavy security — a week after multiple pedestrians were murdered in a terrorist attack in lower Manhattan. I’m sitting here in Iowa unable to protect today’s runners so each one can experience the same euphoric joy I did when I ran, but I know we’re all putting our trust in the extended local law enforcement to keep everyone safe. I don’t know if I know anyone who’s running today, but my heart is with everyone, and I’m excitedly cheering from afar in the hopes that today’s marathon is as thrilling — and safe — as mine was for every runner.

#Same

Today's moment of pure, ridiculous joy: Liza Minnelli sings "Ring Them Bells"

I don't know why I love this song so much. It's not technically from a show. I've never been a huuuuuuuuuge fan of Liza. In fact, most of her Liza with a Z concert makes me bleed from my nipples. Bob Fosse's choreography to the song -- and to the entire concert -- is clownish, poorly rehearsed and alarmingly sloppy. And oh, dear. That dress.

But "Ring Them Bells" is Kander and Ebb at their collaborative finest: simple melodic lines with enormous hook and impact, broad storytelling through seemingly offhand details, a seamless fusion of pathos and humor, an underscoring of inspired silliness, and a big belty chorus that throws me against the farthest wall in a puddle of goosebumps every time I hear it. I can't find a YouTube video of it with terribly amazing sound, but it doesn't even matter how watery the sound is when you see Liza finally marching downstage flopping her knees and hyperextended elbows between the rows of sloppy clown dancers as she belts to the rafters for the umpteenth time that ya gotta Ring! Them! Bells!

Even in that jailbait babydoll dress.

It's been a good day

It's been filled with uncling and friends and gym time and more friends and theater and more friends and kick-ass shoes I forgot I had. It's just been a good day.