"When once you have tasted flight, you will forever walk the earth with your eyes turned skyward, for there you have been, and there you will always long to return."--Leonardo da Vinci
Tonight's red-eye will take me to NYC for tomorrow's session with Maestro Steven. G*d, I love these trips! I love the whole process of flying (although I do tend to want to bake screaming children into pies). One of my Life Goals is to become a licensed pilot by the time I'm 50; at my turtle-pace, this will indeed take the next 20 years. Right now, I'm debating which tourist-y thang to do: Empire State Building? Statue of Liberty? Walk around Greenwich Village? The brevity of the trip (as well as my moolah--or the lack thereof) does not lend itself to serious shopping. *Sigh.*
And my lessons with the Maestro are invigorating! He basically kicks my vocal-ass (hmm?) into shape until I am just one lean-mean-singing-machine. The day before travel is always tough: I'm wound up, but have to pace myself physically (so that I don't undo my months of PT, cutting off my air supply) and get extra sleep to counteract the red-eyeness. Basically, pure adrenaline lifts me through the lesson, and I collapse as soon as I'm back on the subway.
OK....I have nothing left to type....but wound sooo tightly....can't concentrate on reading* (!)....all I can picture is a giant barrel in which monkeys are rolling around in bowls of cherries.....EEEEE! Maybe I'll shut the hell up and go sing. Yeah. Sing.
*By the way, I'm reading Dracula right now, and it turns out that Dracula looks like a grandpa. Well, an evil grandpa, anyway. His white hair has receded from his "large, protruding forehead" and he has a giant mustache dripping down his cheeks! Oh, and hair sprouting out of the middle of his palms. You know, like grandpas do.
Tonight's red-eye will take me to NYC for tomorrow's session with Maestro Steven. G*d, I love these trips! I love the whole process of flying (although I do tend to want to bake screaming children into pies). One of my Life Goals is to become a licensed pilot by the time I'm 50; at my turtle-pace, this will indeed take the next 20 years. Right now, I'm debating which tourist-y thang to do: Empire State Building? Statue of Liberty? Walk around Greenwich Village? The brevity of the trip (as well as my moolah--or the lack thereof) does not lend itself to serious shopping. *Sigh.*
And my lessons with the Maestro are invigorating! He basically kicks my vocal-ass (hmm?) into shape until I am just one lean-mean-singing-machine. The day before travel is always tough: I'm wound up, but have to pace myself physically (so that I don't undo my months of PT, cutting off my air supply) and get extra sleep to counteract the red-eyeness. Basically, pure adrenaline lifts me through the lesson, and I collapse as soon as I'm back on the subway.
OK....I have nothing left to type....but wound sooo tightly....can't concentrate on reading* (!)....all I can picture is a giant barrel in which monkeys are rolling around in bowls of cherries.....EEEEE! Maybe I'll shut the hell up and go sing. Yeah. Sing.
*By the way, I'm reading Dracula right now, and it turns out that Dracula looks like a grandpa. Well, an evil grandpa, anyway. His white hair has receded from his "large, protruding forehead" and he has a giant mustache dripping down his cheeks! Oh, and hair sprouting out of the middle of his palms. You know, like grandpas do.
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