The dutiful daughter always goes with her mom to Russian church on Easter, even if that means getting up early on a Sunday to take a crowded Metro North train to Stamford, where the people were almost outnumbered by the potted Hyacinths everyone seemed to be carrying. (Hostess gifts. Let's stop the madness.)
It was a struggle, since I was up late the night before because I went to see Jon Batiste at Webster Hall. As usual, it was an amazing concert, and I have now seen him perform three times in less than a year. I am getting dangerously close to being a fan girl.
If anyone wonders why I am so into Batiste, his song "The Jazz Man Speaks" pretty much sums it up. I love how Batiste, a modern, 20-something jazz man, samples from Jelly Roll Morton's Library of Congress Recordings. The old with the new, all while moving the genre forward. Which is essentially what jazz is all about.
Fun fact: 90% of the time when I go to a show, I go alone. I accepted the fact a long ago that my taste in music can be esoteric, if not a little advanced, and so I just buy myself a ticket and show up when there is someone I want to see. I've lived in Manhattan since the beginning of time (1999) so I often see someone I know at the venue anyhow. There's rarely a reason to bring anyone along as an arm charm.
Case in point: I saw Mike! I met him through Erin C. back in 2006, and he popped up at the show.
Every weekend begins with a run, and Saturday morning I ran with the people from Juice Press, an organic juice company with locations -- and weekend run clubs -- all over Manhattan. We ran 22nd and Fifth Avenue all the way down to Tribeca via the West Side Highway. I'm kind of loving West Side runs lately. Everyone seems so much more glamorous.
