It's Not A Competition

Earlier this week, Bassline inquired if I was down for some praise team practice. I jumped at the chance. Since I was introduced to the concept of praise team, I've had reverence for them. For the uninitiated, praise team is simply a group of people who lead the praise and worship section of a worship service. Usually it averages about 4 or 5 and is coed so that all the amazing harmonies can be projected. During college, the praise team had the power to make my day. The rest of the service could be banal, distracting, and even upsetting. But if the praise team's section was on point, the heavens were lifted for me.

Anytime I get to see people practice I try to go. I'm not so sure why I am always into the inner workings of things or the motivations behind such actions, but they always intrigue me. This time around, we were dealing with a haphazard praise team, busily setting up things for a special day at their church the next day. Mostly they were unprepared, yet wanted to be perfectionist. You couldn't fault them. They were still jovial and about Jesus, which is what the whole thing is supposed to be about. But you could also hear frustration, cause even they knew they weren't entirely getting it.

Out of nowhere, I felt a pull to guide some of the ladies. And point out some mic issues. And issue some advice on tempo. I don't know where it came from. Save for Bassline and his two friends, I didn't know any of these people. And within minutes they were asking for more help. I wish I knew more about the thing I love so much. I wish I had stuck with those piano lessons and learned theory. I wish I listened to more of the music so that I would know every part.

But I think knowing too much would take away some of the allure. I analyze everything enough. Praise time is the only time, I feel myself letting go completely. Singing your heart out with a bunch of like-minded people is part of my vision of heaven. And thankfully the team is never in competition. They just all want to win.

Quintessential

One of the things that I draw joy from at work is the knowledge that a wide range of children feel comfortable saying hi to me and joking with me. Every once in a while I get extra pleasure from the puzzled and sometimes frustrated looks of the staff who are actually their charges. 

Anyway today as I picked up one of my own, a boy from another program came up to me and called me a human dictionary. Quickly he quizzed me on the meaning of the word quintessential. I responded, as his teacher listened, that it was something pure or the best. I was happy when his teacher actually kind of agreed and said something like the superlative. Of course he said we were both wrong and that it was "something in its purest essence."

But as I walked away, I dwelled on the word and what he claimed was its true meaning. Purest essence. That is quite a concept. It would be so nice to have some elements of life just get refined to the point that it was back to the quintessential. 

Okay, I am aimless. Its best to end here before I get wildly philosophical and reveal way too much about my psyche

Fitness

As America struggles to cope with what seems like what will be a recession that will last for a spell, it is interesting to take a look at how the rest of the world is living. One such place is the Caribbean, never known as a haven for stability and prosperity. Instead, it has served as a petri dish for a cruel experiment. The ingredients include an interesting array of individuals, the vast majority not respected by their brethren. Add neglect and circumspect circumstances, including inadequate resources, easy substance abuse, absurd poverty. Watch the carnage.

I'm not sure what the hypothesis is, but it stands to reason that the objective falls in the sadistic category. Mad science has produced a strong set of people, hopelessly misguided and unable to reach their full potential. Haiti is an example as illustrated by this article about the class disparity in fitness clubs amongst the populace. In the plush neighborhoods, it is Gold's Gym for the well to do. Foreign ambassadors in the name of piety, philanthropy, and profit mingle amidst a couple of the more fortunate natives with electric gleaming machines and specialized protein shakes. Down the road in the more common poor neighborhood, their machines are only electric in history. Spare parts like car batteries serve as weights. At the all-star rate of only $8 a month.

And still most of the people in the neighborhood can't afford it.

Could you honestly survive like that? Even if they had the loot to have electric machines, it wouldn't make sense since the power goes out a regular basis. Now how long would I last sans electricity. Don't even want to think about it.

When power is fought over instead of talked about, agreed upon. Ugggh. But it happens. All over. Haiti. Next door in Quisqueya. West in Jamaica. South in Venezuela, Colombia. Oh yeah and isn't some of that profit money from (RED) clothes going to help slow the spread of AIDS in Africa, an ill product from the stew created for the experiment.

It's sad any way you look at it. And realizing that you actually have the option to easily save cash and use public transportation or turn on your television whenever you want.

Truly sad.
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On The Jukebox: Amel Larrieux - Believe In Love

Cut Off

At some point yesterday, the text messaging element of my cell phone service stopped functioning. I didn't notice it initially. My phone still said mine were going out. I just assumed the rest of the world was ignoring me for their own reasons. But as my colleagues were discussing cell phones, it occurred to me that mine might actually have been the problem. I had Mocha text me right then and I received nothing. And I texted him in return and received nothing.

I tried it in two different phones thinking maybe I hit a button on accident on my Blackberry, but it has sunk in that something is up with AT & T or my account. I'm still hoping that I will magically be inundated with a flood of texts but I know eventually I will have to investigate things further. So far though I think its been a blessing.

In my effort to cope with life's glitches, some grand reflection must be drawn out of it. Honestly I have been using the text as my primary mode of communication with everyone which is sad. More sad considering it took the loss of the tool for me to realize how pathetic it was all getting. I've grown so addicted to texts that I have been unable to produce more than two sentences written at a time. I almost can't speak for more than two sentences.

So now is the time to reclaim those other forms of communicating like actual conversation and extended e-mails instead of bits and pieces. This whole isolation thing I've been doing in the past couple of months is seriously unhealthy, and the longer I stay in it, the further it pushes me down. Looking back on this blog, even though no one reads it, I used to produce much more. And even though most of the time it was about utter nonsense, I still had enough motivation to do it. Where the hell did that go?

I'm off to wake up