Out of all of the shows I have been to there are two that compete for best show on my list.  What do both of these have in common? They were both Sufjan shows. While I am inclined to say that the Xmas Sing-a-long show (or as Sufjan kept calling it, "Christmas Bipolar Disorder") that happened last night in Boston at the Royale was superior to the Age of Adz show at the Orpheum in 2010,  I can't necessarily say that with full confidence because of where I was standing/seated. This time I was right in front of the stage with plastic unicorns and santa clauses bouncing right over my head. Confetti and giant balloon-ball things rained over me and Sufjan Stevens himself  danced 6 feet away from where I stood in his balloon-made unicorn outfit. 

I was also pretty partial to the audience involvement both on stage and in song. I mean, Sufjan knows how small our attention span is. So instead of going the "just stand up there and sing, play and talk" route, he interspersed the more serious songs with crazy dancy songs during which Rosie Thomas would make random commentary. I mean, how funny was the Christmas madlibs portion she performed? 

And the Wheel of Christmas! Maybe I'm just a simple product of an entertainment crazed culture and far too easily entertained.  But I thought the idea of spinning a wheel while the audience cheered "WHEEL OF CHRISTMAS" and the band danced around and played music until the arrow landed on some Christmas song was pretty awesome. And, might I add, that the audience sounded pretty damn good. Must've been all of that practice in church.  I mean, I'm not lying when I say that the audience sounded like a legit choir when we sang "Come Thou Fount" acapella. People like knew the parts and stuff. Then again, anyone who knows me knows how much I love to sing, so I'm totally biased here. 

In any case, Mr. Stevens knows how to put on a show! While I love going to hear bands play and sing live, what makes a show different from playing your favorite songs on spotify or watching them on youtube is that you get a small chance to interact with the artist. Whether it's the anecdotes and personal tid bits they share between sets or a completely different rendition of a song you've heard a thousand times, its these personal touches that make a show special. 

Sufjan's Xmas Sing-A-Long was one gi-normous personal touch: The chicken-superman outfit, the santa clause,  the stories about his hippi parents exclusively feeding him okra and taking him on a cleansing diet while all of the kids got to eat sponge cake and candy.  On stage you get a feel for his sense of humor and who he is. You feel like you're getting to know him a little bit.   He even manages to make some serious statements about capitalism and its effect on Christmas in a light-hearted way that seems entirely appropriate and not too debby downerish.  He makes fun of himself and his bandmates and just overall has a good time. 

Sufjan's Christmas Sing A Long felt more like I was at a party with the guy and his band rather than just watching him sing. 

Unfortunately, the rinky dinky camera on my phone did not capture things all that well and some of the best parts of the show that I tried to record are too crappy to put on here, but I tried! Here's what I could salvage: 

Sunday morning

I spent most of Saturday hung over, intermittently going over to the yoga studio I work for, signing folks in for class, laying on the couch and then signing people in again.
When I finally got home for good I laid in bed with my computer and eventually went to sleep. For 12 hours.
Needless to say, I was up at 6:45 am.
My body felt creaky and my stomach, cramp-y. I was convinced I had colon cancer.
But I proceeded to make some eggs, coffee and a berry-mango smoothy. I cleaned our old-fashioned sink reluctantly, followed by our dirt-speckled window sills. They are white now.
While the thought of calmly reading crossed my mind coupled with the thought of driving to my favorite yoga class that I could actually be on time for this morning, I did something wholly unproductive instead.
I stewed and re-played painful memories of the last year at my job. I wrote mock emails to managers and directors in what I thought was a compassionate tone. And I did this with good intentions. I wanted them to know what was happening under their noses. I wanted some form of justice. And as I read and re-read these emails something didn't feel right.
Yes, I wanted justice. But I also wanted recognition. And this is pride. This is arrogance.
Sure, should the director know about the favoritism and all the under-the-bus throwing going on? Sure. But this is not the best way to go about it and the truth is he probably already knows. My complaints will, at most, make me seem exactly what I am. Prideful. And, at worst, a tattle-tale.
After an hour and some change, I've done nothing with my morning but stew in my thoughts, in my pride and in my pain with little to no results. Those emails will just sit in the draft folder of my gmail account until I rediscover them again in a year's time when none of it will matter any more.
Maybe some day I'll be in a more centered and balanced position. And I'll be able to tell these folks from a more calm and less judgmental place just how hurt and undervalued I felt.