I just finished petting my cat (see the pic to the left). Having moments with Lucius is how I finish up most of my days in Miami. I'm not hugely social down here, it's too hard to get around. I don't have any money, my boyfriend is three thousand miles away, and so I sit in my arm chair and pet my cat. I don't think he minds. I thought I'd use today's post to give a rundown of my day for people who aren't in the opera business. Was today typical? Mostly methinks.
I'm up at 7:45 in the morning. Not being a morning person, the tiny travel alarm clock with the four-year-old battery worries me a bit. As I settle into Miami better (and this bloody hurricane goes away) I have a feeling I'm going to start sleeping through its meager signal and then we're all in trouble. If I jump right out of bed I have time for coffee and maybe a chapter or two in a book that has nothing to do with opera. If not, it's all business: feed the cat, shower, eat a bite, make the bed, make sure that cat takes a leak in the litter box, pack up my score, leave.
It's a twenty-five minute drive to work (if no drawbridges decide to rise, no trains pass, and I run into very few meandering Cuban drivers with nothing better to do on at 9:00 in the morning than drive in front of me). Radio stations are nonexistant here unless you want hip hop or latin rhythms, so I always try to have my iPod charged. Today it was Elvis Costello all the way there.
I'm at work by 9:15 so I can get a parking spot. I don't have one with my name on it and they are generally filled by 9:30. After that, it's a free-for-all in the surrounding neighborhood. I'm at an advantage because I'm willing to walk more than a block to work but I feel sorry for those lazy slobs who have to park at a meter and run out ever two hours to feed it (don't you do just as much leg work running back and forth as walking the extra two blocks to park in a free spot??? Whatever..).
My office is on the first floor but it feels like a basement with low ceilings, badly put-in carpeting that is wrinkled in four directions and a very flimsy door. I lock it at night but I'm not really sure what good it does. Sherrie Dee and her ASMs are even further into the dregs, behind another door and into an area covered over in pipes and insulation. I feel like I work in a warehouse. Anyway, I throw my stuff down, then walk around the corner and say hello to Chelsea, Jody and Sherrie Dee, the stage management staff, who are always there before me. (They say they live on the beach, but I'm not so sure....)
If I'm lucky, I get a little work done on my score in the hour and fifteen minutes before rehearsals begin. Today, however, my mother called to tell me that my grandmother is in the hospital and that, coupled with my obsessive map watching of Hurricane Wilma's path, left me with barely ten minutes to get my stuff together before we started staging. Tons of people stop in to wave or chat as I sit behind my desk. I can see them coming down the hall from where I sit so I know whether to act really busy or not. Brad, the musical assistant, dropped off an Eddie Izzard DVD today, and Felicity, who worked with me at Chicago Opera Theater, chatted for a little while as well. Andrew Chugg, the artistic administrator, came by when I first arrived to worry out loud about whether or not Lillian (our director) would be able to get in the building or not since it's locked on Saturdays. I informed him that I had a key made for her. I'm so good at quelling fears.
Oh, and by the way, my grandmother is okay as of right now, for those of you who were wondering. She's getting a pace maker installed but I have high hopes that she will be around a little longer.
10:30 is the beginning of the first rehearsal. Today we were working on Act II from Dick Johnson getting shot up until the end of the act. We started with Mikhail Agafonov and Elizabeth Blanke-Biggs, trying to figure out the path between him falling against the door and her hiding him in the loft. Mr. Agafonov is a trooper, flopping all over the uneven stage and acting wounded through some very difficult music. We, in fact, took ten minutes to run the music of this tiny bit of opera so that they could concentrate on the staging without losing their places. Lillian likened this part in the music to Stravinsky. After listening to it again, I can see where she's coming from. I find it very hard to make sure I know what's going on from the corner in which I am crammed most of the time. Since Act II only takes place on the central platform, I find myself climbing all over the set with my score to get a better look. During the poker game, I stood up on two chairs or sat at the onstage bar to see over the top of the table. I'm like a monkey, climbing all over the set, or a cat, sniffing out the smallest, most unnoticeable place to sit where I can still survey the entire room.
At first break, Sherrie and I talk about the schedule changing to accomodate the hurricane passing through. We hope they're right so we don't lose a day of rehearsal. I also run and call my dad to check on my grandmother, and look through my score so I can be ready for all of the blocking coming up in the next hour and a half. Lillian runs across the street for a bottle of water and brings me one too. She also brings a huge box of pastries for the singers sitting out in the lobby. The fastest way to a singer's heart is through their stomach.
Rance comes in for the last half of rehearsal, but waits for a bit as we finish up with Johnson. There's a bit where he throws a gun on the bed and Sherrie is worried that it will bounce off and hit Elizabeth or go into the pit. The maestro and singers make jokes about it hitting the violists (I personally could have laughed the same way about it hitting the soprano....but I digress). Ms. Blanke-Biggs exclaims that it would be like shooting fish in a barrel. We get right up to the poker game and Sherrie Dee calls for lunch.
Lunch is spent in my office. Today is actually the first time as the last three days Lillian and I have spent it in Sherrie's office watching the Glimmerglass video. Today we are taking respite at our respective desks. We start out with a conversation about our ever-changing schedule, then I call Bruce, the fight director, and give him the lowdown on next week. I check my email, check on Wilma (like a schizophrenic sister that I have to make sure is still alive..), and call my mom again. As I eat my peanut butter and work on my score, Lillian and I talk about the singers, their progress, what we need to work on. I am entranced by her stories of the building she's staying in and her impressions of Miami (Horrible!). I tell her that I sent my resume to Glimmerglass and she calls the Artistic supervisor there to remind him to take a look. Lillian could be responsible for a huge boost in my career and so I sit and enjoy lunch with her and giggle with her about anything and everything.
Patrick, one of our administrators, brought his 6-year-old son into rehearsals today. This little boy was enchanted with the production and told Lillian that the only improvement that could be made was to have Dick Johnson enter on a horse on wheels. Patrick told us that his son, at lunch, told him that he thought the show would be excellent because of his suggestion. Lillian and I thought so too. Lillian told Patrick to bring the little boy in as much as he could. Fresh opinions brings smiles to everyone's faces. We need them desperately as we get further into the rehearsal process.
Lunch ends and we are back in the studio for another three hours. I have not seen daylight since I arrived at work. More scheduling conversations on breaks and some more minor discussions of the hurricane and its projected path. We finish the act except for a minor bit in the center involving most of the cast. Rance and Minnie are stymied by the intense poker game at the end. They practice over and over but keep fumbling the cards and dropping them as they try to shuffle. Minnie keeps forgetting to cut the deck between hands and, when she gets really caught up in the cards, starts singing the baritone's lines. By the end they have all erupted into laughter and Elizabeth has her head on the table, her black hair falling all around the strewn cards. Only her shoulders are moving. Anthony Michaels-Moore (who Lillian calls "Michael" because of his last name, to which Anthony responds by calling Lillian "Doris" in his charming British accent) sits on the other side of the table very patiently, waiting for Elizabeth to get over her poker-induced nervous breakdown.
Despite, we are in good shape. The cast is working on the actual set with actual props. The schedule problems seem to be calming down as most of the people who were released will be back on Monday. We all seem to like each other well enough, and I am making some very good contacts it seems.
6:00 rolls around and I ask everyone if they need anything from me. When scheduling was driving us up a wall, Sherrie and I would talk for another hour and a half before I left, but today I got out of there scot free. I forgot to call Bruce again, but will do that in the morning. I jumped in my car in this horrid humidity, stopped by the grocery, and came home to feed and pet my cat. The evening would generally be spent by cleaning up my score and working on the Who/What/Where, but tonight I've decided to take an evening off.
Now it's two days off and I'm going to spend it riding out Wilma. Cross your fingers for me. I'd much rather be in the throes of rehearsal than here at home watching trees get ripped out of the ground.
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