A Day Late and a Synapse Short

Frustration set in this afternoon as I realized that I may have missed a deadline to register for a summer dance festival in San Diego. I emailed a bunch of half-assed information and promised to send well-written hard copies next week. I hope that works. I hate missing deadlines! I try so hard to be organized and get everything out as it becomes due and things still fall woefully through my fingers.

I have fleeting moments of ultimate confidence in my life, and the rest of the time I sit in a perpetual state of mild anxiety.

The ultimate confidence state of being has been conspicuously absent for me the last few days.

Transitions usually do this I think. Leaving a place, people, experiences, leaves me with a sense of brief longing. I wonder if I will be able to make connections as well in the next place. I get nerves thinking about the next experience - this is especially true when the next experience, like St. Louis, is brand new for me. I think most people are nervous their first day on the job. I change jobs every couple of months, so there's always that twinge of nervousness floating around in my skull and heart. By and large, however, I think I'm suited to this type of work. I'm a loner, I work well under pressure, and I get bored when I'm in one place too long.

The conflict is this want of roots that I've had as long as I can remember. I'm getting married to this man I want to be with for the rest of my life and the thoughts of a little one running around have certainly entered the forefront of my mind. All of these contradictions in my desires keep me well on my toes when it comes to career decisions.

Anyway . . . missing confidence. I went to see "Georges Bizet: An Unfinished Master" at the Wolfsonian Museum last night. It was put on by the Florida Grand Opera's Young Artist Studio and was a terrific showcase of Bizet's music performed by all of the young artists. I was particularly excited to see it because I've been working with all of these incredible talents. It's so fun to watch friends and colleagues perform work that I haven't worked on. It's a wonderful mix of absolute surprise and complete familiar. Regardless, they were terrific; the work was beautifully sung and every one of the young artists have their own distinct presence which made the entire performance dynamic.

I left, despite being aurally pleased, with a let-down feeling, knowing that this is not a community I will be able to dig into. I leave in a week. I'm watching these people grow, supporting them and knowing that I will probably work with a number of them again, but there may by a couple I never see after next weekend. There's a rootlessness in my life that comes creeping in at the oddest times.

I came back to my tiny place and took the online placement test for Jeopardy!. I was telling a friend earlier today that there is no faster way to feel like a complete idiot than by taking the Jeopardy! test. I'm terrific at Jeopardy when I'm playing in my room, answering the questions with no pressure whatsoever. However, when the countdown starts and every question I answer goes towards a score that may or may not allow me to continue in the interview process to be on a show that could win me a lot of money, I suddenly become neanderthal. The most frustrating part was finishing the test and suddenly remembering the answer to the fifteen or so questions that completely went over my head when I was actually in the moment. Aaaaaaargh!

I am deflated.

Ah well..when I'm feeling like this, things can only get better. Tomorrow is, thankfully, another, different, better day.

Si Vendetta, Si Vendetta, See Vendetta!

Saw "V For Vendetta" today at Aventura Mall. I purposely refrained from reading press and reviews until I saw the film. Having read all of them now, I agree with some of what they say, but not everything.

First of all, Natalie Portman is unbelievably hot and therefore makes any movie easy to watch no matter what its problems might be. I remember seeing her in "The Professional" lo those many years ago and thinking that she was going to go very, very far in her career. When people started giving her flak about "Star Wars" I defended her to the end, trying to get people to understand how bad Lucas' scripts are. I feel vindicated watching her in this film. She's wonderful - subtle, brooding, brave; her performance made me not care about her faulty British accent one bit.

I thought the movie was a great ride overall. I thought the message was interesting - and clear. I thought it was a huge f**k you to the US government. There's a bit of a buzz that the fascist leader of Britain, played by John Hurt, is modeled after Bush, which is completely ridiculous. The movie is still very much about the fascist overtaking of the British government. Where the US government comes into play is as a catalyst. The script indicates that, like the Treaty of Versailles, which weakened Germany enough to allow someone like Hitler to take power, the actions of the U.S. government right now, if continued in the same direction, will leave many governments (such as Great Britain) open to that kind of leader to come in and take over. Playing the fear card can leave all of us without our freedom.

The movie had one scene of gratuitous, special effects laden violence, and tended to go a bit towards the cheesy dialogue towards the end. Mostly, however, I found it thought-provoking, ballsy and, above all, entertaining. The best entertainment is the kind that makes us think later. Is it far-fetched? Perhaps a little, but ultimately I think a defiant smack in the face of where we are heading.

I've read that the author of the graphic novel on which the film was based asked to have his name removed from the credits. I'm not sure what his biggest beef was other than the fact that the Wachowski brothers have altered the story in a few ways in order to move it away from a response to Thatcherism and push into a more timely place.

So there. It's relevant, it's entertaining, and Natalie Portman's hot. What more do you need to know?

Finally, a Week of Respite

This Monday begins five days of doing my own thing. It's much needed after a very stressful week of performances last week. Grant's triumphant performance was just the beginning. Our Rigoletto cancelled again for the Friday night show, again at the last minute. Grant had a performance elsewhere and had to leave. Fortunately, the company had already flown someone in as a safety net, so I did exactly the same thing as the Tuesday night performance.

The stress on Tuesday was mitigated by an extreme excitement and an amazingly emotional performance by Mr. Youngblood. Friday, however, had all of the stress of throwing someone in at the last minute, but none of the adrenal excitement. It was more frustrating than before, the singer was having vocal issues due to the dryness of the theater, and there wasn't the emotional investment in the performance that was evident before. I left the theater completely worn out and a bit deflated.

The Sunday Matinee was finally back to normal! I was nervous making my performance calls that morning, thinking that our baritone would sound under the weather again, but everyone sounded cheery (some a little groggy . . . those matinees are always hard to get up for). The show went well. I sat in the balcony (you can see from the photo). The set looked spectacular from up there with moody lighting and those buildings hanging at odd angles, as if the entire world was closing in on Rigoletto as the curse gets more and more malevolent. I think this is a lovely production - probably even more so when it's done in a theater in which the entire set fits. We had to modify it to get it into Dade County Auditorium. It lost a little perspective because three arches didn't fit in the back, and two didn't fit along the sides in the ducal palace.

It was great to finally watch the show from the house; something I didn't have time to do when I was prompting baritones and walking them through their blocking during intermissions. I sat on the couch in the production office before the show started and marveled about how little I had to do. I certainly prefer it that way.

We had a cast party after the show. I cannot begin to explain how nice it was to completely let go after a week of constantly being on my toes. It was great to dance, to talk shit, to laugh, to partake in a couple of beers, sit in comfy chairs and laugh at each other, pose for ridiculous photos and bitch about everything we were going through after this show opened. Socializing is good for the soul.

Personal Heroes and Leaving This Place

Today is a day off. I couldn't sleep the night before and spent several hours on the phone with John, watching the light begin to appear between the slats of the blinds. By consequence, I woke up really late today (we're talkin' after noon here) and it'll take me a few days to get back to my normal sleep schedule.

This is a strange transitionary time in my life. I'm about to leave Miami, which has been my home for six months. It's odd. I am so excited to be out of here, but feeling a little bittersweet about leaving these people I've worked with since October. I've made friends here, started interesting relationships that won't continue on a smooth path once I'm gone. I didn't think I'd be sad to leave at all but I guess I am.

This run has not turned out as smoothly as it appeared it would. Good in a way because it allowed me the opportunity to prove myself as an adaptable and calm director a little bit more. Our Rigoletto got sick last week and cancelled for Tuesday night's show. At the last minute, we flew in Grant Youngblood, who is scheduled to sing the role at Broward County, but wasn't prepared to do it this early - a whole two weeks is a whole lot of prep time that didn't get to happen.

I was kind of a basketcase when I first heard that I was going to have to stage Grant in at the last minute, but we all came through the flying colors. He arrived at the theater at 6pm, I followed him around with my score and led him through the paces of the first act as soon as he'd been fit into his costume. He was nervous, sweaty-palmed, constantly mumbling through his lines as he wrote down frantic notes about blocking and exits.

We placed prompters on both sides of the stage and I planted myself on book behind the first wing on stage right, where most of his entrances were. He jumped in with gusto and made a great impression on the truly giving and wonderful audience. I was hopping around backstage, willing him to cross at the proper time and exit in the proper wing. Andrew, our assistant conductor, was equally pumped, prompting Grant through the hard spots and going through all of the musical tripping spots before each scene. We worked through the show an act at a time, music staff and myself invading his dressing room at intermission to get him prepped for the next act. Each intermission ended up being about ten minutes too long so that we could get him completely staged in.

Grant was an absolute rock star. He ran out on stage and handled the role with such aplomb, I was gritting my teeth and smiling broadly through the adrenalin. Every time he hit his mark and dropped to his knees at the appropriate time I would jump up and down with glee. I was so proud of how well received his performance was. I thought he did a terrific job! This kind of night is what makes live theater an amazing experience. The adrenalin floating from singers to staging staff and back was such that made the whole energy of the show prickly and fabulous. There's no way the audience didn't pick up on the electricity.

I finished the show off pumping my fists in the air, everyone around us congratulating each other and smiling. I was ecstatic and amazed at the experience. What's so funny about these types of nights is that this is what we all train for - this is the scenario we all make sure we're ready for. This is why I work in this hard, sometimes horribly raw and unhappy vocation, yet I hope I never have to deal with that type of last-minute nervousness ever again. What a strange dichotomy. I loved it and hated it all at the same time.

Grant Youngblood was my personal hero Tuesday night. It took a lot of courage to do what he did. I can't wait to see what he does with the role in Broward County, when he actually has rehearsal time to prepare.

And so we are continuing to prepare for the possibility that sickness could remain an issue to contend with. I cross my fingers that everything falls back into that healthy place but breathe a little sigh of relief knowing that I can take care of it if worse comes to worse.

And the bittersweet moment of leaving this company looms closer and larger with every bonding experience. Thank god the opera world is small . . . I am constantly running into lovely people I've worked with before. The web doesn't break just because I get on a plane.

I Am A Dancer...

This is a statement I used to use all the time. When people asked me what I did for a living, this was how I responded.

Lately I've noticed a drop in this response. I also noticed, while reading over my "100 Things I Like" post, that I didn't really list dancing or the act of dancing as one of those things. Quite telling I think. I'm still trying to figure out where I fit into that business now that my body doesn't cooperate quite in the way it used to.

Did I leave dancing off the list because I really don't like dancing anymore? I don't think that's the case. I love taking class when I'm home, I still find myself grand battementing, rond de jambing, pirouetting when I'm in a rehearsal room by myself, I still stop when I pass a mirror to see what my arms look like a la seconde, en haut, I still point and flex my feet obsessively when I'm sitting down and end up in massive contortionist positions when I'm reading... I haven't lost the love, it's just slowly eked its way out of my life while I've been in this place, sitting on the other side of the table, working with singers.

As I move away from the business, dance is moving much more into the public eye than it was when I was younger and more gung-ho to ruin my body. I'm not sure it's all good, this publicity. What we see in the mainstream is all mediocre, mainstream hip-hop and celebrities learning ballroom in skanky outfits. I think the notion has come across through both the big and small screen that everyone who dances, deep down wants to dance this way. I'm not sure it's the publicity that this art form needs. I miss the Gregory Hines of the world showing tap dance in any venue possible, and Suzanne Farrell on Sesame Street. It's not that I don't think hip hop is a viable genre of dance when done well, I just feel like it milktoast version is the only thing getting any air time.

My friend in New York, a modern dancer, in an email to me about the nature of dance films today, showed disdain about how the dance world is portrayed in celluloid today the best when she said,

Please if my career EVER starts to resemble a shitty choreographed, no plot, sexless love story, motorcycle riding, 500 pirouetting, purple ballooning, street dancing, nicey nicey, pink tight totin', do rag wearin', non intelligent inspirationless, booty shakin', with curable anorexia, it'll be high time that I get the FUCK out of this job.

Well, I know it's not high time for her yet, and I don't think it's high time for me yet either. I think especially as I'm still on fire about dance on film. Can I change what's put in the public eye? I don't know, but I'd like the opportunity to try.

100 THINGS I LIKE

101. Dancing and all of the joy, heartache, pain, adrenalin and power it brings.

100 Things I Like

I found a list like this on Busted Stuff and thought it was an interesting project. It took a lot longer than I expected it to -- 100 is a bigger number than I thought it was.

So, after a long period of contemplation, sitting on my fairly uncomfortable bed in Miami Springs, I present to you, in no particular order:

100 THINGS I LIKE:

1). Snuggling with my cat, Lucius, and feeling his soft, white fur tickling against my skin.

2). The Amazing Race in all of its cheesy music and petty arguments. It's a travel show and high speed chase all in one.

3). John's hands - in all five senses.

4). Cheesecake.

5). Velveeta Macaroni and cheese with tuna fish. I know, I know . . . white trash roots comin' out.

6). Applause on both sides - standing on the stage looking into the blinding lights, hearing the people on the other side, and clapping my hands together until they hurt.

7). Puns

8). Blue humor: The Family Guy, South Park, Monty Python, Jackass . . .

9). Scotch on the rocks

10). Campari on the rocks. With a lime.

11). Playing along with Jeopardy. Knowing the answers is even better.

12). Clothes fresh out of the dryer.

13). Ice Cream. Any kind but mostly Chocolate Fudge Brownie from Ben and Jerry's or Cake Batter ice cream at Coldstone.

14). Making food for guests.

15). Sweet tea (like my daddy makes).

16). Spaghetti a la papa.

17). Modal Beech sheets, especially when a little breeze flies under them in the morning.

18). BCBG

19). Inside jokes with friends and coworkers.

20). Family stories that make us all break into hysterical laughter no matter how many times they are repeated ("maybe the old fool would like a pickle!)

21). Shoes, shoes, shoes

22). Hugs and Kisses (especially from my honey)

23). Office Depot

24). Nordstrom Rack

25). The fact that I can see my best friend, Laural, for the first time in a year and a half and we can spend the evening eating bad takeout and watching a shitty movie on television and have a TERRIFIC time.

26). Getting a clean score for the next opera I'm doing and sitting down with it for the first time.

27). Spending the day wandering around New York.

28). Sudoku

29). Logic problems and Mah Jong Solitaire

30). Playing Trivial Pursuit with John. Someday I will win.

31). Learning words in other languages (swear words and slang especially)

32). Being understood in another language.

33). Old Bookstores (especially buying an old book on a whim)

34). The Hard Rock Hotel in Chicago

35). Traveling overseas.

36). Orange

37). My Apple iBook

38). My Canon portable bubblejet printer.

39). The final moment in Britten's "Death in Venice."

40). Philip Glass

41). Law and Order SVU

42). My chenille throw and matching pillows

43). iTunes and being able to listen to every song before I buy it.

44). Chinese dragons

45). Baby animals

46). Dancing like a rock star in front of my full-length mirror.

47). Harry Potter. (though Hermione's the hot one)

48). Ruling the rehearsal roost. Directing.

49). Singing showtunes in my car.

50). My green and orange score bag. It holds everything I need to rehearse.

51).Kiehl's, especially their Coriander Bath and Shower Liquid Body Cleanser

52). "Aureole" choreographed by Paul Taylor

53). Jacob's Pillow

54). Eyeore

55). Reading John Grisham on a long plane ride.

56). The smell of something sweet baking (oatmeal cookies especially)

57). Jack and Karen (on Will and Grace)

58). Dirty Dancing and The American President when I can't sleep or have the flu.

59). Barak Obama

60). Rubbing my legs together immediately after shaving.

61). Getting a greeting card in the mail.

62). A giant chili burger and fries

63). Sugar snap peas

64). Getting flowers - any flowers from anyone any time.

65). Giving gifts to people and watching their face when they open them.

66). Collecting people's birthdays and calling/emailing/sending a card to surprise them.

67). Mozart's "Le Nozze Di Figaro"

68). Coldplay

69). The Orchestra Tune before any performance.

70). Talking for hours with John, on the phone, in his arms, at the dinner table, on the front porch, in the car . . .

71). Spontaneous road trips.

72). Planning vacations.

73). Making lists (yeah, yeah. . .I'm a dork).

74). Netflix

75). Newcastle Brown Ale

76). Benicio Del Toro, Natalie Portman, Johnny Depp, Shannyn Sossaman (partially for their acting skills).

77). Cookbooks, especially those recipes you seek out over and over where the pages have a little dough or sauce on them that sticks them together.

78). The Indianapolis 500 and "Gentlemen Start Your Engines!" and "Back Home Again in Indiana" sung by Jim Nabors.

79). Sushi - California rolls, Rainbow Rolls and Crunchy Rolls

80). Sleeping In

81). Chai Tea Frappuccinos at Starbucks (Oh, I wish it wasn't so...)

82). Sharing a dessert at a fancy restaurant

83). Long walks at night -- especially when it's just a little bit nippy outside

84). Everything feline . . . and Cat Woman

85). Spiderman

86). Juvenile Literature

87). j'aime parler francais!

88). The Container Store

89). Old black and white photographs: family photos as well as famous journalistic pics.

90). Getting my hair shampooed at the hairdresser's

91). A hot dog and junior mints at the movies

92). Looking out over the ocean - so incredibly vast!

93). The Talking Heads

94). Literature Anthologies

95). Edna St. Vincent Millay and other female poets

96). Political films

97). An updated version of an older opera or play when done meticulously well.

98). The Olympics: Figure Skating, Gymnastics, Skiing, Relay, Luge, Swimming, Ski Jump and the last ten minutes of the marathon

99). Rollercoasters

100). Starting a new project - those initial preparations and planning

Tutto e Gioia, Tutto e Festa!

I got flowers tonight! Two bouquets! We opened "Rigoletto" tonight, which is my last show with Florida Grand, at least for the time being. People knew it and met me with amazing fanfare. Every once in a while I find myself in a situation where I feel needed and loved. This was most definitely the case tonight.

The whole cast and crew did a tremendous job. I sat in the audience with Chuck, the associate director. We were very happy with the show and I loved listening to the crowd around us respond to moments we'd all worked so hard to achieve. Our singer under the weather got it together and gave a fantastic performance, my supers did a great job with their dance after much nervousness and heartache over getting the steps and timing right, and the crowd went nuts during the curtain call.

Watching is so much harder than being on stage. Once I'm in the audience, there's nothing I can do about anything that goes wrong. Sitting out there goes against my control-freak nature and forces me to let things happen as they are going to happen. I always find myself tensing up during especially difficult moments, and any movement on stage I end up feeling in my own body in the seat. I pity the stranger who sits next to me when watching a show I worked on. Chuck and I were both doing the sympathetic dance in our seats, especially during the abduction scene, as two of my super supers slapped Gilda, dragged her down the stairs and carried her out the door.

I had two glasses of champagne in the donor's tent at intermission. The chorus master and I toasted to a good show, and one of the waitresses kept coming by and refilling my glass. It was a nice way to calm my nerves in between acts. Not something I get the chance to do when I'm performing, however, when I did "Akhnaten" at Chicago Opera Theater several years ago, the gentleman playing the title character brought a bottle of tequila into the dancer's dressing room on opening night. As soon as the curtain came down, we all took a shot. It was a great way to end a show and begin an evening of celebration.


It's strange to think that this is my final experience here. I've been here for so long, these people and places have become commonplace to me. What an odd profession I have, moving from place to place, never truly finding a place to call home. It's a constant rush and search for a new place to hang my hat. It'd be really nice to find one place where I could be for a little while - at least two seasons.

I Think I Can, I Think I Can . . .

Right now this opera is like the little engine that could, its train laden down with toys, puffing and wheezing as it climbs to the top of the hill. It MUST deliver to the children on the other side. Opening night is that final push over the top, and it's a smooth, downhill ride from there. It's getting to the top of the mountain that's always the tough part.

We had our invited dress rehearsal last night. Things were actually running pretty well minus a strobe light with a mind of its own, a missing super, a couple of singers who can't seem to get their makeup call right in their heads, and one singer who's dealing with some cold and sinus issues. The final issue is always the most egregious and we will all prepare for the worst while hoping for the best. Antinbiotics are being taken, rest is being had, and my fingers are tightly crossed. It's a nerve-wracking period of wait-and-see, but one I am familiar with, having gone through it during "La Fanciulla Del West" as well. There's a part of me who thinks that the Dade County Auditorium is the culprit. It's old and musty and brings out the worst in people's allergies. I'm one of many who's been a little sniffly and sneezy since we started our work in the theater, and I can't help but think that this has a lot to do the illness that always seems to become part of the equation in putting up a show here.

Moving to the new theater next year will be a fantastic move for FGO for more than one reason.

So, we're puffing and creaking along, but still climbing. That final push over the top of the mountain really can't come soon enough (like so many things in my experience here).

Wednesday Evening

A few random thoughts as I enjoy my day off:

1). "Seinfeld" was a really funny show. Other shows have tried to imitate the "show about nothing" formula but none have succeeded in the quirky, offbeat way that "Seinfeld" did. Cosmo Kramer is so funny because he's like someone we've all known. He's the quintessential New Yorker: no discernible income, unconventional social skills, friends in the oddest places..."Seinfeld" taught me the joys of coffee shop dwelling, that shrinkage happens, to always remember where I parked when buying an air conditioner, to just leave the marble rye where it is, to always splurge on the expensive invitations, that smoking is bad for your skin, postmen are not to be trusted, that sex makes men stupid and women smart, to know the soup you want before getting to the counter, that Dolores rhymes with . . . well . . . and that I, too, can be Master of My Domain. I miss it.

2). I do this weird thing when I'm speaking with people from other countries. I adopt their accent. It's not intentional, though I'm sure they sometimes think I'm making fun of them. It has nothing to with that though, I just have impressionable aural faculties. I was the only English speaker in a hair salon today and I slowly found myself answering questions in a Cuban accent as the afternoon wore on. The last question I answered was given a look from the stylist that equalled linguistic disdain. I wish I knew how to curb my vocal impressions, but it's a natural occurence in my brain. I remember, after visiting my friend in Denmark for three days over Easter one year, I was on the train back to Hamburg and struck up a conversation with an American couple sitting in the plush, red seats across from mine. At one point during the afternoon of rail riding, the woman asked me, "where in Denmark are you from?" I told her I was from Chicago and she responded by telling me that she just assumed I was from Denmark since I sounded like everyone she'd met while in the country. Apparently I'd stolen my friend's accent as well.

3). Speaking of hair salons, I got my hair cut today. It was a completely spontaneous act; I walked past a salon in Miami Springs on my way back from mailing my taxes. With the thought of finally getting a refund after several years of paying through the nose, I walked into the jingly door and asked if there was an available appointment. No one there spoke enough English to do anything but dump me physically in a shampooing chair and take the holder out of my ponytail. I got about four inches cut off and my hair styled in a little wave. I'm slowly but surely getting rid of the "Love and Murder" blond. The experience was a little surreal however. I am so used to crazy chatter in hair salons, but everything going on in this place was in Spanish and I could only pull out a word here and there. I heard "tambien," and "dios," and "quatro" and "yo quiero," but none of those words make up a complete sentence. Whenever I'm in a situation where I'm the only one who doesn't speak the language, I always get this paranoia that everyone is talking about me.

4). Soft serve ice cream cones always remind me of being eight years old. I love being handed the cones and putting my mouth down around the top of the ice cream to get that initial brain freeze. There's a part of me, whenever I have one in my hand, who wants to let it drip down over my hand and get all over my shirt. McDonalds cones are the greatest too. I love chewing around the cone all the way to the bottom where the inside is structured like a 3-d tic-tac toe. At that point I put the whole thing in my mouth and bite down, letting the melted vanilla ice cream slide cold down my throat. I don't eat these things enough - must remember that soft serve puts me in a good mood.

5). My cat has started to sleep in the shower for hours on end. I have nothing to say about that other than he constantly makes me amazed at his neuroses, and I miss him being out here with me.

Tomorrow is back to work, but right now it's just nice to think about mundane things. Sometimes it's hard to realize how normal I can actually be.

Only Virgins are Traumatized by Rape...

. . .or so says one Senator Bill Napoli, who claims that a raped virgin could qualify for an abortion under the new South Dakota law because the psychological and physical trauma could be enough to threaten her life.

Found this quote by the Senator on The Disenchanted Forest:

A real-life description to me would be a rape victim, brutally raped, savaged. The girl was a virgin. She was religious. She planned on saving her virginity until she was married. She was brutalized and raped, sodomized as bad as you can possibly make it, and is impregnated. I mean, that girl could be so messed up, physically and psychologically, that carrying that child could very well threaten her life.

Read the actual interview from which the quote was taken here. You can also read about it here, a little smart-ass response here, and here too.

All I know is that I am not religious or a virgin and you can damn-well be sure that if I were raped and brutalized the way Bill Napoli describes, my life would be threatened just as much.

Working Sick or Sick of Working?

I woke up this morning feeling like I my immune system was trying pretty hard to fight something off. My first clue? I woke up after 11am. I didn't set an alarm last night because I didn't have to get up this morning at a certain time and I like to let my body wake up when it wants to. I had no idea that I would sleep 11 hours because of that. I was feeling sinus-y and had a bit of a scratchy throat and was dealing with some major cement head.

Getting sick in the opera world has a very different conotation than getting sick in any other world. At an office building, people can accomplish their work with soar throats, bad coughs, stopped up noses. This is not the case for opera singers. Having ear, nose and throat problems means no singing which means no performing. Everyone who works in the business is conscious of that and so we stay far away from singers when we are under the weather.

I was feeling a bit lucky that we are past the staging rehearsals tonight, because this meant that I didn't have to be as hands-on with all of the performers. I took some pills, pounded the Vitamin C, drank some antioxidant tea and laid down three hours after I got up to take another two hour nap.

Two hour nap? After 11 hours of sleeping?? Something's going on.

I woke up feeling much better. My sinuses were clear, my throat didn't hurt, I was clear headed. I went to work. My feeling better doesn't mean I let down my guard. I'll be cautious for the next couple of days.

We had a piano dress tonight. It looks good. The costumes are incredible and everyone was dealing with the huge skirts and odd shoes very well. I love the first dress rehearsal. There's a sense of a real show that suddenly happens when people walk on stage with costumes. The lights still aren't set, but it felt like a performance for the first time. I also love how much characters grow into themselves when they are finally wearing the proper clothing. It changes the way people walk, the way they stand, the way they do menial tasks. It makes everything come together.

Tomorrow is our first level session. I'll be in a dark theater all day and hopefully we'll get a huge chunk of the lights together. This is a monster show. The set is too big for the theater and has taken a lot of work to get it into place. Because of that, hanging and focusing the lights has been a slow and arduous process, so we are starting the actual lighting later than usual. Lighting sessions are a mix of boredom and hysteria for me. I love the camaraderie of sitting in a dark theater, but sessions get long and sometimes tedious. We'll see how this goes tomorrow.

Tonight my cat is sitting next to me on the bed looking about as adorable as he possibly can, I had a nice conversation with my incredibly patient fiance, and I'm watching an E.R. rerun on television. Sleep is calling soon. Tomorrow is a long day.

Dancing in the Berkshires: Travelogue #3

I've been thinking about this travelogue for quite some time, which is why it took me so long to get to number three. My trip into the Berkshire Mountains of Massachussetts at 17 was a watershed moment in my career, in my teenage years of discovery, in my life as a whole. I remember it not only as the summer I grew into my mind, but also as the first time I truly knew I was on the career path I wanted. That I needed to be in the performing arts.

Jacob's Pillow is a magical place for many reasons. A farm nestled in the lush, green mountain ridges just outside of Lee, MA, it's been a home for American modern dance since Ted Shawn first laid eyes on the property in 1930. The farm was first settled in 1790, and took its name as a play off of the adjacent road which locals dubbed (due to its craggy, rough nature) Jacob's Ladder. At the base of the farm is a huge boulder which butts up to the old road. Named "Pillow Rock," it follows that the connection would be made and the Carter family (the original settlers) would name their farm "Jacob's Pillow."

Today, the farm consists of the original farmhouse, two theaters, three dance studios, and outdoor theater called the "Inside/Out" stage, a barn/gallery, and a series of cabins housing some artists and many students and interns, who flock to the school in the summer time to surround themselves with greatness. Such was my mission in 1993, when I ended up there on the 4th of July, young, excited, and left in a rustic farm with absolutely no rules for the first time in my life.

I was there during a landmark year, and the greatness with which I was surrounded is hard to surpass. I was in the "Paul Taylor Repertory/Etudes Project" and had the chance to work with Taylor greats such as Carolyn Adams, Danny Grossman, Ruth Andrien, and Linda Kent.

We learned Taylor works and performed them (in a rather pedantic fashion I fear) on the inside/out stage before mainstage performances. Hard enough to perform "Aureole," "Musical Offering," "Runes," "3 Epitaphs" etc. in front of our teachers, but add 300 audience members and the occasional Mark Morris, Marta Rensi, and Paul Taylor himself, and we were often nerve-wracked beyond belief. We also had the opportunity to dance in a performance of Danny Grossman and Dancers, which was groundbreaking for me. However, my experience working with Danny is a post unto itself.

In the time I was there, we experienced Merce Cunningham: a little elfen creature with springy hair, an infectious smile and horribly mangled feet after years of abuse. His dancers were long and somewhat automaton in class, they lanked by us like herons in a pond and I was more than a little intimidated. Several of us sat at the door on a daily basis and watched their company class. When Mr. Grossman joined us one afternoon we commented on how they seemed to live their lives by rote. "What do you think they do in their spare time?" one of us asked. "I'm sure they drink beer and fuck just like the rest of us," was his well-timed answer. And so they did, as we ran into a couple of them at the Ben & Jerry's in Lee later in the week. They were, without a doubt, one of the most incredible groups of people I've ever seen on stage, and as they dove into "Beach Birds," I was taken to a different dimension. I'd never seen anything that athletic and peaceful all at the same time. Just like Merce, they exuded a presence that made me take a step back. I also remember walking along a trail that followed behind the Ted Shawn Theater one night, and seeing Merce sitting on the back porch, legs thumping like a child against the side, writing in a journal. Heaven.

We experienced Mark Morris. A cocky sumbitch if I do say so myself, but brilliant, brilliant, brilliant! One of my fellow Rep/Etudes students, David Leventhal, ended up being one of his most prominent dancers in the years that followed. I followed Mark in the lunchline at the dancer's cafeteria of macrobiotic foods one day and watched him ask the woman in front of him to try everything first and tell him if he'd like it. I snuck up to him in the tiny, hanging-plant-ridden Pillow Bar, and asked tentatively for his autograph one day. He was more than happy to oblige and I think I slunk away into the night - so embarrassed that I'd been so forward and he'd been so momentarily sweet. I watched his company chew up the stage in "Grand Duo," and realized I had never seen great dance up until that point.

We experienced Paul Taylor most of all. Taylor Day was established that year and Paul was debuting his second company (aptly named) Taylor II. These young dancers took class with us and learned all of the dances with us, then got to perform them in costume and take company class with the Taylor company when they were in town. We followed them around like puppies. It was amazing to go to the Ted Shawn Theater and watch his company perform all of these pieces we had so recently learned. I was most enchanted with Mary Cochran, who bounced her way through Syzygy with so much grace and energy with her curls going in time to the music and her head wobbling ever so slightly on its axis. We got to talk to Paul Taylor and presented him with a grasshopper we found in one of the studios. (He collects bugs). He was so learned and soft-spoken. I was beside myself with glee at being so close to this man I worshipped.

But I think the dance was only part of the magic of my experience in the Berkshires. The other part was growing up and being in this amazing part of the country for so long. I fell in love while I was there, with a young Australian ballet dancer who was in our program as well. He was an incredible mover and very funny, and we spent countless hours hanging out in the studios after dark, watching "Ren and Stimpy" over and over, and choreographing dances of our own (no...NOT an inuendo...).

There were hiking trails all over the farm. Some that wound their way through the small cabin "villages," and some that went further away, up into the mountains and opened up onto hidden precipices overlooking Lee and the surrounding villages. The grass was tall in those areas and the trees so green and loud in the breeze. Nature is not quiet. There was also "Pillow Rock," which was a place to sit and contemplate, look back at the farmhouse and look up at the blue sky. So many people had come from New York or Boston, and the brightness of the day and the blackout of the night were truly things to behold.

The whole program became friends and we hung out in huge groups, sometimes sleeping over in a studio, having impromptu "dances," and one night dragging sleeping bags onto the Inside/Out stage to have a sleep over under the stars. It was so cold but incredible. None of us lived in a place where you could see as many stars as we saw that night.

Getting into the civilized communities was a bit more difficult because not many of us had a car. Steve, a burly, linebacker with a beautiful, graceful line, had his station wagon, and we piled pell-mell inside whenever we went into town. I remember going dancing at a place called the "No-Hunger Cafe." It was a roadhouse on either highway 20 or highway 8 between the Pillow and either Becket or Lee. We'd dance to a live rock band and many would partake in a few beers. I was a good girl. I didn't find alcohol until college. I haven't been able to find anything about this cafe on line. I wonder if it still exists.

Several of us drove to Stockbridge one day and went to the Norman Rockwell Museum, which was charming and a lovely way to spend a day off. I remember seeing his easel there and that impressed me more than anything. I also remember driving into the town itself and traipsing through art gallery after art gallery with the sun shining so bright that it took our eyes a few moments to adjust every time we went indoors.

I remember also, on the first evening, it being Independence Day, piling into the station wagon and driving to Tanglewood to try and catch the fireworks. We didn't quite make it and instead got stuck in miles of traffic as everyone was leaving. There is no better way to get to know people than to be stuck in a car with them for three straight hours.

I think after the first two weeks, our trips into town dissapeared because of an unfortunate problem with Steve's alternator. We drove into Lee one night for a late-night junk food run, and as we started back his car wouldn't start. We finally got it jumped and on the way back, the lights started to dim and Steve couldn't get it to go faster than 5 or 10 miles an hour. Two of us jumped in the back on Steve's direction and found some camping flashlights. Highway 20 was deserted that time of night, and as we rolled down the windows, we couldn't see a thing, only hear the rush of the leaves as we drove past the huge stands of trees on both sides. Myself and one other girl hung out the window with our flashlights pointed on the white lines of the road as Steve manuevered the car. We finally came upon the turnoff for the Pillow and made our climb up the craggy road to the farm at the top of the hill. Everyone had stopped chattering and all of our energies were entirely concentrated on getting this car to the farm. As we pulled into his parking place, we got almost all the way in and the car died for good. That was the end of our exploring about - and a good adventure to write home about.


We got out enough before then though. We found Laurel Lake to drive along and a great Chinese Restaurant next to the Black Swan Inn which we frequented. It was a joyous time in my life. I was performing, taking class every day, falling in love, watching some of the greatest dance I've ever seen, and enjoying an incredibly beautiful part of our country. I came home a changed person. My career path was set, I decided to major in dance, and became obsessed with Paul Taylor and all of his offshoots.

Dance lovers and music lovers of all genres should experience this amazing place. It changed my life.

Choreographically Challenged

Every time I walk in the door to choreograph something on non dancers, I temporarily forget how many basic movement ideas I take for granted because of my dance training. Yesterday I taught a simple phrase of 6 counts of eight to our group of supers dressed as Commedia entertainers. Two of them jump on a bench and do a little hop-step as they pull away from each other while the others weave in and out of each other as they circle the bench in opposite directions.

Working with dancers, teaching this would have taken ten minutes. As it were, a half an hour went by and we were still only at the basics, let alone talking to them about style. It's not their fault at all. They worked intensely hard to master the pattern and understand what I was trying to tell them, but the untrained body has a hard time walking in time to music, let alone grappling that while circling clockwise and alternating between running up on tiptoes for four and sneaking with their arms out and flat for four.

I think even harder for these guys is that maybe one of them is actually trained in any kind of stage craft or movement, acting etc. Many of them have only been on stage a couple of times, and probably only holding a spear and standing in one place. What Chuck and I are asking them to do is something that even a seasoned actor needs time to perfect. They must jump ahead at lighting speed in training to accomplish what we are telling them to do with any sort of proficiency.

I guess I've taken the seven of them on as my little project. I will keep grabbing them whenever we have time so that we can run into the lobby and work on style and shape. It is my personal mission to move them up to a different level by the time we open. Their ten seconds in the spotlight will NOT be embarrassing, or even tentative for them. If I can help it.

In A Handbasket I Tell You!

So, it's happened. Mike Rounds, Governer of South Dakota, has officially thrown his glove down in front of the Supreme Court. He signed the bill into law that will effectively ban all abortions unless the life of the mother is at stake. He's itching for a fight that could effectively overturn Roe V. Wade.

He's not the only one. The news said tonight that Mississippi is approximately ten days away from signing a similar bill into law and there are several other states (including my childhood state of Missouri) who are following suit.

I'd like to think in my heart of hearts that the Supreme Court will continue to uphold a law that has been challenged again and again, but the things happening in this country right now never cease to amaze me.

These people removing a woman's right to decisions concerning her own body are the same people who don't want to make contraception readily available and want to uphold the death penalty. Apparently life is only precious until the moment of birth.

Newsworthy?

With all of the big issues in the news right now; all of the things that are important to our world's future (Two off the top of my head are Bush's trip to India and his nuclear - or nucular - talks there, and large portions of congress demanding an investigation into Bush's response to Katrina), why was this particular story third on the list when I opened my Yahoo today??

I guess I've just known (or maybe suspected) all my life that hot tubs and whirlpools hold a lot of bacteria. Swirling hot water outdoors filled intermittently with naked bodies just seems like a cesspool for germs. Did my tax dollars really pay for this study?

Um...yikes?