Random Thoughts from Terre Haute

So I'm in Terre Haute, Indiana, at my family reunion, sitting in between my brother and my mother, waiting for pizza, watching Seinfeld. . . a few random thoughts as I sit here trying to escape the oppressive heat in the hallway.

I know many of you may have expected a Danika Patrick photograph at the top of the entry. I must say, I like her very much and hope she knocks all of these boys out of the water tomorrow morning, but I'm really all over Sam Hornish Jr. right now. He may be my ultimate pick for the winner when I fill out my pool sheet tomorrow. Part of me thinks that his great show in the time trials and his place on the pole position will knock him out in Murphy's Law, but I'd love to see him garner the trophy as well..he's kinda cute too.

Family reunions are interesting animals. So many people wandering around this hotel that I'm related to. We all have relatively nothing in common except for some similar genes, but we all smile and ask how things are going anyway. And really I like most of my family, but it still sometimes baffles me how we all choose to commune in the same place once a year. I think the other thing that amazes me is the fact that no one ever looks the same. I have all of these cousins who used to be really small and are now really big and tall and graduating from schools and speaking intelligently about adult topics. It's amazing how much changes in a year.

I didn't get to see Hansel and Gretel open in St. Louis, My contract ended after the final dress and so I have no idea how it turned out. The final dress looked beautiful. The explosions were working and all of the singers sounded beautiful. We had a full audience of kids who were completely entranced and watching them was all the assurance I needed that this show would be successful. The big snafu of the evening (of which there is always one on a final dress. . . a catastrophe during the dress is what ensures a successful opening . . . was that our milk jug that is supposed to smash into pieces did nothing but break its handle and the whole thing rolled into the pit. We had to stop the show and make sure everyone in the orchestra was okay. Everyone was pretty shook up but no one was seriously injured and the show went on, albeit a little bit edgy and shaky until the intermission when everyone could calm down and get their jitters out. It was a terrible thing to happen, but ultimately, I'm glad it happened on the dress rehearsal so we could fix the problem before the opening.

Theater is dangerous. I especially feel for those musicians in the pit who never know when something might fall on top of them. I have in my time in the theater, however, seen plenty of things fall out of the flies, set pieces wobble too close, props fall apart . . . we all know it's possible. I just hate to see it happen.

Wednesday I fly back to San Diego and I actually get to spend seven months in my home. It will be amazing to actually work where I live. This lifestyle gets very difficult after a while.

I can't wait for the race tomorrow. As much as family can sometimes be trying, I look forward to this time of year.

Un-Wired

For my regular readers (of which there are a few . . . thank you for sticking with me):

Having scant access to the internet here in St. Louis has left me with very little time to blog. I am in the whirlwind throes of production week right now and sitting down briefly to check email and do some banking. I have not forgotten this space, though my lack of wireless signal anywhere I go has left me with very little change to speak my mind in cyberspace.

Suffice, I have much to say and will blog long and hard when I am back in San Diego next week. I am amazed by my singers here, loving the experience of making houses explode and cookies drop from the ceiling and witches burn up in ovens. I was particularly excited yesterday during our first orchestra dress. We had a bit of an audience and I had the opportunity to sit back and watch children as they took in the opera. Their reactions are the true test of our success.

I am nerve-wracked about these goals I've set for myself to produce work this fall. I am calling many places and people this afternoon to set up (hopefully) rehearsal space and time and really make all of this imagining I've been doing into something concrete. It's always easier to be second in command . . . you are relieved of so much responsibility. I'm feeling the need to put more on my shoulders when it comes to a creative outlet.

I am frustrated by comments made by government officials about making English our official language. I'm not sure I disagree entirely with the original idea, but the xenophobia that is being shouted from the rooftops by these clowns begs explanation and maybe a swift kick to the head. I am also so unbelievably tired of our government trying to force us into a theocracy...more on that later.

. . .But one more thing . . . I saw a priest on the news the other night protesting "The DaVinci Code." He commented to the camera, "We are supposed to be a Christian State, and when our government allows this type of propaganda to be shown, it is working entirely against the Christian ideal.." Ummmmm...there are so many things wrong with that statement that my head started steaming when I first heard it...

And so I am off to do more work and will be back in full swing at the beginning of next month. I am still thinking and breathing and excited and pissed off and look forward to pouring it all out here soon....

Until then.

. . . And The Kitchen Sink!

What childish fun we've been having at the opera lately! We moved into the theater two days ago. This show was SO, SO ready. We'd run the entire show about six times in the rehearsal studio before we moved over. We were at risk of peaking too early if we didn't add sets and costumes soon. The theater move has added just enough spice, and we are having a great time thus far!

Our biggest issue is the huge candy house that transforms into a factory and then, ultimately, blows up at the end. In this day and age of trying to keep theaters healthy, many of the smoke effects that used to be used with frequency are completely out of the question. Singers can't handle the altered air and large quantities can be dangerous for your health. And so we are left with less options. While this can start out relatively upsetting, it forces us to become creative. How do you simulate an explosion on stage with no smoke effects and without large pieces of house actually flying across the stage and potentially falling into the pit?

So our last few tech sessions have largely revolved around testing various types of glitter/mylar/streamers/party decorations falling from the flies and delicately placing CO2 blasts at appropriate intervals. There's something wonderfully childish about throwing things from the ceiling and seeing how "cool" they look. It harkens back to the days when I would be all about tossing water balloons from a bridge. Despite minor frustrations with various results, we've had moments of clapping and jumping up and down, and all sorts of childish squeals and laughter. It's great to feel youthful about a production.


As we've gone along, we've added plenty of small surprises and little bits of humor that really give this piece flavor. As I've repeated before, I am sad to be gone for the run. I got tickets for my family the other day; my 4-year-old niece will see her first opera on the 10th. I am ecstatic to hear her response. I love watching audiences respond to things we've worked so hard to achieve. At the final room run a few days ago, I spent most of my time staring at the transfixed children's chorus; watching when they laughed and when they seemed uninterested. An opera that holds a child's interest is quite a feat.

Last night was our first on-stage session with the children. They did surprisingly well. There are several who came decidedly out of their shell once they climbed on stage and into the "Hansel and Gretel" world. I used to be like that - I had a hard time performing in a room filled with people I could see. I needed to raise that fourth wall before I felt comfortable being myself.

St. Louis has been my reward for enduring the last six months.

I Told You So!!!

Behold the following article I just found on line. It's stating the obvious I know, but finally out loud!

MIAMI TOPS AUTO CLUB LIST FOR RUDE DRIVERS

Stressed Miami drivers speed, tailgate and cut off other drivers so frequently that the city earned the title of worst road rage in a survey released Tuesday.

AutoVantage, an automobile membership club offering travel services and roadside assistance, also listed Phoenix, New York, Los Angeles and Boston among the top five cities for rude driving.

Minneapolis, Nashville, St. Louis, Seattle and Atlanta were rated as the cities with the most courteous drivers, who were less likely to change lanes without signaling or swear at other motorists.

More than 2,000 adult drivers who regularly commute in 20 major metropolitan areas were asked to rate road rage and rude driving in telephone surveys between January and March. The survey conducted by Prince Market Research has a margin of error of plus or minus 2.2 percentage points.

Drivers owned up to some rude behavior themselves: Nearly all said they had talked on a cell phone while driving, and 64 percent acknowledged they occassionally drive too fast.

Young drivers and people with long commutes were found to be the most likely to react to an aggressive or rude driver. The top reactions included honking the horn, cursing or making an obscene gesture.

No distinct differences were found between male and female drivers.

"Human behavior is so involved with crashes at all levels," said Elly Martin, a spokeswoman for the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration. "(Aggressive driving) is a pattern of behavior drivers exhibit over and over."

AutoVantage, based in Norwalk, Conn., hopes to use the survey to educate people about how to resist road rage. Among its tips are remaining calm and not making eye contact with an angry driver.

Rain, Rain Go Away..

Right now I'm actually enjoying a bit of sun outside, where it's been raining nonstop for the last several days. Apparently, the dismal, abnormally cold weather is supposed to persist through the rest of the week. I was supposed to go to the zoo with my family on Mom's Day, but will instead make the drive to Rocheport to see them all on their home turf; no one wants to risk being rained upon.

Everyone's still in a sunny mood however. Thank heavens for sunny dispositions when it's cold and wet outside. We are continuing to have great rehearsals. I directed a run yesterday while Michael was taking care of some business from his apartment, and everyone was highly present and taking direction very well. I love the constant thought processes that are evident every time we go through this opera. All of our singers have thought heavily about who they are playing and why they are making the decisions they do. Maria Zifchak, our Witch/Mother, is especially amazing to watch as she quickly transforms from a hurting mother to the saccharin equivalent of the devil incarnate.

My only complaint about this process thus far (and this is really picking nits, I must say) is that we've moved into the new space but are still being shuffled around a bit as the building continues to be finished and perfected. We'll be back in the old studios today, and then back in the new hall over the weekend. Such is the plight of being such a small, together show. If this is the only thing to complain about . . . well . . . we're doing alright.

My best friend came down to visit for a couple of days on Tuesday and we had a great night of popcorn, liquer and "Brokeback Mountain." We finally broke down (no pun intended) and rented the movie. I had been somewhat reluctant to see it because I find that the hype never lives up to what it's trying so desperately to sell. I must say, I liked the film, though it led itself to a few jokes between friends as we watched. Everyone told me I would cry at the end and I didn't. I certainly empathized with the two men, but it frustrated me to see them treating their families so badly because of their pain with each other. It's very human, but I still hate that pain begets pain.

Suffice to say, I'm glad I saw it.

So, I'm off to a day of costume meetings and cover rehearsals. I'm sure there will be much more to recount later.

Proactive Puppets and Other Observations From the Weekend

So, a friend just sent me a link to this great ranting letter that Jeff Whitty, writer of Broadway's "Avenue Q," wrote to Jay Leno regarding offensive gay jokes. I thought the letter was very well put and important to get out there. I was glad someone like Jeff Whitty (with the apropos last name) had the guts and gumption to write it and THEN - the harder part - send it. Apparently it is causing quite a stir.

My favorite quote:

"When I think of gay people, I think of a brave group that has made tremendous contributions to society, in arts, letters, science, philosophy, and politics. I think of some of the most hilarious people I know. I think of a group that has served as a cultural guardian for an ungrateful and ignorant America."

Bravo Jeff! I've linked to his website through the title of this post. He talks about how suprised he was at the public reaction to the letter. He wrote it in a moment of frustration, and a few forward clicks later it's floating endlessly in cyberspace, conjuring heated response on both sides of the issue. I love that he qualifies himself on his website by saying that he loves a good gay joke, of course with the "good" in italics.

It's the tired old stereotypes that perpetuate bigotry.

In other moments of humor and/or quiet thoughtfulness: I'm staying with one of the co-chairs of the season gala for Opera Theatre St. Louis, and so I had the opportunity to go and hob-nob over the weekend. It was a great event, well organized and actually fun, which sometimes really isn't the case. I think perhaps the greatest aspect was the fact that the food was pit barbecue: ribs, brisket, creamed spinach, coleslaw and cornbread. It was delicious but messy, so we were provided with a huge white bib bearing the OTSL logo. What a people-watcher's delight to look around the room at all of these people dressed to the nines in tuxedos, gowns and silky wraps, with a white paper bib tied around their neck and their fingers full of rich, red barbecue sauce. It defined the evening and brought everyone out of their shells immediately. You cannot be stuffy and eat messy finger food at the same time; it just doesn't work.

Backtracking a bit, "Hansel and Gretel" was lucky enough to be the first show to move into the brand new rehearsal space. It was terribly exciting to have our first couple of rehearsals in this pristine room with sky-high ceilings, beautiful laminate floors and great, over-stuffed office chairs to roll around in. I was actually a bit taken back at the beginning of the rehearsal when I couldn't hear a thing Michael was saying as he led Leah Wool and Saundra DeAthos through their staging on the newly taped floor. It was soon after that I realized that the room was so large and live, and I was sitting so much farther away than in the tiny room we were in formerly, that his quiet direction didn't carry far enough for me to pick up. I ended up having to scooch my whole table closer to be able to write and listen at the same time.

Our stage manager was excited because she could place Maestro Lumpkin the exact distance from the singers that he will be in the house. What a luxury to have a room big enough to accomodate the entire stage space as well as the entire pit space. We are languishing in the vastness, the cleanliness and the acoustic bliss.

My time in St. Louis just keeps getting better and better.

Tiny Operas for Tiny People

I'm really enjoying working on a small opera in St. Louis. We have a cast of six plus children, and under two hours worth of music. The music is delicate and beautiful, the content is precious, and I am having a great time. It's such a change from the hectic whirlwind that was Miami. I was so stressed there too often and I feel on top of things here. This afternoon we will do our first stumble through of the entire opera. This is our fifth day of rehearsal.

Only one other time have I been party to an opera that went up so quickly. When I put up "Akhnaten" in France, there were two of us who knew the opera very well and we put the whole thing up (minus the two chorus sequences) in a week. It left ample time for clarification and embroidery and we were ecstatic and quite pleased with ourselves. This opera is a new production, however, so to see it gel so quickly is incredibly satisfying. It really stems from a director who knows what he's doing and six incredibly smart singers. They can put movement in their bodies without fuss and have a retention that is rare in people trying to put voice and body together. It's been a joy from start to finish watching their characters take shape.

I also have to mention Bill Lumpkin, our young maestro. I love watching conductors work in general, with their sweeping arm motions and intense facial expressions, but Maestro Lumpkin is especially enjoyable to observe. He is quite kinetic, conducting with his entire body. He knows the music so well that he often abandons his music stand and stool, stands out in front of all of us at the center mark, and conducts entirely from memory. I love watching his hands catching the upbeat of Humperdink's dance rhythms as his lower body dances back and forth as well. He leads the music forward with every muscle in his body and you feel that the music is actually being produced through him. Sometimes he plops down at the piano with his baton in his mouth and plays out perfectly, exactly what he was discussing earlier. I think he is an incredible talent.

This show has potential to be something quite special. I'm, for once, sad I won't be around for the run.

Welcome Party

Our cast was welcomed to St. Louis in a blinding rain storm last night. Good wine, food, little gingerbread men, and a lot of laughter after a cheerful but exhausting day, the lighting flashed huge strobe-like through the windows as we all sat around and prepared for three weeks of push to the final goal of opening night.

I was reintroduced to some connections I forgot I had. Found out I'd worked with the conductor before and we were both ecstatic to learn that we looked familiar to each other for a reason. While the rest of the world lives in six degrees of separation, the opera world lives generally in one or two.

More later when I have longer than ten minutes at my computer.

Rainy Saturday

It's supposed to pour down rain all weekend. My mother told me that my brother was going to bring his kids up to the zoo, but I have a feeling that's not going to happen if it's as dreary tomorrow as it is today. the weather channel showed everything covered in green with a smattering of yellow and red, spread across the entire Midwest. Rain is something I have very little use for in my life . . . cold rain . . . I love summer downpours that are warm and sticky. I remember one in Chicago that I trudged through on my eight-block walk home from the train. It was warm and incredibly powerful and after a few minutes, I couldn't see because my eyes were covered in rain water, and my pants were plastered to my skin and I laughed hysterically as I groped my way home. Those types of wind-free, pure downpours are few and far between, and the grey, grumbly, melancholia that's simpering from the sky today just doesn't fit the bill.

I'm settling in here easily. This is close enough to home and the pace is familiar. I am agog at the gorgeous deciduous trees in my neighborhood and remembering how beautiful and lush they can be compared to the palm and cactus "forests" I've been living with in the South. I actually settle into most places well; the only ones I was completely thrown aside for were Miami and, funnily enough, San Diego. I'm just a Northern girl at heart.

Everything starts today, then we can assess if my comfort level stays the same.

As the man falling from the roof kept saying, "So Far So Good."

Seeing Red

I had no idea how many red 1998 Ford Escorts were tooling around our country's roads. Everywhere I go I see John's car parked in a lot, stopped at a light, turning a corner. I know it's not him - how could it be? He's a couple thousand miles away, working hard and driving his red Escort up and down the 5. Yet it doesn't stop me from grabbing a gander of the bumper to look for the Ireland sticker on one side and the Tipperary sticker on the other. A ridiculous habit but one impossible to break, even in the face of the completely improbable.

It's what you do when you miss someone - you look for them in every nook and cranny, no matter how ridiculous. Like looking for your missing cat in the silverware drawer.

Despite, today is sunny and beautiful. I am in a relatively good mood as I sip my hazelnut latte and type away, send my emails, relax before our leisurely prep session at 1pm. It will not be like this for long. I've learned to enjoy (sometimes force myself to enjoy) the respite when it presents itself.

. . .We Will Dance The Hoochie Coochie . . .

The title of this post is an obscure reference (though locationally evident if one pays attention). Anyone who can tells me where it's from gets brownie points in my book..

I'm here in Webster Groves, not yet dancing the hoochie coochie, but I certainly think it could come to that if everyone parties here as much as they say they do. It's a far cry from Miami. I'm staying in a great location and may actually get to don a bathing suit and swim some laps in my backyard if the weather warms up at all. The people are all quite nice and I'm not feeling any sense of impending doom. I might just like it here.

It's strange to be in and around Webster University again. I spent two summers here at the State Ballet of Missouri School when I was 13 and 14. We stayed at Loretto Hall and performed at the Loretto-Hilton Center, which is also the home of Opera Theatre St. Louis. I stopped at a McDonalds on Big Bend Road last night on my way home and it suddenly dawned on me that this was the place where I used to go with girl friends to "pick up" especially cute members of the basketball camp. I remember throwing pennies at one of them and hiding in a booth laughing hysterically. Mating rituals have not quite matured when you're 13.

And so I'm in the familiar which helps while trying to figure out protocol with every other little thing at this place. I've got a little rent-a-car to tool around in, and all of the buildings are pretty close together. The bad thing is that OTSL is in the middle of a massive move from an office and separate rehearsal space to an all-in-one. There've been some snafus along the way (as there often are when big companies shift around), and so they haven't gotten into the facilities as soon as they would have liked. That being said, the season is starting off in a bit of logistical dissarray. Everyone here seems to have a head on their shoulders though, so I feel good about rolling with the punches. It will all work out in the end.

This show seems to be pretty colorful. The production team walked over to the scene shop this afternoon and got the first view of the giant, mechanical moving house and oven that the witch will be operating and falling into. All sorts of things will be flying and puffs will be exploding and colors will be whirling and I think it should all be a pretty great time. This is a small show and a big show all at the same time. The cast is quite tiny and most of the opera involves only four of them, but the concepts are big and the set will take some maneuvering and getting used to. I'm looking forward to the challenge.

As I told the assistant artistic admin. yesterday, "I've put up John Conklin's "Fanciulla Del West" in the aftermath of a major hurricane. Nothing will ever phase me ever again."

Onward and upward . . . the train is a' smokin.' Here we go!!!

In Memoriam

I just wanted to take a moment to mention the names of the five singers who perished in a plane crash in Indiana last week. I do not know them, but I have friends who do, and their collective loss is one I cannot begin to imagine. What devestation for the Jacob's School of Music and for the friends and families of these five talents.

Rest in Peace: Chris Carducci, Garth Eppley, Georgina Joshi, Zachary Novak, Robert Samels.

IU has created a website and blog to memorialize these five students. You can read thier bios and say a few words if you want.

Me? For the moment, silence.

I'm Leavin' On A Jet Plane . . .

I am on the verge of leaving. John takes me to the airport at 10am tomorrow and I will be off to spend 5 whole weeks in St. Louis. This trip will feel different I am certain. I'll get to spend time around my family and I get to see the Indianapolis 500. Things will feel more like home and I won't feel so unbelievably alone in a hole in the humidity and mold of Miami.

Despite all of that, I feel like I just got home. I feel like staying. I don't think I'm ready to leave again. Lucius is just starting to look like he's beginning to adjust and I've just put everything away and cleaned out my files and paid my bills. I've JUST done all of this stuff and now I'm off again to let everything pile up and feel a little further away from my grasp.

I've started working on the piece I'm hopefully doing with Celebrate Dance in August. I've spoken to two incredible female dancers about schedules and I'm feeling optimistic that we will get it all to work out. I'm feeling such a need to create - even stronger than my fear of rejection which usually keeps me from creating. John and I were talking about this at IHOP yesterday while enjoying scrambled eggs and sweet coffee. He told me that he didn't see me as being fearful about putting myself out there and I reminded him that I haven't actually done a piece completely on my own in almost ten years. The fear usually outweighs the desire.

I just hope that I can get this to work the way I want it to - that it won't push me to retreat into my mind and stop exposing myself to an outside audience.

What a scary profession this is. Leaving the people and places we love to make art, ripping open our souls and putting them onstage . . . surely we sit in a somewhat masochistic state to find this a job we ache for.

A little more packing, a little more sorting, to the bank, to the post office, to the arms of John and to sleep. Perfunctory and lovely and I will miss it until I have it back..

Mourning a Loss

I just read that 5 students at the Indiana University Music School died in a private plane crash last night just outside of the school. The Indianapolis Star had not yet released names because not all of the parents had been contacted, but I know this is a great tragedy for the families, the school and the music community at large.

News like this makes my heart hurt.

Mea Culpa

I hate upsetting and offending people. I have this huge sensitivity button that gets set off at the slightest tap, and the fact that I said something or did something without thinking or without proofreading rolls endlessly around in my head until I've made myself half-sick. This was something I really thought about when I first began writing about my life and career on line, and I think it's a topic that continues to come up. How do you explain what it is to be in this world, this life in the arts, if you never say anything that someone might take the wrong way or take issue with. The fact is . . . you can't.

And so all I can do is try. After my first few postings I made it a practice to always talk about difficult situations in the general way - not naming names and pulling away from specifics that might make someone's role easily recognizeable. There are a lot of things that I him and haw over then choose not to write about at all. Names are only mentioned when I am writing a full-out rave or praising someone for their amazing abilities. I am self-deprecating enough to still have the ability to talk about the difficult times and lament about the trials of my life as an artist without meaningless gossip.

All of this is being said because, no matter how many precautions you take, people can still sometimes be upset by what you've written or how you've portrayed them and theirs. I just want to state for the record that nothing I say is ever meant to offend anyone at any time (unless you are a member of the government . . .and then watch out!). My email is linked to my profile, and if anyone ever sees something about themselves that they would rather not see, they only need to email me and I will take it off immediately.

This career is a tough one - glorious when you're in the midst, but sometimes gruesome enough to leave you crying yourself to sleep. I have the upmost respect for other artists doing their thing and hope that this blog may let other people in on how we operate in this life. I am not out to expose the soiled underbelly of the world of opera and dance (though I cannot deny that it most certainly exists), I want, instead, to give people insight into why we all drag ourselves endlessly through the tough, gristly moments to get to the juicy center and feast.

Thanks for reading. Keep it up: I've tons more to say.

Cheers!

Grendel, Grendel, Grendel!

Hooray!!! I just found out (mostly because John is absolutely incapable of keeping a secret) that John is taking me up to LA Opera to see the world premiere of "Grendel" for my birthday!!! It makes me want to overuse exclamation points!!!

I've never seen anything by Julie Taymor (no, not even "The Lion King") and have always been interested to see what the fuss is about. There's no better way than to see a world premiere opera - new all around, so there's no precedent for her to trample across.

I love seeing new works. Even if they're terrible, the house always has such an excited energy - nerves of the unfamiliar. It's like riding a new rollercoaster.

I love birthdays too.

Gender Bending Opera

John took me to the opening of Handel's "Julius Ceasar in Egypt" at San Diego Opera over the weekend. Baroque opera is so lovely, though can sometimes get static. This staging had its problems, but did a relatively decent job of relieving the sometimes endless da capos.

The production was from the Met and John Copley directed. I found that the copius amount of bald-pated supers seemed a bit underdirected and unsure of themselves, which sometimes distracted from the action, but mostly the stage picture was quite beautiful in golds and solitary obalisques, projected light in the shape of pyramids, glittering swords and breastplates, and a distinct 18th century feel. I found it interesting that the opera was put together both in costume and set (and orchestra) the way that we would have seen it when Handel first conceived of it. Singers then would have worn their own clothes with added acoutrements to bring out their character. By putting Cleopatra and the muses in 18th century gowns, we got to see, approximately, what it would have looked like during Handel's time.

What's most interesting to me about these older operas is the use of trouser roles and countertenors. Both the roles of Julius Ceasar and Sextus were played by women. Ceasar was sung by Ewa Podles, the Polish contralto with an incredible, honey-like masculine tone and low notes to die for. Vivica Genaux sang Sextus, the young man trying to avenge his father's death at the hands of Ptolemy. She's an incredible presence on stage and plays trouser roles very well, strutting around the stage like a young boy, running with a prominent heel, shoulders slung back. It was wonderful to see her march about with her hand at her sword, and the duet at the end of act I with her and Cornelia, her mother, was the most exquisite thing in the opera.

Countertenors are male singers with soprano voices. They have an otherworldly quality to their tone, which can make them boyish, feminine, or god-like. This show had two of them. The most prominent was Brian Asawa, who played Ptolemy, the petulent 12-year-old boy-king of Egypt with the bad temper. His voice rung out like the prepubescent he was and made his feminine qualities stand out even more as Cleopatra chided him. He was followed around my two fawning eunuchs, which made him even more ridiculous and wonderful.

I had a great time. It was a little long for me that night (over three hours), having just crossed the country, still catching up on sleep, but overall, the singers were terrific and I was entranced by the gorgeous scenic design. It's always nice to be back at SDO. I am sad to miss "Zauberflote" this year.

Random Thoughts on a Day Off

I'm sitting at home after this long trip home, John off to UCSD-TV to madly edit the Opera Spotlight for Handel's "Julius Ceasar," and I keep telling myself I'm going to put everything away and go to the store and do all of this stuff that's nagging at me when all I really want to do is sit on my couch that I've missed so much and type and watch daytime TV and look at old pics and do a little Sudoku...What I can't do it eat junk, which is the other thing I feel like doing right now. That premenstrual state I get into once a month is in full force and I'd love to run out and pick up some Half Baked ice cream and shovel it down while continuing to do all of the b.s. I've listed above, but the willpower has to start somewhere.

Random Thoughts:

1). Tyne Daly plays a great mom on television. I've been watching "Judging Amy," which I think is a great view of a loving, somewhat dysfunctional, educated family. It reminds me somewhat of my own in the way they talk to each other and the shit they do to each other, and there in the middle of it all is Tyne Daly sporting her proud head of grey hair and her pithy comments. She's addictive.

2). I am most definitely in an off-period when it comes to politics. I've been deleting my "Der Spiegel" newsletters and ignoring the news bulletins when I go on line. I don't know why - every once in a while I just don't want to hear about it. Oh, I still catch wind of what's going on . . . had an outraged conversation with my family about some bill that the house of rep. in Missouri was trying to pass making Christianity the official majority religion of the state. Aargh, Aargh, Aargh. What the hell is going on in this country? . . . but for the most part I am going through a definite period of no interest. I think I am on corruption/bad decision/scary government overload.

3). On a similar note, I went to get some coffee today at a neighborhood coffeeshop and actually had the urge to buy a newspaper to read while I was enjoying my mocha. I put my money in and couldn't get the apparatus to open its damn door - twice. (what is that old adage about fooling me once shame on you...) Somebody is truly telling me to give it a rest. For now.

4). Commercials suck. Period.

5). Right now I've just looked out the window and it's pouring down rain while the sun is shining. I think I have to go look for a rainbow right now. The most beautiful rainbow I ever saw was while I was on my solo trip to the Southwest and I was driving past those incredible wind fields near Palm Springs, and this huge rainbow appeared out of nowhere and pierced the ground right in between two of the huge windmills. It was blinding and gorgeous and I swear it was reflecting off of a pot of gold. I've spent the last few years looking for a rival -- no such luck thus far.

I'll let you know.

The Curse of Monterone

And so I was not meant to be involved in any "easy" projects in Miami. This "Rigoletto" started out so well. The rehearsals were a breeze, everyone was getting along, we were finishing up in due time. The only probable issue was the humongous set with a massive slipstage that took the whole crew five hours to install (five hours to undue and then five hours to install again in Broward County). Otherwise, this show seemed like it would be a snap.

But Noooooooo....

At the very beginning of the opera, Monterone, a man who's daughter has been wronged by the Duke, crashes a party and puts a curse on the Duke and Rigoletto, thus starting off a chain of events that ultimately leads to Rigoletto's daughter's untimely death. Our Duke, a very young, strapping, David Crawford, dressed (per usual) as a very old, dying man, marched down to the edge of the stage, made the curse sign with his hand, raised his arm to Rigoletto and sang out his curse with enough verve to send the poor jester to his knees. What we were all, apparently, unaware of at the time, was that the curse was quite effective for all of us in real time.

As soon as the show opened, sickness became the norm. People were falling ill, having vocal issues, calling us to explain that they weren't sure if they could go on. In the midst of this, normally languid, time in the run, when I would be showing up, making sure no one fell off the stage or walked in front of light trees, going out for a drink and going home to bed, I was suddenly called into action to prepare umpteen people to possibly go on in lieu of the scheduled performer.

If a principal singer falls ill during a standard rep show (such as "Rigoletto), there are generally quite a few people out there who also know the part, so someone is found who has an open schedule, flown in for a determinite amount of time, and quickly put into the role by having last-minute rehearsals and sometimes (as was the case with Mr. Youngblood) staged into the opera as it's happening, with quick work during intermissions.

Now, I've spoken of all of this before. We had two women standing by at different times for our Gilda, who was dealing with illness but managed to go on for all of her shows. We had two men come in for Rigoletto, who DID cancel twice, putting all of us on our toes each time and making for an adrenalin-filled, sometimes frustrating, always exciting experience. By the time we moved to Ft. Lauderdale for our final three shows, however, we were all beginning to rest back on our heels a bit, feeling like the end was in sight, feeling like things would calm down and we'd have a normal three shows.

Not so fast, says the curse...

Our Duke had a family emergency after the final show at Dade County Auditorium, and flew immediately back to Italy. With three shows left, it would usually stand to reason that we would fly in one person to do the final three. This would still mean a lot of work, but by the second, and especially the third show, they'd be well integrated and the show would (or could) run relatively smoothly. The difficult thing about what we were up against, was that this was three shows in a row. An opera company is hard pressed to find a singer who is prepared that would come in to do three in a row, let alone someone who is flying by the seat of their pants. 'Twas impossible, and so we had two Dukes to throw in at the last minute.

Both men, I must say, were delightful, hard workers, sweet to be around, and generally thankful for the aid they got. This definitely made all of our jobs easier, but it was a whirlwind none the less. John had flown in for my last few days so he could drive back with me. He got to see my harried work first hand as I flew from the wings to the tenor's dressing room to the production office, to the chorus dressing room to talk about changes, and back again. Oftentimes, I was sitting in a chair next to the tenor as he got his makeup adjusted and madly flipped through his score, while I talked him through the next couple of numbers. This kind of madness was becoming old hat. I've never experienced anything like this before - nor have many of my colleagues.

David stopped doing the curse sign with his hand. A little too late methinks.

I finally got to sit in the audience for the last show. With my fiance. Without having to take notes. What a complete luxury. We had great seats in the front of the mezzanine. It was a lovely evening.

I'll miss everyone I worked with this season. For all of its frustrations and lip-biting moments, times I wanted to kick something hard and moments I felt like I was yelling into the (hurricane force) wind, I had a lot of fun too. I made friends, I learned a whole helluva lot, and I'll be back next year to do "Samson et Dalila" with them. It will be a welcome reunion.

Oh, the pic? Me running fight call with Leah Partridge and the two "abductor" supers. The one constant with every show.

From Sea To Shining Sea!

I'm Back!

It's been way too long since I've taken a seat at my desk and posted an entry on my blog. I just finished a long, four-day journey home to San Diego after six whole months of being away.

Coming back is a strange thing after so long. On the one hand, I feel very at home here, and on the other, I feel strange in this place. It will take some adjustment.

That may not fully happen for a bit as I leave again for St. Louis on the 25th. Only a little over a week to get myself reacclimated and ready to leave again. My cat gets to stay, however. I'm not sure he's all that happy about it though. He is not well socialized and realizing that there are two other cats in this house has sent him into a fit of despair. I have no idea how long it will take for him to pull out of it.

So, this post is short. The next one will be longer, and about the madness that was the last week of performances of "Rigoletto" at Florida Grand Opera. I was sad to leave the people I have grown to love, but I'll be back.

The pic? My hand feeling the cool breeze in Western Texas. It was that wonderful time of year when the breeze is still winter but the sun beats down like summer. In my unairconditioned car, the only way to get relief was to hang out the window and let the breeze cool you off. A convertible would have been nice.

The Last Few Days

I haven't been writing in a bit. Things with "Rigoletto" have gotten extremely crazy here at the end. Nothing that I can go on about right now, but suffice to say, these issues coupled with me trying to get packed and ready to leave this place, have left me with very little time to sit down and write.

I will be back on here with verve in a few days. I just HAVE to close this show and I think it may take everything out of me.

John arrives on a jet plane tomorrow while I am prepping for the opening at the Broward Center for the Performing Arts. He'll take a cab to the theater. I could not have found a sweeter man.

Right now it's bedtime . . . the final calm before the final storm.

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?