Wet

Yes, that's a parrot with the parasols. It's that kind of show.

It's been pouring down rain all day. I feel like I'm drowning, sticking to the theater seats, sliding down the aisles on a sheet of muggy water. Every inch of this performance space is covered in condensation and the eaves are dripping as you run under them to the dressing rooms. One of our quick changes requires seven of our chorus men to dress outside and run around to the front of the house - not so easy in the pouring rain. Tonight I think we are using giant umbrellas. Though, as wet as I've gotten simply sitting in the house, I'm not sure it will help.

There was, however, a gorgeous rainbow just now at dinner. All sorts of snafus happening left and right as we try to move this show to stage, but there's the rainbow and we all smile. It was out over Lake Otsego, stretching from one side of the horizon to the other . . . a reminder that good things are coming perhaps.

Two more weeks and I'm done. What a crazy, whirlwind experience. It gives me confidence in my ability to be thrown into situations.

Take Me Out To The Opera...

This town is all about baseball. The Hall of Fame is here, Doubleday Field is here...it's a wonder that little Glimmerglass Opera even survives. But it persists, and the town supports it. This first photo is a picture of Main Street in Cooperstown, sporting a Glimmerglass Opera banner. It's amazing to me how the two exist so well side-by-side. With all of the baseball card shops and people wielding bats up and down the avenues of the town, I can still step into the library and get a rousing, "Opera Girl!" from the two little women behind the check-out counter. If I had my own transportation, I would be having a pleasant time.

That's me in my big ol' barn. It's actually a lovely home, though it gets hot in the steamy weather we've been having. This is especially true when it starts to rain in all directions and I have to close the windows, leaving my house to slowly turn into an unbearable sauna. It's actually cooled down quite a bit today, and I'm hoping the manageable weather lasts a bit longer. I hate those nights - reminiscent of my first years in Chicago - when I'm lying on top of my sheets, not a stitch on, hoping that I'll pass out so I don't have to deal with the sweat and oppressive air for any longer in the dark, silent night.

The theater doesn't take to the muggy weather either. The floors are cement and the condensation that appears on them in humid weather leaves streams of water rolling down towards the pit. My shoes don't have enough viable traction to deal effectively with the moist floors, and the seats in the house last night were slightly damp, rendering me a sweaty, damp mess by the time I went home. It's shades of Jacob's Pillow, except I'm not dancing here and so don't particularly want to be drenched in sweat.

Despite, the "Pirates of Penzance" is going to be quite a romp. The design team has effectively pulled out all the stops, and our singers are ready to jump in with both feet. Comedic discovery, when going well, is amazing and joyous in the studio. Nothing invites collective brainstorming like attempting to create a "cartoon" moment on stage. Realizing all of this on stage the past couple of days has been quite stressful. Comedy is not easy. It takes massive repetition and a complete understanding of the timing and placement of each gag. This show is also prop heavy and fly heavy and so it makes our tech rehearsals a bit tedious as we try to figure out each segment of each moment to make the full effect run smoothly and incite the laughter we've been enjoying with each other in the studio. When these moments finally all came together last night, it was wonderful to be in the house and hear the hoots from the rest of the cast and crew, and to see the glimmers of joy on the performers' faces as they realized what they'd done.

Someone mentioned yesterday that theater is like throwing a party - putting it together is terrible work, but once the party starts, it's great fun. We are all looking ahead to that.

In my other life, so far away, I am trying desperately to stay connected but I'm not sure how well it's working. I'm having a lot of trouble putting together rehearsals for these pieces I'm trying to do in August. I am, frankly, unsure if it can happen at this point. I'm trying to figure out how I want my wedding to go and hoping to do a show in November, and it all seems like so much when I spend thirteen hours a day on "Pirates." I must, at the very least, be ready to teach when I walk in the door. I'm going to be completely jet-lagged, so I must have a class ready that could nearly teach itself. Life never, never stops. Thank god, but holy crap!

I'm leaving you with one of my tech table photos. This one is during dinner break last night at Glimmerglass, as I sat at the table rewriting singer notes and downing Goldfish.

The set is barely visible save the ship dissapearing into the back flat, but believe me when I say that Monty Python would be very proud. If you want to see what it actually looks like . . . well . . . you'll just have to come to Cooperstown.

Culture Shock

It might be some time before you get a proper post from me. I am quite cut off from the world in Cooperstown. I am actuallyl staying in Springfield, New York, in a barn, in the middle of nowhere. I have very little access to anything communicative, such as a cell phone or internet. It's been a shock to my big-city system.

The pic is a view from my bedroom. Yes, that's a pig atop that weather vane. The work is interesting and the people lovely and I am sure that I will find myself used to this place by the time I leave.

Right now, however, it's lonely and a bit gloomy and without any car, I can't explore. I feel a bit stuck. Thank god I'm here to work and not relax. People come out here to dissapear but I find it much easier to fall into the woodwork in a metropolis than in this big wide country.

My How Things Change!

And so the swiftness and changeability of my career has shown itself to be much like the wind again, as I woke up this morning to an urgent telephone call from Glimmerglass Opera.

Suffice to say, I will not be spending my month of June in San Diego as originally planned. I will, instead, be enjoying the sights and sounds of Cooperstown, New York, as I AD for Lillian Groag once again. I am ecstatic, nervous, and a bit flustered to say the least.

My red eye leaves in five hours. Hopefully I'll be filling all of you in quite soon.

Up up and Away!!

No Gay Marriage Amendment for Mr. Bush

So it didn't happen. We all knew the Amendment wouldn't pass, but I still can breathe a little easier knowing we are over one hurdle towards becoming the fascist state for which Bush and his cronies so desperately yearn.

We haven't even begun to see the end of this issue though. As long the Religious Right has any kind of hold over our law-makers, this issue and other social issues that "go against God" will continue to come under endless fire.

I am especially appalled at the President's remarks on the "Marriage Amendment" that make it sound like passing the amendment would actually give the American people more freedom. My favorite quote:

As this debate goes forward, every American deserves to be treated with tolerance and respect and dignity. (Applause.) On an issue of this great significance, opinions are strong and emotions run deep. And all of us have a duty to conduct this discussion with civility and decency toward one another. All people deserve to have their voices heard and a constitutional amendment will ensure that they are heard.

All of this sounds quite decent until you get to the end. What he really means to say is all voices deserve to be heard, but we should only truly listen to the ones that agree with him.

Not much of a rant today I guess...I should be feeling happy that the amendment didn't have nearly enough votes, but I think I'm just feeling more disgruntled than anything. I get in this mood any time I read something that Bush has said or written. He just needs to go away; and fast.

I'm ending this post with a quip from one Peter Griffin who, on an early episode of "The Family Guy," rode into his yard on an elephant and yelled down to his wife, "Look Lois, the two symbols of the Republican Party: An elephant, and a big, fat, white guy who's afraid of change."

Tappa, Tappa, Tappa

Tonight was my first rehearsal for the two pieces I am premiering at Celebrate Dance in August. I'm working with two great dancers to put together a trio, and we got together to work this evening in the smallest space in existence at the Academy of Performing Arts. It was great to jump into a piece, but frustrating to be in such a small space. All of us acknowledged the fact that we would have to find someplace a little more substantial as the piece became more and more solidified.

The biggest issue wasn't the tiny quarters, actually. We were plagued by tap dancers in a class next door. I haven't been around tap classes in years and forgot what a cacophony of sound they produce when they are all hoofing together. At one point we were working on a quiet bit in the piece and, not only was the entire class slapping their feet against the floor with abandon, but they were all tapping to the blaring sounds of a gospel choir belting out their hand-slapping best. The walls are thin in that studio. We started laughing so hard that we couldn't concentrate on the piece and had to start over.

Despite, I liked what we accomplished and think that we will be able to forge something worth doing by the time the festival rolls around in August.

So many things are starting all at once. This rehearsal tonight was just the first horse out of the gate - everything else is immediately following. Tomorrow is entirely about putting syllabi together for summer schools and continuing to work on my upcoming shows. I love being busy . . . but I can see myself needing a break in a couple of months.

Oh...and I am officially thirty years old. It was a realization I made tonight on the way to my car. The three of us were walking out and one of my dancers mentioned how she was almost thirty and I thought, "Wow, I'm the oldest one of the three...I AM thirty." It wasn't an earth-shattering thought, but it did give me a moment's pause. I got into my Hyundai and sat in the dark for a minute before driving off; took stock of what was happening in my life. I told myself that thirty was going to be a good year and I have to keep thinking that..

Life goes by so quickly, even when it seems like it's dragging ass.

Transcendence Of The Great Big Not-So-Bad

John awarded me with a trip to Los Angeles for my birthday weekend. Tickets to see the much anticipated "Grendel" at LA Opera, and a night in the Omni Hotel, which is a mere two blocks away from the theater. The weekend just got better and better. . .

First, "Grendel" was quite an interesting experience. Our tickets, while staying the same price, instantly became preview tickets when the monstrosity of a set piece malfunctioned immediately before the opening last week. I was willing to allow a few technical snafus during the run of the show on Saturday afternoon, but what we got was far from that. The singers were great (espcially Eric Owens as the misunderstood monster, and the inimitable Denyce Graves as a diva of a dragon lady with a Fabulous boa!), the costumes were beautiful, the musicians were exemplary. The choreography (by Angelin Preljocaj) was fine, but I've been having hang-ups about every opera I've seen lately turning into a modern dance concert at the oddest times. This production was better about it than most, but I still think dance can be integrated more smoothly. The music had amazing moments of grandeur and wonderful bits of repose, but was in bad need of an editor's swift knife. There were far too many ponderous moments for my personal taste. When the whole thing was on, however, the whole thing was ON.

The big issue, as far as I could tell, was the incredible disregard for sight lines. I would place bets that none of the production team had ever watched any of the show from the balcony. I was sitting in the very front of the balcony and watched every set change behind the huge moving piece in the middle. Every time a stairway moved or a group of dancers entered, ready to jump through the center of the mountain that made up the relatively uninteresting set, a curtain was pulled aside in the back, and the blinding daylight came streaming through, hitting all of us in the eyes. Every time there was about to be an entrance from the created doorway in the rotating hulk of plaster in the center of the stage, I watched an asm enter from the blinding daylight beyond the curtain, and walk leisurely to the center of the stage with her mini-light-lit score in one hand, her other hand poised above her head, ready for the appropriate musical cue. I watched props people shift from hip to hip, whispering to each other, waiting for the cue to remove chairs from behind the set and take them off stage. I watched deck crew run back and forth to make sure stair cases has been set properly. What the hell was going on??? I am sure, because of the sight lines of the set, that no one in the orchestra section of the theater could see this zoo happening behind the action, but I was in the front of the balcony and was watching a completely separate show. I hope to god that someone else noticed and is doing something about the appalling masking. If it had been my show, I would have been throwing a massive fit by the time the final curtain descended.

The show has a lot of work to do to become something amazing. I'm glad I saw it though. It's always exciting to see new work - regardless of its problems. The exuberance of the singers, especially Mr. Owens, and the beautiful dancers, made it all worth it. I'll be curious to see where it goes and how it does.

In a huge stroke of luck, John and I noticed on our way to the hotel that MOCA was having some late-night event. We walked down after checking in and found that the museum was open until midnight and that Robert Rauschenberg's Combines were being shown in exhibition. I hadn't been to an art museum in so long, so we sidled past the hipsters listening to a DJ in the atrium, and walked through his incredible retrospective. We were laughing at some of the "art-speak" paragraphs under the piece descriptions. Whenever I see Rauschenberg's work, I am enchanted and love looking at all of the found objects he's placed in juxtaposition; I rarely see the need to draw any deep meaning from his use of dead animals, socks, or newspaper clippings. I loved the various bits of deconstruction going on because it seemed rather absurd when compared to the randomness of his work.

As with most art exhibits, it was great to finally see some of his pieces up close when I'd only ever seen them as tiny thumbnails in a textbook. We also took a stroll through the permanent collection, and saw another exhibit by an African-American woman named Lorna Simpson. Her work consisted of a series of similar photographs surrounded by text. Many of her pieces seemed to be about identity - as a woman, as a black woman, as a black person. I was sometimes more interested in the photographs, sometimes more interested in the text, and a couple of times thought the marriage of the two were fascinating.

And so I had an art-full weekend in the City of Angels. John did good.

We came back to San Diego this morning and rested a bit before setting out for one more bit of culture. Pat Rincon Dance Collective was holding its 8th annual Blurring Borders Festival at City College. It was great to step back into the dance scene for the first time in seven months. There was an Irish company performing that did absolutely nothing for me, but the concert held some interest as the evening went on. I was especially enamored with a duet by Elizabeth Licea and Raffaella Judd - their movement is so similar that it was often like watching the same person on opposite sides of the stage. Raffaella tells me that a longer version will premiere this summer. I'll be curious to see how it transforms.

This weekend has kicked off my creativity. My body of work begins now...

Off To L.A.

So I'm leaving in about twenty minutes to go up to Los Angeles with John so we can see "Grendel," the new Julie Taymor extravaganza at L.A. Opera. I'm sure some of you have heard about the computer/mechanical problems the show's been having. They had to cancel their opening night because of a huge machine malfunction. So now, this show I'm going to is being labeled a preview even though we all paid full price for our tickets. Not sure I agree with the way the company's been handling that, but I want to see it so there you go.... The link to the Times article is below. I'll report on how it looks later.

It's been great to be home, spending time with John, taking my cat to the vet because he sprained his wrist (yes, that's right, jumped down wrong or something and is limping like mad....will the madness never stop???). I went up to UCSD to watch John edit yesterday, which is one of my favorite pastimes.. He is such a smart editor and I find it so interesting to watch him cut up sections of video and stick them together perfectly. He is a master at splicing together rehearsal footage and performance footage so the music continues without a glitch. It's so satisfying to see him work to find the perfect splicing place, then watch the finished product and hear how seamless it is.

We had lunch at a sushi restaurant in Hillcrest and I started going through all of my projects for the summer. I'm going to be one busy girl. I can't wait.

Misguided Patriots, U.S. Sweatshops and Why Jet Lag Sucks

The picture is of my neice and two of my brothers at my 30th birthday party (a little early). My parents threw a little family shin-dig for me to celebrate my milestone. It's nice to still be given the kid treatment once in a while.

I am home for a good long while however! I flew in yesterday and am feeling incredible jet leg for reasons unbeknownst to me. There's only a two hour time difference between St. Louis and here, but I woke up this morning completely exhausted and shaky. Maybe I didn't drink enough water, maybe I wasn't sleeping well in Missouri, maybe my nerves were shot as I have recently become a terrible white-knuckle flier. On my flight from Dallas, I was sitting next to two little kids flying alone. The turbulence was quite minor compared to other flights I've been on in the recent past, but I was forcibly trying to regulate my breathing and gripping the side of the seat. Both of the girls were playing video games and lolling off to sleep halfway through. What's happened to me? I used to be like that.

So, I'm exhausted and lazy today. I guess I deserve a day of respite but feel pretty upset with myself for taking it. Tomorrow I will get more done.

Two things I wanted to touch on that I've been thinking about since the race. One raised my dander at the track. Being Memorial Day, we always have representatives from each faction of the armed forces march around the track before the race, and various military planes do flyovers during the National Anthem, and sometimes after "Taps" is played. It's all part of the pomp and circumstance and I have no problem supporting these men and women for the sacrafices they've made to be the force of protection for our country. I am glad to give thanks to the men and women of earlier wars who gave their lives to help keep our country free and safe. What irked me this time, was that every time a flyover happened or military men and women marched in front of us last Sunday, huge factions of the crowd stood up, pumped their fists and started chanting "U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.!..." Banging their feet on the ground and grunting out each letter as if they were calling for an encore at a heavy metal concert or rooting for their favorite sports team.

What is that all about? Why do so many people feel the need to chant out their country's name while standing in the heartland of their own country? What do they hope to achieve by this jingoistic display? Do they realize that our country is in a war it cannot win right now, that we aided and abetted a huge civil war in Iraq? Are they rooting for our country to win as if we were all in some giant video game in a country they can barely imagine on the map? Why do we need to thrust our patriotism into the faces of other citizens of our own country? For that matter, why do we need to thrust our fanatic patriotism into the faces of citizens from other countries? Doesn't that make us look arrogant and a little bit stupid, or perhaps we look like we're scared of our own shadow - we have to obnoxiously affirm our patriotism to believe it ourselves? Do these people realize that almost half of the drivers of this race are not from the United States? I watched the rest of the opening ceremonies for the race (however beautiful) with a bad taste in my mouth.

The other dander raising moment for me was on the plane home. I read an article in Ms.Magazine about Saipan and the Marianas Islands, a U.S. Territory in the Pacific that imposes most U.S. laws on those living there except for minimum wage. This chip in the law, supported by people like Tom DeLay, allows sweatshops and indentured servitude to persist on this U.S. soil, and it goes by unnoticed because garments made there can display a tag stating, "Made in the U.S.A." According to the Article, J. Jill, Elie Tahari, Ann Taylor, Liz Claiborne, The Gap, Ralph Lauren and others subcontract production to factories on the island so they can have a U.S. product made at sweatshop prices. Three bills are wending their way through the House and Senate to make the minimum wage laws apply in the Marianas, but they need our support. DeLay and his cronies have done an excellent job of making other such bills die on the floor. The link to the article is below.

The more I read and see pertaining to our current administration, the more sick to my stomach I get.

Tomorrow I start work on my many projects happening in the summer and fall. Hopefully they will help my mood elevate and my jetlag fall away.

Do I Know How To Pick 'Em Or . . .

. . .Do I know how to pick 'em??? Mr. Hornish Jr. won his first Indy 500 today with the second closest margin of victory in Indy history! He'd been a bit back in the pack the whole day after starting as the pole sitter, and I was a bit sad. But in the last moment, he came up past Michael Andretti (who, bless his heart, has tried and tried and never crossed the brickyard first), then pulled past rookie, Marco Andretti, as they were both crossing the finish line. Beautiful! 'Twas a great ending and I was cheering like mad.

The race itself would have been much better to watch if it hadn't been oppressively hot all day. Every time a yellow flag came out, I would run underneath the stands to cool off in the shade, leaning my back against the cold concrete until I heard the roar of the green and knew it was time to go back up and watch. My brother and mom were having major problems with the heat and kept walking up under the eave to escape the brutal sunshine. I downed six 20-ounce bottles of water and never once had to pee the entire 7 hours I was at the track. I can't imagine how the drivers were suffering.

That being said, it was a great race. Danica, as I had predicted, placed in the top ten but didn't push herself to the top of the pack - never getting higher than fifth. It was great to see her out there racing however. There were several silly crashes - one on a yellow flag, and Hornish actually sat out a penalty when he pulled away from the pit before the gas hose was removed and ran over one of his pit crew's foot, setting him on fire in the process. We had great seats this year - quite close to the tower and high enough that we could see both the first and fourth turn, so all of the action was in our line of sight.

I love the Indianapolis 500 - if you couldn't tell. It's my one annual moment of sporting event madness in between my seasons in dance and opera. I love races because they are such a push for personal best. I love the adrenalin of speed and the precise timing and spacial awareness that is so imperative in racing such fast machines. I also love the pomp and circumstance that precedes each race. The tradition of songs in a certain order, military planes flying over, Jim Nabors singing "Back Home Again in Indiana," and this year, the most beautiful playing of "Taps" to a completely silent crowd of half a million. It's an amazing burst of excitement and reflection of past that brings me into summer every year.

Tomorrow is a family breakfast and then we all go our separate ways again until the following year. I've got two more days with my family and then finally home to my fiance and cats and seven months of teaching and enjoying my home!!!

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.