France!

So after a week of wailing and gnashing of teeth and burning of the rejection letters, things are looking up. I was at choir last night and one of the other girls said to me, "hey, I got my rejection letter from the Jardin program, did you get yours?" and I realized that I had not been home all day. So I called the fiancee and asked him to look through the mail.

After one rejection form letter, one postcard (how gauche!) and an email (at least I can read it in the privacy of my home), I was sure that this would be the final blow, just in time for the holidays. So I ask him to open it, fully prepared for the standard "we had a lot of candidates, we were more than happy to take your application fee to Starbucks, good luck with your career, blah blah blah" response.

But it wasn't there.

No dear friends, instead was a lovely letter telling me that Le Jardin des Voix has accepted my application and passed me on to the next level of audition, a live audition for William Christie in NYC this February. For those of you who have no idea what this is about, here's the reader's digest version:
William Christie is the big guy in charge of Les Arts Florissants. LAF is THE premiere baroque opera company. They do productions of baroque opera with big name opera stars and fantastic orchestras at houses like the Opera in Paris. BIG deal. Jardin des Voix is the young artist program for LAF, run by the same guy. It's two and a half months in France, and they only audition every two years. So I get to sing for these people in person in hopes that they will see fit to accept me into Jardin. (ohpleaseohpleaseohpleaseohplease) And should they do this, I will spend spring of 2007 in FRANCE!!

And that said, I'm going to do my happy dance.

goin to the chapel

Or at least to city hall, today. There's a three day waiting period for a marriage license in the state of Massachusetts so we have to get on that detail before the week is out. I don't want to think about anything of substance next week. Once Casey gets here, it will be nothing but painting toenails and fixing hair and arranging flowers.

How do brides make it through these last two weeks with nine million little details and only two hands? Is this why the mother of the bride usually plays such an active role? To keep her daughter from going stir crazy? To her credit, mom has been very helpful from afar and I'm inclined to say it's best that way. We still don't know who's going to show up on that day. There still remain several mystery relatives who may or may not come. But no matter. If they come, they get cake. If not, more tiramisu for me.

That's right, I said 'tiramisu.' Eat your heart out.

Speaking of which, this hungry girl needs breakfast. Hope everyone is having a lovely day!

for He is like a refiner's fire

So I spent most of the weekend drowning in self-loathing, singing two Sunday morning services and three Lessons and Carols services, trying to figure out why it is that I crave so much the validation of some unknown panel of artistic directors at opera companies.
The way my voice teacher says it, with a voice type as unusual as mine, if they found someone who filled the role and could also sing generic soprano in the chorus for the rest of the season, I wouldn't even be considered. This doesn't really make me feel lots better, and then I remembered this conversation that eMc and I had a few years ago. I think someone had sent me a forward - were both having an absolutely abysmal week (we're talking a creole cream cheese ice cream week) - and at the end of the forward was this quote from Malachi:
'And He shall sit as a refiner and purifier of silver: and He shall purify the sons of Levi, and and purge them as gold and silver, that they may offer unto the Lord an offering in righteousness.'

The conclusion to which Emily and I came was that we were being held to the fire to make us stronger. And so, we became stronger and graduated without bloodshed, wailing or gnashing of teeth or rending of garments, and no animals were harmed in the making of this production.
In short, we lived to fight another day. So, somewhere around the third carol service, it dawned on me that even if a summer opera company doesn't take notice of me, this doesn't make me less worthy. It just means there's something better out there, waiting to make itself known.

That said, I'm going to watch West Wing Season 5 and snuggle with my dog because school is out until January 16th!

holiday cheer

I sang yesterday in aria class, gave my paper presentation, emailed the final draft in, and went out for a beer with the other DMA candidates. By the time we left the bar it was 4:30pm and I headed downtown to do some browsing before the McDonalds' christmas party (my voice teacher, having nothing to do with fries). I love cities at Christmas time. Everything is lit and there are people bustling around and, in my case, you sometimes get to hear a brass band playing carols outside of Macy's. Very festive.

Our friend Jason from IU came to town last night, bearing two huge suitcases for the rest of his trip back home and all of the gossip we don't get this far out east. We ate some pie and drank lovely lattes (care of our new fabulous espresso maker, big hearts to Stacey and Drew) and talked about the wedding. Everything is in place now. All that remains is for me to pick up the dress and clean the house in preparation for the en masse arrival of family.

The only thing more I could wish for would be that audition season had not directly precluded my wedding. I feel really shallow running to the mailbox to look for my acceptance and rejection letters from summer programs, and then taking my requisite day of sulking, when there is so much to be happy about: we are both in good health, the weather so far has been relatively kind, we're paying for our own wedding and not going broke doing it, our parents are able to come, our best friends are able to come, I survived my first semester at NEC, Frank's job treats him really well, and we live in a city named the 'safest mid-sized city in America' so we can walk the dog at night and feel safe. So why is it so hard to suppress the urge to change my major back to musicology, drop out of the opera program, and stop beating my head against the opera monster, in the midst of all these wonderful things in my life?

Frank says I take rejection too personally, but how can you not when you walk into an audition and the first thing they look for is whether or not you fit into their idea of a character, before you even open your mouth. 'Am I too tall? Do they hate my dress? My legs look good in this dress, am I showing too much leg? Maybe I should have worn the pantsuit. I should have gone on a diet last month, their costumes are all probably a size 8. Why aren't they looking at me? Why is that one looking at my shoes? I like these shoes, they match my dress. Maybe he hates my dress. Why are these judges always gay men who dress better than I do?' And even if what comes out of your mouth is brilliant, if you're taller than the tenor they want to cast, you go to the circular file. The one with the plastic liner.
It's not like I can switch instruments and decide to be something else. "Today, I think I will be a mezzo." No, it just doesn't work that way. You can't get vocal cord transplants, at least I don't think you can.

There was an article in 'Classical Singer' this month about whether or not you're geared up for a career in singing. One of the questions was 'do you value stability in your life?' And of course, the answer was, 'if you do, then a career in singing is not for you.' And maybe I'm just overanalyzing (probably am, actually) but yesterday was one of those days where nothing, not even the lights downtown, not even the brass band or the carol singing around the piano at the McDonalds', could make me feel like anything more than a sham, an academic masquerading as a performer.

That said, I have to get cleaned up to go sing the carol services at Trinity. Maybe that will shake me out of the funk.

radio free hindrichs

I'm at page eighteen of my paper. I have to have between 20 and 25 pages, without bibliography, coverpage, or works cited list. To keep myself sane, I've been listening to programs on BBC Radio online.

I love the BBC. On no other radio station can you listen to a recorded broadcast of an English choral evensong, a service of lessons and carols, and some crazy program about Handel talking about how people had an objection to hearing scripture in a theatre because of the 'kinds of people' that work in theatres. Isn't that hilarious?

So now that I've wasted enough time, it's back to the grind. Are we sure no one wants to finish this thing for me?

Ceremony of whatnot

I'm writing my final paper for my musicology seminar on Benjamin Britten's 'Ceremony of Carols.' As I got absolutely nothing done last week during the opera things have now kicked into high gear and I am attempting to average a few pages a day so I can finish this paper up and be ready to present it by Friday. The other yahoos in my seminar complained last Tuesday when I asked if I could go this Friday instead of this Tuesday (tomorrow) due to my being locked up in the theatre for eleven hours a day until the opera was over (yesterday). My favorite part of this conversation was when the organist said, "well I have a concert this week too" and I said "yes, that's all good and fine but are you going to be sequestered in a theatre for the next six days with three petticoats, a wig, and two overskirts, are you required to sing, act and not fall off a nine foot raked platform at the same time you're floating a high C-sharp? no? then can I please do my presentation next Friday because that's all I'm going to be doing this week." And unfortunately, I'm the only singer in this seminar and they all look at me like my entire occupation consists of draping myself on a chaise lounge and singing 'O mio babbino caro' for fun. Singing isn't hard. And it doesn't require things like work, practice, knowledge of acting and languages and stagecraft and makeup and wigs and the ability to do all of those things at once without looking like it's hard. Whatever. Exit soapbox.

In other news, the opera did go marvelously well and as soon as the production photos are out, I will be posting documentation of the aforementioned pink and peach nightmare that was my costume. I confess, by the third run, I had developed a strange affinity for the swishing sound my skirts made, but I don't know how women lived this way. Sitting down it virtually out of the question, let alone playing volleyball or doing yoga or anything really other than perching on the edge of a chair and knitting quietly. Hiccups are a trial in a corset and that is all I will say about that. The pictures will speak for themselves, just you wait.

We also got six inches of snow which was really beautiful. The urge to sing 'White Christmas' is ever present. I was downtown yesterday walking through Restoration Hardware (guilty pleasure) and humming along with the Christmas carols. Something about cities in the snow, I can't explain it. Maybe it's the 'When Harry Met Sally' vibe I get. *sigh*
Love to you and yours, back to the paper!

Petticoat junction

This is what my costume for the opera looks like: First I put on a petticoat and a corset. Then I put on the underskirt, the shirt (that has boning all over the place) and the vest, then the overskirt with the apron, the little lacy thing that hangs from my neck, and the bustle.
I'm wearing a bow the size of a Thanksgiving turkey on my ass. And it's all shades of pink and peach.

Who says I don't suffer for my art.

And in act II, when I'm supposed to be even prissier (if that's possible) they put on a ridiculous hat and some more layers with ruffles. It's like my worst nightmare as a five year old girl with the lace and the ruffles and the uncomfortable dresses, only I'm supposed to sing at the same time. Nightmare. Of course, there will be pictures.

In other news, we're now in the countdown to wedding and if I don't strangle the caterer or the dressmaker, we might just make it to the altar without bloodshed. I did my first Messiah yesterday and was officially the youngest soloist up there, surrounded by professors from Yale, and my countertenor friend who never bullshits says it was the fastest 'Rejoice greatly' he's ever heard and it was amazing. I'm just glad I didn't trip on my dress.

Must write paper, enough distracting myself. Hope everyone is feeling well - to the DP, I'm sorry if I gave you my trans-Atlantic cold.

home sick

A nasty bug attacked my upper respiratory system, leaving me without a voice and with a nasty cough. Cross your fingers, toes and any other items you can because if I can't croak out a note by Friday, I have to cancel my summer program auditions and that would just plain suck. Ohmm, Zithromax please work!

t minus 30 minutes till turkey

This is my first Thanksgiving with my future in-laws and my fiancee's extended family. Since 10am, I have been in the kitchen, watching over my meringue, making sure the potatoes were all peeled, sorting vegetables, and intermittently watching the Godfather marathon on television.

Frank and I are staying at his sister's house. She and her family are in Georgia for a hi-youge family Thanksgiving with the in-laws (siblings, kids and spouses, I think something around 40 people will be there) so we are using her house and kitchen for the festivities. While I won't say that this is 'my' kitchen, we are the ones responsible for seeing that it gets back to the way Marianna left it, so my urge to clean is compounded by the 'someone else's house' thing.

Every year, mom and I would spend the day before Thanksgiving in the kitchen, making pies and preparing things for the big day so all we would have to do was throw stuff in the oven/boiler/microwave/etc and sling it on the table and it would be done. This was usually accomplished without great strife and with only one or two trips to the grocery.
FOUR trips to the grocery have been made so far by Frank, his mother, his sister and nephew. At the moment, I think there are three jars of mayonaise in the fridge, three boxes of dark brown sugar, and who knows how many bottles of white zinfandel. The turkey is almost done, the pies are cooling on the rack, and my future mother-in-law simply will NOT sit down and stay out of the kitchen so I can clean. Perhaps this is truly my Hindrichs showing through, but my family always did the 'clean as you go' method so when you sat down to dinner, nothing gross would be congealing in the sink and you would be able to enjoy your coffee and pie without fretting over the saucepans and nine million spoons used to prepare this meal.

I'm getting married in five weeks and I know that I marry the family. But my question is this:
even if I marry the family, do I have to marry their kitchen or worse, clean it?

'tis the season

To get hitched, that is.

One of my oldest friends is getting married tomorrow. As I spoke to my dressmaker the other day about a pickup date I realized that the one-month mark is drawing nigh. Family members are sending in their arrival dates, we're trying to pick a location for a rehearsal dinner, but all I can think about is that in thirty-eight days, I will be the proud owner of a new last name. This is, of course, a matter of some semantic debate because I'll have to stay a Hindrichs on stage and in academia if one or more of the following things happens this year:
1. I get hired by Boston Lyric Opera.
2. One of my articles gets published in a musicology journal.
3. I get accepted into a major summer opera program.

I wouldn't be concerned about the name-changing thing if I hadn't just sent out a big batch of audition applications with 'Hindrichs' on them, but changing my name preemptively seemed weird so there we are. Still having questions as to how Dr. Pesci would look on paper versus Dr. Hindrichs. So far, the only Dr. P in the family is my future father-in-law and I don't know how the rest of the family would take to me becoming the second...

We're heading down to DC tomorrow morning to spend turkey day with the family. In a pre-celebratory endeavor, Dr. Lois Leventhal came to Boston for the NASM convention (BORING!) with her husband and we spent most of the day yesterday gallavanting about the city and shopping and drinking new beers and enjoying each other's company. For those of you who do not know, Dr. Leventhal is the person for whom this blog is named. A good Jewish girl from Boston herself, she refers to me as the Divine Miss Em and I refer to her as the Divine Dr. L and she keeps me up to date on my Yiddish. One must keep their CSE (continuing shiksa education) up to date. Perhaps sometime in the future I will tell the story of my shiksa induction.

I hope everyone has a marvelous Thanksgiving and eats lots of turkey. Alas in vain, we aren't frying one this year but I will be hard at work in the kitchen making my famous fabulous bourbon pecan pie. Wedding diet be damned, I'm gonna eat pie and turkey and cranberry like nobody's business!

I love Boston in the fall

Unlike yesterday, which was filled with drippy leaves and wind gusts that nearly knocked me off my feet, today is a serene fall day in Boston. I love Boston in the fall. It makes me want to buy school supplies. (Casey and Emily, that's for you) All of the leaves are changing, if not already changed, there are people bundled up in sweaters out walking their dogs. I went into CVS this morning to get some baby oil to clean my false eyelashes (for my makeup class, no I'm not doing a drag show by night) and there was a beautiful lab mix sitting outside, hitched to a trash can. I always wonder what people are thinking when they bring their dog to run errands and then leave them summarily tied to a pole or a fire hydrant. Of course, I operate under the assumption that my dog is the most beautiful dog ever and someone would want him for their own so it would be careless and foolish for me to take my dog out and then leave him somewhere unattended.

Still at war with the DMA. After last week's meeting with the provost, I'm not holding out too much hope that things will change. I even called up one of my profs at IU and she said that, at the end of the road, I still need a DMA more than I need an artist diploma and I would be sorry I hadn't gotten the academic credential. What do you do when the institution issuing your terminal degree basically LIES about what you need to do to finish said degree? And they think the degree is just fine the way it is and why are you questioning us, we're the oldest music school in the country isn't that enough go on your merry way.
This is why I loathe higher education, and also why I have every intention of becoming a dean somewhere along the way. Because administration needs to not be the holding ground for people who weren't successful at anything else. I'll get off my soap box now.

Must dash to dance class. Today we're learning to waltz!

Grace

As in, I am the epitome of.

Or not, as evidenced by my swan dive onto the subway tracks yesterday. Mug of tea in hand, backpack securely on both shoulders, I was crossing the subway tracks in order to reach the 'inbound' platform. For those of you not intimately familiar with Boston subway systems, the green line is one of the only remaining streetcar style subway lines - the rest go through more metropolitan areas so they more closely resemble the NYC subway system than the trolleys down St. Charles.
I love the green line. It goes through the outerlying suburbs, some lovely parks, lots of green places for dogs to run, next to the campus of Boston College. Just beautiful, especially in the snow. But when it is above ground, you have to cross over the actual subway tracks in order to reach the opposing platform. I do this every day, usually without any incident of major injury, but yesterday was my day. So, proceeding slowly as to not catch my foot on the inside of the track, what did I do. I caught my foot on the track and went down square on my left knee, on top of the subway track, also managing to hit my right hip. Oh the joys of gravity.
I'm not usually a clumsy person. I've never broken, twisted, fractured, sprained, or any of the like injuries that occur to ankles or knees or whatnot. But I have to tell you, Monet would be jealous of the color palate that's decorating my knee right now. As the school nurse said to me, "Yep, you sure did it good."

But since when did I ever do anything half-ass?

Talked to the parents yesterday. They have halfway moved into their FEMA trailer. You know, the one that's been sitting in front of the house for a month now but only in the last week did FEMA see fit to come out and hook up the electricity, water, and sewer. Truly, my folks are handling this remarkably well. Mom has not yet cussed out their insurance agent, and the only person who has sustained any injuries as of late is Oma. Something about a satellite television thing and how she was trying to dismantle it - getting details out of her is like trying to get a musicologist to admit they like the Bee Gees - and it ended with her breaking her arm and having to have surgery. It's heartening to know that she's persnickety as ever and determined to go home as soon as possible. At the same time, any possibility of her being well enough to travel for the wedding is out of the question. This means the reigning matriarch present will be Amparo. I can't wait to see the looks on the Pesci family's faces when I introduce her as my grandmother. HI-larious.

Hope everyone is well this week. And if anyone feels compelled to write twenty-five pages on medieval pageantry and Benjamin Britten, let me know.

Flashbacks

So Stacey suggested this interesting meme - songs from the year you graduated high school. Now keep in mind, I'm a die-hard 80's fan so my idea of a good time was still listening to New Order, old Depeche Mode and slow dancing to Berlin (dreaming of a much younger than he is now Tom Cruise) but that's me. As instructed, my favorites are italicized.

Most popular songs of 1997

1. Candle In The Wind 1997, Elton John
2. Foolish Games / You Were Meant For Me, Jewel
3. I'll Be Missing You, Puff Daddy and Faith Evans
4. Un-Break My Heart, Toni Braxton
5. Can't Nobody Hold Me Down, Puff Daddy
6. I Believe I Can Fly, R. Kelly
7. Don't Let Go (Love), En Vogue
8. Return Of The Mack, Mark Morrison
9. How Do I Live, LeAnn Rimes
10. Wannabe, Spice Girls
11. Quit Playing Games (With My Heart), Backstreet Boys
12. MMMBop, Hanson
13. For You I Will, Monica
14. You Make Me Wanna..., Usher
15. Bitch, Meredith Brooks
16. Nobody Keith Sweat
17. Semi-Charmed Life, Third Eye Blind
18. Barely Breathing, Duncan Sheik
19. Hard To Say I'm Sorry, Az Yet Featuring Peter Cetera
20. Mo Money Mo Problems, Notorious B.I.G.
21. The Freshmen, Verve Pipe
22. I Want You, Savage Garden
23. No Diggity, BLACKstreet Featuring Dr. Dre
24. I Belong To You (Every Time I See Your Face), Rome
25. Hypnotize, Notorious B.I.G.
26. Every Time I Close My Eyes, Babyface
27. In My Bed, Dru Hill
28. Say You'll Be There, Spice Girls
29. Do You Know (What It Takes), Robyn
30. 4 Seasons Of Loneliness, Boyz II Men
31. G.H.E.T.T.O.U.T., Changing Faces
32. Honey, Mariah Carey
33. I Believe In You And Me, Whitney Houston
34. Da' Dip, Freaknasty
35. 2 Become 1, Spice Girls
36. All For You, Sister Hazel
37. Cupid, 112
38. Where Have All The Cowboys Gone?, Paula Cole
39. Sunny Came Home, Shawn Colvin
40. It's Your Love, Tim McGraw and Faith Hill
41. Ooh Aah... Just A Little Bit, Gina G
42. Mouth, Merril Bainbridge
43. All Cried Out, Allure Featuring 112
44. I'm Still In Love With You, New Edition
45. Invisible Man, 98 Degrees
46. Not Tonight, Lil' Kim
47. Look Into My Eyes, Bone Thugs-N-Harmony
48. Get It Together, 702
49. All By Myself, Celine Dion
50. It's All Coming Back To Me Now, Celine Dion
51. My Love Is The Shhh!, Somethin' For The People
52. Where Do You Go, No Mercy
53. I Finally Found Someon, Barbra Streisand and Bryan Adams
54. I'll Be, Foxy Brown Featuring Jay-Z
55. If It Makes You Happy , Sheryl Crow
56. Never Make A Promise, Dru Hill
57. When You Love A Woman, Journey
58. Up Jumps Da Boogie, Magoo And Timbaland
59. I Don't Want To / I Love Me Some Him, Toni Braxton
60. Everyday Is A Winding Road, Sheryl Crow
61. Cold Rock A Party, Mc Lyte
62. Pony, Ginuwine
63. Building A Mystery, Sarah McLachlan
64. I Love You Always Forever, Donna Lewis
65. Your Woman, White Town
66. C U When U Get There, Coolio
67. Change The World, Eric Clapton
68. My Baby Daddy, B-Rock and The Bizz
69. Tubthumping, Chumbawamba
70. Gotham City, R. Kelly
71. Last Night, Az Yet
72. ESPN Presents The Jock Jam, Various Artists
73. Big Daddy, Heavy D
74. What About Us, Total
75. Smile, Scarface
76. What's On Tonight, Montell Jordan
77. Secret Garden, Bruce Springsteen
78. The One I Gave My Heart, w Aaliyah
79. Fly Like An Eagle, Seal
80. No Time, Lil' Kim
81. Naked Eye, Luscious Jackson
82. Macarena (Bayside Boys Mix), Los Del Rio
83. On and On, Erykah Badu
84. Don't Wanna Be A Player, Joe
85. I Shot The Sheriff, Warren G
86. You Should Be Mine (Don't Waste Your Time), Brian McKnight Featuring Mase
87. Don't Cry For Me Argentina, Madonna
88. Someone, SWV
89. Go The Distance, Michael Bolton
90. One More Time, Real McCoy
91. Butta Love, Next
92. Coco Jamboo, Mr. President
93. Twisted, Keith Sweat
94. Barbie Girl, Aqua
95. When You're Gone / Free To Decide, Cranberries
96. Let Me Clear My Throat, DJ Kool
97. I Like It, Blackout Allstars
98. You're Makin' Me High / Let It Flow, Toni Braxton
99. You Must Love Me, Madonna
100. Let It Go, Ray J

I'd forgotten how much everything on the radio sucked that year. Going to Jazzfest and seeing the Indigo Girls later that summer somehow erased my memory of "I put my hand up on your hip, when I dip, you dip, we dip" which still sort of reads to me like an easy way to learn foreign language conjugations. I wonder what the German infinitive for "to dip" is...
Looking at the other lists on musicoutfitters.com I now realize when my tastes in music made the full conversion into mindless pop - in 2001, the same year I began a masters degree in musicology - I was listening to Eve, Destiny's Child, and Kylie Minogue like there was no tomorrow. I suppose one could justify that by saying that, in the other fourteen waking hours of the day, I was transcribing 15th century violin music from arcane notation and writing essays on spirituality in Irish lyric poetry as they pertained to the music of Samuel Barber, but that's really no excuse for a doctoral student in music to like ABBA as much as I do.

Will they take away my degree for admitting that I liked the Spice Girls?

paging Dr. Hurlburt

Okay. So you know how I said it snowed? All day Saturday it snowed?

Today it's 70 and sunny. Not a trace of snow, or even cold weather. My lovely green scarf has been relegated to the backpack because it's actually too warm to even wear a coat outside. And I thought Louisiana had schizophrenic weather.
To the DP, I need a graph or something from Harley.

Hope everyone is having a marvelous week - I'm off to my voice lesson and an hour of Handel's Messiah, beating my head against six pages of runs and fioratura to try and sound like the musical embodiment of the angel of the Lord.

Snow!

Okay, so as of November 1, we are not allowed to park on the street because of the beginning of snow season.

Snow season came early this year - it began sprinkling earlier today and now we are in the midst of a full fledged snow storm! Going outside with the dog to play!

Act II - exeunt Tosca

As most of you already know, there is a new car in my life. About half an hour ago, we picked up Lakme, our new Honda Civic. She's a good girl, handles well, and gets bitchin gas mileage, but it made me sad to walk away from Tosca. She looked so forlorn. And then, it began to snow.
Yes, I said snow.
It didn't snow long, but I have to tell you, when an unexpected snowflake hits your glasses, it gives you a moment's pause.

So that was one part of my week. The other part of my week was going to NYC to visit my friend Sherri and to sing for the Marilyn Horne Foundation. After many initial mishaps involving the Fung Wah Bus (it's only $30 round trip and now I know why) and a large band of teenaged German tourists, I had a marvelous time with Sherri, a luscious lunch in Little Italy and, if I do say so myself, a pretty kick-ass audition. Yesterday I received an email inviting me to take part in these master classes which means:
1. they will pay for me to take the train, an infinitely more civilized mode of transport
2. they will feed me and put me up in a nice hotel across the street from the concert venue which happens to be...
3. CARNEGIE HALL!!!


That's right kids, yours truly is going to sing at Carnegie Hall. I'm still tingling - between that and the smell of the new car, I need to pour myself a drink! Hope everyone is doing well on this glorious weekend.

ooooooooooh, the Lord is good to me!

So yesterday was a poopy day. I didn't get an audition for Glimmerglass opera, my car's transmission started acting funny, and I seriously contemplated changing my major to choral conducting and giving the opera world the finger.

And then.....as He always does in His own time (yes Lord I know that I am not a patient person and this will be my life long lesson)...a wonderful email showed up from the Britten-Pears program. For those of you who do not know of what I speak, the Britten-Pears program is run by a huge foundation that originated as a music festival in England and performances are held at the Snape Maltings Hall(you only thought that Harry Potter character name was made up).

This is a big deal. They are doing a fully staged Rake's Progress and I have an audition. I HAVE AN AUDITION!!! And if, big IF, I get a part, then they will fly me over to merry England for six weeks of lovely opera. Hooray! I'm going off to frolic!

Taking Stacey's lead, things I've learned about myself today

One of my better features is my ability to catch on quickly. This however does not apply when dealing with the opposite sex.

I am a subversive, pragmatic rule follower.

I do love beer. As only a woman can love a beer.

I am a classy, refined Hindrichs (German for snob) something else

I have cried in front of half of the western hemisphere - but lately it's been onstage so at least the venue is more specific!

I am both funny sarcastic and funny ha-ha, but mostly sarcastic.

And most people, upon first glance, noticed that I am tall.

All persons on the distribution list knew that I am in love with a special someone (though Casey maintains that she doesn't know if he ever had an association with a short bus so she refrains from applying the term "special" - smart ass) and that when pressed to name a homosapien (funny guy, you know I love my dog) they came up with the name of the fiancee (and kudos to Stacey for getting all three names, though I suspect that's because she's holding an invitation)

And finally, that I have a flair for the nerdy. Honey, I don't have flair for the nerdy, I wrote the book on nerdy. Have you seen the thickness of my glasses?

Love to y'all, hope you're having a good day. I have a scholarship interview in an hour, cross those fingers!

Forays into technology and other signs of the apocalypse

So along with Drew's mom buying a cell phone, I am here to forecast another sign of the apocalypse.

I agree with Ann Coulter on something. Duck and cover people.

Just for fun, I was perusing her website and came across this little ditty. I especially like the part where she says that Miers isn't even qualified to play a Supreme Court justice on "The West Wing."

In other news, a FEMA trailer showed up unexpectedly at the parents' homestead so they will be living in front of their house while it's under construction. This seems to make mom happy - living with my dad is interesting enough, but living with my dad, and the dog, and a hospital full of people is a little much, even for the fortitude of Miss Jean. They got married 33 years ago, moved out of their parents' houses and into their apartment, and have not lived in any kind of communal lifestyle since 1972, with the exception of a few summer beach excursions with family for three or four days at a time. Suffice it to say that 'the more the merrier' is not their motto. I just hope that State Farm stops dragging its feet and gets on the proverbial ball, otherwise they will be the recipients of yet another unpleasantly frequent letter-writing campaign by yours truly.

Sent out all of the wedding invites today. Huzzah!

Tagged again - what is this, third grade playground?

So the DP tagged me to do another 7 things blog list, but since I find this one interesting, I will humor her. Besides, she's in Switzerland and has to deal with Swiss Germans. The girl has to find entertainment somewhere.

7 people I admire:

1. My grandparents on both sides, for leaving their homelands in search of the proverbial better life for their children. And also for keeping their native tongues and not trying to go totally American with the polyester suits and the jell-o mold desserts. Herring salad is a little scary, but I'll be damned if it's not German.
2. My voice teacher - he's a badass but doesn't say so.
3. Ray Nagin
4. Hilary Clinton - for staying married to her husband and managing to maintain her dignity.
5. Benjamin Britten and Samuel Barber - for not making their sexual preferences a musicological topic as pertains to their music
6. Organists - the hands and feet, no matter how much I practice, they just don't jive
7. My mom - for not sending me to a convent and/or asylum

7 things I plan to do in the next year:

1. Get married (you're saving the date, right?)
2. Learn Conjunctive II in German
3. Submit one of my articles for publication
4. Give a recital
5. Go back home for at least a week or two
6. See my brother graduate high school (someone hand me a sedative)
7. Go back to England

7 books I love:

1. Credo - William Sloane Coffin
2. The letters of James Agee to Father Flye
3. The BFG - Roald Dahl
4. East of Eden - Steinbeck
5. Pride and Prejudice - Austen
6. Fairy tales in the original German
7. Homegrown Democrat - Garrison Keillor

7 movies I have to own:

1. When Harry Met Sally (done)
2. 7 brides for 7 brothers (done)
3. The remains of the day
4. Howard's End
5. Gone with the wind
6. Lady and the tramp (only on VHS - curse you Disney!)
7. Moonstruck (done)

7 places I want to visit (excluding places I've already been)

1. Anywhere in Italy
2. Switzerland
3. Argentina
4. Cuba
5. Anchorage
6. Moscow
7. The Netherlands

7 places I've already been:

1. Paris
2. Nice
3. London (lots)
3. Berlin
4. Victoria, BC
5. Marburg
6. Monterrey, Mexico
7. Tickfaw, LA (ten points if you know where this is!)

7 websites I love:

1. The New Yorker's website www.newyorker.com
2. Prairie Home Companion www.prairiehome.publicradio.org
3. The New York Times www.nytimes.com
4. The Weather Channel www.weather.com
5. New Orleans www.nola.com
6. Trinity Boston www.trinityboston.org
7. Southern Miss (gotta keep up with the old digs) www.usm.edu

I tag: Drew, Stacey (that's twice for you kids), Emily, Casey, Sheralyn and Rebecca (if they're keeping up)

Starbucks and the New Yorker

This is why I am a closet yuppie.

Not only did I get on the train this morning holding a fresh latte made by the lovely folks at the train station Starbucks, but I read the New Yorker the whole way while listening to The Last Five Years on my minidisc player. I realize that having an MD player makes me a little behind on the technology revolution, but it allows me to record my voice lessons without dragging around a tape recorder or purchasing the very expensive attachment for the iPod, a gadget I am still reluctant to purchase.

I love the New Yorker. I'm finishing up the food issue from a few weeks ago - my daily commute now leaves me about an hour a day to sit and read whatever I please and that's just about the best thing ever. For the first time in my life, I can read in a moving vehicle, drink my coffee, and not get honked at or motion sick.

And the New Yorker does funny cartoon drawings of George Bush that make him resemble one of the flying monkeys from the Wizard of Oz. Which really, he is. But I think the monkeys had more personality. *sigh*

Going to dance class, then acting. Have a dress rehearsal tonight for our scenes program tomorrow night. Mom and Dad are back from Natchitoches, seeing the brother, with newly purchased underwear and clothes.

When people, in casual conversation, as me where I'm from, I am now reluctant to say "New Orleans" because the inevitable piteous looks and inquisitive comments follow. Even the Starbucks girl this morning, after checking my ID against my debit card, asked if I had family in New Orleans. I was chatting with a co-worker at my church job the other day and sharing my most recent conquest against capitalism - the victorious low hotel rate for the wedding. She asked me if I had to "play the New Orleans card."

I am not a victim in the direct sense of the word. My things were not taken from me by a natural disaster, the domicile in which I live was not under four feet of water, but I would be in denial to say that my family has not been affected and that I have undergone tremendous stress as a result of coordinating my familial whereabouts with one another and generating lists of replacement values for my mom via patchy telephone connections. I do not share this information with every random acquaintance who asks me where I'm from - though I suppose by posting it on my blog I am sharing it with random strangers. These days, I'm inclined to say "Indiana" just to avoid the conversation.

I don't want pity from strangers. I don't want special treatment. When I seek comfort, it's from my friends and my fiancee who share the same grief that I do about the destruction of our favorite place. So why did it strike some very offensive chord in me that this girl asked me if I "played the New Orleans card?"

Still thinking, must go to class.

Raining

It's pouring outside. I found this out the hard way, by having to leave Filene's (desperately in search of a dress to wear for the Marilyn Horne master class at Juilliard) in the midst of the torrential downpour, of course without an umbrella.

What do you do when it's raining outside? I prefer to stay in with a huge book and a mug of tea. I finally purchased (Tuesday) and finished (Wednesday) the new Harry Potter book and I have to say that they just keep getting better. Anyone who needs an idea about a wedding present for me can put any of the British edition Harry Potter books on the list - I can't believe I actually gave mine to the charity shop when I left England. Of all the things I could have left behind....sigh.

The familial units are doing better. Mom and Pop are moving in with their crazy friends Peter and Barbara. I don't know how well this is going to work as both of my parents are type A+ and PBJ (peter and barbara jean) are whatever the opposite of type A is - but I keep telling mom, it's better than living on the concrete floors with no sinks in the house and seeing through the walls, I know Peter and Barb don't clean the way you do, but it's a house with beds and showers and things like a fridge so you don't have to live out of the ice chest and it's only for a few months *yes, I did say MONTHS* until the builders say you can go back to the house.

One step at a time. Deep breathing. Going to Starbucks.

fun with makeup

Today is my stage makeup class. There are few things that make me laugh more than stage makeup, largely because you end up looking like a painted doll with the false eyelashes and such, and then you get to take it all off and paint up as another character. And anyone who's never had on false eyelashes is truly missing out - I told the fiancee that if he's not careful, I'm going to get the Halloween eyelashes with the pieces of shiny tinsel mixed in and wear them on our wedding day, just for amusement purposes. Mischief mischief.

In other news, my parents are getting royally screwed by State Farm. Everything over 20 years old is considered 'valueless' in the eyes of flood insurance, all things antique are excluded from the policy, and everything else is depreciated for time. So after all of this bullshit and paying premiums for the last nearly twenty years, they will be lucky to go to IKEA and purchase an endtable and a bean bag chair. Crank up your typing fingers ladies, I smell another letter-writing campaign coming on.

I asked the fiancee the other night if he thought we would ever be able to fulfill our dream of moving back to the city, taking our kids to City Park to feed the ducks, sitting on my grandmother's porch in Metairie the way we always wanted to.
He said that we would be able to, in time, and that hopefully the city will become a better version of its former self, safer, cleaner, better protected. It just hurts my heart to think about not being able to go home for a year, two years, and then seeing the remains of what was my favorite city.

Pray hard y'all, I don't trust Rita, sitting out there waiting to strike.

One great hour of levity

Just got out of my acting class to find that I've been tagged. I don't know exactly what this means, but I think it means that Stacey wants me to do this little online "whatcha know whatcha don't know" thing. So here goes.

7 things I plan to do before I die:

1. Sing on the stage of a major opera house
2. Swim with dolphins
3. Rebuild my mother's photo collection
4. Grow out my hair and donate it
5. Become fluent in German
6. Have and/or adopt children
7. Live in New Orleans with my family

7 things I can do

1. Sing in French, German, Italian and English convincingly
2. Make pies, cakes, cookies, pralines
3. Walk in funny shoes
4. Process medical insurance
5. Argue any price lower than it should be
6. Fall asleep anywhere
7. Peel shrimp and crawfish without instructions

7 things I cannot do

1. Play tennis, softball, or any sport involving a racket or bat
2. Touch cats without sneezing
3. Argue with my mother and feel okay about it
4. Sing mezzo pants roles
5. Cook normal food
6. Sit next to smokers and not intentionally (and sometimes unintentionally) cough
7. Eat take-out chinese

7 things that attract me to the opposite sex

1. A good vocabulary
2. A good sense of humor
3. Love handles, general cuddlyness
4. A good smile
5. Patience
6. Wit
7. Mischief

7 things I say most often

1. I know
2. HI-larious
3. I'm late for the train
4. Word (to your proverbial mother)
5. SAM!
6. Are we out of ice cream?
7. What's for dinner?

7 celebrity crushes

1. Harry Connick Jr. (like Stacey, since I was old enough to hear him sing)
2. Roberto Alagna
3. Colin Firth
4. Kevin Kline
5. My opera teacher (he's sort of a celebrity, very gay and unattainable)
6. David Letterman
7. Wayne Brady

7 people I want to do this:

1. Cristi
2. Drew
3. Alex (If he read my blog....I don't even think he believes in blogs)
4. Armand
5. eMac
6. Casey
7. Leontyne Price

goodnight moon

Goodnight moon, a staple of my childhood, was among the books in a large box sitting in the bottom of our hall closet in the old house. Along with Runaway Bunny, Charlotte's Web, and the favorite out of print Acorn Magic Readers, which I have no doubt were instrumental in the development of my reading skills, my father's copy of Stuart Little was also destroyed.

Tomorrow is my brother's birthday. He will be 17 and he will spend it in the dorm with his friends and a cake that he ordered himself from Wal-Mart. My mother and father are sleeping on an airbed in the shell of their house waiting for the insurance adjustor to show up on Monday morning so they can discuss the value of what used to be our home. Mom and I spent two hours on the phone tonight, me on the internet, searching for replacement values of furniture purchased thirty years ago, a desk my father has owned since childhood, piano music I learned when I was six.

I'm not even there, and I feel so incredibly depressed I can't even breathe. I don't know how they are even there, seeing the house every day, remembering the former life that we had, sighing and throwing away piles of soggy photos that chronicled our lives, the birth of my brother, graduations, family trips, surly looks from my teenaged face, generational photos with my grandmother and great-grandmother.

The brother is nonchalant about his birthday. He mentions only that there is a stupid girl who has wronged him in some fashion which he refuses to enumerate and tells me to "chill out" because he's handling it.

I want to go home.

Sleepless in Seattle

You know that part in Sleepless in Seattle where Meg Ryan and Bill Pullman are getting ready for bed and he's got the humidifier and the nasal spray and the Kleenex dangling from his nose?

That's what I look like. I had an allergy attack sometime on Sunday and, true to form, it's turning into a full-blown cold. And yes, I do have kleenes dangling from my nose. I've reached the point where the skin on my nose is so red from the rubbing and dabbing and nose-blowing and my ears pop every time I yawn.
The fiancee has been very sweet, tucking me up on the couch and bringing me tea and such. He even vacuumed the house yesterday because I was too tired. Sweet man.

And for those of you who don't know, Trinity Church (the link to the right) has agreed to host our wedding, nice people that they are. Mile and a half of aisle, here I come!

Once I can breathe through my nose again, that is. Why oh why must I have allergies?!

The folks are doing better. There is now electricity running to the house, even if there are no walls or appliances. But at least it means they can go there in the evening and turn on the lights. I think. I just hope that the house begins to look more like a house soon - mom's getting edgy sleeping on the hospital floor.

My family is so blessed. Not only did they have a safe, clean, dry and secure place to stay during the hurricane, they had cooked food to eat, and a host of people around them who were in the same boat. No one suffered any physical harm, and though it seems that my once totally New Orleans-based family is going to have to scatter for a while until houses and jobs return to normal, everyone is safe and accounted for. I saw a story on the news about these parents who put their two children on a rescue helicopter - ages 6 and 2, I believe. The parents ended up at the Astrodome. The children ended up as part of a "children's troop" led by the 6 year old, walking down Causeway boulevard with a bunch of other children who were otherwise unsupervised. All's well that ends well, but how would you feel if you had to put your children on a helicopter just to get them out of the water and then hope for the best? The damage done to lives and families is not over. It's not over just because Bush took responsibility (which I'll address at a later time) and Michael Brown resigned. It's not over because the rain stopped. And it won't be over until all of the people displaced have buried their dead, cleaned out their houses, hopefully put their houses back together, and several sets of birthdays and holidays have passed. And even then, it won't be the same.

I miss my home.

Prosaic anger

So here's the question of the day: Was Michael Brown removed as the on-site director of hurricane relief because he's a blithering idiot and now the entire Western Hemisphere knows it, or because they didn't find as many bodies as they thought?

Talk amongst yourselves.

I'll go ahead and give Bush a few props for getting the aid bill taken care of quickly. He is taken off of the nasty letter list for today. Spoke to the mother today - she was sitting on the concrete slab in the house going through the disaster of pictures. My mother's organization system for pictures was not highly advanced and it usually involved her throwing everything into the bottom drawer of the bookcase in the living room. This means that everything in that drawer, including vacation photos, family pictures, childhood birthdays, etc, is stuck together and mildewing as we speak. Now those of you who know Miss Jean know that she is the pillar of strength. The rock of ages, as it were. And when Miss Jean sits there and cries on the phone with me about how her wedding photos are unrecognizable, something's got to be done.

A few days ago, Stacey wrote me about some Arschlog who thought it would be a good idea to trash New Orleans on an advice blog. I believe he actually referred to it as a "craphole" and one of the least beautiful cities he's ever visited. What I want to know is where people get off trashing my hometown. Even if you're from French Lick, Indiana you have some pride about your hometown. You have attachments to the places you went when you were a kid - can we say Old Town Soda Shop - and even if you don't live there anymore, there is a lingering sense of belonging. If I had to go back to Slidell, I know that I could be okay there. It's home, in a sense, and that's non-transferable. You can't touch that, and for someone to suggest that not only does New Orleans suck (where does he live, under a rock?) but that it's not worth rebuilding is like forsaking the last two hundred years of culture and history and saying it doesn't matter because I have my Ipod.

These are the people who should be pulling bodies out of the water and cleaning up the oil leaks in St. Bernard Parish because they are obviously a waste of oxygen. Somewhere, an asthmatic is gasping for air because this piece of processed meat is breathing and spewing his poisonous opinions.

Call your mother, tell her you love her. Send her some nice peppermint foot cream and a gift certificate for a pedicure. And if you see Miss Jean before I do, kiss her face.

Near catastrophic events

Why Michael Brown actually IS as dumb as he looks

What, by definition, is a catastrophe?

Dictionary.com says catastrophe is:
1. A great, often sudden calamity.
2. A complete failure; a fiasco
3. The concluding action of a drama, especially a classical tragedy, following the climax and containing a resolution of the plot.
4. A sudden violent change in the earth's surface; a cataclysm.

What, in the realm of all things plausible and implausible, led FEMA Director Michael Brown to characterize the wake of the hurricane as "near catastrophic events," pray tell? Was it the part where the storm was a Category 5? Or the part where, despite a mandatory evacuation, large quantites of people were still stuck on the interstate? Or was it the storm surge that threatened to put New Orleans under water? Do these strike anyone as "near catastrophic" events, or is that someone's guilty conscience trying to downplay the fact that they dropped the ball.

In that case, since the hurricane was not actually a catastrophe, I will then elaborate on what seems to be the real catastrophe, as described so succintly by the dictionary.

See definition two: a complete failure, a fiasco. The cluster f*ck that was federal response

See definition three: The concluding action of a drama, especially a classical tragedy. What will happen when the people of New Orleans descend upon Michael Brown and go Greek on his ass - you want to sell us out? You only THINK Agamemnon had it bad. And all he did was sacrifice his daughter.

You want this to just be a near catastrophe, Michael Brown? It's about to get a hell of a lot more near than you'd like.

Someone else who's on the nasty letter list

Just got this link from Stacey:

Don't Blame Bush

Now I'm not going to say this is all Bush's fault. This may strike some of my readers as odd, because on most issues I'm not a W fan, but I'll say that he's getting on the ball. He was not on the ball, and why FEMA waited for an engraved invitation (because you were obviously on holiday in Tuscany without television and unaware, if the executives of FEMA would be so kind as to send in relief, the people of New Orleans would be most grateful. You see, while you were sipping your Mai Tai, that Category 5 just snuck up on us...) to show up and do their f-ing jobs is beyond me, but the man is trying to make things right.

That being said, Christopher Ruddy has just added himself to my nasty letter list. Read the article - he's a few steps shy of being a sadist. Sure, I'm convinced that the Louisiana State officials could have taken care of themselves and would have not required federal help.

IF:
1. the phone lines in south Louisiana had not been knocked out
2. the power in south Louisiana had not been knocked out
3. the city of New Orleans had not been under water
4. the good Witch of the North had showed up with her magic f*cking wand and made it all right

What's that? You can't help yourself? You mean you weren't completely prepared for a Category 5 hurricane? Obviously you're sleeping on the job, Mayor Nagin. I can't even believe this kind of shit gets published.

Ruddy says, "Common sense suggests that local and state governments are best able to prepare and plan for local disasters." Well that's all good and fine mister, but when your resources are UNDER WATER you're kind of at a disadvantage. We'll remember that the next time your house is on fire.

Who are these soul-less bastards? And how do they sleep at night, I want to know.

The Today Show has already received two nasty emails about Campbell Brown, that turncoat hosebag who tried to point the finger at Ray Nagin on television. Yeah, real smooth there Campbell - point the finger at the mayor of New Orleans who's been down there pulling bodies out of the water. I'm sorry, what were you doing? Getting a pedicure? Going to your Pilates class? Doing the Times crossword? Don't even try to hold that candle to Ray Nagin honey, your cheap suit will catch on fire and it will take FEMA a week to get to your charred ass.

What happened to the sense of humanity? To reach out and help your neighbor? To help and protect those less fortunate? Why should the poor, sick and elderly be allowed to participate in social cleansing because no one feels like it's their responsibility to help? IT'S JUST WRONG. You don't wait for a city in need to ask for help. No one waited for the citizens of New York to say, "Excuse us, but could someone please send help? Lunatics have crashed planes into the World Trade Center." Why should this be any different? We even saw it coming.
And I'm not talking about Christian sentiment here. This is a sentiment that supercedes all lines of organized religion. This is a sentiment that says, "If I'm in serious trouble, someone will have the decency to reach out and help me."

As my beloved would say from time to time, "F*ck you, nasty letter to follow."
And my nasty letters only get nastier when I don't get a response.

Damn Yankees

Okay, I am officially furious. I watched this interview on MSNBC.com between Mayor Ray Nagin and Campbell Brown:

The help did not come

Click the link, and scroll down to the "More Katrina Videos" section to the interview of the above name.


I already sent one scathing email to the Today Show blasting them for having such a moron as Campbell Brown covering this event when she PLAINLY has no idea what she is talking about, but have also sent a group email to my friends with the link.

Watch the interview. I especially like the part where she asks him, and I'm quoting,
"Well Mr. Mayor, why didn't you do anything? You're the mayor of the city...Don't you bear some responsibility for what's happened here?"

Well Campbell Brown, why didn't YOU do anything. Why didn't YOU go down to the ninth ward and knock on doors and tell people to leave the city. Why didn't YOU volunteer for the Red Cross and donate your salary to the Hurricane Relief? And HOW DARE YOU stand in judgment over Ray Nagin when you have not been there since day one, when you have not stood alongside him and pulled bodies out of the water and smelled the stench of flesh and human waste inside the Superdome.
It's so easy to sit back in your New York office and look at New Orleans and say "Those people should have gotten themselves out of the city. They should have gotten out when they had the time. It's their own fault." And that is the response of anyone who has never set foot in New Orleans, or tried to drive out of it during a hurricane evacuation. Yes, contraflow was a good idea, but when it only goes as far as Baton Rouge, all it does is create a giant traffic jam in the middle of the city of Baton Rouge. I suppose the theory is that BR is far enough inland to be safe but sorry people, BR is NOT big enough to house every person who lives in the greater New Orleans area last time I checked.

Unmitigated ignorance, audacity, and sheer gall. When I get Campbell Brown's address I'm going to write her a personal letter and ask her if she feels she's done enough now. If she feels it's enough to go on television and point the finger at the Mayor of New Orleans. I don't see her pulling out her carpet knife and going house to house helping people. I don't see her feeding the refugees or offering up her house to house them. She should just go ahead and donate her salary now because that would be the only worthwhile thing she could possibly do to redeem her status from a soul-less damn Yankee.

Take your f*cking carpetbag and go back up North, drink your mochaccino and think you're superior. Don't come back, we don't want your kind around to suck up the oxygen. Bottom feeder.

Do you know what it means?

Okay, I have finally reached my breaking point. DP talked about not being able to cry, feeling dammed up inside and not knowing when it was going to give way. Tonight was my undoing. It's bad enough that everywhere I turn on the T, someone is reading a copy of the Boston Globe with the giant pictures of my beloved city in ruin and the headling "DESTRUCTION" screaming out at me, but tonight when NBC aired their hurricane relief concert, not only was I subjected to Aaron Neville, but Harry Connick Jr. went on TV and sang "Do you know what it means to miss New Orleans?"

Now I have a little speech that I give to foreigners about how to pronounce the name of my hometown. And one is only allowed to say "New Orleens" when singing the aforementioned song. And I have to say that I bawled like a baby.

The whole city is hurting. And I'm hurting with it.

day four

The grandparents have taken refuge in Texas, the parents are going to and from the house to make salvage runs, and we're still waiting for phone lines to be restored.

Don't know what the next step is for my parents, or for the rest of my family. Many have children who are supposed to graduate high school in New Orleans this year, but that seems impossible now. Reports of price gouging in Mississippi for gas and Memphis for apartments, short-term rentals. Have no idea where my parents will make camp until their house is repaired, if they even choose to stay there.

Don't know what the next step is for me - the location of my wedding is uncertain, as the city of my choice will probably not be open for business...

Sorry to be so scattered, have been poked and prodded for information by every member of my family. Only wish I knew more.

For every family member who desperately wants to talk to their relatives as much as I do, my heart goes out to you. The silence is deafening and I have to resist the urge to throw my phone against the wall every time I get the "due to the hurricane in the area you are attempting to call" message. I can't watch the television any more, the pictures are so saddening, the videos of people who were perhaps once sane and civil, turned animal in the streets.

And the president is doing an aerial tour. Not that I blame his security - I wouldn't want to drop down in the middle of that madness. But I doubt he will be able to fully appreciate the destruction without seeing the faces of the desperate people who have lost everything and are held hostage by the lunatics with guns on the ground.

Keep praying y'all, the worst is NOT over

I once was lost, but now am found

Praise the Lord, Jean Hindrichs is safe and sound - and when I get a hold of her she's going to get the tongue lashing of her lifetime - and with my father. Don't know what the immediate plan is, but she's safe and that's all that matters!

one little, two little, three little Hindrichs

Here's the latest from hysteria hurricane central:

My grandparents, though crotchety, took a tree through the bedroom roof. They still refuse to leave. My grandfather is industrious as ever, helping his neighbors clean up debris. I have not heard their voices, but my aunt spoke to their neighbor via satellite phone.

My father is still at the hospital, where he has remained since Sunday night. They have no AC, are running on backup generator power, and no phones, but he called from a satellite phone to tell me he's okay.

My mother.

My mother is not okay. My mother is still MIA and it does NOT make me happy and even if she is just holed up in the attic of our house waiting for the national guard to get her out I want to talk to her. I want the cell phone towers to magically mend and a signal clear as day to come through to tell me she is all right. I never again want to have to bite my lip while I talk to every school administrator possible to find my brother so I can tell him that no, our mother has not yet surfaced. He's a teenager so his first response is anger but I know he is hurting as much as I am. I don't want to have to call my aunt and tell her that her youngest sister is still not found.

Pray hard people - she's a pain in the ass but she's my mother and I don't get a trade-in.

Carrier pigeons

As in I need one.

Spent most of the day fretting (fretfretfret) and trying to call the homeland, but to no avail. I speculate that mom is cleaning up the yard and the shards of glass if there are any, and playing with the dog. It is my fondest hope that the house remained the island as she and pop promised it would, and that everyone is okay. Looking at the news only makes me depressed, especially with the moron patrol reporting live from Biloxi (pronounced by these yahoos "bilocksi") from inside their Hurricane-mobiles and talking about how the water is just sitting now, filled with the debris of houses and roofing shingles and lawn furniture. NO East is underwater so getting across the lake is out of the question, and even if my folks could leave the driveway I doubt they would.

No word since early this morning. I'm about to break out the smoke signals. I know I should be more patient but I just want to hear my mother's voice so I can tell her I'm mad at her for not going to a shelter like a sane person and making me worry all the day long.

Slow busy signal = busy
Fast busy signal = disconnected/out of order?

Contraflow

This word sounds like something that's used to tune a bass clarinet, but "contraflow" (a word that has only recently entered my vocabulary) pertains to the redirection of traffic for purposes of evacuation. Namely, the evacuation of the greater New Orleans area.

And where, you might ask, are the other members of my family?

My brother is happily holed up in his dorm in Natchitoches, probably continuing to play online war games against his dorm-mates, eating mac and cheese, watching videos.

My mother and father, much to my consternation, have decided to stay put. That's right kids, a category FIVE hurricane is headed straight for the greater New Orleans area, and my parents are holing up in their house in Slidell with Max the dachsund and their recent purchases from Sam's Club, and they plan to wait it out. I'm not an alarmist by nature. I've sat through many hurricanes, calmly putting tape on the windows and putting the old piano up on books and going to the grocery to get gallons of water and later in the dorm, going down to Kroger to rent videos in preparation for the hurricane party to be held while school was closed and the city curfew was in effect. But when a hurricane of this magnitude shows up, you get the heck out and that's all there is to it. I don't know if my folks have become senile or just plain old ornery, but this "we've weathered it before, we'll do it again" mentality makes me very nervous.

Pray hard y'all, this could be the big one. And if it does, I just might be getting married on the Algiers ferry after all - providing that the riverbanks are still intact.

And to anyone who lives in the region, be safe and check in when you get a moment.

Candide

My housemate Joel is blasting Candide from his room. It's another lazy day in Newton, going to work more on the swing, might clean the floors today. Took the fiancee to the airport this morning at 5:45am. Driving in Boston isn't nearly so hideous when there's no one on the road, and the skyline is really quite lovely. Reminds me of DC - not like NYC with all the tall buildings.

Spoke with the pastor this morning about wedding plans. He is, as ever, wonderful and completely sympathetic to the pre-wedding madness that seems to ensue for every bride. Am awaiting a package in the mail from the mother that is meant to contain the invitations - hopefully this will come before school starts so I can begin the long process of addressing them. Blech. Maybe I can find a nice handwriting-ish font that doesn't look too computerized.....don't tell Emily Post.

Not so much to say today - big shoutout to the DP and her job hijinx. Just remember, if all else fails, switch to another language. I think from now on, when someone bugs me, I'm just going to start talking in German.

Things to do when school hasn't started yet

School starts on Sept 7th. Orientation begins this coming Sunday, which I think involves a series of meetings that I've already attended at least once every time I started another year of grad school where they explain financial responsibility to us and tell us to budget our time. I find this ironic as almost no one who's going to graduate school for music budgets their time according to one of those "how to work and go to school at the same time" books that say things like:
1. take naps whenever you can
2. do your homework before dinner
3. try not to stay up or work too late

simply because
1. musicians don't nap, they practice
2. our homework doesn't get done until we're out of rehearsal
3. staying up and working late is what allows us to work so you do the math

But until I go back to the daily grind, I'm enjoying a little bit of free time. Not the kind of free time that involves putting off things you have to do, but real free time. Yesterday, I took down all 16 sets of blinds and hosed them down in the back yard. Today, after cleaning the kitchen and putting up pictures and diplomas on the walls, I got the idea to sand and refinish my porch swing. Nothing is easy to find in Massachusetts so 30 minutes later we finally found the Home Depot. The fiancee is better at city driving than I, so I am the official navigator (barring today's experience, where I failed miserably) of our journeys into the wilderness. Tomorrow we go to Framingham to pick up some air conditioning units. Once again, northern social Darwinism at work, there is no AC in our house. So far it's been really okay - Boston is having "unseasonably cool" weather that permits us to keep the windows open and a box fan going, nothing so barbaric as what I experienced in the dorm in Vermont.
Tomorrow we'll finish sanding down the swing and start on the base - hopefully it'll be sanded and stained by tomorrow evening and I can drag it into the garage to dry. And then, I think I'll start on the window washing adventure. (Emily, your OCD is showing.....)

Hope everyone is enjoying the "unseasonably cool" weather as well. I'm going to take a walk and see the gas lights in the next block.

Why blank cards are better

So I was amusing myself by reading a little online news while my housemates watch When Harry Met Sally and came across this story on MSNBC. I do not know which online news channels are better and even though I read the New York Times online, I still dabble in the everyday trash. And I have to ask, have we reached such a point in social norms that it is socially acceptable to send greeting cards to extramarital affair participants? Will there soon be greeting cards addressed "To the girl my brother hooks up with when his wife is out of town"?

Sidebar: Billy Crystal and Meg Ryan singing "Surrey with the fringe on top" is on the list of the most hilarious things ever.

Fig Newton

Day three of the new house. So far, the living room is almost box free, I can see the floor in my office now, and we managed to eat dinner on a card table in the middle of the dining room last night, betwixt the boxes of books and the porch swing. We have no porch, as such, and the back yard is on a hill (with a very sweet strawberry patch) but I have to say, the house is possibly the larges domicile in which I have lived since my parents' house. I actually don't have enough clothes to fill my walk-in closet. I don't have enough shoes to fill the shoe rack and that is pretty amazing. My landlord is AWESOME and loves dogs so that bodes well for Sam, and the only minor snafu involved the circus taking place in the driveway. Lots to do, several boxes to unpack (the office WILL be done today) and then I start work in the morning at Trinity Boston - see the link at the right if you're interested!

Updates as they arise, go Beantown!

the end of the line

Okay,I know that I'm really desperate for american filmage when I watch Vier Hochzeiten und ein Todesfall.

And just for DP - the part where Mr. Bean is the priest and he says "in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spigot" - in German it was translated as "in der Name des Vaters, des Sohns und die Heiligen Schweizer." Wow.

The long hot summer

I remember this movie as something I wasn't allowed to watch when I was about six. I think mom sent me out of the room or told me to go practice piano. But that is not the time of which I speak, oh no. The time of which I speak is taking place right here, right now in Vermont, where it is 88 in my room and 90 outside and unless I'm sitting in front of the fan, I feel like I'm back in Louisiana, only without the nice people and the Gulf of Mexico and the po-boys you can get at the truck stop for five bucks.

Tomorrow we make the drive home. Three people, sixteen hours, one Honda accord and hopefully only a few stops along the way. My parents were really into the great American road trip when I was a teenager. I'm certain that both DP and Drew can attest to my enthusiasm for the Hindrichs vacations - it usually involved me sitting in the back seat with the brother, trying to not get motion sickness, mom and dad arguing about where we were going to stay, me wishing I was back in Slidell happily sitting in my room reading Poe, and Armand playing with legos. Ah the good old days.

Armand starts his senior year tomorrow. He's pretty jazzed and I don't blame him. I remember my senior year being pretty cool, especially as most of the drama has faded to grey. Senior year is one of those precipice years, where you're certain that something marvelous is about to happen. And then, suddenly, it does.

You move out of your parents' house.

Armand is still in his secretive phase. There's a new girl in whom he's taken an interest and he says to me, "Don't tell mom anything, will you? She and pop make such a big deal out of everything and I don't want to screw it up." I find this very sweet. My little brother is finally using his big sister for her true purpose: keeper of all things our parents aren't supposed to know. I feel so sisterly now.

Probably gonna be out of touch for the next week. We've already had the internet and telephone disconnected at the IN house and I'll be up to my eyeballs in packing and whatnot. So until we get settled in the Boston house, have a good week from your friendly neighborhood Shiksa!

Someone stole my umlaut

If anyone knows how to use umlauts in AIM, I'd be pleased as punch for them to enlighten me. I was talking to a particularly nice man (who happens to be married to my particularly nice friend) on AIM today, in German, and suddenly realized that none of my verbs were properly conjugated because of the noticeable lack of umlauts. I need an umlaut in my life. Anyone?

Four more days of German camp and I can break free of the linguistic ties that bind me and read the new Harry Potter book for crying out loud! As usual, I am being stealth and listening to the Indigo Girls on my walkman, giving the illusion that I am not actually breaking the language pledge. I like to think of these little forays in the same way an Atkins dieter thinks of the hershey kisses in the top drawer of their desk. It's such a negligible amount of English, it doesn't actually negate the German I learned today. Though earlier this morning, I likened my brain to a lint roller. At one point in time this summer it was ready to grab whatever was around to be learned but now it's been used so many times, Conjunctive II didn't even stick a little.

Sidebar - Earth Wind and Fire are playing in Indianapolis the night before we move to Boston. Can I just say that it pains my soul I can't go see them because I have to drive twelve hours the next day? I think the only thing more exciting than an Earth Wind and Fire concert would be if ABBA got back together and went on tour. And I don't want to hear anything from anyone about how I'm getting my doctorate in classical music and aren't I supposed to listen to opera in my spare time - even opera singers have to get their groove on. When I teach music appreciation (which I'm sure I will have to do as a new professor) you can bet your Madonna CD's that I'm gonna play English drinking songs right alongside Purcell. Which brings me to my trivia question for today. What's your favorite Beatles song? (mine is Eleanor Rigby)

And just for kicks, I followed DP's example and made a quiz. Have fun!

Take my Quiz on QuizYourFriends.com!

Beast of Burden

I'm listening to the Rolling Stones - more English contraband - and I have to say, this is really the perfect summer music. It makes me want to make a strawberry margarita and sit on the back porch with my sunglasses on and throw the ball for Sam. Oh how I miss my little house.

In exactly ten days, we will pack the truck and hit the road for Boston. I'm excited, of course, but terrified at the same time. Have to find a new grocery store, have to figure out the best way to get to work (as I have to start work two days after we get there) and get acquainted with the
T and such. Boston is a great city - I think I've finally figured out where I belong as a musician in the US who doesn't like New York. The fiancee and I were having this conversation last night - I think a large amount of my wanderlust is fueled by the fact that the last two places I've lived were Bloomington and Hattiesburg, neither of which conjure up images of culture or an exciting atmosphere. Every year, I know a bunch of opera singers who get this bug to live in a big city. They sell their furniture, go in together on a studio in Manhattan and spend 12 hours of their day waiting tables in hopes that, by being there, they will somehow get absorbed into the opera scene.

I am too much of a creature comforts person to do this. That and I don't really like New York. It's a great place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there. Or near there. It's too crowded, the buildings are too tall and I always feel a little claustrophobic there. The three or four times I've been to Boston, I always feel like I belong there. New Orleans will always be home, but Boston could definitely compete. I like the notion of only using my car when I need to go to the grocery store or get out of town. Public transportation is really my idea of a dream - I can sit on the T and read my book on the way to work, I don't have to drive, I still have to leave 45 minutes early, but I don't have to find a parking space let alone pay for it, I don't have to deal with the psychos that drive in Boston (yes friends, only drove in Boston once and thought I would surely perish) and when it's snowing, I only have to get from the curb to the platform and I don't have to de-ice my windshield or dig my car out at 6:45am. *sigh*

Hope everyone has had a fantastic weekend!

Sleepin in

It's a little after 11am and I'm still in bed. When I say I'm still in bed, I mean this literally - complete with the laptop on my pyjama-clad lap, and I don't plan on moving for at least a little while. The cocktail party was a blast - my roommate Joel and I were the "retro" pair for the night, me with my flapper hair and t-strap dancing shoes and him with his pinstripe suit. For about the first hour and a half, in keeping with the supposed "cocktail" mood, there was a constant stream of Billie Holiday and Frank Sinatra, so Joel and I decided to move the chairs out of the way and cut us some rug.
These are the reasons why I'm glad Joel is my roommate: he's tall, I'm tall, he's goofy, I'm also goofy (no comments from the peanut gallery!), he likes to ballroom dance, I like to ballroom dance, his fiancee likes me, my fiancee likes him. And all of this works out in such a way that permits us to have a pretty good house with rent that's affordable for all.

As with most dressy occasions here at Deutsch camp, I had my contacts in and the requisite amount of makeup and whatnot, and was completely unrecognizable to everyone in my grammar class. And yes friends, "incognito" IS a German word. I think my German is actually better when I've had four screwdrivers. Either that, or it just feels like it's better. My German high school teacher suitemate said to me "Wenn man trinkt, denkt man nicht so viel über die Wörter. Man nur sprichst, und das geht immer besser!" (When one drinks, they don't think so much about the words. They only speak, and that goes a lot better.)
But I think I drove the fiancee nuts - I was so excited about my fluid German I forgot to talk to him in English....Arme Mann - er hat keine Ahnung was ich sagen wollen und er war so verwirrt weil jetzt ich so schnell sprechen will. Aber das freut mich! Ich bin immer so stoltz auf mich - ich fühle mehr wie ein echt deutsche Frau.

Wer ist die Frau? Ich bin die Frau!

I love literal translations. The other day, one of Megan's friends actually said "Kein mehr Herr netter Mensch," which literally translated means "No more Mister Nice Guy." Deutsch makes my heart happy. And I take back (almost) everything I said that was nasty about German camp. It's the weekend, I have to sing on a master class for some Deutschland diva in three hours, and we're going to eat dinner in town tonight. For those of you who have perspective on my favorite small town in Louisiana, it's like walking from the HSB to Shipleys. Middlebury makes Natchitoches look metropolitan.

Y'all have a good weekend, I'm going to drag my lazy ass out of bed and eat breakfast.

Magic Hat #9

...is the Vermont beer that I've discovered. Yum.

Today I took my last German test. And tonight at the cocktail party I'm gonna throw down like there's no tomorrow. (Not really, because I have a master class tomorrow morning with some diva from Germany who's going to try to explain to me how to have a career as a singer in Germany - I am ever so boring)
Not much to say as pertains to Vermont. It's nice, at the moment it's incredibly warm and raining (very much resembling LA in that respect) and I want to go home to my dog and my simmons beautyrest mattress.

In other news, I know cristi will find this amusing - my little brother has a blog.
Just to clarify, my LITTLE brother, who is nine years younger than me going to be a senior in high school actually might be five solid inches taller than me but still skinny as a rail has a thing for Asian girls and doesn't know how to drive just yet, has a blog.
I find this both intensely amusing and disturbing, largely because blogs tend to be geared toward the reader audience - and when the reader audience happens to be the upcoming senior class at LSMSA, I get to read some colorful things that I suspect my brother would not intend for adult eyes, namely my parents and, even though he gave me the link himself, probably not my eyes either.

I'm not going to post the link and thereby expose my brother's coolness shield, but if you're interested give me a shout and we'll be stealth.

And to DP - if you could see how things look for coming in on the 29th (that's a Thursday) there's gonna be a brat pack movie night!

Zigeuner

This is my new favorite word in German. Zigeuner - gypsy. It just sounds exciting, doesn't it?

Taking a break from my essay on racism in the literature of the Third Reich. Fun stuff to talk about on a summer's day, let me tell you. It's already rained twice today and I think it's going to rain more. I always found it funny that, around 3pm every day in New Orleans, somewhere it rains. Can't explain that, but it's inevitable. It's overcast here, humid as all hell, and I miss my AC so much it's ridiculous.

Going to read some more Harry Potter. I was in Burlington last night and I resisted the urge to break free of the language pledge and dash into Borders to purchase the new Harry Potter book. I told Stacey earlier that if one can register for household appliances, one should be able to register for Harry Potter books. And if anyone wants to take me up on this idea, I'm angling for the British hardback edition for adults (no, not THAT kind of adult book!).

Only one more Monday left in German camp. I can't believe it's almost over.

all dressed up and nowhere to go

I'm not exactly dressed up, per se, but I am still dressed and it's 1:43am and I can't sleep.

This is never a good thing.

Usually when I can't sleep, my thoughts turn to all things in the Vergangenheit - the past. Tonight it's the same - all the things I should have done or would have done had I not made x choice. Sometimes it's what would have happened had I not left England. Sometimes it's what would have happened had I not left Louisiana.

What would have happened had I not left Louisiana?

I came across an LSMSA alum's blog and one of the entries was
"That school ruined my relationship with my daughter"

Can't tell you how many times I've heard that in my head before. Leaving home is interesting - we talked about that in literature the other day. I feel as if I've spent the last ten years of my life trying to make a home outside of my parents' house and in doing so, I am essentially homeless. My parents now live in a swanky suburb (if those two can coexist) with their off-white kid-free household and they own a Dachsund. It's not the old house, the house I grew up in, with the pretty white colums and the fireplace in front of which many embarassing photos were made, usually involving big hair, and the back yard with the swing and the little patch of concrete with frog prints in it, and the hedges that never grew together in one spot because my friends and I walked through them every day to each other's houses. My mom is getting her CPA soon and I think my dad will retire, at which point they will leave house-not-home number 2 and probably move to Seattle. And then my dad will have tons of fodder for making fun of granola-eating liberals and their touchy-feely birkenstock-like ways. The brother will go to college somewhere, remain cooler than all of us, and he will probably stay in Louisiana for the rest of his life. He's a homebody like that.

What would have happened had I not left Louisiana. Probably would have gone to LSU, learned to speak Spanish instead of French, moved in with Casey, double majored in music and literature, gone to Spain for a semester, finished up at LSU and become a nail stylist.
Okay, not entirely plausible, but these are the things that run through my head late at night. How many Robert Frost moments does one have - what if I hadn't taken the road less traveled and had stayed close to home with my mother and my family and people who have the same accent that I do?

Going to try to sleep. Can't get Goethe out of my head.

Kennst du das Land, wo die Zitronen blühn,
Im dunkeln Laub die Gold-Orangen glühn,
Ein sanfter Wind vom blauen Himmel weht,
Die Myrte still und hoch der Lorbeer steht?
Kennst du es wohl? Dahin! dahin
Möcht ich mit dir, o mein Geliebter, ziehn.

Week five - two more to go

As of today, we have one more week of classes and then finals. Every time I try to form a sentence, it comes out with the syntax all wrong and basically completely opposite of what I've learned as a native English speaker. And when I was on the phone the other day with a hotel, I actually said "ja, genau" instead of "yes, exactly" and there was a distinct pause on the other side of the line before she spoke again. I think she thought I was hallucinating. And maybe I was.

Tonight we're watching a movie and I've decided to go old skool and make some Jiffy Pop on the stove. Every time I eat Jiffy Pop I think of Scream and how the popcorn sets off the smoke alarm. I hate that movie.
But we're seeing "O Brother where art thou!" - in German. And if that's not hilarious, I don't know what is.

Hope everyone has a great weekend, much love from your German correspondant.

Harry Potter, auf Deutsch, chapter one

I am what is common referred to as a "speed reader." I have been known to sit down with a Jane Austen novel and finish it in a day. I always scored in the 99th percentile on my reading tests in school. But I gotta say, reading in a foreign language takes me down a few pegs. It took me about 45 minutes to get through chapter one of Harry Potter 2 in German and I felt pretty darned good about that.

This is an ongoing conversation between myself and my suitemate Megan - why do people learn a foreign language at the graduate level if not to speak it or read it? And if one must only read it, then why come to an intensive speaking-oriented program only to shun the 'Aussprache' - that is, why go to a speaking-based program only to speak correct German with a hideous American accent that makes you almost unintelligible. We're in week five now, and there is a discernable difference between the people who have made an effort to understand the phonetic syntax of German, the sounds of the language, not just how one reads and constructs a sentence. These people, I've noticed, have made considerable progress in sounding more authentic.

Now before my more conservative friends go off about sacrificing your identity and how if you're American you should talk like an American and so on and so forth, I just want to say that I'm not talking about language as an identity here. That's an issue for another time. I'm talking about the ability to communicate effectively and be understood. I'm talking about the ability to ask where the bathroom/kitchen/grocery store is and get a helpful answer. This is what I mean by authenticity.

Here's a fun little example:
Schön Nacht, ja? - one pronounces the 'ch' combination in Nacht with that fun German phlegm sound in the back of the throat.
Schön nackt, ja? - the 'ck' combination is just as it sounds in the American word 'snack'

But the difference here is that one says 'Pretty night, hm?' and the other one says 'Pretty naked, hm?' - I'd be really careful about which one I said to my professor, wouldn't you?

And that's all I have to say about diction for today.

Why I am the master of all I survey

Okay, so we're all familiar with my recent angst for Deutsch. But today, who kicked the ever-loving crap out of her German test? Who, you ask, knew every single adjective ending in the Dative and Genetive cases? Was it some incredibly proficient German major?

No my friends, it was me. And this is why I am the master of all I survey. You want adjectives? I've got adjectives. In four different cases.

That said, it was a marvelous weekend. The weather actually cooled down enough to merit the use of a sweatshirt (macht mir Spass!!) and the translating class had a party last night. The only thing funnier than tipsy German students is tipsy German students trying to hit on other tipsy German students. Megan and I, the "alte verheiratete Frauen" had a great time discussing the differences between Old Norwegian and modern Norwegian and poetic French and spoken French. Yes, we are giant nerds. But hello, we're at language camp. What do you want from us?

Hope everyone had a great weekend. I'm going outside to enjoy the breeze.

Why I want to get married on the Algiers ferry

So today I talked to my third church wedding person in Boston and after she told me that members would only be required to pay the mandatory fee of TWO THOUSAND DOLLARS I thought to myself,

"Wouldn't it be cool to get married on the Algiers ferry?"

Here's my logic. The Algiers ferry is free for pedestrians. Ergo, no rental fee for the site. The ride is about half an hour long. It lets off at the foot of Canal Street. By the time we get across the Mississippi, we're married and we can go to Cafe du Monde and celebrate. End of story.

I told this to my mother. She was less than enthusiastic, but I guess she figured that walking across the deck on a ferry isn't the same as walking up an aisle in a church. No imagination.
I think it's brilliant.

Stacey has graciously offered to let me use her back yard for my wedding. And I gotta tell you Stacey, that sounds marvelous. But only if I can get married in crawfish season and have a crawfish boil for my reception. I think my fiancee's family would actually keel over and die of shame. They're Yankees (okay, they're from Maryland which is technically the South but not really) and have never experienced a crawfish boil. Actually, I don't think they've ever experienced a Southern family event. They don't understand that every cousin I have - second third or twice removed - will be there. And mom's one of seven so that's a LOT of cousins.

So we'll probably end up doing it in NO. It's home, it's my favorite city in the US, the food is good and the weather doesn't suck in winter. Updates to follow.

And to my favorite Dictator Princess - any chance you could see your way across the ocean?

Grilled cheese sandwiches

They serve grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup about once a week and it reminds me so strongly of my time in England. I was never much of a tomato soup person until I moved to England and it was the cheapest thing you could buy in a can. I cut myself pretty severely on a can of tomato soup once - that put me off for a LONG TIME.

The weather isn't too hot today, actually nice enough to sit outside for a little while. I have a master class this afternoon with some pianist from Germany. That should be interesting. I'm listening to Ute Lemper to get myself into the mood. If you haven't listened to any of Ute Lemper's stuff, it's truly an acquired taste. If you like dark Weimar cabaret or sexy French song, Sondheim, or you have an addiction to the show Chicago, she's your girl. If you're looking for one more girl to sing something from Phantom of the Opera, you will be totally put off. Ute Lemper is on my list of personal heroes, if for no other reason that she's managed to successfully cross the lines between musical theatre, cabaret, and legit art song. And she can roll her r's in the back of her throat, something only a German-born girl can do.

Hope everyone's having a good day. Deutsch camp is half over. *sigh*

The Buddy Christ, no AC and Berthold Brecht

This is how I spent my Sunday.
I got up early to go to Mass with my suitemate Megan. Megan and her husband Richard are both Russian Orthodox but there is no Orthodox church here in Middlebury so she goes to Mass at the Catholic Church. After two Sundays of feeling terribly heathen, I decided to go with her. I don't know where the Episcopal church is and the Catholic church is down the road, so we have breakfast and go.
The first thing I notice is that there is no organ in sight. The second thing I notice is the startling amount of people who don't look like they're going to church but instead, to the tanning bed. Those of you who have lived below I-1o for most of your lives understand what I mean. But I haven't been to the Catholic church in about eleven years (other than friends' weddings) so I just shrug and see what happens. There is no A/C, only the whirr of the box fans but I've been living for four weeks without A/C, so it's nothing really new. We sing the first hymn, the pianist has no clue what she's doing, and we get all the way to the sermon before anything really strikes me as truly wrong.
And then the priest opens his mouth.

I'm going to sidebar for a moment and reference the Kevin Smith film "Dogma." If you've seen if, then you know what I mean when I refer to the "Buddy Christ." For those of you who haven't, George Carlin plays a high-up Catholic muckymuck who, in cooperation with the diocese, is trying to revamp the image of the Catholic church, beginning with the physical representations of Christ. Namely, the extremely large crosses with Jesus and the crown of thorns. George Carlin is marvelous and delivers without a hint of palpable sarcasm the introduction to the newly redone Buddy Christ. He's giving a thumbs-up and winking, somewhat in the style of say, Matthew Lillard.

Going back to Mass, this is the first thing I think of when the priest begins to speak. Not only does he appear to be a frat boy in robes, he talks like one. I don't know what kind of classes one must take in order to become a priest. I assume that there are several classes on sermons and the like. I also assume that none of them involve telling borderline inappropriate jokes and saying H-E-double hockey sticks instead of Hell like a normal person and furthermore, like a priest is totally authorized to do.

I have no great crisis with the Catholic church. I am a very happy Episcopalian and haven't been a lapsed Catholic for eleven years. I have come to grips with almost all of my former Catholic-ness and have no desire to go back to the land of guitar masses and bad English translations. I actually think the liturgy is more reverent in Latin but I'll take British English, I think congregations sing better when they can pick a part, I think organists are not just for weddings, and I think incense is not just for the Grateful Dead, but those are my opinions.
I don't take issue with the Catholic church's views on communion, and even though I was baptized RC, I didn't take communion on Sunday because I respect the denomination.

I take issue with one very large point: the dumbing down of a sermon. If you think that using social parlance and cracking teenagerish jokes is going to get people to comprehend and embrace salvation, I'm here to tell you that you're sadly mistaken. I'm not an evangelist but pardon me while I get up on my soapbox for a moment. There is a reason that churches have tall spires and hang large crosses high on the wall - we are meant to witness the awe and majesty and power of the Lord. He is both shepherd and warden, He is our 'feste Burg' (to quote one of my favorite hymns) but He is not on an equal footing with mortals. I think it weakens the creedence of the Almighty to reduce Him to colloquialisms. And no, I'm not talking about what you say amongst your friends or what Kevin Smith puts in his films. I'm talking about the Word as delivered through the mouth of someone who's supposed to be there to help the congregation on their spiritual journey and when he sounds like an idiot, I have a problem.
I should have stayed home and watched Veggie Tales. As we were leaving, I was a little bit muddled trying to put my finger on what exactly struck me as so wrong. Megan turned to me and said, "The Buddy Christ" and I instantly knew what she meant. And it so completely codified everything I was searching to say. And it made me sad.

So to make my Sunday even more fun, I wrote an essay on Brecht. Nothing but fun here in German camp. Hope your Sunday was better than mine.