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.