Haven't done one of these meme things in a while - I was tagged by Kristy so I will oblige.
Six things that nobody knows about me. Hmm....this will be difficult. I think some people will know some of these things, but I doubt that everyone will know all of them. Let's go.
1. I had my belly button pierced in 2002. Momma found out by accident and I don't think she ever let me live it down, but she didn't tell my dad. No, I wasn't living with my parents, no, they weren't supporting me, but yes, he would have given me hell about it and dragged me to the emergency room and had one of the doctors that has known me since I was seven talk to me about the dangers of body piercing.
2. I had a lump removed from my left breast when I was eighteen. Benign, but scary.
3. I went to Berlin by myself for three days. It was lots of fun but again, a little scary. Fortunately, Germans are taught English alongside German in school so I didn't have any trouble asking for directions to the philharmonic.
4. I don't like Beethoven's music. Most musicians would disqualify me from their group of friends for saying this. I just can't help it - it does nothing for me. Ditto for Mendelssohn.
5. I'm lactose intolerant. This is something I've only recently admitted to myself and I have to say, oreos and soy don't do it for me the same way oreos and milk did. I will still splurge and eat ice cream, but it's got to be really really good ice cream to make it worth it. Ben & Jerry's Dublin Mudslide was my most recent escapade. Yum!
6. I got sent to the principal's office twice in the first grade. Once for fighting with a boy on the playground, another for hitting the same boy with my lunchbox, on the bus. What do you do when someone makes fun of your big metal Strawberry Shortcake lunchbox? You hit him with it. My metal lunchbox was replaced shortly thereafter with a plastic one that had Rainbow Brite on the cover. Parents ruin all the fun.
I tag: Dictator Princess, Drew, Stacey, Emily, Casey, and Armand.
Saturday, March 11, 2006
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
Long time, no post
Hello all - I know it's been forever and a day since I last posted. I returned from my whirlwind visit to everyone I could possibly see in twelve hour slots about nine hours ago and I'm still exhausted and not sure what time zone I'm in.
First, update on the dad: he's doing lots better, it was ruled that he had gotten dehydrated and, as a result, his ventricles weren't pumping at full efficiency. He and mom are probably going to go to a heart clinic in Cleveland over spring break to make sure that the muscle walls have not thickened again - the problem for which he had open heart surgery twelve years ago. Mom says that the builder told her they should be able to move back into the house (albeit partially) some time in the next week. They are delivering appliances later this week and the builder will be doing the electrics. There will still be no cabinets and no flooring, but they can at least cook and bathe in the house, still sleeping in the FEMA trailer I believe....
Second, update on the personal illness: whatever strain of bronchitis I picked up last week, it's pretty evil and even though my recital hearing is tomorrow, I'm still getting this smoker's cough thing going on and I have to say, it's really getting on my nerves. Upside of this problem - I seriously doubt that the recital committee will keep me for too long, especially once they hear the death rattle in my chest.
I exaggerate - it's not that bad, it only rattles a little and I'm still medicated out the wazoo so hopefully it won't rattle when I'm singing.
Third, I wanted to say a big thanks to all of my wonderful friends who orchestrated both my arrival and departure: to Kristy, for posting fun pictures of our revelry at the Chimes, to Casey for carting my ass around, and to Drew and Stacey for the use of their guest bedroom and, as always, the hilarious conversation that made me laugh too much. Go baby Spiehler!
Gotta get going - lots to do and never enough time, of course. Have a good week y'all!
First, update on the dad: he's doing lots better, it was ruled that he had gotten dehydrated and, as a result, his ventricles weren't pumping at full efficiency. He and mom are probably going to go to a heart clinic in Cleveland over spring break to make sure that the muscle walls have not thickened again - the problem for which he had open heart surgery twelve years ago. Mom says that the builder told her they should be able to move back into the house (albeit partially) some time in the next week. They are delivering appliances later this week and the builder will be doing the electrics. There will still be no cabinets and no flooring, but they can at least cook and bathe in the house, still sleeping in the FEMA trailer I believe....
Second, update on the personal illness: whatever strain of bronchitis I picked up last week, it's pretty evil and even though my recital hearing is tomorrow, I'm still getting this smoker's cough thing going on and I have to say, it's really getting on my nerves. Upside of this problem - I seriously doubt that the recital committee will keep me for too long, especially once they hear the death rattle in my chest.
I exaggerate - it's not that bad, it only rattles a little and I'm still medicated out the wazoo so hopefully it won't rattle when I'm singing.
Third, I wanted to say a big thanks to all of my wonderful friends who orchestrated both my arrival and departure: to Kristy, for posting fun pictures of our revelry at the Chimes, to Casey for carting my ass around, and to Drew and Stacey for the use of their guest bedroom and, as always, the hilarious conversation that made me laugh too much. Go baby Spiehler!
Gotta get going - lots to do and never enough time, of course. Have a good week y'all!
Friday, February 24, 2006
Life with father
This is my dad -------------------------------------------->Cute, ain't he? My dad is your average, everyday, middle-class, hard-working pain in my ass. He's always been there for me, he loves to call me and tell me inappropriate jokes, and at the moment, he's in the hospital.
Last night, I got out of choir rehearsal and saw a missed call from him. Figuring that this was yet another evening where he calls to check on me (daughter in the big city and all) and then tells me a bad joke, I called him back when the subway went above ground. But he wasn't at home, with the dog (who's not really a dog, but more of a paperweight) in his lap. He was in a hospital bed because he decided to go to the house and do some cleaning. Alone. Now I'm no genius, but I wouldn't go alone to a house in a neighborhood where people are not living at night to do some cleaning. I would wait until it was daylight, when the other people in the neighborhood are there working on their houses, and I wouldn't go alone. But that's me. My dad decided that this was the perfect time for him to go. Mom was at school in Hammond, so he got in his car and drove himself over to the house. Next thing he knows, he wakes up in a little pool of blood and his head is killing him. He's a little sketchy on the details, but somehow he ended up in the ER with twenty staples in his head. By the time I talk to him, he's heading toward lucidity so he can at least tell me who's on call and what tests have been done. I call mom, she is of course FURIOUS because not only was he not supposed to go over there alone, he was probably doing something he should not have been, like moving heavy boxes and standing up too quickly. She took him home last night with his twenty staples and, I would surmise, instructions to stay the hell in his chair.
This morning, after a rather unrestful night of sleep, I awoke to a voice message on my phone from my mom. She's on her way to Natchitoches to go fetch the brother as his spring break starts today and he needs to be out of the dorm by 4pm, and oh by the way, Pop is back at the hospital. No, he's not at work, he's back in the ER. He passed out again while walking the dog around 5am. So I call him and tell him that this is wholly unacceptable, couldn't he have waited a week to pull this kind of stunt because I'm going to be home in five days for crying out loud.
He chuckles, tells me that he's propped up reading the paper and waiting for the cardiologist to come check on him.
I love my father. We are cut from the same cloth in more ways than I think most people can fully describe or appreciate without seeing us together. Say a little prayer for the old man; that he might manage to not do anything too self-destructive before I get down there to beat him senseless.
Thursday, February 16, 2006
a new day, a new blog
As you know, I am a semi-malcontent DMA student at the New England Conservatory. NEC is the self-proclaimed oldest music school in the US, and as of yet, no one has challenged that claim. They have a long history of turning out amazing musicians, and continue to have one of the more competitive string programs in the country. And they have been coasting on this reputation and collecting tens of thousands of dollars from unsuspecting aspiring musicians year after year. They flaunt their facilities - NEC's Jordan Hall is famous as a professional concert venue. Pity they rent it out to generate revenue, making it nearly impossible for any of their students to use it. They talk about their world class faculty. Pity that some of them are so old they FALL ASLEEP in lessons. Pity that most of their alumni are so disenchanted from their alma mater that they don't even come back for benefit concerts thrown in their honor.
So anyway, all of this is to say that some of the malcontent students have decided to band together and express ourselves in the most timely forum - that of the blog world. You'll notice a new hyperlink to the right entitled 'Blogging for a better NEC.' It is my hope that we can get students involved in this, instead of just having our random gatherings at Pizzeria UNO and bitching about the tragic state of affairs that is our school over a few beers. While it makes us feel a little better, it doesn't change anything.
I'm seriously contemplating sending the administration a link. Does anyone think they would bother to read?
So anyway, all of this is to say that some of the malcontent students have decided to band together and express ourselves in the most timely forum - that of the blog world. You'll notice a new hyperlink to the right entitled 'Blogging for a better NEC.' It is my hope that we can get students involved in this, instead of just having our random gatherings at Pizzeria UNO and bitching about the tragic state of affairs that is our school over a few beers. While it makes us feel a little better, it doesn't change anything.
I'm seriously contemplating sending the administration a link. Does anyone think they would bother to read?
Sunday, February 12, 2006
what month is it?
If I'm not mistaken, we had the warmest January on record for the city of Boston. And that was countered by an incredible nor'easter that kept most Bostonians inside for the whole day.
I was not one of those people. Trinity felt that church should still go on as normal in spite of the blizzard-force winds and the eight inches of snow already on the ground by 7am. My sweet husband and I got up at 6:45 to assess the precipitation situation and do a little bit of pre-emptive plowing on the driveway. It took us half an hour to get to church (normally takes 10 minutes) but the Civic did very well in the snow. I looked out the front door of Trinity between services and the snow was blowing so hard I couldn't see the Boston Public Library. Yipes!
My father says, "oh, but snow is so pretty!"
I think snow is beautiful. When you're not the one shoveling it.
Won't have tons of time to blog, have an audition this weekend. Cross fingers and think French thoughts in my direction this Friday!
I was not one of those people. Trinity felt that church should still go on as normal in spite of the blizzard-force winds and the eight inches of snow already on the ground by 7am. My sweet husband and I got up at 6:45 to assess the precipitation situation and do a little bit of pre-emptive plowing on the driveway. It took us half an hour to get to church (normally takes 10 minutes) but the Civic did very well in the snow. I looked out the front door of Trinity between services and the snow was blowing so hard I couldn't see the Boston Public Library. Yipes!
My father says, "oh, but snow is so pretty!"
I think snow is beautiful. When you're not the one shoveling it.
Won't have tons of time to blog, have an audition this weekend. Cross fingers and think French thoughts in my direction this Friday!
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
I heart Wednesdays
I don't have class until 2pm on Wednesdays. For one beautiful day a week, I can sleep past 7:45am (and I don't want to get any beef from people who get up at 5am - I have rehearsals till 1opm regularly and sleeping past 8 is a treat for me) and eat breakfast in my jammies instead of on the train.
I'll catch the train around 11:30am, leisurely eat my lunch at school and do some work before my coaching at 2:30pm, and then gear up for the rest of the evening. I know that I've been waxing lyrical about the commuter train, so here's another vignette:
There is a woman who stands in the same line that I do every time I take the 9am train. She doesn't wear a hat, which I think is kind of silly considering how cold it is outside, she has a very festive striped scarf, and she walks fast like I do. When we get to Back Bay station, she sprints up the stairs to be first in line at Dunkin Donuts. She takes the 6:25pm train home on Mondays like I do, when I don't have night rehearsals, and we get off at the same stop and walk to the grocery store parking lot where our husbands are waiting with the car. There's something comforting about this train routine. It's relatively quiet on the train, usually not crowded, people are reading their Boston Globe or Metro if it's been published that day, sucking down their coffee and waiting to go to Dunkins.
Dunkin Donuts is a part of the culture here in a way that might mirror CC's Coffee House in the New Orleans area. My dear friend Kristy is so addicted to her particularly tweaked Mochasippi that she put it on her latest quiz as an identification question, and I confess that when I lived at home, I spent most of my spare time at the CC's on Gause, shooting the bull with whomever.
Coffee house culture and public transportation. What's not to like?
I don't care for Dunkin Donuts coffee myself. I'm trying to give it a chance, especially because it's closer to the school than Starbucks and infinitely less expensive. They claim to make lattes now, but I'm suspicious of a donut place that claims to make anything other than donuts and coffee. Somehow wrong and slightly pretentious.
Going to eat breakfast with the dog, who has assumed his usual position in the middle of the floor.
I'll catch the train around 11:30am, leisurely eat my lunch at school and do some work before my coaching at 2:30pm, and then gear up for the rest of the evening. I know that I've been waxing lyrical about the commuter train, so here's another vignette:
There is a woman who stands in the same line that I do every time I take the 9am train. She doesn't wear a hat, which I think is kind of silly considering how cold it is outside, she has a very festive striped scarf, and she walks fast like I do. When we get to Back Bay station, she sprints up the stairs to be first in line at Dunkin Donuts. She takes the 6:25pm train home on Mondays like I do, when I don't have night rehearsals, and we get off at the same stop and walk to the grocery store parking lot where our husbands are waiting with the car. There's something comforting about this train routine. It's relatively quiet on the train, usually not crowded, people are reading their Boston Globe or Metro if it's been published that day, sucking down their coffee and waiting to go to Dunkins.
Dunkin Donuts is a part of the culture here in a way that might mirror CC's Coffee House in the New Orleans area. My dear friend Kristy is so addicted to her particularly tweaked Mochasippi that she put it on her latest quiz as an identification question, and I confess that when I lived at home, I spent most of my spare time at the CC's on Gause, shooting the bull with whomever.
Coffee house culture and public transportation. What's not to like?
I don't care for Dunkin Donuts coffee myself. I'm trying to give it a chance, especially because it's closer to the school than Starbucks and infinitely less expensive. They claim to make lattes now, but I'm suspicious of a donut place that claims to make anything other than donuts and coffee. Somehow wrong and slightly pretentious.
Going to eat breakfast with the dog, who has assumed his usual position in the middle of the floor.
Sunday, February 05, 2006
doin' the Vatican Rag
As a person who has spent most of her young life working in churches, one might say that I have a jaundiced but well-rounded view of how things are done. I've talked down hysterical brides who are convinced that if they ask second cousin Jeanette to sing she'll totally screw it up or try to steal the glory for herself. I've music directed children's musicals (which is really more like herding cats than music directing) and been a youth choir tour chaperone. In junior high, I worked in the church nursery every Sunday, both services. I've done church camp as a counselor, sunday school as an assistant and a teacher, choir practice as a singer, accompanist, librarian and conductor. I've had sit-downs with clergy about planning the liturgical season and the importance (or unimportance) of the lectionary cycle, and even sat in on budget meetings.
Church is like champagne brunch. There's something for everyone, lots of sweet things, usually a relatively friendly atmosphere, but no one likes to stay afterwards to pay the bill.
I enjoy church on many levels. I'm a church musician so I try to find a church that meets my needs as a musician; I like working with children so I try to make myself useful to childrens' ministries; I'm OCD so I put in a little extra time and help the choir librarian sort music after holiday events that involve lots and lots of music and virtually zero turn-around time.
I enjoy the fellowship of a community so I try to get involved in the congregation, even if I'm an employee because hey, we're all in this together.
I understand my function in a congregation as a parishioner.
I understand my function in a choir as a paid singer.
I consider myself very lucky when these two coincide.
Very few things make me more infuriated than higher-ups on the ladder attempting to exploit my good nature and playing it off to 'Christian fellowship.' Yes, I understand that the church is having budgetary problems. Yes, I am willing to do more than is expected of me to ease things along in this time of transition. Yes, I am willing to hold off for a month looking at other job prospects so that you can see whether or not you have room in your budget to keep me on staff.
And yes, if I leave, I am willing to help you find a replacement for me. But NO, I AM NOT WILLING to sit idly by and not look for another job while you decide whether or not you want to reconfigure your program to suit your vision that you have not discussed with the rest of the staff, or the clergy, or the vestry, because you're trying to not alienate your entire staff of professional singers going into the St. John Passion. And I will NOT be a party to you trying to make nice with everyone because you don't want them all to look for other jobs before the second-biggest liturgical season of the year. And I will really REALLY not tolerate you conveniently moving up our season dates by six weeks because you can't figure out how to manage your money.
My landlord does not care how much I do or do not get paid. And I am sympathetic to church budgetary problems, I really am. But when you try to change the terms of my contract when three weeks previous you told me it was perfectly secure, I get angry. And then, when you tell me that you think I will understand because I'm such a good colleague and I have a good understanding of church fellowship, that's pretty much when I'm done.
Done. As in seeing red, ready to froth at the mouth, DONE.
End of soapbox speech.
Church is like champagne brunch. There's something for everyone, lots of sweet things, usually a relatively friendly atmosphere, but no one likes to stay afterwards to pay the bill.
I enjoy church on many levels. I'm a church musician so I try to find a church that meets my needs as a musician; I like working with children so I try to make myself useful to childrens' ministries; I'm OCD so I put in a little extra time and help the choir librarian sort music after holiday events that involve lots and lots of music and virtually zero turn-around time.
I enjoy the fellowship of a community so I try to get involved in the congregation, even if I'm an employee because hey, we're all in this together.
I understand my function in a congregation as a parishioner.
I understand my function in a choir as a paid singer.
I consider myself very lucky when these two coincide.
Very few things make me more infuriated than higher-ups on the ladder attempting to exploit my good nature and playing it off to 'Christian fellowship.' Yes, I understand that the church is having budgetary problems. Yes, I am willing to do more than is expected of me to ease things along in this time of transition. Yes, I am willing to hold off for a month looking at other job prospects so that you can see whether or not you have room in your budget to keep me on staff.
And yes, if I leave, I am willing to help you find a replacement for me. But NO, I AM NOT WILLING to sit idly by and not look for another job while you decide whether or not you want to reconfigure your program to suit your vision that you have not discussed with the rest of the staff, or the clergy, or the vestry, because you're trying to not alienate your entire staff of professional singers going into the St. John Passion. And I will NOT be a party to you trying to make nice with everyone because you don't want them all to look for other jobs before the second-biggest liturgical season of the year. And I will really REALLY not tolerate you conveniently moving up our season dates by six weeks because you can't figure out how to manage your money.
My landlord does not care how much I do or do not get paid. And I am sympathetic to church budgetary problems, I really am. But when you try to change the terms of my contract when three weeks previous you told me it was perfectly secure, I get angry. And then, when you tell me that you think I will understand because I'm such a good colleague and I have a good understanding of church fellowship, that's pretty much when I'm done.
Done. As in seeing red, ready to froth at the mouth, DONE.
End of soapbox speech.
Saturday, January 28, 2006
shiksa in the city
I spent five days in NYC staying at a snazzy hotel on West 57th St. and singing at Carnegie Hall. This is a post that will take much more time, so I will simply say hello, it's nice to be back at my house, I missed my husband, my dog, and my kitchen, and I will oblige Stacey and do one more meme for this week:
My good quirks:
I'm a hard worker, almost to a fault.
I am very well organized, and my bathroom is always clean.
I'm fiercely protective of the ones I love.
My pralines and pies are only rivaled by my mother's - in all other matters of dessert, I defer to Stacey.
I can drive stick shift.
My bad quirks:
I don't know when to quit.
I am horribly self-deprecating.
I don't know how to say no to more work.
I have a sharp tongue.
My food quirks:
I will only eat Hellmann's mayonaise. Everything else is gross and smells funny to me.
I will only drink sweet tea that comes from tea bags and sugar. Anything that comes from powder is NOT tea and I don't care if the label says 'tea,' it's a big fat lie.
I will not eat fried chicken from anywhere except Popeye's or the cafeteria at Southern Miss.
I really do love sweet and salty together - chocolate covered pretzels are the best!
The only canned veggies that I will eat are wax beans and olives (though I prefer olives that aren't canned). Canned fruit is fine, but canned asparagus looks like slime.
I will not drink fruit juice that's not real fruit juice, and I think instant coffee is a crime against nature.
I will not eat 'fresh frozen' seafood. This to me seems wrong, and also impossible.
My sleep quirks:
I have to sleep with my back to the door. As a teenager, I developed several furniture configurations to facilitate this quirk, much to my roommates' dismay.
I also still sleep with pilly, the little white pillow that has been re-pillowcased at least twice in my lifetime. I have had pilly since I was three. And anyone who laughs is going to meet the business end of my Honda.
I have been known to sleepwalk and give speeches in my sleep. My dad said I gave a speech about world peace when we were on vacation in California. And something about dolphins.
Quirky people I tag (who haven't already been tagged):
Casey
Emily
My good quirks:
I'm a hard worker, almost to a fault.
I am very well organized, and my bathroom is always clean.
I'm fiercely protective of the ones I love.
My pralines and pies are only rivaled by my mother's - in all other matters of dessert, I defer to Stacey.
I can drive stick shift.
My bad quirks:
I don't know when to quit.
I am horribly self-deprecating.
I don't know how to say no to more work.
I have a sharp tongue.
My food quirks:
I will only eat Hellmann's mayonaise. Everything else is gross and smells funny to me.
I will only drink sweet tea that comes from tea bags and sugar. Anything that comes from powder is NOT tea and I don't care if the label says 'tea,' it's a big fat lie.
I will not eat fried chicken from anywhere except Popeye's or the cafeteria at Southern Miss.
I really do love sweet and salty together - chocolate covered pretzels are the best!
The only canned veggies that I will eat are wax beans and olives (though I prefer olives that aren't canned). Canned fruit is fine, but canned asparagus looks like slime.
I will not drink fruit juice that's not real fruit juice, and I think instant coffee is a crime against nature.
I will not eat 'fresh frozen' seafood. This to me seems wrong, and also impossible.
My sleep quirks:
I have to sleep with my back to the door. As a teenager, I developed several furniture configurations to facilitate this quirk, much to my roommates' dismay.
I also still sleep with pilly, the little white pillow that has been re-pillowcased at least twice in my lifetime. I have had pilly since I was three. And anyone who laughs is going to meet the business end of my Honda.
I have been known to sleepwalk and give speeches in my sleep. My dad said I gave a speech about world peace when we were on vacation in California. And something about dolphins.
Quirky people I tag (who haven't already been tagged):
Casey
Emily
Monday, January 23, 2006
Tag, I'm it!
Drew hit me up to do this little meme, so I will humbly oblige...
Four Jobs I've Had in My Life
piano teacher
grocery cashier
Victoria's Secret retail slave
health insurance processor
Four Movies I Could Watch Over and Over, and Have
When Harry Met Sally
Howard's End
Steel Magnolias
Moonstruck
Four Places I Have Lived
Slidell, Louisiana
Portland, Oregon
Victoria, B.C.
Boston, Massachusetts
Four TV Shows I Love To Watch
West Wing
CSI
Project Runway (I feel my smartness slipping away)
Monarch of the Glen - oh to have BBC Scotland.....
Four Places I Have Been On Vacation
Aix en Provence
New York City
Berlin
San Francisco
Four Websites I Visit Daily
Les Arts Florissants
gmail.com
nytimes.com
nola.com
Four Favorite Foods
cheese of all sorts
Popeye's fried chicken
sushi (nigiri, sashimi, whatever)
po-boys from Check-in Check-out
Four Places I Would Rather Be Right Now
in New Orleans with family
at the Chimes with Casey
London
in my house with Sam & Frank
Four People Whom I Tag Next
eMc
Casey
Kristy, on the off chance she's reading today
Armand
Four Jobs I've Had in My Life
piano teacher
grocery cashier
Victoria's Secret retail slave
health insurance processor
Four Movies I Could Watch Over and Over, and Have
When Harry Met Sally
Howard's End
Steel Magnolias
Moonstruck
Four Places I Have Lived
Slidell, Louisiana
Portland, Oregon
Victoria, B.C.
Boston, Massachusetts
Four TV Shows I Love To Watch
West Wing
CSI
Project Runway (I feel my smartness slipping away)
Monarch of the Glen - oh to have BBC Scotland.....
Four Places I Have Been On Vacation
Aix en Provence
New York City
Berlin
San Francisco
Four Websites I Visit Daily
Les Arts Florissants
gmail.com
nytimes.com
nola.com
Four Favorite Foods
cheese of all sorts
Popeye's fried chicken
sushi (nigiri, sashimi, whatever)
po-boys from Check-in Check-out
Four Places I Would Rather Be Right Now
in New Orleans with family
at the Chimes with Casey
London
in my house with Sam & Frank
Four People Whom I Tag Next
eMc
Casey
Kristy, on the off chance she's reading today
Armand
Thursday, January 19, 2006
train travel: the civilized route
I love the train. Everyone is quiet, reading their books, listening to their iPods, eating their breakfast like I am. I claim the little seat that folds down by the staircase to the upper car. It's sort of tucked away so unless people were looking for you, they wouldn't hardly notice you were there. The conductors on the train are an interesting mix of Bostonians and people from Western Massachusetts, Worcester, Framingham, Marlborough. I wish I could spend a whole day's route with them and try to transcribe the pronunciations of each stop into phonetics. It's an exercise in Northeastern dialect, I tell you.
I eat my tupperware of oatmeal, drink my tea, read my New Yorker. It only takes twelve minutes to get into the city on the train. The subway takes about 40, and it's loud. I never realize how loud it is until I don't take it. Parents not minding their kids, people talking so loudly as if trying to leak information to the Washington Post from afar, at least four seats out of commission because of the leaking windows and the rainstorm that came in sideways.
Even at 9:30pm, when I have been singing for two hours, teaching German pronunciation to a large room of people who neither read nor speak German, and all I want to do is sit quietly, I cannot get a seat on the subway. So I perch on the stairs, leaning against the partition, one arm crooked around the pole, trying to remember to switch sides when we get to Kenmore because the doors open on the other side at Kenmore. And it dawns on me that there is a reason I love the commuter train. I have my own little seat, the loudest part of the experience is the clanging of the train's bell (that sounds like an overexuberant cow), and I can sit in my little corner and eat my oatmeal and drink my tea and watch the city go by.
Next week, I'm taking the train to NYC. Four hours of quiet time and space in which a person can work on their species counterpoint homework, read an 18th century treatise on keyboard playing, finish a good book and start another, knit, do crossword puzzles, and, as Depeche Mode reminded us to do back those so many days ago, enjoy the silence.
That said, I'm going to spend the rest of my afternoon on the sofa with my dog and my book. Hope everyone else's day is as peaceful as mine.
I eat my tupperware of oatmeal, drink my tea, read my New Yorker. It only takes twelve minutes to get into the city on the train. The subway takes about 40, and it's loud. I never realize how loud it is until I don't take it. Parents not minding their kids, people talking so loudly as if trying to leak information to the Washington Post from afar, at least four seats out of commission because of the leaking windows and the rainstorm that came in sideways.
Even at 9:30pm, when I have been singing for two hours, teaching German pronunciation to a large room of people who neither read nor speak German, and all I want to do is sit quietly, I cannot get a seat on the subway. So I perch on the stairs, leaning against the partition, one arm crooked around the pole, trying to remember to switch sides when we get to Kenmore because the doors open on the other side at Kenmore. And it dawns on me that there is a reason I love the commuter train. I have my own little seat, the loudest part of the experience is the clanging of the train's bell (that sounds like an overexuberant cow), and I can sit in my little corner and eat my oatmeal and drink my tea and watch the city go by.
Next week, I'm taking the train to NYC. Four hours of quiet time and space in which a person can work on their species counterpoint homework, read an 18th century treatise on keyboard playing, finish a good book and start another, knit, do crossword puzzles, and, as Depeche Mode reminded us to do back those so many days ago, enjoy the silence.
That said, I'm going to spend the rest of my afternoon on the sofa with my dog and my book. Hope everyone else's day is as peaceful as mine.
Saturday, January 14, 2006
why I love college football
I love college football. You can go to the games for relatively cheap, sit with the band, heckle the cheerleaders, and sneak in the beer of your choice. The players are still lean and hungry, trying to get noticed, trying to keep their scholarships. The games are not televised as much, so less commercial breaks, which means that I don't have to devote an entire evening to watching a bunch of yahoos run around fighting over the same two yards for half an hour of my life that actually only took three minutes on the clock.
Which brings me to the game I'm watching now. Seahawks vs. Redskins.
I live with two men. My husband is from Washington D.C. and our housemate is from Seattle, making it impossible for me to change the channel for more than three minutes. And every time the Redskins score, my husband dances around the house, singing the fight song.
*sidebar* my husband knows more fight songs than anyone I have ever met in my entire life. When we drove through Princeton, he stopped at the corner and sang the Princeton fight song.
So here we are, in the fourth quarter, the clock stopped at 11:51, 50, 49, 48...and I will be held hostage for at least the next eleven and a half minutes of football time, probably another thirty minutes in real time, and all I can think is, "why did I ever leave a university that had a football team that played down the street at the stadium?"
sigh
Which brings me to the game I'm watching now. Seahawks vs. Redskins.
I live with two men. My husband is from Washington D.C. and our housemate is from Seattle, making it impossible for me to change the channel for more than three minutes. And every time the Redskins score, my husband dances around the house, singing the fight song.
*sidebar* my husband knows more fight songs than anyone I have ever met in my entire life. When we drove through Princeton, he stopped at the corner and sang the Princeton fight song.
So here we are, in the fourth quarter, the clock stopped at 11:51, 50, 49, 48...and I will be held hostage for at least the next eleven and a half minutes of football time, probably another thirty minutes in real time, and all I can think is, "why did I ever leave a university that had a football team that played down the street at the stadium?"
sigh
Saturday, January 07, 2006
how to bathe a dog in winter
Step one: get or already own a dog.
Step two: take dog for a run in a nearby playground so he will be sufficiently worn out
Step three: persuade dog to get into the bathtub
This is where you begin to improvise. My chocolate lab loves water, except when it's coming out of a faucet. At this point, I have to pull up my jeans to my knees, throw on a t-shirt I hate, and get into the bathtub with the aforementioned horse, I mean dog.
Sam also hates dog shampoo. I don't really blame him, as I remember having my hair washed as a young child and the whole experience was rather unpleasant. This was also during the time where I would wear shorts under my first-grade uniform so I could play on the monkey bars without scandalizing the nuns or my mother. But Sam likes to roll around in things that smell, specifically piles of rotting leaves that have undoubtedly been rolled in by other dogs. And this means that, in the middle of winter, he needs a bath. So, back to the instruction manual.
Step four: once you have persuaded your horse, antelope, or chocolate lab to get into the bathtub, get him as wet as possible, using extra mardi gras cups to douse him. If you're lucky, he'll just sit still and think he's getting a massage. There is, of course, the danger of the aardvark (or dog) shaking and covering you and your bathroom with suds.
Step five: after the dog has been shampooed, enlist the help of a housemate, husband, or circus trainer to help you dry off said dog. The inevitable shaking will ensue, but your dog will be clean. Cleaning the dog is not nearly as gross as cleaning your bathroom afterwards, but I digress. This is where your (or my, as the case may be) husband comes in. Seeing that you are not only soaked and covered in dog hair but also holding your dog and trying to clean his ears, the husband wonderfully offers to clean up the bathtub and mop the bathroom floor.
The husband had, of course, offered several times to help with the dog bathing, but there is only room in a bathtub for one person and one dog, especially when the dog is nearly half the size of the human. And for the record, there is nothing alluring about a woman in jeans and a t-shirt, soaking wet, holding her soaking wet dog INSIDE in the middle of winter.
Summertime, a nice Hefeweizen in hand, sunshine and burgers on the grill, different story.
Should you require further instruction on how to bathe your hippopotamus, armoire, or other large creature with legs and a tail, feel free to contact the author, once she has taken a shower herself.
Step two: take dog for a run in a nearby playground so he will be sufficiently worn out
Step three: persuade dog to get into the bathtub
This is where you begin to improvise. My chocolate lab loves water, except when it's coming out of a faucet. At this point, I have to pull up my jeans to my knees, throw on a t-shirt I hate, and get into the bathtub with the aforementioned horse, I mean dog.
Sam also hates dog shampoo. I don't really blame him, as I remember having my hair washed as a young child and the whole experience was rather unpleasant. This was also during the time where I would wear shorts under my first-grade uniform so I could play on the monkey bars without scandalizing the nuns or my mother. But Sam likes to roll around in things that smell, specifically piles of rotting leaves that have undoubtedly been rolled in by other dogs. And this means that, in the middle of winter, he needs a bath. So, back to the instruction manual.
Step four: once you have persuaded your horse, antelope, or chocolate lab to get into the bathtub, get him as wet as possible, using extra mardi gras cups to douse him. If you're lucky, he'll just sit still and think he's getting a massage. There is, of course, the danger of the aardvark (or dog) shaking and covering you and your bathroom with suds.
Step five: after the dog has been shampooed, enlist the help of a housemate, husband, or circus trainer to help you dry off said dog. The inevitable shaking will ensue, but your dog will be clean. Cleaning the dog is not nearly as gross as cleaning your bathroom afterwards, but I digress. This is where your (or my, as the case may be) husband comes in. Seeing that you are not only soaked and covered in dog hair but also holding your dog and trying to clean his ears, the husband wonderfully offers to clean up the bathtub and mop the bathroom floor.
The husband had, of course, offered several times to help with the dog bathing, but there is only room in a bathtub for one person and one dog, especially when the dog is nearly half the size of the human. And for the record, there is nothing alluring about a woman in jeans and a t-shirt, soaking wet, holding her soaking wet dog INSIDE in the middle of winter.
Summertime, a nice Hefeweizen in hand, sunshine and burgers on the grill, different story.
Should you require further instruction on how to bathe your hippopotamus, armoire, or other large creature with legs and a tail, feel free to contact the author, once she has taken a shower herself.
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
a long december
December might have been the longest month ever. I went through the rigmarole with the audition process, the emotional ups and downs of my DMA seminar final project, the constant physical and mental fatigue of the concert season, and, oh wait, I almost forgot, I got married.
The weather has been awful. Snow, slush, ice, and sometimes it comes in sideways under your hat. All last week, I was hoping and praying for nice weather so we could take pictures outside on the porch of Trinity and my prayers were answered! It was about 50, sunny, blue sky, and just warm enough for me to not freeze to pieces in my wedding dress.
The music was perfect. The flowers were perfect. The tuxes fit everyone on the first try. And all essential personnel showed up before the ceremony started. The cake was delicious (and if anyone wants some, we still have LOTS left over) and everyone had a good time, and I was so glad we tasted the champagne before we bought it becaue by the time it's all said and done, you will WANT to drink a few glasses of champagne.
The families got along famously, my little brother
and Frank's nephew Aaron are the same age so they stayed up late playing video games until 3am, and one of my sisters-in-law made me sniffle by calling me her sister. Sorry if I'm goopy, but I've only had one brother and he's great, but I've always wanted a sister. And now I have FOUR. Yikes.
Must attend to the puppy, he has the hiccups. How do dogs get hiccups anyway?
I'll leave you with the very cute Hindrichs family picture.
The weather has been awful. Snow, slush, ice, and sometimes it comes in sideways under your hat. All last week, I was hoping and praying for nice weather so we could take pictures outside on the porch of Trinity and my prayers were answered! It was about 50, sunny, blue sky, and just warm enough for me to not freeze to pieces in my wedding dress.
The music was perfect. The flowers were perfect. The tuxes fit everyone on the first try. And all essential personnel showed up before the ceremony started. The cake was delicious (and if anyone wants some, we still have LOTS left over) and everyone had a good time, and I was so glad we tasted the champagne before we bought it becaue by the time it's all said and done, you will WANT to drink a few glasses of champagne.
The families got along famously, my little brother
and Frank's nephew Aaron are the same age so they stayed up late playing video games until 3am, and one of my sisters-in-law made me sniffle by calling me her sister. Sorry if I'm goopy, but I've only had one brother and he's great, but I've always wanted a sister. And now I have FOUR. Yikes.Must attend to the puppy, he has the hiccups. How do dogs get hiccups anyway?
I'll leave you with the very cute Hindrichs family picture.
Friday, December 23, 2005
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.
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.
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
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!
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!
Monday, December 19, 2005
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!
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!
Saturday, December 17, 2005
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.
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.
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
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?
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?
Monday, December 12, 2005
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!
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!
Monday, December 05, 2005
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
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!
Thursday, November 24, 2005
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?
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?
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
'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!
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!
Thursday, November 17, 2005
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!
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!
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
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.
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.
Thursday, November 03, 2005
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?
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?
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
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.
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.
Saturday, October 29, 2005
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!
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.
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.
Thursday, October 20, 2005
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!
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!
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
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!
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!
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
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!
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!
Sunday, October 09, 2005
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)
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)
Monday, October 03, 2005
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.
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.
Thursday, September 29, 2005
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.
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.
Thursday, September 22, 2005
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.
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.
Monday, September 19, 2005
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
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
Saturday, September 17, 2005
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.
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.
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
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.
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.
Friday, September 09, 2005
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.
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.
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
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.
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.
Monday, September 05, 2005
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.
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.
Sunday, September 04, 2005
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.
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.
Friday, September 02, 2005
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.
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.
Thursday, September 01, 2005
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
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
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
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!
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
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.
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.
Monday, August 29, 2005
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?
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?
Sunday, August 28, 2005
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.
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.
Thursday, August 25, 2005
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.
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.
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
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.
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.
Saturday, August 20, 2005
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.
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!
Updates as they arise, go Beantown!
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