Short Bites Part Deux....

• My father called me today (my ONLY day off) and demanded to know why my blog hadn't been updated.  I tried explaining that I was beside a pool, surrounded by gay men, but that was no excuse.  My hands falling off would not be enough of an excuse for my father. Are you happy now, slave driver?
• One of my wigs  for the opera is cute.....and another one of my wigs looks like something died on my head.  Guess which one I am assigned to wear more?  I swear it is in the process of molting on my skull.
• I had to get a refill for my "happy drugs," and it took a few days.  During that time, I wasn't taking anything to quell the Hulk-like anger that occasionally comes upon me. Everyone should be grateful that I didn't rip off a fellow singer's head and use it as a punch bowl during that time.  I must be getting more mature.
• I survived the outdoor musical theater concert and lost 12 lbs in water weight while performing in the heat and humidity.  Then I had a Diet Coke and promptly bloated up again.
• Yesterday I attempted to do the can-can and sing full out.  I stopped after the spots kept floating across my vision, indicating that I was severally oxygen deprived.  I can sing, I can dance, I sure as hell can't do both without injury.
• Tonight I may be going to Hooters.  I am not sure how my feminist sensibilities feel about this, but I sure as hell am getting a t-shirt.

Target = Heaven

Today my friend Arielle and I had a desperate Target "craving" and managed to convince our friend Jessica to drive us out to the nearest one.  It might have been the happiest hour I spent anywhere.  Apparently I was kind of hilarious, as I wandered the aisle, shouting "look at all this stuff!  And it is all for sale!"  I am not sure what all I bought, but the end total was much higher than it would have been if I had just bought the zit cream I came in for.  One of the gems I purchased can be seen to the left (in the tiny photo).  It is a Post-It wall organizer, and I have never been so obsessed with an item in my life. Not only can you right out your weekly schedule on it, but there are Post-Its on the side for you to add reminders or details.  Oh joy, oh bliss!  Did I need it?  Hell No!  But I feel better organized just having it in the room.

I also bought a Cover Girl Outlast Double Lipshine tube in a ruby red color, and I have been wearing it all day.  It even stayed on during the humidity-filled musical theater concert we just did.  Yet another gift Target has given me.  During the ride home, I couldn't stop pawing through my bags with my purchases.  Did I mention they had zebra-print notebooks?  ZEBRA-PRINT NOTEBOOKS PEOPLE!  This must be what heaven is like.

Pathetic....

I am not sure if this photo from cuteoverload.com is cute or pathetic.  What I do know is that this little guy is having a much worse day than I had on Wednesday.  I am also wondering if this contraption comes in human-sizes, because holding myself upright all day is getting really exhausting.

Sprinkles.....

Before I begin this post, I am just letting you know that there is a distinct possibility that I may have a bed bug "issue."  If that is the case, you will be able to hear me screaming all the way from New Jersey.

Anyway, Wednesday kind of sucked.  I had a coaching with a flamboyant gay man who is the librarian at AVA (Academy of Vocal Arts in Philly).  Throughout the coaching he kept complaining that my middle voice was too "pushed."  He has a point there, and his suggestions for fixing it are going to take a lot of work, but are helpful.  But I could have lived without all the faces he was making.  But it was when he found out that I was attending Tri-Cities in the fall that the shit hit the fan.

"You are going WHERE?"  [insert grand flourish of hands here]

"Uh, Tri-Cities."

"Oh HONEY!  Your voice will be ruined!"

Okay, I have heard this from a couple of people at this program, and I am SICK of it.  I am not an idiot, and I know to stop when things start to feel uncomfortable.  Also, I have a teacher in New York that I will be seeing twice a month to make sure everything is on the up-and-up. When people point out things like that, I assume they are just trying to be "helpful."  Thanks, now shut the hell up.  You don't see me trying to be "helpful" by letting you know that those pants do your thighs no favor, so leave well enough alone.

Tri-Cities is giving me opportunities that no one else would with a relatively unknown singer like myself.  I won't be looking a gift-horse in the mouth, thank you very much.  At this point, I am treating Tri-Cities like my mother; only I get to make fun of it, but woe to anyone else who tries to join in.  [Just a note to my mother: I am merely using you as an example.  I would never make fun of you...unless it was really clever, and I am sure you wouldn't blame me for that.]  

So I am aware of the risks, and I will be taking the proper precautions.  But here was this coach, practically swooning from the "horror" of what I just told him.  You would have thought the Apocalypse was upon us.....or at least the reemergence of the grunge fashion movement.  And I got mad.  Unfortunately for me, I tend to tear up when I get pissed, so my "mad face" is fairly pathetic.  Oooooh...big scary diva with mascara running down her face!  After that, I stumbled out of there, barely holding it together. Luckily, I have wonderful friends here who nursed me back to good spirits with dirty jokes and frozen yogurt....with sprinkles....lots and lots of sprinkles.

I have to face this man first thing this morning, and I am planning on bringing earplugs.  Do you have something snarky to say?  So sorry, can't hear you.  I am too busy enjoying this bowl of frozen yogurt with sprinkles in the corner.

Why the people who read my bog rock...

My friend Anna looked up shopping areas around Binghamton after reading my post:

"I am sure you have found this already, but in case not (and I am not sure where this is in location to your place).....Vestal Parkway has many typical chain stores; Kohl's, Target, Barnes and Noble, as well as Pier 1."

How cool is it that she took it upon herself to do some exploring for me?  Vestal just happens to be the next city over from Binghamton (one of the "tri" cities) and I am sure the bus goes there.  However, several people warned me not to head over that way because it can be "kind of a rough neighborhood."  How can it be rough if it has a Target?  No need to fear, I'll just kick in the door, guns blazing, and take over the makeup aisle.  Then I'll accidentally shoot myself in the foot.

From Russia With Love....

Yesterday, my "day off" from opera boot camp, my father and I headed to Binghamton, NY to meet with some of the Tri-Cities Resident Artist Program coaches and directors.  They wanted to hear me sing again (to prove I was a good investment, I suspect) and I got a chance to check out the city I would be moving to in August.  BIG MISTAKE.  I should have been kept in the dark.

Some Highlights:

• Binghamton must have been a thriving metropolis at some point in the 50's, and the architecture of some of the older buildings is beautiful.  Too bad the city has been on a steady decline since then, and is now in a state of serious decay.  My father compared it to Russia's devastated cities after World War II.  The man has a flair for the dramatic, but he is not far off in his description. The photo above is NOT Binghamton, but an accurate representation of what the city looks like.  This one just happens to be in Russia, not New York.
• Did you know that Binghamton is the white-trash capital of the northeast?  Neither did I! Huzzah!  There were a whole lot of "wife beaters" and Fu Man Chu mustaches walking around.  And teeth were in short supply.  NOT. EVEN. KIDDING.  Swoon.
• An hour at one of the city parking meters will put you back 25 cents.  They really are stuck in the 50's!  I wonder if women can vote there yet?
• There is NO shopping to be had.  And what is available either dates back to the eighties, or is more suitable for street walking.  So I have a choice between massive shoulder pads or a fishnet tube top.  www.bloomingdales.com has already been bookmarked on my computer.  My father is going to be pissed when he gets that bill.
• The bathroom in my apartment will need to be firebombed before I can even think about stepping foot in there.  I'll be ordering my hazmat suit after I write this.  The rest of the apartment isn't so bad, but it needs a good scrub.  And FORGET about me getting a roommate...this place, despite being a two bedroom, is quite cozy.  I hope all my handbags fit.
• My future apartment is surrounded by fast food restaurants.  Luckily there is a supermarket nearby, but the new Kentucky Fried Chicken down the street is set to open by the time I move in.  All my culinary dreams are coming true!
• Tri-Cities Opera has a HUGE operating budget and quite the fancy costume and set department.  But every person my father and I talked to acted like we were crazy when we asked them if they ever went to the opera.  I can only assume my future job is financed by the mob and the theater will be empty.
• As we were leaving, my father (who usually has no fear for me, and figures I can take care of myself just fine) asked me if I wanted him to buy me a gun.  With my luck, I'd shoot myself in the foot.
• They have a big library.  And the cost of living is cheaper than Boston.  See?  I managed to say something nice.

At least I will have plenty of fodder for my blog.

Indeed.....

This is to distract you while I quickly type up my entry about Binghamton, New York.

Brief Break....

My father is in town and, as you well know, he is a bit of a handful.  We are also going on a bit of a road trip (which will probably result in one hell of a blog post), so I will be absent from this website until Tuesday.  However, I will be returning with plenty of fodder, so please sit tight!

XOXO,

The Diva

Products!!!!!

I am LOVING Neutrogena's new "Color Boosting Sunblock.".  As we all know, I am pastier than Gwyneth Paltrow at the North Pole, and I usually go through several tubes of sunscreen in the summer. Usually I apply it after my self-tanner (because people, that stuff doesn't have SPF....listen to the Diva and protect yourself) and it wipes away a fair amount of the color.  This two-in-one product cuts my application process in half and I feel much less shallow.  The only downside is that it produces very gradual color, so you need to be patient.  Trust me, the color will come.

I am a little more divided on "A Tan For All Seasons," by Bliss (photo on the right).  While the color turned out great (which is hard on my fish belly white legs), it goes on an odd purple color.  Yes, that's right, PURPLE.  I assume it is so you can see where you have sprayed. However, despite the spraying option, you still have to rub it in, and it turned my palms purple. I went to wash it out right after I had applied, and the purple wouldn't come off!  I had to go through the rest of the day looking like I had just tussled with the purple-people-eater.  And who needs that?  Again, the leg color looks great, but I am not sure it is worth the hassle.

I bought both at drugstore.com.

Funny T-Shirt....

In response to my "Cosmo-itis" post, my friend Anna brought my attention to the above t-shirt. I'll be wearing it to my next audition.

Cosmo-itis....

Despite what I may infer (quite frequently) on this website, I am not a big drinker.  Quite frankly, I would prefer to spend the calories on cake....or ice cream....or pastry...mmmmm, pastry..... Anyway, I usually abstain from the alcohol as it has a ton of calories and tends to aggravate my acid reflux to the point where I start breathing fire.  

But for some unexplainable reason, I have been craving a cosmopolitan since MONDAY.  That's a long time to want booze.  I don't know if it is the recent full moon, or if this opera program is driving me to hit the bottle, but I was literally salivating at the thought of cranberry juice, vodka, whatever else goes in there, all poured in a delightfully girly glass.  After rehearsal last night, my gay harem was only too happy to oblige me.  Yes, I have a gay harem.  I don't have sex with any of them, I just stare at their deliciousness and muse over the fact that if any of them were straight, I wouldn't be able to make eye contact....it would be like looking at the sun.

We ended up at a place called Winberie's, that looked like a dive from the outside.  But the drink menu was extensive, and contained enough girly drinks to keep everyone happy.  And the cosmos, oh the cosmos!  They were like sunshine and puppies on my tongue.  Of course, they were made with Grey Goose, which is made from pure rainbows, so I can see why they tasted so good.  Enough booze to give you bang for your buck, but you could barely taste it.  Deadly.  It was only after I ordered my third in a row (in under an hour) that I began to question my decision to knock them back.  Was that really me talking so loudly?  And why was I allowed to go to the bathroom by myself, falling into several booths on my way?

I wasn't overly sloppy, by any means, but I was definitely slurring.  And my gay men had to walk home on either side of me to keep me from weaving.  But apparently I was so funny that they didn't mind.  I also asked, at one point, if my pants were still on.  When I heard the answer was yes, I said "good.  No matter what I may do drunk, as long as I have my pants on, I will not be shamed."  Okay, that would have been a little more slurred, but it is a direct quote.  They keep saying it back to me today.  Thanks guys.

Surprisingly, I woke up this morning a wee bit dry and tired.  No hangover (fingers crossed!) and my throat isn't on fire.  My body must have known how badly I needed that booze.  

Learning Experience....

I just experienced the most informative three hours of my life, and I went into it not expecting much.  The director running the masterclass is a former ballet dancer at the MET, and every movement he makes during rehearsals usually involved a flail of the arms and a barrel turn. Obviously, he's gay.  If not, he is going to need one hell of an image makeover.  He also has the kind of personality that can turn on a dime, depending on the barometric pressure, or some other natural phenomenon that I have yet to figure out.  One minute he is laughing with the chorus, and the next he is calling us all bumbling idiots.  Not that he is far from the truth.  You should see some of these people; elephants have more grace and stage presence.

But I digress.  I was assigned to sing during this masterclass and I was nervous as hell.  I feared he was either going to have a bitch-fit at me, or use me as the butt for some clever and cruel joke.  But (and this is the part where hell freezes over) he actually had some fascinating and helpful things to say, so shame on me.  And every time someone apologized, he admonished them by saying; "don't apologize to me, I don't deserve it."  Really?  Because I feel like I should wear a sign to every rehearsal that says "Sorry....I'm a peon."

He was demanding with us, but never nasty or rude.  He just gave it to us straight.  That didn't mean he wasn't tough; he loved what I was doing with the "Tipsy Waltz," but he wanted to be more "real" and less "schtick-y."  That meant that I actually had to think for myself which is exhausting and throws me out of my natural element....which apparently makes me a better performer.  Crap, I hate it when I learn something.

So, needless to say, this was one afternoon that wasn't a waste of time, and I respect this director more for it.  However, we have rehearsal with him after the dinner break, and who knows which personality we will get then?

Exciting!

I just performed in an amazing masterclass and am pretty damn proud of myself.  I'll discuss it all later, after I get back from more opera boot camp!

Reenactment.....

An accurate representation of what I look like during chorus rehearsals.  Add a giant hoopskirt to the cat, and we would look eerily alike.

Short Bites.....

• As I was walking home in the pouring rain, after a late rehearsal on Friday night, a bolt of lightening hit a tree a few yards away from me.  Several branches fell to the ground and sizzled.  And then I peed myself just a little.  My heart still hasn't stopped pounding.
• Everyone here refers to me by my last name, including myself.  I am pretty sure I am going to continue talking about myself in the third person until someone smacks me.  I hope that happens soon.
• The woman playing Violetta (the lead role) in Traviata is very good and tends to drop the F-bomb when she can't remember her Italian lines.  I am going to ask her to marry me.  
• The stage for all these operas is tiny and I can't wait to see the disaster that ensues when all the women get on stage wearing our five-foot-wide ballgowns.
• Sorry directors, putting a bunch of young and bored opera singers in clumps on stage and telling them not to talk is like telling George W. not to be a blathering idiot....it can't be done.
• It is impossible to look sexy in this kind of humidity.

Um, yikes.....

 "When trash bags attack!  News at 11."

*Photo courtesy of Fred Thornhill/Reuters/Landov

Happy Father's Day!

I couldn't decide which one to go with for today's post, as both are categorically true when it comes to my father.  However, I do appreciate that my father instilled in me a talent for scaring the crap out of men and taught me how to throw a proper punch.  Love you dad!

Indeed.....

Costumes.....

Apparently, word has gotten out amongst the costumers of the Northeast that I am 300 pounds. I'm not.  Although I'm not a size two, I have a lot of chocolate to consume before I reach that high a weight.  But every costume I've been handed lately has been GI-normous.  First there was the overly-large Ruddigore potato sack, and now there is the Traviata ballgown that could have fit me and the whole costuming staff.  In fact, the skirt alone is bigger than my grad school dorm room.

It took three seamstresses to hold the gown against my body, while the fourth frantically pinned it into place.  The whole bodice had to been taken apart and reconstructed because, oddly enough, I don't have triple "D" sized breasts.  At one point, I looked down and realized that they had pinned part of the bodice to my bra.  Thank God I require butt-loads of padding in the chestal area, or else I would have lost a nipple to a safety pin.  And I am quite attached to my nipples, thank you very much.

I was getting fitted on one of those delightful 100 + degree days, and I soon started to feel a bit soggy under all those layers of fabric.  Not to mention the fact that the costume interns, under the direction of the costume lady/dragon, were so nervous that they kept pinning the corset crooked.  Maybe it was my torso that was crooked?  Whatever the reason, it took them a full hour to get it straight.  At that point, the combination of no food and much heat was causing me to feel woozy.  For the love of God ladies, hurry up!

When they finally released me from my taffeta prison, I staggered out of the costume room and sank to the floor in the hallway.  A tenor walked by and asked "tough costume fitting?"  You have no idea, buddy.

Bitch & Moan.....

I am sitting in yet another painfully dull masterclass.  This one is much worse because the air conditioning seems to have pooped out, leaving us in a rather steamy room.  They will regret the decision not to fix it when I remove ALL my clothes in the effort to stay cool.  Hope my fellow opera singers appreciate pasty skin.

In the midst of all our crazy rehearsals, we are still expected to attend these masterclasses. They must have had a nasty experience with attendance last year, because we have to sign in and out of EVERY rehearsal and masterclass.  I was unaware I was still in high school.  I'd show up anyway, because you can sometimes learn a lot from these things, especially in the first hour, and I resent being policed.  If you want to miss out on this learning experience, so be it.  I can drink legally and should be able to skip legally.  Especially since I am a chorus beast of burden.

And, dammit, I am CRANKY!  Our day off (Monday) seems ages ago, and I still have three more "action packed" days of rehearsal left until I get another break.  Boy, do I feel like a fool for signing up for this.  And if I wasn't here, I'd be whining about how no one wanted me, so I am never going to be satisfied.

They have also started having rehearsals at ten a.m.  Not the crack of dawn, by any stretch of the imagination, but a bit tough when you have to sing....or function.  Especially when we don't get out of our night rehearsals until ten p.m and I don't calm down enough to go to bed until 11:30 p.m.  I'd pop some Tylenol PM, but the "hangover" the next day isn't worth it.  I tried that last night and almost ran into a tree the next morning, as I walked to the gym.  I politely apologized and went on my way.  My mother taught me good manners, even to leafy vegetation.

It's only the second week and, by law, I shouldn't be at the whining point yet.  But, I've always been ahead of the curve.

Another E-Card....

Just a friendly reminder from DivadelaBlog: Father's Day is this Sunday (the 15th).  Time to thank dad for all those Victoria's Secret charges you made to his card.  It was just yoga pants, I swear!

Professionals.....

Yesterday, the "professional" singers (who are singing the main roles in all of the operas) arrived. They strode into the welcome meeting, glowing with the confidence of people who know they are talented and deserving of their status.  We (the Studio Artists) are in total awe of them.  These people actually sing for a living!  They are paid to be here!  They don't have to grovel in the chorus!  Fascinating!  How ever do they do it?  I am hoping that just breathing the same air as them will help propel my career forward.  A girl can dream, right?

Thigh Rub.....

Okay, that's IT!  I am totally over this heat wave that has crippled the Northeast and Midwest. It is discouraging to walk out of one's dorm and be able to taste the heat because it is so thick and enveloping.  And don't get me started on what this heat is doing to my person.  I roasted marshmallows on the fire my thighs generated from rubbing together yesterday.  And as I have stated before, I look better with more clothing on, so I get annoyed when I have to plan my outfit based on how little coverage I can get away with and still not get arrested for indecent exposure. I am exhausted from constantly positioning my arms in such a way that it looks like I have arm muscles and no tricep flab.  Being this shallow is a full-time job.

And given the distance between venues here in Princeton, it is physically impossible to get anywhere without looking like you've been hosed down.  My friends and I have taken to carrying kleenex with us at all times to sop up the rivets of sweat running down our faces when we get to our destination.  And then there is my hair.  No matter how much hair spray I shalaque on, I end up with frizzy curls that are so tight to my head, it would take a crowbar to fluff them,  My Frizz-Ease is failing me and I am at a loss.

It is only June and I maintain that it shouldn't be this hot yet.  What the hell is in store for us, weather-wise, if this is only the beginning of summer?  I don't think my inner thighs can take much more of this!

We all have those days......

False Advertising.....

After many weeks of searching for it in stores, I finally gave up and ordered DERMAdoctor's new sunscreen, entitled "Ain't Misbehavin" from Sephora. According to the label, this sunscreen not only fights pimples, but mattifies as well.  I'm not sure if it was due to the effort I went to in order to get my hands on this product, or the $30 price tag, but I felt quite let down after I used it for the first time.

Perhaps it isn't meant to be worn under makeup?  It has a thick consistency and it doesn't spread well over the skin; my cheek remained stubbornly white for quite some time after I made the mistake of slathering on too much.  I spent a fair amount of time trying to rub it in and my cheek stayed red for the next half hour.

And it didn't get much better after I put on my makeup.  The combination of the thick texture and the New Jersey humidity caused my makeup to slide off early in the day. Mattifying, my ass!  You could have flossed in the reflection off my nose, forehead and cheeks.  

Since I spent so much money on "Ain't Misbehavin," I will continue to use it, but only on the days I head outside in a hat and no makeup.  This stuff just isn't meant to be worn under foundation in the heat.

*Photo courtesy of DERMAdoctor.com

Bunnies.....

There are adorable baby bunnies on the front lawn of the dorms we are living in whilst surviving opera boot camp here in Princeton.  Unfortunately, they have yet to learn how to show their appreciation for our voices like this little fellow.  Give me another three weeks and I'll have them working as my entourage.

Musical Theater Rant.....

I love musical theater.  I could feasibly sit in my room and listen to Wicked or Phantom, or even Hairspray all day long.  Quite frankly, musicals are the best thing about New York to me. What I don't like about musical theater is singing it.  I can imagine how it should be sung, but when I open my mouth, I sound like a bad opera singer, trying to make a living doing summer stock in South Dakota.  It just doesn't sound right.  God knows I wish it did, especially since I went to a school for undergrad that had quite the notable musical theater program.  MT's (as they were called) are like opera singers on crack; they are louder, MUCH thinner, prettier and ten times more obnoxious.  Trust me, I didn't think it was possible either, but it's true.  They were even known to start kick lines in the halls of the music school.  Try getting past that and still be on time for your theory class.  It can't be done.

Our masterclass presenter on Friday was a graduate of that same program....and it showed. Don't get me wrong, he had interesting things to say, but most of it was said in a cheesy-ass manner.  I half expected him to pull out the "jazz hands" at any moment.  And he kept telling the singers not to feel "self-conscious" and to "just have fun."  Oh yeah, no problem there, you're just singing in front of 40 of your best friends, all fiercely judging you at the same time. That's MY idea of comfy and cozy.

Also, using words like "kick-ass" and "bitchin" doesn't really endear you to the kiddies.  It just makes you seem desperate.  And sure, he had some funny lines, but they were always said with a wink and a smile; as though he was saying "look how clever I am.  I made you laugh, you peons!"  Did I learn something?  Yes.  Did I want to smack that smug look off his tanned, over-bleached smiley face?  Hell yes.  You aren't my friend.  My friends say "wicked" and would shank you for saying something as lame as "kick-ass."  I run with a rough crowd, and that's how I like it.

For your amusement......

I am way too frazzled to write right now....and I have four hours of rehearsal to look forward to on tomorrow (Saturday).  Ah opera, such a glamourous world of blood, sweat and tears!

Masterclass......

There is nothing that strikes fear in the hearts of singers more than the word "masterclass."  If you aren't performing (but are forced to go), you are basically stuck watching a public coaching of someone who may, or may not, have the same voice type as you.  It can be mind-numbingly dull. If you are (un)lucky enough to perform, you are basically getting picked apart in front of your peers....who just might have fallen asleep by the time it is your turn.  It is kind of like showing up in a hot dress, then lifting up your skirt so everyone can see the Spanx holding you together.  

Yesterday I was one of the "special" singers who got to sing for a female artist manager who has her own small firm.  She was focusing on our presentations more than anything else, and I was so nervous that my acid reflux started going into overdrive.  Prilosec shouldn't have to work that hard.  I don't know why I was such a mess about it all day.....I can only figure it's because I haven't been in a masterclass for over a year and I tend to group them along with auditions on my "things that suck about this opera career thing" list.  All those embarrassing things that your teacher tells you about your voice in private are now out in the open.

When it was finally my turn, I did a pretty decent job, if I do say so myself.  It was a higher Italian aria for me (egads!) and everything seemed to flow out nicely.  And my characterization of a horny teenage boy went pretty well, given that not one is ever going to confuse me with a sixteen-year-old guy any time soon.  Opera seems to rely on the suspension of belief an awful lot.  We were running out of time when I finished, so her only comment to me was, basically, "nice presentation, bad Italian."  Uh, well, gee wiz, thanks.  Yeah, my languages need work, and I have been ignoring them for too long, preferring to concentrate on more fun things like character and sound.  But I felt very let-down.  She even said nicer (and more complete) things to the tenor before me who cracked his way through his piece.  And everyone else got a "fantastic voice!" comment.  I mean, I sounded pretty good, despite the fact that my stomach acid was trying to make its way out my esophagus and do it's own song and dance number.  I want a compliment, dammit!  

And I was mortified: I am too damn old to be having these kind of problems with language. What kind of lame-ass singer can't pronounce Italian?  It's the language high school students start with when they are studying classical singing for the first time!  FOR SHAME!  So I spent the rest of the masterclass slumped in my chair, fighting back tears.  Then a young baritone turned around and passed me a note that read: "I thought you sounded amazing.  I have language problems too, and I didn't think your Italian was that bad."  It was like the sun came out from behind the clouds; someone else has the same shortcomings!  I'm not the only one!  He happens to be a very gay young man, but I still might give him a big tongue kiss for turning my day around.

The rest of the evening, people were being very nice and kept coming up to compliment me.  It made me feel much better, but I am still haunted by my language short-comings.  No one is going to hire an opera singer who can't hack her languages.  I have my work cut out for me before the audition season begins in the fall.

The best E-Card website....

"Aria Sing-Off"......

Yesterday was my first full day at Opera New Jersey, and it was a doozy.  We started off with something idiotically titled the "Aria Sing-Off."  It's like a bake-off, but much less tasty.  All 40 Studio Artists got up and sang in front of each other....a process that took three hours.  I sat on my ass so long that it finally went numb and I had to keep checking on it to make sure it was still there.  I am probably not being fair, seeing as I went second and got the damn thing over early, but many of the singers forgot the golden rule of arias: keep it short and sweet.  So many singers were going up there with ten-page arias, that I felt like running up to the piano and hiding portions of their score.  I don't care how good you are, I can only muster up enough interest for three minutes of singing.  After that, I start looking for the hook.

Not to toot my own horn, but I have this whole "first day aria-sing, compare yourself to others and find out who your competition is" thing down to a fine science.  I sing the "Tipsy Waltz" from La Perichole; it is only three pages, it moves along at a good clip, it shows off my low range (so I avoid the nerves about high notes) and I get to shamelessly stagger around, pretending to be drunk.  It usually elicits a few laughs.  I'm on, I'm off and I get a laugh.....then I can go drink for real.  This is a science not every singer has learned.  And, given the wide range of talent here, some people need to be thinking in terms of getting off the stage faster.

And there doesn't seem to be a whole lot of acting classes going on in music schools.  My favorite was the colouratura mezzo (meaning she can sing fast, crazy notes) who sang the joyful aria "Non piu mesta" with a dour, tragic expression on her face the entire time.  Nothing says "celebration!" like a long face.  Say all you want about my vocal shortcomings, I can perform the hell out of an aria...especially a fun one.  It may sound like crap, but I'll try and keep you entertained.

Judging from the voices I heard, it should be an interesting summer.  It made me feel slightly better to find out that all of the mezzos (including myself) have issues they need to work on. Welcome to the club ladies!  What was nice was that my neighbor, who happened to have gone to undergrad with me, commented on my performance by saying; "when we were in undergrad together, I felt like there was raw talent, but it was wild and all over the place.  It seems like you have figured out your technique and you sound fantastic!"  It was truly a lovely thing to say, and I was excited enough about it to egotistically print it above.  But in the heartbreaking, ego-dashing business of opera, every compliment counts.

Hold On....

It's 9:30 p.m., and I just got back from rehearsals.  It has been one hell of a looooong day.  I promise to fill you all in on it tomorrow (Wednesday), but right now I need to get to bed.  I'd hate to be so cranky tomorrow that I use a soprano as a battering ram.  Judge all you want, you and I both know they are expendable.

*My apologies to all my soprano friends.  You all are lovely and mean the world to me, but I am damn tired of hearing high notes all day.

Library Nazi.....

My father has just dropped me off at my dorm room in Princeton, and I am getting that familiar feeling of fear and resignation that signals the beginning of yet another summer opera program. This first week will be filled with people sniffing at each other like dogs, trying to figure out who will be competition.  I'm getting way too old for this shit.  My bartender friend "helpfully" suggested that I walk in and beat the crap out of someone, thereby establishing my dominance. Apparently this tactic works well in prison and all-boys' schools...which seem like the same thing to me. However, I suspect that it won't be a fair fight, since opera singers aren't known for their athletic prowess.  I can only hope that I learn a lot this summer, because I have another round of auditions coming up in the fall, and I could use some polishing.  

The area is just beautiful (as seen in the picture above) and I can't wait to explore it when I go out power walking.  That's right, I said "power walking."  Laugh all you want, but I am a monster on two feet and can probably out-walk your run.  Plus, my knees won't fall apart when I turn thirty, so there!  The town is cute, and I will forgive it for being one of the preppiest places on earth.  There is a HUGE J.Crew, Banana Republic and Kate Spade store, and I actually saw people running around with sweaters over their shoulders and madras shorts.  I have no doubt they were named "Muffy" and "Buffy."  Oddly enough, there is no "dark and scary clothes store" in town, so I suspect I won't be doing much shopping.  

The library so AH-mazing, I can't even begin to describe it.  They had books on the shelves that I had been on the wait list for in Boston for months, and the whole place is set up like a bookstore.  Don't even get me started on the comfy chairs and the DVD selection.  However, the librarians could give the CIA a run for it's money.  I showed up yesterday, bright-eyed and bushy tailed, ready to get my library card and start plundering the place.  I was well-dressed, carrying my Tori Birch purse, looking respectable, father in tow.  Despite his rabble-rousing, the man cleans up well.  I explained that I was living in town for two months and I showed them my contract with Opera New Jersey that stated that all studio artists were to stay at the Theological Seminary (laugh all you want, this place has AC and Internet).  

No dice.  The woman eyed me suspiciously and asked if I had any other proof of residency, like an electric bill, otherwise I would have to pay the $30 a month for non-residents.  Huh?  I'm living in a damn dorm, there is no electric bill!  There is just a shower caddy.  Did she want to see that?  And even if I wasn't staying down the road, my contract stated that I would be in Princeton for two months....surely that was enough?  It was even on letterhead!  Even the FBI accepts letterhead!  Again the woman eyed me and then my 6'4" father, who was keeping amazingly quiet during this whole exchange.  Perhaps I looked like I wasn't going away without books, or maybe it was my Midwestern charm.  Whatever the reason, she was "kind" enough to allow me to check out some books that day, but I had to promise to return with a letter from the director of the program (on letterhead!) stating that I would be a resident of Princeton for two months.  That request should delight the main office, as I suspect they think opera singers can't even read.

Honestly, the median age at the library was about 95, surely they would be excited to get a youngin' in the place?  And it wasn't like I was trying to walk out with a computer, I just wanted to check out a few mysteries and cheesy romances.  I wasn't coming up to the front with a shifty expression and bomb-making books.  I have checked out books two-days in a row, and so far no alarms have gone off and no one has demanded my "letterhead."  Could I be safe?  We shall see......

*Photo courtesy of Princeton.edu

P.S. As soon as I can buy another cable to connect my camera to my computer, I will post pictures!  Just don't hold your breath, the schedule here is insane.

Union Jack....

My father has arrived in Princeton.  He's sorta like Godzilla, but less scaly, and they are both about the same height.  And instead of destroying cities, he destroys any sort of subtlety or hopes that you may get out of a store without embarrassment.  Take my personality, times five, give it the wingspan of a pterodactyl, and you have my father.  I present the court with Exhibit A:

We were hoping to hit up the nearest Target (which I love! love! love!), but got so turned around that we ended up at the nearest "big box" store.  Let's call it Smal-Mart, so I don't get sued back into the stone-age.  My father happens to be the Executive Director for a large labor union, based in Maryland, so the very thought of going into the infamously non-unionized, "treat our employees like crap and give them no benefits" superstore was enough to make his hair stand on end.  However, my father is not one to pass up on making a scene, especially if it is for the good of marginalized employees.  

My first mistake was leaving him on his own.  I had to get tampons, and I think is says a lot that I was even able to say the word "tampon" in front of my father.  My teenage self would have crawled into a hole and died first.  But my twenty-something self figures that my dad, an ex-cop, has seen worse things then his daughter buying tampons.  I think he can handle it at his age...and it means that he isn't about to become a grandfather any time soon, so he is probably overjoyed at hanging out in the tampon aisle.  I then told him to "stay put" while I ran off to get sunscreen.  My father gets bored easily, and so he decided, oh so "helpfully," to give advice to the women perusing the aisle.  Apparently the advice included "buy these, they are cheaper. But they may not hold much, so you had better be quick," and the gem "these have a pink box. Never trust a pink box."  I am NOT. EVEN. KIDDING.  By the way, my father was quite willing to tell me all about this adventure as a lesson to me to never leave him alone and bored again. I think I understand now why I am still so scarred by my teenage years.  Could you imagine growing up with this man as your father...despite all his wonderful attributes?  That is probably why I didn't date until he moved across the country when I was in college.

Exhibit B:  As we were checking out, my father decided it was a good time to try and convince the young female clerk (whose name was Carmen.....very operatic) to organize and start "talking to a union" about her job.  Just a note: the Smal-Mart employees can be fired for talking about organizing unions...or even for listening to someone talk about unionizing. Which makes them the ideal candidates for asylum in my book.  This is my dad's idea of a joke; scaring the crap out of some poor clerk.  Extra points to her for not calling security on him.  THEN her supervisor came over (he could smell the word "union" in the air) and our poor clerk when absolutely white, probably fearing that my father would rat her out.  While dad has a bizarre sense of humor, he is not a complete ass, and he ended up complimenting Carmen for her politeness and "efficiency" in front of her boss....who could not have been more than nineteen. I still think she was an idiot for not calling security on him.  I was thinking about doing it myself, as I stood to the side, making sure no one knew I was with the tall, crazy man.  And while I will miss him when he drops me off tomorrow, my heart can't take anymore "hilarious" episodes.