San Francisco!

I will be heading off to San Francisco for the next week (hooray!) and will be unable to post until I get back. People keep asking if my mother and I have family out there, and the answer is a resounding "no!"...that is the whole point.

Happy holidays to all of you and thank you again for reading my blog!

Spreadsheet...

I apologize for not posting as much as I would like, but I arrived home in Michigan on Saturday (at 8 am...yeesh!) and mom had already prepared an Excel spreadsheet that laid out exactly how my time was going to be spent until we leave on Wednesday for San Francisco. Not a moment goes unscheduled in this family! It is mostly fun stuff, with a dentist appointment thrown in, but I have been living a highly regimented lifestyle all weekend. As opposed to my usual lifestyle of lounging around in my pyjamas all day in Binghamton and maybe taking a shower afterwords.

There is also a TON of snow here in good ole' MI, so I have spent a fair amount of time digging out our driveway. I am most certainly NOT going to send my mother out there to clear things off herself, but my shoveling technique could use some help. There is a lot of stooping, throwing of snow and swearing going on outside our house by yours truly. I hope my mom tells the neighbors I have Tourettes, so they don't think I am totally depraved.

I hope everyone is enjoying the holiday season...I am just trying to get through it.

Let it snow....and now it can stop.

Here in delightful Binghamton, New York, we have already received a foot of snow, with more on its way.  And I have to say, this city looks much nicer covered in fluffy white stuff.  It softens the "ghetto fabulous/Chernobyl" look that this place usually has.  However, I have a flight back to Michigan tomorrow that needs to take off, or I WILL LOSE MY MIND.  So, if we could get a turn-off on this weather, that would be swell.  And did I mention that I am stuck on this plane with two of the old founders of Tri-Cities opera, who are hardly fans of mine?  And this plane is quite small, so it is bound to be a fun trip....if we ever get off the ground.  Perhaps I will work on some of my diction with them during the flight?

Keep your fingers crossed for me, as I am sure I will get plenty of blog postings out of tomorrow...which could be good or bad.

Don't you be talkin' bad about my state....

I am originally from Michigan, which has been featured rather prominently in the news lately. In fact, it has kind of been the punch line to many a joke for a number of years.  Especially since the state of Michigan has been in this "recession" WAY longer than the rest of the country.  Try since 2003....we are THAT hardcore.  Speaking of hardcore, the latest joke about Detroit, Michigan (which I know you have ALL heard of) is that the city is so badass, their mayor is in jail. Seriously, if you have been following the news you may have heard that Kwame Kilpatrick (mayor of the fine city of Detroit) has been indicted on several charges.  Please note, our politicians were doing it WAY before Illinois and Governor Blagojevich.  Oh, and Detroit has just been named America's "most dangerous city."  I'm oozing with pride.  And don't even get me started on the auto industry and its illustrious CEOs.  

Now, I am a true Michigan girl.  Not only was I born and raised in Michigan, but I went to college there after I survived high school.  Luckily for me, my parents were cool enough not to make me live at home during that time, so I managed to have an active social life.  Sometimes, too active, and my liver is still recovering.  But, at the end of 24 years of living in the same state, I was determined to get the hell out of Michigan for grad school.  So I moved to Boston, attended a "prestigious" conservatory there and fell in love with my new home.  However, I discovered an odd thing; I actually missed Michigan.  Now, don't get me wrong, I don't want to go back and live there, but there were certain aspects to the state that left me homesick. Number one being that people on the East Coast have no concept of the word "friendly."  In Michigan, people tend to smile and say hello to random strangers on the street.  Not that we are always full of sunshine and light, but we aren't aren't afraid of looking strangers in the eye. Whereas, on the East Coast, you could be bleeding in the middle of the street and people would probably step over you and complain about you clogging up the flow of traffic.

And then there are the East Coast stereotypes about the Midwest.  My bartender friend (who is originally from Massachusetts) has told me, on many an occasion, that he views the Midwest as a place where "everyone has hitching posts in front of their homes, raises cows and cools pies on the windowsill."  First off, we got rid of our hitching post last year, and secondly, if there was a cow anywhere near my person, I would run away, shrieking like a mad woman.  Those things are BIG.  And, no doubt, mean.  And given the fact that I am a city slicker through and through, if I am ever anywhere rural enough to have cows, something has gone terribly wrong and I will need help immediately.  Oh, and don't even get me started on the whole "pies cooling" bulls**t.  Trust me, you NEVER want to eat a pie that I have baked.  You might not make it out alive.

The point of this whole post (finally!) is that I can make fun of Michigan and the Midwest, but if you (a non-Midwesterner) start cracking jokes, I will take great offense.  In fact, I might shank you, which, given that I am from outside Detroit, means that I actually know such vocabulary and can follow through on it.  Feel free to think of Michigan as my mother....and you don't EVER make fun of someone's mother.  

I have cows and I am not afraid to use them.

HUH?

You see the cat on the above picture?  That is exactly how I felt after completing my audition season in New York City yesterday.  I'm still picking the dog hair out of my ears.  The most frustrating audition by far took place yesterday for a young artist program on the East Coast. As I recounted to my friends, it took me longer to put on my eye makeup than it did to sing for these people.

When I arrived, it was announced that they were ahead of schedule...by about thirty minutes. That is almost UNHEARD of when it comes to auditions.  Opera companies are notorious for ignoring time limits on auditions and are usually behind by at least twenty minutes.  This could only mean one of two things: lots of people had canceled or the staff was so eager to get back home, they were only hearing the shortest arias on everyone's list.  As it turned out, the audition monitor informed me that they were usually only hearing one aria.  This would have annoyed me more, but they were ready for me (a FULL 30 minutes before my assigned time), so I threw on my high heels and walked into the audition room.  Quite frankly, I prefer to walk in and walk on, because it gives me less time to worry about my performance.

When I entered the room, I discovered that I was performing in a small theater.  ROCK. ON. There is nothing I like more than being on stage and, for the first time this whole audition season, I couldn't wait to start singing.  And I nailed it; I was charming, my voice was shimmery, and my pianist kept up the whole time.  After I finished by first aria, I felt certain they would be fools if they didn't ask for a second aria.  Apparently they are really are fools, because a disembodied voice from beyond the lights said "thank you" in a rather final manner. Uh, thank you?  That's it?  Are you sure you don't want to hear more, because I'm on a roll. Really, I am sure that my next aria will be simply smashing.  Perhaps you are mistaken in your dismissal, since you seem to have ALL THE TIME IN THE WORLD to hear people.  Did I mention that I know how to tap dance?  You should see my "shuffle off to Buffalo," it is simply smashing.  No?  Nothing?

Even my pianist seemed confused, and was in the midst of turning the pages of my music notebook to the next aria when the soul crushing "thank you" was uttered.  Our eyes met, she shrugged sympathetically and handed me back my music.  I said thank you to everyone and walked out, fuming as I went.  What annoys me the most is that a lot of the singers performing for this company don't live in New York City.  That means we have to find lodging and food (at considerable cost to us) for five minutes in front of an audition committee.  Seems like quite the rip-off to me.  Especially when one of my non-singer friends suggested that perhaps these companies are using our audition fees (what we have to pay to have them even look at our resumes) to help fund their programs in these hard times.  That is why they are cramming in as many people as possible, and only allowing them one aria.  Now, in my calmer moments, I don't believe this is true, but it seemed like a real possibility to me yesterday.

Yes, I realize that this "performing" stuff is pretty unfair, but I feel like programs like this are particularly unfair to young singers and giant waste of our time.  We take your auditions very seriously, how about you give us the same respect?

Now where did I put that chocolate I brought home with me?  I could use a pick-me-up!

Thank You...

A big THANK YOU to all my readers who click on the ads along the side of my blog.  Thanks to you, I can pay my electric bill this month, which means that I can keep blogging...and reading....and putting on makeup...etc, etc.

No rest for the wicked...

Tomorrow I head out (AGAIN!) for New York City and get to experience all the joys that one can have on a four hour bus ride.  Perhaps this time I will get the hang of peeing in a moving vehicle! Let me tell you, once you have used the bathroom on a bus, there is no amount of Purell in THE WORLD that can make you feel clean again.  I've actually used cleaner port-a-potties.

If I survive, I will post again on Wednesday.  Until then, be well!

All I want for Christmas...

I saw this product on The Today Show while I was in New York City and I giggled about it for about an hour afterwords.  The item to the left is created by the fictional "Society for the Decency of Animals" and is designed to protect young people in your neighborhood from those pesky, naked squirrels.  I found these on www.mcphee.com, where one can also purchase "Bacon Floss," but all I really want for Christmas are the squirrel underpants.  So, if you really love me, and you feel strongly about keeping squirrels (and their nuts) undercover, please purchase these squirrel underpants.  Now I have to find a squirrel that will stand still long enough for me to put these on them.  It's good to have goals.

What the cat dragged in...

First off, I would like to thank all my Resident Artist friends who have been kind enough to pick my sorry carcass up from the bus station after I get in from New York City.  Not only are they doing me a HUGE favor by saving me money on cab fare, but they have to put up with me after I have dragged my suitcase through The City and ridden on a smelly bus for four hours.  I am certain they get out the Febreeze as soon as I exit the vehicle.....not that I blame them.  Last night was particularly fun, as I had to crawl under the bus to retrieve my suitcase.  Apparently the Greyhound employees who were standing around were only for show, not for helping people get their suitcases out.  Thank goodness I was wearing pants with some stretch to them, or else my maneuver could have ended in tragedy.

As it stands right now, I got an offer for the summer (hooray!) and have struck out when it comes to Resident Artist programs.  Now, I only auditioned for three (which meant the odds were definitely not in my favor, especially in this current economy), but it doesn't mean the rejections don't sting!  However, I get to be home for three days (in a row!), so that should help to shake off the post-audition doldrums.  Of course, that "home" happens to be Binghamton, so I am not sure how "uplifiting" this homecoming is going to be.  And then I am right back to New York City for two days after this weekend.  No rest for the wicked, my friends.  But these past two weeks were not a total loss, as my voice teacher in New York and I have put together a plan for the upcoming year, and it involves an overhaul of my audition package.  Apparently my audition offerings are that of three different types of mezzos, so some "tweaking" is definitely needed.

But a post-New York blog entry is not complete without a dramatic story about my auditions, so here goes: 

Yesterday morning, at my audition, I had the misfortune to bite my tongue.  In fact, I didn't just bite my tongue, I ripped off a whole damn chunk.  I have been working on singing with a "fat tongue," and apparently I took the concept a wee bit too far.  And I tend to sing with a fair amount of  jaw tension, so when I snapped my jaw shut after a particularly dramatic phrase, it came down on the side of my tongue like a bear trap.  And then the side of my mouth started to fill with blood.  But, by God, I kept singing (not so badly, may I add), and tried to ignore the trickle of blood that was making its way down the side of my chin.  Luckily, it was off to the side, and the auditioners were a fair distance away, but my accompanist saw it and audibly gasped.  Luckily, being a consummate professional, she never faltered in her playing, and we got through the song together.  When I finished, I wiped off the side of my chin, thanked the opera company, and retrieved my music from a horrified pianist.  Luckily, she never said a word, and I walked out of the room thinking ow, ow, ow, ow, OW!  

I promise you, I can't make this crap up.

Away...

I will once again be gone until Thursday (the 11th) and will only be able to Twitter until then.  I am sure I will have several "fascinating" stories for you all when I return.  Until then, be well.

Audition Couture...

Despite the stereotype, opera singers come in a variety of shapes and sizes, not just large and extra large.  And no, we don't all wander around wearing Valkyrie horns on our heads, though the idea has occurred to me on several occasions.  However, I doubt if I could get a cab wearing such headgear.  No, opera singers can be skinny, fat, short, tall and (if you are like me) curvy.  But when it comes to dressing themselves, some singers fare better than others.  And audition week is the perfect time to view the "audition-wear" runway show.  

The men have it pretty easy, as it takes real effort to mess up a suit and tie.  And I have yet to see a male singer with a cartoon tie, but I am sure there are some out there, going about their auditioning, thinking they are clever.  Amongst the women, the wrap dress has been making a comeback, in various colors and patterns.  However, the wrap dress is not infallible; I have seen prints that could make an audition committee's eyes bleed and some are wrapped just too damn tight.  In fact, a boa constrictor after a full meal sometimes comes to mind when gazing upon some of the bodies in these dresses.  Now, I know we don't make any money, but a mirror that goes all the way down to the floor is a helpful investment, and something that quite a few female singers seem to be without.  How else can you explain the tragic fit of some of the outfits I see?

Women's shoes are another issue.  May I suggest a trial run before walking into an audition room, because I have seen WAY too many young woman walking like Frankenstein in shoes they rarely wear.  Hint: if you wear tennis shoes all day, you might want to practice your "Tyra Banks" walk before audition day.  I can always tell those who don't wear heels regularly because I can hear them clumping down the hall before they appear around the corner.  And don't even get me started on stiletto heels; if you wobble along with your own vibrato, these thin, rickety heels are not for you.  I wear a particular pair of heels with a soft sole, because I tend to live in workout shoes and know that I would be one of the "clompers" if given half a chance.

Then there is the outfit question for mezzos: to pants or not to pants.  I have a nice collection of long jackets and trousers that I used to wear to all my auditions, until I reached grad school. There, the professors were so against pants on women that they actually hissed when I walked into my first voice jury, jacket and pants at the ready.  So I changed over to a dress, and haven't felt like my self since.  However, it seemed well received last audition season, so I bit the bullet and pulled on my Spanx like a good girl.  Then I switched up my audition material and started singing a boy role first in my program this past summer.  And when I sang for all those agents, they nearly had an aneurism at the fact that I would DARE wear a dress while singing a boy role.  So I got to go back to my beloved long jackets, and I haven't looked back since.  And did I mention that my jacket of choice just skims along my body, so I don't have to worry about sucking anything in?  Let's hear it for letting the stomach pooch hang out!

So here's a rule of thumb: if your dress is so tight that you can see your own belly button through the material and your shoes have a life of their own, time to change your ensemble. Remember: I will be watching.

I want a panda for Xmas.....

I think we've all been there, mais oui?

2nd Aria...

Audition season is rough on everyone, no matter how talented.  However, I feel like it is especially rough on people like myself: individuals who think that after a fair amount of time in this business, they have developed a skin so thick, it could be confused with titanium. Unfortunately for them, it only takes one bad performance, one nasty comment, to make that whole stack of cards tumble down.  Titanium skin, my ass.  Mine might as well be made out of toilet tissue....at least then I wouldn't have to get the 50-pack of Charmin from Cost-Co.

This past week I noticed a lot more "newbies" at these auditions.  Being a "newbie" means that this is your first audition season, and you are pumped and scared...all at once.  But at this point, you haven't experienced a "PFO" letter and you are pretty damn sure that everyone is going to love you.  In fact, you probably are only doing four to five auditions, because you are sure they are going to love you THAT much.  Then you show up at the audition location and realize just how many people are there for the SAME program.  And that same program is holding auditions for four more days, one singer every five minutes.  THEN you start to get the idea as to how many singers you are up against.  And then you start to understand why those older singers try to cram in as many auditions as possible during December.  It's a numbers game baby.  Do I sound like a jaded old biddy?  That's because I am, and these "kiddies" aren't making me feel any younger.  And I'm only 26, so how is that for screwed up?

But I am slightly jealous at these young kids; sure they are about to have that rug of confidence swept right out from under them, but at least (for the time being) they think they are the best. They don't know about colleagues of theirs who graduated from Juilliard, Manhattan, Mannes (MUCH better schools than these kids went to), who are on the fast-track to regular singing jobs.  Nor do they know that even some of those people can't get jobs, because the market is so saturated.  Unfortunately, I know all this, which is why I beat up on myself so much for mistakes.  Because I know that the wrong note, or a mispronounced word can kick me out of the running for a job faster than you can say "don't call us, we'll call you."  They don't have to put up with "slightly off" when there are hundreds of singers who can get it right the first time. Which is why, after singing a section of my 2nd aria flat for Utah yesterday, I walked up and down Eighth Avenue, mentally flogging myself.  Thank goodness they are one of the nicer companies out there and no one said anything nasty about it.

I have been doing this lately; singing parts of "Va! Laisse couler mes larmes" flat.  Please, that's something that middle-schoolers do, not over-educated opera singers!  And while I never start with it, it is the only French aria I offer (or, um, know well enough) to put on my list.  And they ALWAYS pick it, because it is a nice contrast to my opening aria, which is cheery and fun.  I know it's coming, but it blindsides me every time.  And yes, I need to learn another French aria, but it is too late for this audition season, so I have to live with my mistake....over and over again.  It has come to the point where I mentally declare Jihad upon every auditioner who asks for it.  And after yesterday, I feel kind of wounded...to the point where I just want to call off all of next week's auditions and mope around.  Or, as seen from the above paragraphs, mope around on my blog.

Well, TOO BAD FOR ME because that is NOT an option.  I have auditions next week that some of my friends here at Tri-Cities weren't able to get into.  So I have a DUTY to show up and (possibly) thumb my nose at these programs.  Oh, you DIDN'T want a slightly snarky mezzo-soprano who knows WAY too much about America's Next Top Model?  Well, too bad, 'cause here I am.  And for at least five minutes, I OWN YOU.  So I am going to sing a nice aria for you, and then I am going to sing another, and it may be flat.  But, that is just too damn bad because YOU ASKED FOR IT.

Wow, this whole blogging thing really IS cheaper than therapy.

Fairest of them all...

After my tough week in New York, and my late return upon the grimiest bus known to mankind, I suppose I don't blame the crepe guy downstairs for being so shocked at my appearance that he gave me a free slice of cake.  Hey, free cake is free cake, no matter how bad the circles under my eyes have to be to get it.  And the sinus infection I am fighting off doesn't really add much to the "I got run over by a truck" look I am rocking today.  Add to that the fact that I have to show up to perform in "Amahl and the Night Visitors" over at the opera center tonight (and I haven't been able to make it to ONE rehearsal because of my audition schedule), and you can understand why I am heading back to bed after I write this.  If you need me tonight, I'll be the shepherd who wanders the stage aimlessly, clueless as to where I am supposed to be. Perhaps I should look at the music before I show up, mais oui?

But back to New York....my apartment/hotel room could only be described as a bachelor's dream pad.  It was a comfortable size, with a small loft for the bed...a small loft that was COVERED in mirrors.  In fact, most to the apartment/sex den was covered in mirrors. I REALLY have no desire to see that much of myself, especially when I am climbing into bed, covered in zit cream. And did I mention that the CEILING of the bed space was also covered in mirrors, along with the sides?  So no matter what direction I turned, I could see myself in all my pyjama glory.  And boy, one really doesn't realize how pale they are until you get to see yourself from every angle. The worst part was that I kept waking up in the middle of the night and, upon seeing my reflection in the ceiling, thinking someone was in bed with me.  Nope, just me, thrashing around.  I lost about three years off my life every time that happened.

What also considerable shortened my lifespan was the low-slung, mirrored ceiling in the bed loft.  A fact that I kept forgetting in the middle of the night, when I would stand straight up to head to the bathroom and crack my head on the damn thing.  I swear I saw tweety birds the first four times I did that and I may have permanent memory loss as a result.  Which may explain why I forgot how LOUD New York tends to be, even on the Upper East Side (oooh, I am so fancy).  Even my earplugs had a hard time blocking out the garbage trucks, car alarms and police sirens.  It it obvious I haven't been living in a big city for a while, because I used to be able to sleep right thorough these disturbances.  Instead, I kept being startled awake, would discover I had to pee, and would stand up, only to crack my head open on the ceiling.  No wonder I'm so tired, I kept inflicting bodily harm upon myself in the middle of the night.

I'm going back to bed and will write some more on my latest New York trip when I regain the will to live.  This may take awhile.....