Pigs in your face....

If you are a regular reader of my blog, you probably have a good idea about my feelings on playing a pig in outreach shows: I detest it with every fiber of my being.  Look, I could care less about dressing up in a fat suit and playing a pig, as I lose about ten pounds in water weight during every show and can count it as exercise.  And I really don't care about the humiliation, because I gave up on pride a long time ago, around when I decided to become an opera singer in the first place.  No, I detest these shows because I have to wake up at the crack of dawn, drive two hours to some school out in the boonies, unload twenty tons of set pieces, and put them all together like they are the world's most sadistic puzzle game.  Then I have to scream over school children and, for my trouble, take the set back down again, load it back into the truck, and ride the two hours back to our opera house, unload it again and then drown in a pool of my own sweat and tears.

Children kind of freak me out.  I like the occasional child, but all together, they give me hives.  I am always afraid they will pull a "Lord of the Flies" and come after the hapless opera singer who isn't entertaining them nearly enough.  And whenever I walk into a school, the institutional smell tends to take me back to my own experiences in school, and those memories aren't pretty.  Especially when I walk by a gym, and all those old PE memories come flooding back.  And those memories are HORRIFYING.  If I went into those stories right now, I would have to take a few valium and call it a day.  

But I digress, yesterday we entered the school, which was a combined elementary, junior high and high school, and had to find our way through the maze of classrooms and hallways until we came upon the auditorium.  And while some cast members headed out to back the truck into the loading dock, I made a beeline for the bathroom.  Oh institutional bathrooms, how you make me regret drinking all that Diet Coke!  And as I headed back down the hallway towards the auditorium, a teacher stopped me.  "Excuse me, aren't you supposed to be in class?  Let me see your hall pass."  My what?  Oh. My. God.  This woman thinks I'm a student!  Okay, I was wearing a huge sweatshirt and sweatpants, and the baseball cap pulled low over my face probably wasn't helping, but surely the amount of makeup I was wearing would have tipped anyone else off that something wasn't right with this "student?"  However, this woman wasn't going anywhere unless I showed her my hall pass, so I ended up explaining to her that I was with the opera company and had my Master's, but I would be happy to go back to class if she insisted.  She didn't, we had a nice laugh, and I walked to the truck, horrified.

I don't mind people thinking I am younger than I really am (especially with a birthday coming up), but I DO have a problem with people thinking I am in high school.  I thought I left those awkward years behind me!  Now, if you will excuse me, I have to go and purchase a tube of Clean and Clear.  

Update...

I just got back from a full day of Outreach and am so tired that my hair actually hurts.  More to follow, I promise!

Plunkin' out notes....

An interesting phenomenon takes place whenever I am trying to learn a new role or aria, especially if the music is difficult: my apartment becomes so clean that you can eat off of any surface without fear of disease.  That includes the toilet.  Currently, I am attempting to learn Miss Todd in Menotti's The Old Maid and the Thief, and Menotti apparently liked to torture his singers by writing a piano line that has NOTHING TO DO WHATSOEVER WITH WHAT I AM ATTEMPTING TO SING.  Thanks a lot asshole, now I've got nothing to help me out when it comes to finding my pitches.  It is rather akin to walking on stage in a Shakespeare piece and you have no idea who you are and what you are supposed to say.  

Due to the difficulty of the piece, I have found every excuse imaginable to avoid working on this thing.  Perhaps the kitchen floor is looking a little dingy?  I should mop!  Is that a dust bunny on the floor?  I need to sweep!  Do I feel fat?  I should go to the gym post haste!  Is that a piece of chicken in my teeth?  I should floss!  You get the idea.  Twelve hours later, I might revisit the piece, but at that point, the Daily Show is on, so all bets are off.  

So my apartment is currently flawless, but I am a perfect mess.  I know I need to learn this thing, but it is haaaarrrrrrdddddd.  As I have blogged before, I have difficulty learning music and have to get a jump start on it whenever possible, so why such laziness?  Perhaps I am burned out on this whole 60th Anniversary Gala thing we are doing (for NO pay), or I am still numb from the audition season.  Whatever the reason, I have to get my pale, flabby ass in gear, or I am in for a WORLD of hurt.

Perhaps the tile in the bathroom needs re-grouting?

Let us all keep this in mind......

A Parting of Ways....

It was a brief, but torrid relationship.  It was, at the beginning, filled with such hope and promise, but, like many relationships, it had its difficulties....difficulties that became too hard to overcome. Yes, this was a relationship between me and the New York Times delivery company in Binghamton, NY.  At first, I was delighted to see that the NYT had expanded its delivery to my humble city, and I immediately signed up for weekend delivery as an early birthday gift from my father.  Alas, my bliss was short-lived as the first weekend I was expecting my paper, there was none to be found.....no paper the ENTIRE weekend.  So I called to complain and was assured that the proper authorities would be notified and my paper would soon appear.  The individuals working at the NYT call center were obviously not in New York City, as they were sympathetic to my plight.  Then, yesterday, there was, again, no paper.  I called to report the issue and the gentleman on the phone put me on hold while he told my local distribution center to "step it up." Alas, it was not to be, as my paper did not appear this morning, not even after I called for a replacement and was assured it would arrive by 10 am.

Perhaps you are thinking someone is stealing my paper.  But each time, I was at the door right when my paper was to arrive, and I even left the door open to my apartment complex so that the delivery person could get in.  And this isn't really the place where people have an interest in reading the New York Times, let alone stealing it.  If they are stealing it (which I highly doubt) then I gladly bestow upon them some culture for their week.  No, this is the work of an unorganized delivery service and I was forced to cut all ties to them this morning.

I feel this breakup will sting the most when, tomorrow morning, I am once again out in the cold, heading down to my local gas station to pick up one of the THREE NYTs they get in.  It is a cruel, cruel world.

For Anna....

Whilst we are in the midst of a recession, I have been very cautious about my cosmetics purchases.  Long gone are the days when I danced through Sephora, throwing makeup in my basket, smearing products on my hand and heading to the register after I had looted the place of every glitter-filled product.  No, my friends, in these times of crises we must have discipline and drugstore makeup.....which isn't half bad, truth be told.

However, I was recently in San Francisco with my mother and, as a Christmas gift, she purchased me an item that I had been lusting after for months: Bobbi Brown's Bronze Shimmer Brick Compact.  My mother uses the product as eye shadow (which is a lovely way to utilize the beautiful colors), but I have been using it as a bronzer  every time I go home to Michigan. Unlike my drugstore bronzer, Bobbi Brown has created a bronzer that is appropriate for pale and dark skin alike.  A light dusting is all you need if you are as porcelain skinned as I, and a full sweep should take care of you tanner ladies....of whom I am deeply envious.  However, as you have probably guessed, the Shimmer Brick is a wee bit expensive at $40 a pop.  But Bobbi Brown makes up for it with a beautiful texture that spreads evenly over the skin, leaves a light gleam and feels light once it is on your face.  Which will be crucial this summer, as I sweat it out in New Jersey once again.  After those summers at the Aspen Music Festival, humidity in the summer is a strange and disgusting phenomenon.  

So if you feel like treating yourself, the Shimmer Brick is the way to go.  And to further utilize the product, may I suggest using it as an eyeshadow as well?  The colors are amazingly wearable.

Odd....

I walked out of my apartment this morning and got hit by a sofa.  Yes, you read that previous sentence correctly; I got HIT by a SOFA.  My annoying neighbor is apparently re-doing his apartment and that means the old furniture has to go.  In this case, it went right into my ribcage. Luckily, the arm was padded because I collided with the thing pretty damn hard.  And after I bounced off the arm, my neighbor dropped his side on his foot, so at least this was an "equal opportunity" accident.  But, seriously, who gets hit by a sofa?  Honestly?

I gotta get out of this town.

P.S. My friend Anna has requested a beauty product update, so look for that soon!

Happy Inauguration Day!

My father just called from D.C. (where he works) and told me that there are lines that stretch outside the subway stops, just to get on a train to head down to the Capital.  I salute those people who will be fighting the crowds and using one of the 5,000 port-a-potties set up for the occasion.  To me, that doesn't seem like enough, but I have the bladder of a three-year-old, so I am not exactly a good example.  I prefer to watch the Inauguration from the comfort of my home, and will be doing so while I toast the new president with a Lean Pocket.

Obamarama!

Look, I am just as excited as everyone else is about Obama taking office, but don't you find the products pictured just a little bit creepy?  Especially the shoes...if you wear a skirt, it is going to feel like Obama is constantly trying to take a peek at your undies.  And then you may start to resent the guy and his pervy ways, regardless of the reality, and nobody wants that.  And the iPhone cover makes it look like he is smirking at you, which is kind of creepy.  How about you buy a newspaper and frame the photos?  That way, no one comes out looking like a lecherous uncle.

On a related note, I flipped open the New York Times Sunday Magazine yesterday to the section on Obama's incoming team, and there on page 58 was a picture of a young man I used to date in high school. He was a sophomore when I was a senior (I was practicing for my cougar status early) and was an okay guy.  However, he couldn't drive yet (!) and I got tired of picking up my own date, not to mention the fact that I felt pretty predatory when, on these "dates," I ended up helping him with his math homework. Hard to be equals that way.  He was always very interested in politics and I am happy he finally found his ultimate job...at the tender age of 24....as President Obama's "Special Assistant"...while I am here in Binghamton....singing opera in a pig costume.

I hope I get credit for helping him pass math.

Ouch..

Now, it is not like these planes landed in the Hudson River, but I'd say this might qualify as a bit of a disaster. Especially since the airline pictured is the leading carrier out of Detroit Metro Airport....which means that those of us in Michigan have no choice but to fly the airline ranked first in customer complaints.  And I think you can see why....

Oh, and for those of you out of Binghamton, it is pronounced DEH-troit, not Deeeeetroit.  If I hear the wrong pronunciation one more time, my head is going to explode.

I have guests in town this weekend, so I will return to posting on Monday.  Have a safe weekend and don't do anything I would do....which means you need to get off the top of the bar and pull your shirt back down immediately.  

Ace of Cakes

Tonight was the season premiere of Ace of Cakes on the Food Network.  For those of you unfamiliar with the show, it is a reality program about a bad-ass cake company called Charm City Cakes, and it follows the owner and his employees on their adventures in making outrageous and amazing cakes.  Now, I have no plans to EVER bake or cook in my lifetime, but that doesn't mean I don't like to watch shows about people who bake or cook.  And since the bakery is based in Baltimore, I have half a mind to take a road trip and visit their place of business.  Too bad I would probably come off as a scary stalker, so that idea is out.  However, I do have half a mind to order a T-shirt online and wear it proudly.  And did I mention that it looks like a pretty awesome place to work?.  Now, that might just be clever editing that makes me think everyone has fun all the time, but I really want to be employed at Charm City Cakes and drop clever "bon mots" while I cover a sheet cake in fondant.  Or cleaning the bathrooms, which is the only thing I would be qualified to do in a bakery. 

However, watching this show makes me hungry for cake, which is SO not what I need whilst on a diet.  So I watch and drool.....which means that Ace of Cakes is porn for the sugar addicts.

And what beautiful porn it is.

Spick N' Span....

I am writing this as a break from all the cleaning I have been doing and, quite frankly, the Clorox Bleach fumes are starting to make me loopy.  Normally I wouldn't bother to go to such lengths when cleaning (because, let's face it, I'm the only one who sees this apartment) but I have a guest coming in this weekend and I need to pretend I don't live in dirt and squalor.  But I am so far from a Domestic Goddess that it kind of hurts.  I was even taken off bathroom duty in my last house because I refused to clean behind the toilet.  If you can't see it, what does it matter?  I was swiftly assigned sweeping duty and the rest is history.

But did you know what kind of crap develops behind a fridge?  It was an ugly, ugly realization when I pulled the appliance away from the wall.  Great googley moogley!  Who knew that was where Jimmy Hoffa was hiding?  And do you have any idea how many Swiffer sheets it takes to clean up all that dirt and dust, which had been there since the middle ages?  TEN!  That's right, ten Swiffer mop cloths met their untimely end behind my fridge.  Not to mention the amount of dust that made its way up into my sinuses.  For the past hour, every time I blow my nose the kleenex turns black.  How is that for horrifying?  Now I see why I never clean...it just leads to black snot.

And not having a dishwasher leads to other unpleasant surprises.  Like, when you think a dish is clean, and then you discover bits of food stuck on it after it dries.  Which makes one feel like they are hideously disgusting and incapable of leading a hygienic life.  Or when you are using the bathroom and realize that no matter how hard you mopped the day before, the tiles still have oddly colored gunk in the grout. And bits of the paint on the old ceiling is starting to crumble, so I occasionally get cereal with little bits of lead bombs in it.  Mmmm, tasty.

So I have decided to quit while I am ahead and put decorative "items" over the places which may have, ahem, a less than clean appearance.  This place is old, people!  Some of that dirt is protected by the historical society, so do me a favor and back off!  

And don't use the dishes....I'm not sure how clean they are.

Motivation...

Okay listen, I'm going to need a little help here.  If you wouldn't mind stopping by my apartment, handing me a bottle of Scrubbing Bubbles and pointing me towards the bathroom, that would be greatly appreciated, because I can't get the motivation to do it myself.  Never mind that I am almost 27 years old, I am living amongst dust bunnies that are bigger than I am and cannot seem to get the energy to take care of them before they eat me in my sleep.  At this point, I am living like a twenty-year-old frat boy, including the fridge filled only with booze and Lean Pockets.  

I am currently typing this from the chair in front of the TV.....a chair that has a moat of music and purses around it.  In order to get to and from said chair, I have to take a running leap to clear the debris.  What kind of person continues to live like this????  So, again, do me a favor and get my ass off this chair and into cleaning mode.  Otherwise it is a slippery slope to "crazy cat lady" and unhygienic conditions.  

Pigs on Stage...

So, you wanna feel like a rock star?  The easiest way to do that is to get up in front of 400 elementary school children in a fat suit and pig nose and do a couple of prat falls.  I guarantee that the response will be so overwhelming that you may go deaf in one ear.  And who knew that kids were so easy to please?  One funny face and they are on the floor laughing.  Why have I been spending all this time performing for adults and their fickle senses of humor?  All it takes for kids is one good fart joke and you are GOLD!  Also, they could care less if you are transitioning well through your passaggio, or even that you are singing in-key; sing to them and you might as well be God.

Of course, before you start assuming I have gone soft, kids do have their downfall.  At times, their annoying laughter tends to drown out one's singing, and sometimes they like to yell back at the performers.  And their questions...don't even get me started on the questions.  If I have to hear "why is a girl playing a boy?" one more time, I am getting my tubes tied.  One little boy seemed simply outraged that a girl would DARE get on stage and pretend to be a guy.  It just isn't respectful of all it means to have a penis!  Seriously, this kid is going to be in counseling for a couple of years over this performance.  All he could do was stare at me, shake his head and say "but you're a GIRL!"  Yes kid, I am.  And I am just as confused about the fact that I am wearing overalls and a fat suit as you are...perhaps more so.  When this kid grows up and votes republican for the rest of his life, it is going to be my fault. 

And while the kids can be cute, loading and unloading the outreach set is beginning to be a nightmare.  We had two shows in one day (at different schools), so the process had to be repeated twice.  By the second time, tempers began to flare and the words stupid, idiot and spacial relations retard began to be thrown around.  Had any of the teachers at these elementary schools heard us, I am sure they would have given us a time-out.  And it would have been well-deserved, given the fact that I can't seem to keep my potty mouth under control in these schools.  But you try not swearing after getting whacked on the head by a stage door, or when you load everything on the stage and discover it isn't all going to fit.   Or when pieces of the set that are supposed to fit together refuse to fit together.  Or when your changing rooms consist of a tiny space behind a curtain and there is no room for you and your fat suit.

I might not survive doing this until May.

Apologies

I apologize for the lack of posting today, but we had two outreach shows this morning and this afternoon.  That meant that we had to unload and load up the truck four times, as well as entertain children.  And now I have to remove the millions of splinters from my hands, so a large post is not an option right now.

I will post all about it tomorrow!

Moving Crap...

I would very much like to meet the designer for our outreach show who decided it was a brilliant idea to design a set with as many bulky, heavy set pieces as possible, all of which have to be taken apart and put back together by hapless opera singers.  And when I meet that designer, I am going to smack him or her in the face.  Especially when it means I am lugging three tons of wood in AND out of a truck for EVERY SINGLE OUTREACH SHOW.  So, to those little children who will be watching Three Little Pigs very early in the morning at their elementary schools, I hope you enjoy our show enough to make it worth getting up at 6 am and playing stage hand.  And when it all collapses around us, because a bunch of opera singers have had to put it together, I hope your teachers will call 911 in a timely manner.

Oh, and I hope my annoying neighbor enjoys me warming up at 6:30 am.  Because most days we have to leave by 7:30 am, with a performance at 9 am.  Most opera singers are unaware that there is a word out there at that time, so singing at that hour is going to be quite the treat.  And none of my co-workers are morning people either, so I suspect that someone is probably going to fall asleep backstage and miss their cue.  However, we have already planned not to unload half the set (because no one from management will bother to be there) so hopefully the set-up time will be cut in half as well.  Thank goodness we are all good at miming, or this could get ugly.

And if yesterday's load-in is any indication, tempers are starting to flare.  Even my friend Anthony (who is fairly even-tempered and has never sworn in my presence) was sighing and pressing his lips together.  I am quite sure there was a "motherf***er" in there, just waiting to come out.  And we only have two guys in the cast, so the women have to pick up the slack.  And I'm not saying we are total wimps, but my upper body strength leaves a lot to be desired, especially when it is next to impossible to get a grip on some of these pieces.  And don't even get me started on the splinters.  There isn't enough antibacterial solution in the WORLD to deal with the mess my hands have become.  

I'm a singer; I stand around and look glamorous.  So why the hell does my job description keep changing?

Load-In

I would be happy to post an entry today, but am unable to due to the fact that I just spent two hours loading up a truck with the set pieces for our outreach show.  And not all that wood was sanded, so now I have splinters in awkward places AND another rehearsal tonight.  

When does this whole "paying your dues" crap stop?

Despising thy neighbor.....

The guy living right next to me in my apartment complex is a wee bit of a Grade-A asshole. And I mean that in the most civilized way.  Unfortunately for both of us, the wall between our apartments is wicked thin and my bedroom happens to be right next to his living room.  A living room that has a HUGE digital television with a sound system that can, apparently, cause one to go deaf in 6.5 seconds.  Also, said neighbor apparently doesn't have a job, because he is up until all hours of the night, watching the most violent movies he can find...that is, when he isn't loudly arguing with one of his friends and dropping the F-bomb in our rather echo-y hallway.  

Now, the first two times I knocked on his door and asked him to turn it down, he was quick to comply.  And I try not to be impossible: I am fully equipped with earplugs and a humidifier that acts as a bit white noise, but even those aren't safeguards against his annoying TV.  And I never complain until after 11 pm, because I don't want to come off as too much of a loser...even though I would LOVE to go to bed at 9 pm every night and complain about my sciatica to anyone who would listen.  But last night, his reaction to me was a little bit different.

Perhaps he has gotten used to making as much noise as he wanted while I was out of town for two weeks, or maybe I caught him at a bad time.  No matter the reason, he VISIBLY ROLLED HIS EYES AT ME when I asked him to turn it down at 11:30 pm.  And I am simply charming when I knock on his door, complete with Princeton sweatshirt and bandanna, so I have no idea where this hostility comes from.  Dude, it is only you in the apartment, there is no need to turn the volume ALL THE WAY UP.  And it is a Sunday night for God's sakes and I could hear the television from the hallway.  When I can hear you through NASA-approved earplugs and several layers of blankets, your volume has reached the level of ridiculousness.  

I would be happy to report this guy to my landlord, but there is one small sticking point: the guy's last name also happens to be the name of my landlord company.  I am assuming he is an embarrassing nephew who can't hold down a full-time job, so his uncle had to hire him to look after things so he wouldn't end up on the streets, but I am just guessing here.  So calling up my landlord isn't going to do me any good.  And judging from the conversations I have heard in our parking lot (involving drugs and blow jobs), this guy is pretty scary and I really don't want to be on his bad side.  Well, except for this morning, when I woke up at 8 am and started practicing....making sure to face his apartment as I did.  Much more exciting than being kept up by some cop show.

I guess I learned a thing or two from my passive-aggressive roommate back in Boston after all.

Eeek!

ARRRRRGHHH!  Dear God, my EYES!  Is that her BRA through the shirt?  Does she not have a full-length mirror????  And could someone PLEASE slap makeup on her, other than her lipstick? Dear God, my retinas are BURNING.

Fine, you win, I am backing away from my computer and going to the gym.  But this seems like cruel and unusual punishment to get someone to the gym, so I am calling Amnesty International immediately upon my return.

* Photo courtesy of Seth Browamik/Startraks

Back In Town.....

I am back in Binghamton and, needless to say, absence has not made my heart grow fonder. However, compared to the huge Detroit airport, the Binghamton airport seems so small and much cuter.  Luckily, I was picked up by my friends Anthony and Desiree, and they fed me AND took me to the grocery store.  I'm like a puppy; feed me and I'll stick around forever.  I think they are hoping I won't move in with them.  And you should see all the healthy stuff I got at the grocery store...hooray for cleansing one's system of junk food!  Too bad I had to be dragged, kicking and screaming, out of the bakery section.  

I suspect that I will have fantasies about chocolate cake tonight.

Fallin' Off the Wagon....

Over the holiday, I pulled on a pair of my jeans while mom and I were in San Francisco, and I discovered that they wouldn't go up all the way. So I was a wee bit perturbed, if by perturbed you mean I shouted "JESUS, MARY AND JOSEPH, THE WORLD HAS COME TO AN END" and then swooned. At first I was confused; how the hell did that happen? I have been trekking around New York for weeks, hauling at least twenty pounds of music, so when would.....oh...right. Unfortunately for my waistline, I see audition season as a time when no food has any calories that count, especially if I had an audition that day. Combine that with the fact that most of my meals have consisted of cupcakes and Goldfish crackers, and you can see where weight gain could be an issue, as well as scurvy and ricketts. Last I checked, cupcakes don't count as the sixth food group, though I keep lobbying congress.

But I HATE to be a cliche...everyone tries to lose weight around New Year's. Hell, even Oprah is on a weight-loss kick. And when billionaire Oprah Winfrey (who can pay to have a trainer come to her house every day to drag her out of bed and smack the cake out of her hand) is having a hard time with her weight, how are the rest of us mere mortals supposed to get to a gym? And I used to work in a gym, so I know what I have to do to lose weight...but I am really not looking forward to putting down the ice cream and backing away slowly. I belong to a fabulous gym in Binghamton (that I NEVER could have afforded in Boston) and for the past month have come up with some creative reasons as to why I can't go. My favorites being; "My pillow needs more face time," "My toenail polish doesn't match my nail polish, so I can't be seen outside" and "TLC has a "What Not To Wear" marathon and I can't possibly miss that or else I might become a fashion disaster!"

However, my jeans don't fit, which means the rest of my wardrobe might not fit. And I have a fabulous wardrobe that yearns to run free and be seen, so I owe it a trip or two outside. So I have been working out this past week and am hoping to continue the process when I get back to Binghamton tomorrow. And if you see me on the street with a cupcake, do me a favor and smack it out of my hand. Then give me a hug, because I love my cupcakes.

Happy New Year!!!!

I will return to posting tomorrow...I promise.