Bits of goodness

Two of my favorite bits of language:

"Perfection is achieved, not when there is nothing more to add, but when there is nothing left to take away."

Antoine de Saint-Exupere

Everyone Sang from Picture Show

EVERYONE suddenly burst out singing;
And I was filled with such delight
As prisoned birds must find in freedom,
Winging wildly across the white
Orchards and dark-green fields; on—on—and out of sight. 5

Everyone’s voice was suddenly lifted;
And beauty came like the setting sun:
My heart was shaken with tears; and horror
Drifted away ... O, but Everyone
Was a bird; and the song was wordless; the singing will never be done.


Siegfried Sassoon (1886–1967)

Christmas = Good

Superlative Christmas, we hosted the worlds best party on the 22nd. 20 friends, great food and conversation, couldn't be happier.

Christmas eve: mass for the kids at 3:30, liturgically awful but very rewarding. The best lessons and carols and midnight mass in my 6 years at the Cathedral.

Christmas day: woke up at 8, stockings and coffee. Sang the 11am mass at the cathedral. At noon as we sang the Hallelujah Chorus, it began to snow! Perfect

Went home for fantastic presents and family time.

In all of my life, never a more pleasant Christmas...

Salome Sandoval sings and play Villa-lobos

This is quite wonderful... The voice is so folky, I am pretty sure that this is what Villa Lobos had in mind. (I know people who sing it better) but I love the delivery!

Tamara's Blog

So, I have been reading Tamara's blog. I know, I shouldn't... You see, it is just that every time that I read it I hope to find some shred of the person that I hope that she really is.

Her latest foray into blogdom rips into a friend of mine whom is successful in the decorating world. Tamara was disappointed when visiting said freind's new store because she was not recognized, somehow this is my fault of course because I can do nothing better than talk shit on Tamara to all that I meet.

Tamara, perhaps she didn't recognize you because you dyed your hair and lost weight? Maybe it had to do with the fact that you haven't seen her for nearly two years? Perhaps it was due to the large number of customers that she was attending to?
She had a terrible head cold a while back, maybe she was overly medicated?

I don't know...

I was back there about a month ago, do you know how often your name came up in conversation with her? Never. Do you know why? I was busy, working and carting my kids around. Our posthumously lived friendship has nothing to do with her or anyone else for that matter. Here is a list of people that I have talked about you with since you moved on:

My family (includes mother, brother and sister-in-law but not my children)
Elizaebeth
Detective Devito (he asked who you were in regards to the police report)
Katie

Feel free to contact should you be interested in what I had to say.

Good God...

You know what, I didn't want your furniture. I have found a use for what you left behind. We gave away some of it sold some of it and we are using your dresser, coat tree, and your silverware. You left, when asked what you wanted us to do with it you told us to sell it or use it.

I will again point out that you did not have to leave when you did, you could have gotten a job and an apartment etc. You could have gotten a truck to help you move your stuff.

And what does any of that have to do with my religion?
A. WTF?
B. why am I a hypocrite?
I do endeavor to be a decent human being, I am a Catholic. I, like most people, fail to meet the standards that I have set for myself. Perhaps I do need to mention you in confession, but then again I would have to add Father George to list of people I had talked with you about. I just don't get the correlation between religion and me being a hypocrite.

You hold people to very high standards and hold your self to well really, no standard. If someone had acted upon you the way that you have treated my family, well, just remember the guy who owed your dad money. I haven't sent a collection agent after you or told PCC that you are not in fact a resident of Oregon. I have not sent your creditors your forwarding address (we get letters at least a few times a week that we write "No longer at this address" and send back. deal with my brother for the love of God. Have you told everybody about that?

I just am not sure. What do you want Tamara? I am gonna put this out there for the greater cosmos...

I am sorry for whatever you think we did to you. I am sorry that you think I am a hypocrite. I am pissed at you, you still haven't taken care of the issue with my brother. You insinuated yourself in the investigation for Emillie. You left a bunch of shit undone here. But of course, I am the hypocrite. I don't know why I care, no I do know why I care: you were my good friend and now your not. I want the best for you, truly. I don't want you to be unhappy, I don't want you to get shit on. That being said, I can't put up with your shit.

Take note:

What ever I did to you, it was not malicious. Can you say the same for your actions? Tamara, you ripped open the issue with my sister and then blogged about how ineffectual my family was. What the hell was that? You lived with us for a year and couldn't have talked to me about this? Maybe pointed out the fact that I was in denial? No, you wait till the moment is right and then use your perceived knowledge against you perceived foe. Well, whatever, worked out better for me anyway. Now I have a hat tree. Holy shit...

What do you want? Just say it.

Is this really about furniture? Have you ever talked to Erin about all of this?

Hmmmm.


Lets try to Tally this up


Tamara:
A place to live in Portland, OR for free (10 months?)$2500
Free Internet $350
Free electricity $200?
Free water $300
Free natural gas $150
Occasional free food and other various necessities $200?
Occasional dog walking free with purchase
Apparently a plane ticket back to KS free of charge $400?

Hoyt's
One less room in their house -$2500
increased utility bills -$1000
a rusty mattress and box spring gave it away on Craig's list
a pile of clothes that needed to be dry cleaned gave them to the Goodwill because Buffalo Exchange didn't want them
occasional childcare + $400
some silverware +200
several particle board pieces of furniture I got $35 on craigslist kept the dresser cause we needed one for the girls so lets say + 135
a hat tree +15

I am sure that there are more on both lists, I think you left some books here another $20+ for you? I am not sure, it seems that it all came down to this type of shit.

I will work on that whole hypocrite thing...

Under the shadow I will be...

I sang for 8 hours straight today. In general I am not one to love that type of singing. Today was different. I cantored at the 9am, went well, rewarding. Sang at the 11 same, first Sunday of Advent, good, good. After this I had to prepare for a Lessons and Carols service for which I was hired to cantor. Service went great, I think it is one of the few times that I unhinged my brain and let it just happen. At any rate, good.

I have been touched a bit by despair lately. Ok, more than a bit. This week, I decided to seek help. Going back to my old therapist, revisiting the pharmacy. The catalyst for this came early last week as I was unable to focus on well, really, nothing but myself. Depression is the most selfish state (rightfully so, it is all about self preservation.) Here is the problems, I am one of those guilty types, scrupulosity describes me: unforgivable... I was thinking about this, that is, the state of unforgiveableness. Silly, given my religious beliefs. Fear+sin+low self-esteem+stress= bad. Here is the thing, we are not supposed to live in fear or in self loathing. God would not create us to languish in inner turmoil. So, if God didn't want us to be in this state, why is it that so many of us find ourselves stuck there. Well, I think in my case it is a combination of things, not feeling loved as a kid, needing to fit in, you know the accidents that all of us are born to in some way.

Ok, so there is no real ending to this, just some random thoughts. I think God bitch-slapped me this week. He said "why are you acting so stupid? Feel bad, but do something about it!" "You have work to do, what is death via despair going to accomplish?" Ok, point well taken, Zakk 0 God Like a ton, got it ok...

Here is the other thing, a priest once told me that sometimes you have to get angry at God. Ok, what does that mean? Then I just feel bad about myself, and fear death via car crash before making it to confession (joking.) So I reasoned a bit further, perhaps by not being angry with God, we just suppress what we are really feeling until it builds up against us. I guess that it just becomes more fuel for the self-esteem scrupulosity crap. I think, at least in my own case, depression just becomes a crutch for apathy. In addition, (mind you this includes religious references) I think it is a tool for the Devil to use against me.

Here it is, what do we really want most in life? Control (at least in my case.) Many of my issues stem from my own lack of control over well, me. The other stuff is not stuff that really I can actively control. What is the result? The perception that I have no control over my life. Here is where the delusional part: what is the supreme act of control? That's right, it is really easy to delude yourself that the only way to gain control is to destroy yourself. Obviously, this is flawed in a great many ways. Aside from the most notable means of destroying, what are other ways that we destroy ourselves? Well there are so many ways!

Well, today was a helpful day. Let us revel in my stream of conscious rantings by listening to Emily Poston's Jesus Christ the Apple Tree:



The tree of life my soul hath seen,
Laden with fruit and always green:
The trees of nature fruitless be
Compared with Christ the apple tree.

His beauty doth all things excel:
By faith I know, but ne'er can tell
The glory which I now can see
In Jesus Christ the apple tree.

For happiness I long have sought,
And pleasure dearly I have bought:
I missed of all; but now I see
'Tis found in Christ the apple tree.

I'm weary with my former toil,
Here I will sit and rest awhile:
Under the shadow I will be,
Of Jesus Christ the apple tree.

This fruit doth make my soul to thrive,
It keeps my dying faith alive;
Which makes my soul in haste to be
With Jesus Christ the apple tree.

I love this tune, it was in our wedding. Really one of the best pieces of text setting ever. Here is a bit about the poem and setting:

Jesus Christ the Apple Tree is a mystical poem, by an unknown New England author, found in the collection Divine Hymns or Spiritual Songs by Joshua Smith of New Hampshire, dated 1784. The setting by Elizabeth Poston (1905-1987) is well-known and much loved as a Christmas carol. Poston's setting is in the key of C Major, without any accidentals, which gives it a very pure folk-song-like sound. This hymn was a favourite of Robert Runcie, the 102nd Archbishop of Canterbury, and was sung at his funeral.

Most Terrifying Video You'll Ever See

I love logic...

This makes me laugh, given the number of awful weddings that I have been a part of this rocks my world!


Best First Dance at a Wedding - Watch more free videos

Rossini-Cenerentola-

Another Cenorentola Clip from a 1981 movie of the opera. Sort of looks familiar if you saw the recent PO performance. Hmmmmmm....

Juan Diego Florez

I have finally come to the conclusion that I am a leggiero tenor. To celebrate, listen to Juan Diego Florez sing my favorite aria "Si, ritrovarla, io giuro" from Rossini's La Cenorentola

A little song, a little dance a little Shelley down your pants...

Music is a good thing. Listen to Scheherazade by Rimsky-Korsakov. I have to say that it is one of my favorite early 20th century orchesteral pieces. There is something os bombastic about Korsakov, I love it!

While you are at it check out Il Tramonto by Ottarion Respighi. It is a setting of Shelley's The Sunset written for string quartet and Mezzo (although I do a stirring rendition of it myself) it is very much like Shoenberg's programatic Verklärte Nacht. Live it, Love it, here is the poem:

The Sunset
Percy Bysshe Shelley

There late was One within whose subtle being,
As light and wind within some delicate cloud
That fades amid the blue noon’s burning sky,
Genius and death contended. None may know
The sweetness of the joy which made his breath 5
Fail, like the trances of the summer air,
When, with the Lady of his love, who then
First knew the unreserve of mingled being,
He walked along the pathway of a field
Which to the east a hoar wood shadowed o’er, 10
But to the west was open to the sky.
There now the sun had sunk, but lines of gold
Hung on the ashen clouds, and on the points
Of the far level grass and nodding flowers
And the old dandelion’s hoary beard, 15
And, mingled with the shades of twilight, lay
On the brown massy woods—and in the east
The broad and burning moon lingeringly rose
Between the black trunks of the crowded trees,
While the faint stars were gathering overhead. 20
‘Is it not strange, Isabel,’ said the youth,‘I never saw the sun? We will walk here
To-morrow; thou shalt look on it with me.’

That night the youth and lady mingled lay
In love and sleep—but when the morning came 25
The lady found her lover dead and cold.
Let none believe that God in mercy gave
That stroke. The lady died not, nor grew wild,
But year by year lived on—in truth I think
Her gentleness and patience and sad smiles, 30
And that she did not die, but lived to tend
Her aged father, were a kind of madness,If madness ’tis to be unlike the world.
For but to see her were to read the tale
Woven by some subtlest bard, to make hard hearts 35
Dissolve away in wisdom-working grief;—Her eyes were black and lustreless and wan:
Her eyelashes were worn away with tears,
Her lips and cheeks were like things dead—so pale;
Her hands were thin, and through their wandering veins 40
And weak articulations might be seen
Day’s ruddy light. The tomb of thy dead self
Which one vexed ghost inhabits, night and day,
Is all, lost child, that now remains of thee!

‘Inheritor of more than earth can give, 45
Passionless calm and silence unreproved,
Whether the dead find, oh, not sleep! but rest,
And are the uncomplaining things they seem,
Or live, or drop in the deep sea of Love;
Oh, that like thine, mine epitaph were—Peace!’ 50
This was the only moan she ever made.

Kind of fuckers?

I had a very odd job "offer" while in “the place that shall not be named.” I have never been a party to nepotism; I think that I might like it. Here is the deal, my name was offered to the president of a large institution of which I am quite fond. It was suggested by a benefactor to said institution and the wife of institution's board president and the wife of the president of that institution that I should be hired as the director of a large part of that institution. The job is something that I am capable of and have done before, so it is not like I wouldn't be able to do it etc. Any of you that know my struggles low this past year to find gainful employment will understand my reaction to this odd turn of events. There were several self esteem boosts of note to counter-balance the family crap. It is nice to be noticed.

The last several years I have struggled so much to be successful as a singer that some of my previously noted abilities have fallen to the wayside. Here is the question folks, should we beat our heads against the wall trying to determine our calling is while ignoring things that we are obviously good at? I know sounds easy right? But we see this everyday, people trying to do what they love and not focusing on what they are good at. WTF?

I don't know, no answers here, just pointing out the tendency.

In other dysfunctional news: I think that I figured out what I am looking for with my family. You see, I figured out that the reason that I leave these family visits so disillusioned really stems from my desire for resolution. I am always trying for the happy ending, that "movie like" connection where grandparent embraces and tells all that you ever wanted to know. Where aunt and uncle rush to you to apologize for their wanton disregard (I love the word wanton) for your need to be connected to them. A time when your family sits down at the table and talks about widowhood, cancer, divorce, abuse, drugs, and missing sisters. That is the thing that I want. The dead should rise and tell you that they have been here all along in hiding watching you from afar, unable to get close for fear of the mafia, etc. I will probably be accused by some of being on the pity pot but, well fuck you, it’s my blog.

I know it is childish. These are the wants of a kid, I am not talking with the adult side of my brain that part is for real life, not for blog land. All of this is pretty one sided of course, we all have our reasons to be locked away. I know dad's death hurt his whole family and we are just reminders that he is not here. I know that it all is just a reaction to hurt blah, blah, blah. I don't really want to hear it. Why is it that people who I am not even related to care more for me than some of my own family? Honestly, you people are kind of fuckers. (Can you be kind of a fucker?)

Ok, so after all of that here is what I really fear: what if all of my work: opera, design, theater, education, etc. has really been to get these people to notice me? It has been pointed out (and noted) that I am dramatic, what if I am doing all of this to get a response from people who essentially do not give a shit? That would be pretty fucked up wouldn’t it? Maybe I should have just spent all of that money on a drug habit, probably would have been way more fun. Hmmmm?

Fuck you sugar, fuck you Crisco

I know, what does that mean? Well let me tell you a little about my family. They are the worst communicators ever! Here is the T:

I flew with my two daughters from lovely Portland, OR to not-so-lovely Missouri for a week of contract work and family time. Saturday and Sunday are designated family visits, I have one grandma and one good friend that I will visit in St. Joseph, Mo (a little town just left of Satan's asshole.) This trip is never an easy one, this time it is doubly hard in that I am corralling a 3 year old and a 1 year old by myself.

After one heck of a morning of simultaneous mass going/child rodeo, I make haste to visit the fam. We get to grandma's, there is a car in front of her house, suddenly my brain goes into panic mode "holy shit it is one of my father's long lost half siblings! Maybe now I will have that Hallmark moment! Hugs and kisses! Maybe they well tell me that we are all part of the Russian Royal Family and are actually living in exile (I always knew it, score!)" Holy shit! It was aunt Carol (I know not a name for a Tsaritsa but who knows maybe that was part of the cover to foil the communists!) Unfortunately, the slightly delusional scenario that I previously had proposed was not the case, you see she had decided to drive 6 miles to borrow a cup of sugar. She spent all of 15 minutes with us, no real questions, nothing real at all then, she left. The daughters and I spend a good 2 hours with grandma, then, just as we are about to leave, the phone rings! It is my aunt Maryanne, she needs to borrow some Crisco. 10 minutes later she is there, she spends all of 10 minutes not talking to me and leaves with the Crisco, we left soon after utterly baffled unaware that my grandma's house is a veritable bastion of pastry ingredients. Who knew that these rare ingredients are not available at the 6 grocery stores that line the road that leads to our great matriarch (Her Highness Grace Ruth All the Russias.)

As the rest of the day progressed, my crazy mind began to tally up this odd experience. In the 21 years since my dad passed away his siblings have gone out of there way to avoid us, whatever... Here is the thing, he lived for those asses! supporting them in college, defending them against assey husbands, moving them from houses etc. They idolize him, St. Gary... He was a pretty great guy to be honest.

I don't know what this is about, I mean really. They knew that I was coming, why not just hang out? Why not show some interest in your beautiful great-nieces? Come on you foul creatures, 25 minutes in 21 years? That is shit! And even then you lie about it, you couldn't possibly be interested in us? You just needed to bake a cake? Fuck that bitches! St. Gary would be ashamed of you.

Then again, there is that old song "if I knew you were coming I'd a baked a cake" maybe I just left too soon, shit...

Poulenc = Music of the Day

I love the music of Francis Poulenc. There is something so tangible about his music. I just downloaded a recording of the cantata for double choir Figure humaine, composed in 1943. Now anyone who knows me probably remembers my slightly unhealthy obsession with his equally stunning song set Banalités. At any rate, I have moved on... the following is taken from the liner notes http://www.hyperion-records.co.uk/notes/55179.html of a Hyperion recording of Poulenc's choral works.

The dark years of the Second World War and the Nazi Occupation of Paris had, naturally, a profound effect on Poulenc. He remained in Paris but found his own means of resistance through the poems of Paul Éluard whom he had first met in 1917. Throughout the early years of the occupation Poulenc received hand-printed copies of the poems which make up the Figure humaine cr–do. These (in particular the final climactic ‘Liberté’ which had been smuggled into Algeria to be printed, the copies then dropped in their thousands over France by the RAF) became something of an anthem for the Resistance Movement. Poulenc was so fired with enthusiasm by Éluard’s poetry that he stopped work on everything else (including a violin concerto which was never to see the light of day) to compose a setting which could be performed as soon as France was liberated. He wrote Figure humaine in six weeks during the summer of 1943, had it printed in secret, and is said to have taken great pride in displaying a copy of it in his window as the allied troops marched through the streets of Paris. However, its first performance took place in London in January 1945, sung in English by the BBC Chorus conducted by Leslie Woodgate; it had to wait until 1947 for its French première under the conductor and musicologist Paul Collaer.

As for the cantata, listen to the whole thing but after you have finished put movement VII. and VIII. on repeat. Holy shit, I am not sure that there is anything more beautiful than the transition between the two movements.

Here is a translation:

VII.
The threat under the red sky
Came from below — jaws
And scales and links
Of a slippery, heavy chain

Life was spread about generously
So that death took his payment seriously
Without a second thought

Death was the God of love
And the conquerors in a kiss
Swooned upon their victims
While corruption gained courage

And yet, under the red sky
Under bloody appetites
Under dismal starvation
The cavern closed

The kind earth filled
The graves dug in advance
Children were no longer afraid
Of maternal depths I

And stupidity and madness
And vulgarity make way
For humankind and brotherhood
— No longer fighting against life —
For everlasting humankind

VIII.

On my notebooks from school
On my desk and the trees
On the sand on the snow
I write your name

On every page read
On all the white sheets
Stone blood paper or ash
I write your name

On the golden images
On the soldier’s weapons
On the crowns of kings
I write your name

On the jungle the desert
The nests and the bushes
On the echo of childhood
I write your name

On the wonder of nights
On the white bread of days
On the seasons engaged
I write your name

On all my blue rags
On the pond mildewed sun
On the lake living moon
I write your name

On the fields the horizon
The wings of the birds
On the windmill of shadows
I write your name

On the foam of the clouds
On the sweat of the storm
On dark insipid rain
I write your name

On the glittering forms
On the bells of colour
On physical truth
I write your name

On the wakened paths
On the opened ways
On the scattered places
I write your name

On the lamp that gives light
On the lamp that is drowned
On my house reunited
I write your name

On the bisected fruit
Of my mirror and room
On my bed’s empty shell
I write your name

On my dog greedy tender
On his listening ears
On his awkward paws
I write your name

On the sill of my door
On familiar things
On the fire’s sacred stream
I write your name

On all flesh that’s in tune
On the brows of my friends
On each hand that extends
I write your name

On the glass of surprises
On lips that attend
High over the silence
I write your name

On my ravaged refuges
On my fallen lighthouses
On the walls of my boredom
I write your name

On passionless absence
On naked solitude
On the marches of death
I write your name

On health that’s regained
On danger that’s past
On hope without memories
I write your name

By the power of the word
I regain my life
I was born to know you
And to name you

LIBERTY

Ego and Super Ego

It is funny how we can change so much in such a short period of time. Small things can really have a great impact on our own self perception. Over the last few months, I have begun to notice the many disparities between who I am, who other perceive me to be and who I would like to be. A woman I worked with once and who I credit a great deal of my courage to once said "if only you could see yourself as other do." I think this is sage advice, think about what those who love you see in you, pretty astonishing how different our own perception can be.

I would like to have some closure with my sister. It is a numb hole that I need to name. The detective is not hopeful, he has assured us that he will do whatever he can to find out what happened. This of course, brings some comfort in that someone else cares about her. Right now, I am in this place where I need to grieve but can't. I haven't really talked to very many people about this and when I have, it is so surreal, like I am out of body. The thought that I will never be able to tell her that I love her is not real, it doesn't fit. I fear that those who know about this think me callous because I have no real emotion. This being said, there are times when it takes me by surprise, the phrase "The Lord shall preserve me from all evil. Yea, it is even He that shall keep my soul. The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in from this time forth and forever more" from psalm 121 is the one that did it for me last but even then it was a moment of tearful indiscretion. I fear the wave that I know is coming, the one that will knock me on my ass. What to do then? What if it doesn't happen? I know that this is a bizarre stream of conscience missive but well, that is who I am.

Emillie, you were my first playmate. We endured the grandmother moments, the Herb moments, the crazy "other" moments. Indiana, St. Joe, Leavenworth summers in the museum, OCTA conventions with Mom, fighting, playing dress up and creating plays. Turning an antique lace table cloth and a really ugly old dress into what was really a remarkable Elizabethan costume. You know many of my secrets and have kept them well. The injuries and heartaches, bad music lessons and shitty teachers. The almost irreparable damage of First Baptist Church, sharing cigarettes and being generally awful to each other. Here is what I see in you my dear, a beautiful, self-sacrificing person who was more sensitive than what was acceptable in our realm. I don't blame you for the shit in high school, I know that you did not feel included in the rest of the family (don't worry, that is a genetic trait, I never did/do either), you dealt with a fowl situation in the only way that you knew how. I am sorry that I wasn't more supportive of your positive attributes and am making efforts to rectify that behavior with my own daughters.

Really, the other stuff just starts to fall away. It is really about who you were in essence. There is a line that I am horribly going to mis-quote in the movie American Beauty something to the effect that there are things that are so beautiful in the world that you can hardly comprehend them (so badly mis-quoted that I couldn't even put quotes around it), you were one of those people who seemed to always look for that, I think the issue was with the rest of us, you saw us for who we really were at essence. One thing that I remember from your childhood was your ability to empathize with anyone, that is not a quality that is easily managed in our families world of sarcasm. The rest of the shit is in consequential really, who cares about the bs.

Two times someone pointed out how much you wanted to have a connection to us, once at the mission trip to Anadarko, OK when you broke down and cried and the other was by Father Brendan at my wedding. I get it now, Emillie, I am sorry that I didn't know what to say at the time. I am sorry that our last experiences were so inconsequential. In the movie of my life, this is not how it goes. You know how it ends in my head... You know me too well, the pretty house, the smiling family all together, for me it is the fabled fake picture perfect existence (funny how my professional life has become a way to fashion those moments perfect liturgy, perfect, house, prefect singing, perfectly artificial.) For once I should ask you, how would you have it end?

We're at places people...

The review for a recent performance is in: http://wweek.com/editorial/3351/9881, not so good. Here is the deal, the performance is good very talented people putting themselves out there I am disturbed by this review in that it doesn't properly capture what went on that evening (I know, the bad ones never do!) Here is the deal, the reviewer was 10 minutes late for a 1.5 hour show, the audience loved it, there was some great singing namely by my colleagues Natasha, Michael, Deb and Richard. I was not at my vocal best (something the reviewer could and should have mentioned instead of the vague insinuation that the cast was not up to the music.) He miss-represents the story (Adina doesn't like Belcore that is the crux of the opera), he uses uselessly vulgar language "Adina, who harbors a wet spot for hunky Steve Belcore" and is rather creepily coming on to the guy who plays Belcore. Are you kidding me?

Call a spade a spade, a company whose mission is to produce easily assessable opera using local talent did just that. Yes, there are things that could be improved, why not mention those things? How about mentioning how a few thousand dollars from a donor would help production value e.g. wheezy upright piano? I know, I am too personally involved to be objective but, well, shut the fuck up, it is my blog! If you want objectivity read somewhere else. Is it opera? Not in the strict sense, it does however present the music and themes of one of the most beloved bel canto operas to a new audience.

Here are several things that I hate that somehow found their way into this review:

Ax Grinding, don't be manipulative, its ugly the world doesn't need any more liquored up, self important queens. Try counseling, don't spew your issues all over the cultural scene. If ther is an issue, put it out there!

Dick Jokes, we get it, you are a horny gay man and there was an attractive straight guy on the stage, get over it. BTW, who talks about wet spots in pants? Gross...

Patronizing comments: "has talent" WTF! You must be kidding me? Of course she has talent you idiot! She wrote a great show, produced a great show directed a great show. To boot she has won the Met Auditions, Lieber awards and toured with the Merola Program to mention just a few minor accomplishments. If you don't like the show say why (don't give me some bull shit about depth of character! Have you ever read the libretto of the original? Terrible character development!)

Are you reviewing or commenting?

Be clear! This is utterly confusing. Point out what is really wrong, there is more to writing than sarcasm (reader, shut up, that is why I am not a writer.) A critic/reviewer has several purposes, first endorse what is good using their education and personal experience, second educate giving your readers evidence of why something is good or bad, third entertain by writing in an engaging manner. You have failed at two of the three. Perhaps the show was bad, why? Be specific! What would make it better? What actually happened? Oh, and who actually uses the words "de rigeur"? No more pretension, this is Portland, there is already enough of that shit in the black hair dye wearing, emo listening, TBA watching kids that are allowed to aimlesly roam the streets of the Pearl!

Veljo Tormis

Two years ago I did a recording of the works of Estonian composer Veljo Tormis. It finally is released: http://www.clarionrecords.com/clarion/3_clr_921.html

Take him earth for cherishing...

From a 4th-century poem by Aurelius Clemens Prudentius translated by Helen Waddell

Take him, earth, for cherishing,
to thy tender breast receive him.
Body of a man I bring thee,
noble even in its ruin.

Once was this a spirit's dwelling,
by the breath of God created.
High the heart that here was beating,
Christ the prince of all its living.

Guard him well, the dead I give thee,
not unmindful of his creature
shall he ask it: he who made it
symbol of his mystery.

Comes the hour God hath appointed
to fulfil the hope of men,
then must thou, in very fashion,
what I give, return again.

Not though ancient time decaying
wear away these bones to sand,
ashes that a man might measure
in the hollow of his hand:

Not though wandering winds and idle,
drifting through the empty sky,
scatter dust was nerve and sinew,
is it given to man to die.

Once again the shining road
leads to ample Paradise;
open are the woods again,
that the serpent lost for men

Take, O take him, mighty leader,
take again thy servant's soul.
Grave his name, and pour the fragrant
balm upon the icy stone.

"Issac, Issac, blessed must thou be...)

Ok, so I believe in being honest. The last post, not so nice... I am having some issues (obviously.) No insight for today, let's just listen to some music. Hows about Britten's Canticle II. Abraham and Issac. I think it might actually be one of the most powerful things he wrote. Two singers: a tenor who plays "Abraham" a Mezzo as "Issac" when they sing together they form the voice of God. Just a ravishing piece of music. Britten uses it in his War Requiem, another amazing work and statement on humanity, it really should be performed more often. Thinking about fathers today, this piece seemed fitting. At any rate, excuse the rantings of a crazy, sometimes you just got to let it out.

Another composer to look up: Luke Mayernik, he composed a work entitled A Requiem for Mr. Rodgers, lovely http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=1742804.

I know all of the Requiem talk, it is almost November. Time to think of these things. Peace...

New hatred for unresolved issues

I hate you. I don't have proof that you did it but have a pretty good feeling that you have destroyed a part of my family. I hope that you pay you mother fucking douche bag.

In addition, I hate myself. I hate that I have to sit here and think day and night about things that I hove no control over. I hate that at any moment a strain of music can reduce me to silent blubbering. I hate that I am so strong and can't actually become the quivering mass of emotion that I feel, ever "normal" in my day to day life.

In an ever dwindling population of family I hate that my desire is to cease being, period.

So... at any rate,fuck you. You horrible horrible person, I refuse to allow you to have this control over me. You will not break who I am, and she will not be in vain.

"I heard a voice from heaven, saying unto me write..."

A very interesting odd time, you know how you have those pesky things called emotions? You may not be able to put a finger on what you are feeling, you just know that it is a feeling and that you will have to deal with it. Yeah, that's me... Sometimes life forces you to deal with very unpleasant things despite the fact that you are pretty sure that you are not ready for them. It is kind of like a big game of hide and seek, all of a sudden, something jumps out at you that you may not have anticipated, you shit your pants and then deal with it. That is all the further I want to go with that feeling right now, not a good time. (I know vague, I am not trying to be arty, just needed to write down some thoughts.)

A new favorite Hymn for this week. The text is Robert Bridges, the tune is Herbert Howells

My eyes for beauty pineMy soul for Goddes grace
No other care nor hope is mine
To heaven I turn my face
One splendour thence is shed from all the stars above
Tis named when God's name is said
Tis love, 'tis heavenly love
And every gentle heart that burns with true desire
Is lit from eyes that mirror part of that celestial fire

Howells is an interesting character, I am going to sing the tenor solo in his Requiem next month, it is one of the most meaningful pieces of music written in the 20th century in my estimation. Those 20th Century English composers knew how to portray emotion. At any rate here is a little blurb taken from http://www.cantate-choir.info/ProgrammeNotes/Howells-Requiem.php:

Howell's Requiem of 1936 was set for divided mixed chorus with soprano, tenor and baritone soloists. This unaccompanied work was the first of two which arose from the tragic death in 1935 of the composer's only son Michael Kendrick Howells, aged nine, from either miningitis or polio. (He had also found Elgar's death in 1934 difficult to bear). The writing of this work and Hymnus Paradisi (1938) achieved for Howells some 'release and consolation' from a 'loss essentially profound'. Both works have strong comparisons and contrasts but, although Hymnus Paradisi was released for publication in 1950 (with some persuasion from Vaughan Williams), it was not until 1980 that the Requiem was re-assembled from manuscript and released for publication and performance.

The six movements of the Requiem open with Salvator Mundi where the smooth melancholic opening is soon followed by a splitting of the choir to achieve answering phrases to the entreaty help us and save us. Psalm 23 is a simple, stark chanting style that reflects speech values. The Requiem aeternam (1) moves from desolation to hope and Psalm 121 reflects the syllabic style achieved earlier. Requiem aeternum (2) opens and ends with a calm stillness, the mid section having built up to an enlightening climax with et lux perpetua luceat. The final movement: I heard a voice from heaven achieves an air of blissful peace and is the summation of the release from torment that Howells must have wished for his child.

Listen to Herbert Howells, amazing...

Baby Gianna and the Schmidt family

Ok, read no further if you want bitter rantings!

I just got an alumnus publication from Benedictine College, Atchison, KS. Anybody who knows me has heard me blather on about this place as if it were a magical wonderland. At any rate, my experiences there were pivotal, so as you can imagine the Alumni magazine is a quarterly highlight (I know I am a dork, shut it.) Well, this time as I leafed through I noticed a two-page spread on some peripheral friends, John and Jennifer Schmidt (Jennifer was a dorm director and career counselor for the college.)

The article was about their child "Gianna", it was not your normal birth announcement, the baby died as the result of a very rare birth defect that causes a fetus to be born without kidneys. Of course I was shocked, this is tragedy visited upon people I know. The Schmidt's found out pretty late in the pregnancy, they have two young sons aged 6 and 3, I don't know what my point is here, I guess it is just about courage. The article had a picture of the family shortly after Gianna was born; they knew that her life was going to be short... I don't know I wish I could show you the picture; there is such a beauty and peace around that family. I took the following away from the story:

experience love when you can, it is fleeting

make it available to others always

your own pain is worthless if it paralyzes you, do what is right and be strong even if it hurts

The picture is more than adoring parents and cute children; there was this intangible something in it. You know that these people are aware that this is one of the few moments that they will ever hold this child. Despite this they seem to be in the moment, loving the baby. That is what she needed, that is what their sons needed, that is courage.

The Accidental Heckler

As of late I have been blessed by the friendship of some folks whose cool factor far outranks my own. While I am a social person, parties and clubs have never been my forte (I don’t have the bone structure), thus I am tragically unaware of the mores of that scene. Despite this fact, I found myself late last night at The Someday Lounge http://www.somedaylounge.com/, one of Portland's artiest nightspots and the venue for my newest performance endeavor Muscle Max an 80's retelling of the 19th century opera The Elixir of Love http://www.operatheateroregon.com/. It was a magical night, It was open mic. Night! I was talking some opera jargon with fellow opera whores Katie and Tyler when suddenly the generally laid back place was filled with the really awful sounds of bad, “I wish I were a Beastie Boy” white-boy rap. Not only was this bad white-boy rap but it was exceedingly loud white-boy rap (I should also mention that the "rappers" most resembled Jay and Silent Bob only less attractive.) After the completion of the first number the head "rapper" announced: "it sounds pretty good up here, how bout from out there?" I, having performed with mics and monitors that are not properly set up for a particular acoustic, tried to be helpful by announcing the following: "it's a bit loud." I really meant it in the kindest way, unfortunately, homey white-boy thought that I was heckling him (not the case however well deserved it may have been.) Senior homey pants then set about informing me that he "was from Baltimore" and then proceeded to grumble some sort of East Coast taunt and much to my chagrin, the crowd seemed to disagree with my point that the music might have been the teensiest bit too loud. Thankfully I was cool by association (us opera whores are sponsored by the Someday) and no harm was done. Whitey Mc Whiterson continued to serenade us with his “Baltimore” rap. A good time had by all and really I think we all learned something that night; ugly rap guy learned that you shouldn’t ask questions that you really don’t want the answer to, I learned that I don’t ever want to go to Baltimore (yikes, at least not if everybody there acts like that.)

Thoughts of Emillie

My sister is missing, it has almost been two years. This is sort of eating away at me so bear with me.

It was Christmas of 2005, Emillie called to say that she was sending me some gifts for Abigail my oldest daughter. After a couple of weeks I assumed that she had forgotten or had blown me off. I got some calls from Emillie about 3 weeks later, I didn't pick up because I am stupid, she didn't leave a message for whatever reason. Flash forward to the following April, I was cleaning out our side yard and came across several UPS packages hidden beside our yard waste trash can, I almost shit myself, they were from Emillie. I ran inside and opened them, a Winnie the Pooh puzzle, and a beautiful white teddy bear that lights up to keep a child company in the night. I tried to call Emillie to no avail, her douche bag fiance informed me that she had left and didn't have a telephone. I called around, police can't help, there is no evidence that she is in danger. My mom did an identity search, no information. We posted things on Craigslist, Myspace and Facebook, no answer.

Tonight, Abigail (who is now three) and I went to Mass at Saint Phillip Neri in Portland, OR. We came home and had bath time and got ready for bed. After a few stories we repeated our nightly episode of prayers, repeating all of our family members names. We came to Emillie and I let it slip that she was "lost" Abigail became very concerned, saying that she "wanted her here with me." I tried to explain, and Abigail told me that she wanted Auntie Emillie to "run to her."

Tonight she went to bed hugging that beautiful white bear.

Emillie Hoyt, if you are out there, run home to us, we all miss you...

Miss Teen USA or why I learned to love the bomb

I have a bit of a weight problem, not like I have to be carted out of the house with the help of a crane and the jaws of life, more like 30 pounds overweight. So, to remedy this I go to the Gym as often as possible. I try to run like 3 or 4 miles and do some weights. Over the past few months I have lost 15-or 20 pounds Huzzah!

I go to a 24 Hour Fitness, located in one of the healthiest parts of a very healthy city. This is all a setup for my story, fear not... At any rate, about a week ago I was jogging away, I decided that Mozart was not the most motavating music to jog by so I plugged in my headphones to soak up some free cable. Of course, there are like 7 different shades of crap to watch so I went for the craptacular, namely the Miss Teen USA pagent. I came in near the end of what must have been a rip-roaring, laxitave chugging, toilet puking good time, there in sunny Pasadena, CA. The five finalist were lined up on stage, first observation: how the hell are these girls Miss Teen USA? They look older than me and I am almost 30.

When I tuned in they were up to the stump the jail bait part of the competition. Poor Miss Virginia, they asked her why Americans are stupid. Her answer was more of an affirmation of the question than a response, incoherent babble. So the second question for Miss wherever was "Who do you prefer: Paris, Lindsey, or Nicole?" I almost pissed myself, these were supposed to be important questions, holy shit. Flash forward, Mario Lopez (why, oh God, why) was announcing the FABULOUS prizes, this is what got me. I was sure that there would be some sort of scholarship, not really. The winner recieves a wardrobe of hoe gear, an apartment in NY City for a year, a modeling contract and a year at a modeling and acting school. WTF, where the hell is Gloria Steinem? How is this possible? Oh wait, I forgot women are mearly sex objects, we have to groom them while they are young so that they will be ready to serve the manly needs of society (please note sarcasam)

Hello

I started this about 5 months ago and just got around to posting it, many of these things are in progress, some further than others, I will update in coming posts:

So, over the last couple months I have come to re-evaluate my position in life. I made a list of goals:

Lose weight
Gain confidence
Focus on my art (I am an opera singer)
Deal with unresolved issues from my past

I know that this list is not particularly remarkable and that in fact most people probably have this same list of goals, so if you are looking for some sort of new idea or radical insight into the human state , this is probably not the blog for you. If you are nosey (it's ok I am) and interested in the effects of being an artistic male child growing up in a small town in Missouri then read on.

A little about me:

I am 28, 5'10". In August I will celebrate my 5th wedding anniversary and I have two daughters. I have struggled with my weight for the past ten years. I am not forklift out of your house obese but on that shitty chart that every doctor has I rank in the realm of fatties. I am a type one diabetic (part of the fat problem) and have a history of depression.

So we have covered some of the basic causes of the low-self esteme (Small Midwestern Town, incurable disorder, weight problem.)

The basic cause of the weight, let's just say I like to eat my fealings, and other people's and, well, you get the idea.

The Art: I have been singing forever, it is an activity that has defined my life. I have a master's degree in vocal performance. I have a great love for opera and liturgical music, and have some great things on my resume. Here is the thing, the stuff on that list above stops me from truly being an artist. I judge, I close down, I don't display the confidence that is needed to be great. Enough said.

The Weight: I have food issues, and a non-working pancreas enough said.

Confidence: see small midwestern town and a love of art, music and dance, enough said.

Unresolved issues: see also, Father's death, odd family, small midwestern town etc.