Two Wookies in Love

What do you do when 90 miles into a 350 mile road trip your vehicle begins to groan like two wookies in heat? You ignore it and keep driving, of course!

So we were just about to cross the Maryland border when I was startled awake thinking Chewbacca was nearing climax in the back seat. My felon sister, Trish, driving sans license because her wallet was stolen from her purse earlier in the week (we're sort of trying to keep that on the DL from the parents, so please forget you just read that), was in full panic mode. Shifting gears made absolutely no difference. In fact, when the car slowed to around 60 mph the sound only amplified and it was like we were sitting inside the turbine engine of a jet plane during take-off. The noise was migraine inducing - imagine someone polishing the inside of your skull with steel wool. I wanted to literally peel the scalp from my head. The odd thing was the faster Trish drove, the quieter the noise. So through some extremely dangerous on-road trial and error we discovered the torture zone to be between 55 - 60 mph and above 70 mph, just mild migraine territory. We were now forced to speed through the rest of our trip or suffer ear-splitting engine noise. It was like a bad remake of Speed (remember that Sandra Bullock and Keanu Reeves movie where the hijackers rigged the bus full of innocent passengers so that it would explode if they went below a certain speed? - if not, I hate you and your youthful ignorance) only no Keanu, no Sandra, no bus, no hijackers, and no passengers other than us - hmmm, not like Speed at all, really.

Anyway, I am not ashamed to say that I am mechanically-challenged. And I'll admit the thought of being forced to drive at least 70 mph and weaving in and out of DC traffic didn't thrill me either. So at the risk of suffering for the next four hours, we decided to suck it up and call dad. In typical dad fashion he calmly advised pulling to the side of the road and checking the muffler - it was probably just nothing. Then he yawned and told us he would leave a key underneath the doormat because he and mom were tired and heading to bed. Thanks for the concern, dad.

For you Faustosspot virgins (and regular readers with bad memories) let me back track a little. This weekend is my parent's 40th Ruby Anniversary party which is just a lame excuse to eat too much, get wasted and collect lots of useless gifts. But because I can't afford to take a day off from work, Trish and I decided to drive to our parents' house in Richmond late Thursday; thus, hoping to miss rush hour traffic and not waste all day Friday on the road. Fast forward to dying car.

After speaking with dad, who really didn't seem very concerned that his two favorite children were now forced to speed down I-95 to their possible deaths in a fiery car crash, we decided to pull into a rest area and re-assess our situation. We headed to the restrooms first, praying the car might just spontaneously repair itself. Well, the sheer act of stretching and getting some fresh air in the absence of background engine noise helped calm us down tremendously. And I decided to take dad's advise and take a look under the car. I had no idea what I was looking for or what I would do if I found it, but I got on my hands and knees and started looking for anything out of the ordinary.

Road Trip, Part II (Wookies Cont.'d)

I have no idea what the "ordinary" underside of a car looks like, so looking for something "out of the ordinary" is pretty much a moot point. However, even I could not fail to notice the huge gash running the entire width of the muffler. Problem solved. Or at least problem identified. We called dad again and he told us that we could still drive it, we'd just have to suck it up and put up with the noise. So Trish and I pushed onward to Virginia.

All seemed fine for the next three hours. Just the occasional outburst from the car engine. I even sort of got used to it, enough that I was actually able to doze a little here and there. Then I about 50 miles from Richmond I was jostled awake yet again by Trish's shriek. "Do you smell that?!" She screamed. The car instantaneously filled with the overwhelming odor of burnt rubber, sulfur and feet. Of course, we were so close to home that we decided to just cross our fingers and keep going, hoping the car wouldn't burst into flames, at least until we pulled into the driveway. We cracked the windows, pulled our coats around our shoulders and wrapped our scarves around our nose and mouth to block the offending odor. So then we're freezing, we can't breathe, and we looked like two terrorists on our way to a car bombing.

Drama queen that I am, I was actually hoping that the car's hood would dramatically burst into flames as we pulled into the driveway. That way we could make a huge show of climbing out through the car windows and run screaming away from the flaming wreckage. I can already see the cinematographer's wide angle shot (this scene will be quite dramatic in my movie biopic) of the burning car rolling into the driveway of my parents' suburban postcard house. But nothing of the sort happens. Sigh. Mom and dad don't even wait up for us. So much for being met at the door with concerned hugs and kisses and mugs of hot chocolate. We didn't even get the pleasure of wallowing in self-pity over our last four hours of suffering and mental anguish. Wallowing is just not the same unless there are witnesses to console you. So instead we unpacked the car and just went to bed, our excitement bubble deflated by snoring.

Extreme Cheese Factor

Calling all cheese aficionados. Here is the song list for our parents' 40th Anniversary reception show. I think you'll find it sufficiently cheesy, and by that I mean more like canned spray, not a nice aged Gouda.

1. Love is a Many Splendored Thing
2. Ah! Sweet Mystery of Life
3. Happy Together
4. Hey Jude
5. Ain't No Mountain
6. Knock Three Times
7. Physical
8. My Hear Will Go On
9. My Strongest Suite
10. My Romance
11. Together

Pretty cheeserific, wouldn't you say? We're doing a scripted "This Is Your Life"-type presentation and each song relates to mom and/or dad or was popular during a significant year of their lives. so family, if you're going to be there, don't you dare record this. If I see us on Youtube I'm suing!

I was in NJ until late last night recording. Therefore, the amount of flubbed notes on the tracks is directly proportionate to the lateness in the evening at which it was recorded. Example: the ending button on Together in no way relates to the key of the preceeding song. It's flat out the wrong chord! C'est la vie. But it was 11:58pm and I had to be at the train station at 12:12am. Anyway, I did make it back to Astoria before 2:00am and managed to somehow get my lazy ass to work by 8:40am. Interesting how motivating a paycheck can be.

Speaking of paychecks, looks like I'm going to become a permanent fixture at Morgan Stanley. I have decided to temporarily take a break from "the biz" to become a corporate bitch. Although even negotiating an offer from "the man" causes me to die just a little bit inside; I will finally, after some 15 odd years of foraging between sofa cushions, sustain a quality of life hovering above bag lady - no disrespect intended toward bag ladies, of course.

Another Sign Armageddon is Approaching

OK, so my last blog was pretty cynical and mean, but my sister just called and gave me another reason to believe that people are intrinsically evil. I lost my cell phone at the Met last week and nobody turned it. Then my sister lost her phone on the bus the other day and nobody turned it in. Then the subway refused to run the other night when we wanted to celebrate the birth of my beloved friend, Jaygee. Now, I hear someone on the NJ Transit train has stolen my sister's wallet and the gift bag we had prepared for Jaygee! I can't wait to go to bed. On the upside, they sky has finally cleared and the sun is out. Except it's shining so brightly through the office window that I can't see anything except for bright yellow spots. Surely this must be the beginning of degenerative eye disease.

Totally Inappropriate Rant or Why Public Transportation Sucks or I'm Just A Little Bit Racist

First off, Happy Birthday to my always youthful and gorgeous friend, Jaygee. I hope she got sloppy drunk and sick on BBQ wings last night at her party. Unfortunately, the Gods have decided to keep us separated by smiting the N train last night. After spending half an hour sitting two stops away from Queensborough Plaza due to a “stalled train,” Trish and I decided that drunken debauchery was not in the cards for us and we hoofed it to the other side of the tracks to head home. Again, it seemed those wacky Gods wanted us to get off our lazy asses and get some exercise, because a train failed to appear on the Queens-bound side as well. Which makes me highly suspect of that “stalled train” excuse. A stalled train in BOTH directions? Really? More like some bored, sadistic conductor getting his rocks off, I suspect. Anyway, we decided to walk home - yes, walk - instead of waiting for a train that was obviously never going to arrive. As luck would have it, a bus pulled up just as we were stepping onto the street. But since it was Let’s-Make-Fausto’s-Life-Miserable Day (currently only celebrated in Queens, but I believe it will be going National any day now), it was jam-packed with annoyed subway patrons. The inside of the bus looked like one huge poofy coat with twenty random arms sticking out of it. When the doors opened, half a person literally spilled out. Of course, some ghetto Latina teenager, wearing requisite silver hoop earrings the size of basketballs and a big poofy coat as well (yeah, I know that’s totally inappropriate, so please feel free to set Al Sharpton’s bag of crazy on my ass), decided she was going to get on that bus if it killed her and everyone else and started telling people to, “Move in, yo.” She then proceeded to push her way into the bulging puff of padded coats hanging out the door. Oddly enough, she was miraculously sucked into the mass of padding and arms to become one with the mother-coat and the bus took off for their home planet of Poofcoatopia. Which I think is somewhere in the South Bronx by way of the Tri-Borough bridge. Suffice it to say, we continued to walk, taking full advantage of the beautifully mild evening, compliments of our depleted ozone layer; or what President Bush most likely refers to as a "figment of the liberal imagination." Well, he better not be asking to sleep on my couch when Texas is under water, although I guess Queens will probably be as well. Can you tell I’m just a bit annoyed by how the whole evening progressed? Did I mention that I lost my cell phone the other day as did Trish? Oh, yes, I think I did. I am not in a good mood this week! Oh well, I do enjoying basking in cynicism and anger once in a while, I think it's healthy! And tres New York. Sigh. Back to surfing the...I mean "working."

Sugar High

Hallelujah! The fake wedding cake has been completed and it looks pretty darned good if I do say so myself. Stay tuned for photos as I will wait until it's at its final home in Richmond before taking any glamour shots. Turns out that the actual decorating wasn't as difficult as I thought it would be, it was just extremely tedious; like trying to fold 20 loads of laundry in one sitting except without the same satisfaction that comes with knowing you'll be able to slip on a clean, spring-fresh scented t-shirt when you're done. Instead, you only get to stare at it and imagine what it would have tasted like had it not been made of styrofoam and spackle. I think I worked on it for at least 5 or 6 hours. Most of that time was spent rolling various-sized small fondant "pearls" to attach all over the cake. It looks great, but took forever to execute. I was so tired by the time I starting "pearling" the third tier, that I started eating a "pearl" for every 3 or 4 I was rolling just to keep my energy up. I was jittery and tired like Whitney after an all night binge only without the profuse sweating (have you seen those concerts she did for HBO? - her pores were like faucets!). I actually watched "Elf" twice in a row on TNT and was well into my third viewing when I decided to call it quits. Great movie, by the way ("Why don't you just say it. I'm the worst toy maker in the world. I'm a cotton-headed ninny-muggins.").

The rest of the day was just as tedious. I sat at the keyboard during cake breaks and tried to lay down the tracks for the songs we're going to perform at the anniversary "show" this weekend. I'll probably hate the tracks when I listen to them again later in the week, but I couldn't bare to sit at the keyboard for more than 20 minutes at a time. All four of us (Juan, Val and Trish) are burning the candle at both ends trying to get this shindig together. We are so in the weeds - I'll be maniacally baking and freezing sheet cakes all week in preparation for the 250 (!) guests that have RSVP-ed; we also haven't rehearsed the reception show or the actually church music at all - just picked it out; Val is trying to scan, edit and compile hundreds of family pictures to put together a video slide show for the reception; we have to pick a show for next summer's High School theater program; Auditions are coming up for both Juan's Oklahoma! and my Madame Butterfly; we have a Holiday Concert coming up in two weeks that we have yet to start rehearsing for; I have to find a storage unit and coordinate the move of my old roommate's belongings out of my apartment (he's in China with the 42nd Street tour); I haven't cleaned the bathroom in weeks and the apartment is just plain nasty; I haven't started any of my Christmas shopping; I lost my cell phone yet AGAIN!; Trish lost her cell phone as well (and we have no land line); and on top of all that, I may soon be unemployed from my current temp job! Yeah! Between all of that, I hope to also book a few more church gigs and plenty of caroling jobs so I can scrape together my rent. I know, I know - "stop your bitching" you're saying to yourself. I'm sure I'll be complaining about having nothing to do in January when I'm living in a cardboard box in Times Square. Actually, I'd probably choose Union Square if I had to, much nicer neighborhood and less tourist traffic.

The Magic of Spackle

I've just frosted three layers of yummy styrofoam cake in Juan and Val's basement. For anyone in need of fake icing, light spackling compound is the exact same consistency of buttercream icing. It's really rather disturbing and I had to keep myself from licking my fingers because it looks so real. I'm really hoping this cake won't end up looking too ghetto, but I guess they really have no choice and it's too late anyway. Oh well, I'm going to head to bed and let the "icing" dry overnight and then I'm going to try a light sanding.

Giblets, Part Deux

So I found out that Val actually does use the giblets to make gravy (although she does strain out the innards before serving) and that giblets do not come in a can except in certain brands of cat food. So my previous post about housewives fighting over cans of giblets makes absolutely no sense at all. Oh well, that's what you get for being misogynistic I guess.

Right after my first T-day post I got so tired from the tryptophan that I didn't have the energy to write about the rest of the meal. Suffice it to say, I had more than enough to eat. I won't go into details because quite frankly it's boring - stuffing, turkey, mashed potatoes, blah, blah, blah. So I'm going to put my sweats on and head for the gym for an extreme workout, and by workout I mean heating up left over mashed potatoes and gravy, sitting in my underwear and watching reruns of Ugly Betty saved on my DVR.

The picture to the left is not from Thanksgiving (I believe it's Trish and I suffering immensely after eating half-pound burgers, onion rings and cheese fries at Cheeburger Cheeburger in Westfield), but it is pretty much representative of how I felt after devouring Thanksgiving dinner, dessert and second dinner. Stay tuned and later I'll post a picture of me just minutes before giving birth to my food baby Thursday night.

Recommended Reading

In honor of my striking brethren in Local One, I am recommending the book Making It on Broadway: Actors' Tales of Climbing to the Top by David Wiener and Jodie Langel. An easy read, it divides the actors' experience into pertinent sections (survival jobs, landlords, first gigs, etc.) and compiles a short anecdotal quote from a Broadway actor relating to the topic at hand. At times truly hilarious and utterly depressing, it puts a microscope to the world of big-time commercial Broadway theatre.

Although I have never worked under the Production Contract (Broadway and most Broadway tours), the attitudes and situations featured are all too familiar to me. I myself have been guilty of "long-run-itis" described in detail in one section. Of course, I'd like to blame most of these instances as the insecurities of a neophyte actor and I hope I've outgrown those impulses and attained a more professional demeanor (I'm sure there are many who would refute that). Though admittedly unprofessional, I do have fond memories of extreme upstaging and focus stealing, moving mole matinees, uncontrollable fits of laughter forcing me to turn upstage exposing quivering shoulders to the audience, and competitions to see who could sing the highest, most outrageous harmonies on the offstage mics during the show because we were simply "bored." In retrospect, totally inappropriate - but I can't deny that I enjoyed myself at the time.

I've probably come full circle and am now a professionalism Nazi. I'm always scolding my students for not taking their stage responsibilities more seriously. Oh well, I guess there is a middle ground somewhere. Until I find it, I'll just continue abusing my young charges and glow in the memories of past indiscretion.

So please feel free to let me know if you'd like to borrow my copy - and by borrow I mean get your cheap lazy ass up from your computer and buy your own copy because whenever I loan out a book (or CD or DVD for that matter) I never get it back!

Size Matters

I can barely move and I'm nine months pregnant with a huge food baby. I'm very close to the point of sticking a finger down my throat to alleviate the pain. I need to take a long nap and wait for all of this to pass - literally. So I will continue with details later tonight after I've a had an hour or two on the porcelain throne. I want to know what all of you ate tonight - so post your comments and the most decadent food orgy wins!

Giblets

FYI - from Wikipedia:

"Giblets are the edible offal of a fowl, typically including the heart, gizzard, liver, and other visceral organs. The term is culinary usage only; zoologists do not refer to the "giblets" of a bird."

Ewww - honestly, my first guess was the round bony end of the drumstick. I was going to post a picture of giblets, but they are just plain nasty looking.

What's a Giblet?

The hours crawled by this afternoon at my temp job. Visions of stuffing and mashed potatoes made me groggy and sleepy. Luckily, I was able to skip out an hour early and headed home before taking my chances on NJ Transit for the dreaded bus ride to Scotch Plains, NJ. First, I had to make a stop at my bank because someone has been using my debit card to pay for their electric bill someplace in upstate New York. Note to criminals - if you are going to commit credit card fraud, do not use it to pay for something as easily traceable as an electric bill you dumb f**k! - but that's for another rant.

My contribution to the table this year is a homemade apple pie. Now usually I buy one from Little Pie Company (note there is no "the", so don't all be writing and trying to get up in my "bidniz"), namely the sour cream apple walnut pie - it's like buttah' - as my imaginary Jewish grandmother would say. I wasn't able to bake the night before because Magic Flute let out at 11:15 and I lost my cell phone - AGAIN! - somewhere in the Met and couldn't find it. And some genius has decided that the most convenient hours for a "lost and found" to be open is from 2 to 4 pm, Monday through Friday. Hello!?!?!? Who's free from 2 to 4 pm, Monday through Friday? Answer: actors and the unemployed, which makes no sense since neither can afford to go to the opera. Some dude at the Met is making a mint selling cell phones, glasses and single gloves on eBay. But I digress.

So I jammed all the ingredients I bought last night into an insulated bag and into my rolling back pack. I've recently upgraded to the rolling kind because I'm getting old and don't care about looking cool anymore carrying it by one strap over the shoulder. I'm sure in a decade or so some scientist will publish a report about all the lopsided adults in this country resulting from excessive use of backpacks over one shoulder during adolescence. All you cool kids, please start alternating shoulders or just wear them over both shoulders as they were meant to be.

Anyway, the bus ride was oddly uneventful and I hit absolutely no traffic. Once I got to Juan and Val's I started unpacking so that I could bake and go to bed and rest up for the gastronomic orgy to come tomorrow. Guess what this genius forgot to pack? The apples, of course. So I had to head out the A&P and buy friggin' apples. Fine. The grocery store was again weirdly empty. Has everyone decided to skip Thanksgiving this year? Although I would have bitched the whole time, I was sort of hoping to see a mob of crazy sweatsuit-clad housewives (and husbands, don't get all feminist on me) ripping each other's hair out for the last can of giblets. What are giblets, anyway? Tiny gibs? Well, disappointed at not having witnessed a pre-T'day food fight at the A&P, I drove back to Juan & Val's, baked my Paula Dean apple pie, and now on my way to bed. Can't wait to eat myself into a food coma and complain about it all day.

I'm a Cheap Date

Hey LOC young artists, if you don't think you can afford to go to the Met, think again! Here are a couple of cheap deals.
From the Met website:

"Student Discount Tickets for full time students, age 29 or under, are available at 10 am on the day of the performance (pending availability), and may be purchased at the Metropolitan Opera Box Office. Prices are $25 for weekday performances and $35 for Friday and Saturday performances. A valid student ID and proof of age must be presented at the time of purchase. We are aware that some elementary schools do not provide a student ID.

Exceptions will be made when the student is present at the time of purchase.

Limit two tickets per performance."

Also, for anyone:

"The rush-ticket program returns, thanks once again to a generous gift from Met Board member Agnes Varis and her husband, Karl Leichtman. Two hundred orchestra seats are available for $20 each Monday through Thursday, excluding galas and opening nights of new productions."

Just arrive 2 hours prior to the performance (actually, you should try to get there earlier. Trish arrived 2 1/2 hours early for La Traviata w/ Renee Fleming and there were already over 200 people in line. But it was Renee).

It's Good to be Queen

Diana Damrau is a freak of nature! According to the stagebill, she pulled the Queen of the Night role out of retirement for a second farewell run (Trish and I saw last night's performance). She supposedly retired the role in 2006, but due to a scheduling snafu we were lucky enough to see one of her final Queen’s. Even more mind-boggling is the fact she sang the role of Pamina just three days prior in the same production. Sadly, I wish she could have played both roles last evening. Genia Kühmeier, as Pamina in her Met debut, sounded like a 13-year-old boy soprano - albeit a very good 13-year-old boy soprano; rarely a glimpse of vibrato and sometimes a hair under pitch on high entrances (most noticeable on the first note of Ach, Ich fühl’s). I’ll admit she did have some gorgeous high pianissimos and her acting was quite good. Although I didn’t dislike her, she didn’t really register for me one way or the other. But back to DD - after seeing so many lyric coloraturas just stand there and squeak out the role, it’s nice to see a real dramatic coloratura give us a full-voiced and well-acted Queen. Her performance was nuanced, emotional and solid. Her Der Hölle rach received a well-deserved prolonged ovation. My sister, not familiar with DD commented, “She’s crazy!” - in a good way, of course.

I'll admit that I only bought the ticket to see DD having seen the Taymor production in its original incarnation in 2004. This Flute has aged very well. It's still fresh and well executed, with audible gasps and ah's from the audience as sets revolved, bears cavorted, food floated through the air and birds danced en pointe.

Joseph Kaiser, singing Tamino, possessed a pretty, full legato voice and his top had a nice ring, although occasionally a bit nasal. I might add he's also a solid actor and easy on the eyes (although in that Cher a la 1970's wig, and geisha girl make-up, it's difficult to tell - fyi pic to the left is not Kaiser).

Stephane Degout possessed a clean, focused sound and filled out Papageno's tights quite well (if you see this production, you'll see why they're called that) and was charming and funny throughout - definitely an audience favorite. His Papagena was equally charming and effective in her transformation from old lady to young nymph but not so successful in the vocal department, all but disappearing beneath the orchestra and Degout.

It's interesting to note that last night's performers seemed to mine the book's comedy much more ably than the original cast I saw years ago, namely the three ladies and Monostatos. The whole cast seemed to be fully committed and enjoying their time on the stage. Some random thoughts: I love the dancing bears but wish I could have seen Taymor's take on other beasts; the concept of the three floating heads appeals to me, but I'm not sure it always works; the ending always seems rather abrupt to me and doesn't quite satisfy after everything that's come before it; the rumbling of the sets behind the scrim while Sarastro tried to sing his aria in one was totally distracting and seemed somewhat disrespectful to the performer.

The Wedding Singer

The problem with having siblings who perform is that you always end up being the sideshow at any family event. I don't mind singing at the occasional wedding but sometimes things get a bit out of hand. Case in point, the reception "show" for the upcoming parents' 40th. Aside from already preparing a mini-recital for the actual mass, we have also been ordered to prepare a personalized skit a la "This is Your Life" for the reception. I know mom said that it didn't have to be "big," but for those of you who know my mom you are well aware that she only does "big." Subtle is not in her vocabulary. Therefore, besides trying to make the show relate to the milestones in their lives it must also have clever dialogue, include many songs with staging and choreography and be uproariously funny. On top of that we also have to compete with the recent memory of another reception "show" we put on several years back for our Uncle's anniversary. Right now it's basically a big cheese-fest with lots of crazy songs from the 70's and some other random pop music. Did I mention we have been asked (read: ordered) to include "Love Is Many Splendoured Thing"? I'm warning the lactose intolerant to head for the bar when the show starts.

Someone Left the Cake Out in the Rain...

Next week is my parents' 40th Anniversary bash. As you can guess, the family's been pulling out their hair trying to get preparations ready for the big day. For sanity's sake, Trish has limited answering calls from mom to just one a day. The new phone technique I have implemented has been to preface each of my calls home with, "I can't talk, just answer 'yes' or 'no'."

On top of the never-ending calls, guess what idiot volunteered to bake the wedding cake? Moi, of course. OK, so my wedding cake experience is basically nada, unless you count having seen every episode of "Ace of Cakes" as "experience". It's not that I'm a stranger to my oven; I in fact bake a mean batch of brownies (from scratch, thank you very much) and am no stranger to the virtues of parchment paper on a cookie sheet. But we're talking 250 hungry guests, half of whom are Filipino and therefore have never uttered the words, "No thank you, I'm full."

When I agreed to supply what most couples would consider the centerpiece for the evening, the date was nearly a year away. I thought I had plenty of time to bone up on my piping skills and fondant rolling technique, and by "bone up" I mean "learn." But a year sure does fly by quickly and now I'm scrambling to find a way to create an incredible culinary masterpiece with basically no cake decorating skills. Luckily, we were able to talk mom into letting us present a fake cake so at least what's under the icing can be bought and carved out of Styrofoam. Any ideas? I hear that you can use spackling compound instead of buttercream icing, but I want to make sure that the cake looks real. I had grand ideas of making each gum paste flower myself and individually painting the detailed leaves. Screw that. I'm gonna' have to see if the craft store has them pre-made or if I can go to a bakery and get some made for me. Suggestions would be most grateful.

I've already experimented and come up with the "real" cake which will be "hiding" in the kitchen, pre-sliced, until the fake one is carted off the dance floor. It will be a white cake with butter cream icing and either/both strawberry and cherry topping. It got the thumbs up from Juan, Val, Trish and Trish's friend Billy (who was in this week from Virginia and got screwed because of the Broadway strike) and turned out even better than I expected considering my measly budget. I won't reveal the secret recipe until after the big event in case anyone attending ends up reading this. I don't want to ruin the experience for anyone. So you'll just have to keep posted if interested.

I'm Ready for My Close-Up

OK - so maybe I'm a bit obsessive with blogging at the moment, but it's so fun posting my crazy shit and people actually look at it! Anyway, when I was in Alaska last summer, my friend Dan and I experimented with the close-up option on his digital camera. Here are the exciting results. Please comment!

Fleming on the Floor

So I went to see Renee Fleming in the Met's Traviata last night (11/15) hoping in the back of my mind I would witness one of those once-in-a-lifetime train wrecks that gets passed down into opera legend. I was somewhat disappointed. Now I don't like to wish ill upon anybody, especially since I'm a performer myself, but it's the undeniable draw of schadenfreude that sometimes gets the better of me. I don't know exactly what kind of crash and burn I was expecting, never having heard her live except for those ridiculous TV specials where she seems to be singing in a foreign language but then you discover, after recognizing a single word, that she's actually singing in English ("Somewhere Over the Rainbow" - anybody?).

Definitely a pretty voice, but seemed as though she was marking at times. High notes seemed to be no struggle, although there were definite "catches" in sustained notes that I wouldn't necessarily categorize as cracking, just minor "interruptions." She did some odd pre-note bleats that some may consider dramatic. I prefer a clean entrance. Yes, her sound is gorgeous, but her diction, as always, was lacking. The young lady next to me, a professed opera-going novice who didn't know RF from a whole in the wall turned to me at first intermission and commented, "Is it just me, or is her diction muffled like saran wrap was covering her mouth?" I had to agree with her.

As far as acting, she was alright. Sometimes a bit over the top for my money, but always entertaining. A few moments almost triggered an unintentional chuckle and she seemed to be channeling Lucia at times with some of her schizophrenic choices (I'll cite the crazy, "my ears are bleeding" reaction upon hearing Alfredo's singing outside during her first aria, complete with hyperextended splayed fingers pressed against said bleeding ears). I understand it's a big house but if it seemed over the top from the cheap seats you need to turn it down a notch. But I guess I prefer over-the-top to park-and-bark. One quite dramatic moment that I did enjoy was the end of Addio del passato where she ended laying nearly face down on the floor. Worked for me, although I think she may have been a bit too free with rubato.

On a purely superficial level, from my nosebleed seat RF looked as though she's been hitting the treadmill or at least been cutting down on late night slices at Ray's. She did look beautiful.

As far as the rest, I enjoyed Polenzani's solid performance both acting and singing. Dwayne Croft's Di Provenza was a highlight (and I usually nap during bass/baritone arias - no offense, just not my favorite). The chorus was solid, although small sounding, but quite lively and ribald during the first act. Oh, which reminds me of the quite passionate face-sucking between Alfredo and Violetta that caught me by surprise in the first act. Definitely worked for me. I also enjoyed Armiliato's brisk tempi throughout which made the first act literally fly by - in a good way. Random thought - does the gypsy/toreador section ever come off as anything but superfluous? I really think you could cut both numbers. Am I missing some important symbolism there? Although it is worth it just to see that gorgeous front drop.

Definitely worth the ticket price since with RF's record, she probably will not return to this role again anytime soon, if ever. Looking forward now to seeing Damrau's (second) farewell to the Queen of the Night next week. Time for a snack.

Die Fledermaus - Little Opera Company (November 9-11)

I'm retro-posting this so it's archived on my blog. For those of you who missed it, we had a great time putting this opera together. Juan went on for two performances as Eisenstein with just a week and a half notice. The cast was phenomenal. Even though we went through several rounds of replacements, I believe the cast we ended up with far surpassed the original casting (no slight to the original cast, of course, just a great combination of talent). Madame Butterfly comes up in the spring (which I'm directing) and if you need some holiday cheer, check out the LOC's holiday concert "'Tis the Season" coming up December 7th.