Asian Hair

I went out with my cousin Roz (to a great place called Josie's on the UWS) and commented how much I loved her new haircut.  "Thanks", said she, "I got it done by a guy name Alvin at Salon de Tops in Chinatown!" "Sign me up", I said.

So I called this morning and got an appointment with Alvin for this evening and when the time came I trekked down to Chinatown for my haircut.  Running late as usual, I stream into the salon 10 minutes after my appointment time, read a sign that there is a cash only policy at the salon, and ask the receptionist where the nearest ATM is and whether or not I have enough time to go get cash before my haircut.  We have difficulty understanding each other.  And then it dawns on me...I'm at a salon where everyone prefers to speak a language other than English, and I am about to get my haircut.

I get the cash.  A man comes up to me and beckons me with gestures to take off my coat, which he politely hangs up, and leads me over to get my hair washed.  He speaks nothing to me the entire time.  Is this Alvin, I wonder?    I'm enjoying the scalp massage, and the icy mint product he puts on my hair, but I start to wonder how I'm going to attempt a discussion with this gentlemen regarding his opinion on whether or not I should get bangs.   Oh dear.

But I am saved.  This kind but mute man delivers me to a chair where another man comes up and says hello to me.  I ask, 'Are you Alvin?'  He doesn't answer.  I say a little louder, a little slower, 'Are you Alvin?'.  He looks at me funny.  'Yes, I'm Alvin.  What to do with your hair today?'  And so we begin.

Truth is, I didn't have any idea what I wanted my hair to look like, I was just sick of it hanging like a dead animal around my head and wanted something that would stand up a bit better to the rain/snow/hat on/hat off/sleet/wind that I'm preparing to endure in the coming months.  I said something about wanting long sweeping bangs and some more layers but that I wanted to keep it long and he says, "OK" --and then starts to chop 3-4 inches off my hair. 

I just wanted to close my eyes and not watch him lop off inches, so it was a silent kind of haircut.  My philosoph is that once you sit in the chair and the cutting starts, best to let them go to town then to second guess them mid-cut-- you might end up with an unintentional mullet.  But my apprehension must have showed.  He did ask me, "First time getting Chinese haircut?  You nervous?" to which I gave him my best sly smile and answered, "I trust you".  Which might have been true.

He finished up by putting some styling product on my hair, and asked me, 'do you like it?'  I looked impartially and said a sincere but sedate 'yes', smiled, paid and left.  I rushed home, sneaking peaks at myself in the reflections of the subway window the entire time.  Once home, I assessed the situation-- did I like it?   Truth is, he gave me a haircut that was probably the most funky I've ever had to date (which, I know you're all groaning, is not that funky)--more uneven fringe, less curl, more blunt and edgy.   You know, more New York.  Any maybe a bit Chinatown.     

Oh, eHarmony

Hello there.  I'm back.  There's major change afoot, and I'll tell you all about it sometime.  In the meantime, I thought you might this is as funny as I did.

So, I'm on eHarmony in the hopes of actually meeting a living, breathing Christian man to date in NYC.  And I'm actually having a pretty good response, partially because I extended the age range of matches I would accept to include the 40-45 year old crowd.  Man, I am a spring chicken compared to guys who were born in the 60's.  I don't even want to think about trying to learn another person's favorite decade of rock and roll when I never even learned my own. 

Tonight I got a set of questions from a guy named Steve, who answered my questions with very bland Christianese, even on questions that didn't call for any religious view whatsoever.  I admit, it irritated me.   And then I read his questions.  Uh-oh.  He committed item #1 on Joanna's cardinal sin list-- multiple spelling mistakes.  I know its catty and probably explains why I am on eHarmony in the first place instead of lounging at home on a couch with a husband, but I couldn't help making up the following fictional replies to the questions he sent me and sharing them with you:

# Outside of your Faith , what are the most important things, goals, or dreams in your life?
fake answer: I dream of a world in which words that need not be capitalized are not capitalized.

# What turns you on about a man? What keeps you passionate about them?
fake answer:  Not asking inappropriate questions to women they don't really know.  Correct use of pronouns.

# Have you ever given 100 percent to a activity for an extended period of time?
fake answer: Yes, hunting for missing n's.

Fall Fun

Sprëchen zie fric and frac

Yep, I'm in the middle of learning a German role.  I don't speak German.  I mean, not one bit.  I sang one piece in German when I was 18 for a competition, which I lost to an uppity 16 year-old that I hated (stage mom, supercute-- ugh!), and never went back.  So, here I am, with Google translate and a Cassell's German/Engish dictionary I picked up at Westsider Books for $11, trying to translate stuff like this:

ein roter Tau fiel mitternachtig, der macht die Naßgrünen moche trächtig.

Which means:

A red dew fell at midnight, making the damp green newts horny.

Did I mention I'm playing a witch??

This is actually going to be quite fun-- I love the sing-songy lines, and the fact that I get to play such a ridiculous, mean, awful, spiteful, nasty character.  And wow!  Navigating the sounds of german first-off is a bit tricky, but once you get it, watch out!  This witch can bite your head off just with words!

The joke about mezzo-sopranos is that they only play three roles:  witches/bitches/britches--- meaning evil women, loose women, and men.  Women often play young men in opera-- they're called 'pants roles'.  I should probably learn a role or two since I'm tall and have long legs, but I've been resistant for a long time-- I'm pretty sure I'd crack up if I had to pretend to make love to a woman.  Still, you never know until you try....

Hope at the Crossroads

Yeah, I walked into a wine shop after meeting with my Spiritual Director, and picked these two wines randomly.  I didn't even realize the names until I pulled them out at home.  Then I laughed pretty hard.

 

Going Native, Part 3

It happened so quickly, I didn't realize the significance of it until an hour later.

I was heading to the gym last night and a thunderstorm was brewing. (Little did I know that a tornado was touching down in Brooklyn at that very moment, but that's someone else's story.  It was just a regular old thunderstorm to me.)  One of the street vendors was folding up his purse stand at the corner of Lex and 85th-- I had walked by a couple of days earlier and noticed a purse that I wanted but didn't have the whatever to actually stop and buy it-- hutzpah?  time?  cash? Who remembers. Anyway, I squeezed under his makeshift plastic awning, grabbed the purse, and quickly start bartering and talked him down by 5  bucks.  Great.

Only later did I realize I had finally purchased the New York City Girl Bag-- that purse that can fit all the regular purse stuff, plus your lunch, three books, a change of shoes, and a potential change of clothes because who is ever home anyway and you can't leave it in  your car--all in a deceptively small looking fashionable bag. 

I'm surprised I lasted this long. I used it last night when I went downtown to hear Over The Rhine (awesome show at a very cool winery) and was able to tote my stilletoes to the show and then throw my hefty clogs in there no problem.  Today I went to my coaching and was able to fit three scores in it!  I'm in love.  I'm off to my church's retreat this weekend and was actually contemplating trying to see if the purse could fit all my toiletries and two changes of clothes, and realized I had gone a bit too far.  Still, a whole new and wonderful world is open to me...it's a new day.

In the Boat

I read Mark 4 about Jesus going out into the boat with his disciples and calming the storm as a Lectio Divina spiritual exercise yesterday.  It was eye opening what came out for me.  I know enough of you who read my blog will appreciate this, so thought I'd post it--

I took the place of a disciple working along side Jesus.  What I noticed is that she worked all day too, and then Jesus, at the end of the day, has her continue working by going over to the other side of the Lake.  He goes and takes a nap, she continues working by sailing the boat.  The storm comes up.  I’m sure she worked really hard trying to keep the boat afloat—she only wakes Jesus up once the boat is about to sink with this panicked expression—Don’t you care if we drown?  Jesus calms the storm, looks at her and says, Why are you afraid?  Have you no faith? 

As I focused on that rebuke I got really angry.  Finally, I took up my side and argued with Jesus—that’s unfair.  What do you mean I don’t have faith?  I have faith enough to work all day with you, get into this boat with you.  That’s just mean.  The storm comes up.  I have faith and I work hard, trusting that you will ride me through the storm.  What was I supposed to do?

What should the disciple have done?  How was she to exercise her faith? 

I am certain that a biblical scholar would find fault with my conclusion, but the point here is not to be biblically accurate, it's to insert yourself into the story and see what Jesus is saying to you.   I finally came to the conclusion that she should have woken Jesus up a lot earlier.  And said to him, LORD, there’s a storm brewing.  I need to be honest with you—I'm scared.  Please help me.

Jesus is saying to me, Joanna, wake me up, sit at my feet, and tell me what's the matter.   I have an open invitation from Jesus to not keep the things that are weighing me down to myself, but take them to him with the expectation (which is the key here) that He is listening and can and will help me in a meaningful way.  I need to wake Jesus up, be honest about my need, and say, can we take a look at all of this?  So I started. 

Spiritual Direction

I went out to the hinterlands today, also called New Jersey, to meet up with C., a member at my rockin' church, an IV staffer, and a spiritual director.  I had heard her name around church, I'd met her on a couple of occasions, and a few weeks ago I ended up praying with her after church in a really nice, normal sort of way, about a picture I had gotten in prayer.  One thing lead to another and then there I was on the train to meet with her for direction.  It was one of those experiences where I thought this was going to happen months ago, but knew I didn't need to do anything-- it would come to me when the time is right.  Wow, I sound very Yoda-ish there, but its the truth.

It was great to meet with her.  It was relieving to meet with her.  It was great to be in a place with time carved out and to unload on a spiritually discerning person the truth about me right now and know she wasn't going to freak out, worry about me, or give me paint by number instructions about what to do next.  I cried my eyes out, I was articulate, she asked good questions, we kept digging, I got some clarity, I felt relieved and lighter and less a mystery to myself.  A lot of things that I was perceiving as failure was actually growth, albeit painful growth.  Where I am makes sense and how I'm feeling makes sense.   She then gave me some suggestions about how to go about praying in the coming months out of the Ignatian spiritual practices.  I'm looking forward to seeing what comes of it.

Which just leads me to thankfulness.  God is so kind.  What a good gift.  

9/11

I awoke a bit later than usual this morning, having attended NYC's Fashion Nite Out-- basically, every retailer in New York opens its doors from 6-11 p.m. and plays cocktail party host to thousands of people out to looky-loo through the stores.  My friend M and I hit Manolo Blahnik, Talbots, Tiffany's, Sephora, Bloomingdales, and Louis Vuitton.  The winners for best food and drink were Talbots (lots of white wine and huge bowls of candy) and Sephora (champagne splits for everyone!!).  So, yeah, I woke up a little late.

I decided to stroll down to Cafe Amrita, a very groovy eurocafe replete with coffee bar and a TV always tuned to soccer, for some coffee and pastry and to read the paper.  It was delightful to sit, overhear conversations and people watch.  The weather is glorious here, and it was just lovely to watch the world go by.  I recalled a statement made by my voice teacher after he underwent open heart surgery-- 'No matter what happens in your life, Joanna', he said, 'existence is pretty incredible'.  Sitting in that cafe this morning, I'd have to agree.  The privilege of being alive, is a beautiful and fragile gift.

So that was my profound moment of the day.   Next, I decided, since its the kind of thing I never do, to go down to the World Trade Center site and just see what was going on.

I confess, I was fascinated.

Once I got topside from the subway ride, the first thing I noticed were the cops.  They said the police presence was going to be overwhelming, and it was, but not in an oppressive way.  Camera crews were everywhere, and I mean everywhere.  Here was a vertically challenged lady trying to file her story:

Next I ran into a group of fundamentalist Christians from North Carolina handing out tracts in one of the many impromptu holding pens the cops had set up for people who wanted to assemble.  I think you just got in your pen and did your thing.  Passerby's could watch you and talk to you but it did make a clear point of dilineation between protester and pedestrian.  It was kind of like the zoo. Anyway,  I'm not sure if they were here to protest the mosque or what, but here were there t-shirts:

I heard them singing praise songs to Jesus when I was finally leaving the area.

Right beside these guys was the group that thinks that 9/11 was an inside job.  They were well organized and did the T-shirt thing too.  I have their tract and honestly, I have no idea what they are talking about, but I'm going to do some google searches later on tonight.

I finally got down to Ground Zero, and the official 9/11 televised memorial service was still going.  It must have been over two blocks away from where the barricades were set up for tourists-- we couldn't see anything from where we were.  We could listen, though, and hear the names of the victims being read, and taps being played.  It was very moving.    Everyone was respectful and extremely quiet. There were few to no signs.  Instead, a lot of American flags, and this piece of artwork:

The mosque protesters were around the corner at the Park51 site, and at about 45 minutes before their start time, they didn't have a lot of people there, but they did have this guy:

He's really got to believe in what he's doing to wear that on a day like today.

The people protesting the people protesting the mosque had a much better turnout, from what I could tell.  They were an interesting group-- ex-Hippies, people with communist leanings, some Buddhist monks were there, college students, a handful of obviously Muslim people.  All peaceable, very energized:

I did have a very interesting conversation with a woman in line for the bathroom at Starbucks with me (God bless Starbucks for being the public restroom provider of NYC!).   She was two blocks away on 9/11 and now writes for an online newspaper warning people of the dangers of Sharia law and Islam.  We had a cordial conversation in the bathroom line, and to my surprise practically everyone in the line weighed in, too. 

I gotta say, I left feeling proud of a country where all these people-- half of whom I'd put in the crazy crackpot category-- can exercise their right to assemble, their right to speech.  I wondered what all the cops thought about this.  And then I went to Trader Joe's.

Carmen!!

The Met replayed their HD broadcast of their production of Carmen from last season out on their plaza on Monday night.  Kerry and Mackenzie Morrison, Mackenzie's roommate Chloe, and my neighbor Todd (as well as 4,000 other people) all turned out to enjoy an amazing show.  I definitely want to see this production live next year!

Flushing Love

My brother took me to the U.S. Open Tennis Tournament last night.  I have been looking forward to this for weeks.  My family grew up playing tennis, and although we still hit the ball around on family vacations, none of us really played competitively.  My grandfather Carl, my mom's dad, played tennis until he was in his 80's and my mom swears she has a cousin who played in the U.S. Open way back when.  We'd watch Wimbledon and the U.S. Open, and the Wimbledon Final was the only Sunday that we were allowed to skip church.

So, JR and I trekked out to Flushing, Queens, to this beautiful sports complex to watch John Isner, the American famous for playing the LONGEST match ever a couple of months ago at Wimbledon, take on a Russian named Mikhail Izhney.   Isner lost, but it was fun to see him so soon after watching that crazy match against Mahut. 

Going Native, Part 2

I kissed a total stranger last night.

I was at the Yankee game with my friend M, and we sat behind two hard core fans.  We knew they were hard core fans because when they took off their A-Rod jerseys, they were wearing A-Rod t-shirts underneath.

These guys did what I consider the duty of any hard core fan:  pay ridiculously close attention to the game, berate other people for not standing up and cheering, and discussing the finer points of Yankee trivia with other fans around them.  Having a brother that is a true fan, I know these things.  I ended up chatting one of them up half way through the game, and so I felt free to give him a lot of grief when he and his friend, at the top of the 9th inning, with the Yankees ahead by one run and Mariano Rivera coming in to pitch, get up to LEAVE THE STADIUM.

Really?  According to brother Jon, true fans don't leave until the end of the game.  I told him that.  He made some lame excuse about needing to catch a train, and how he lives over an hour and a half from the stadium. Please.  The guy was in agony, but I knew I had him.  No true fan can take that kind of honor challenge.

He finally says, 'OK, I'll stay, but if they win, I get to kiss you.'  I say, 'Deal.'

They won.

Going Native

I was walking to the 116th and Lenox subway stop in Harlem, chatting on the phone with my mom.  I step in to the intersection and realize, belatedly, that the light had changed and I was jaywalking.  The driver waiting her turn laid on her horn.  And I mean laid.  I look over, still walking, still in the intersection, and mouth 'sorry' to her, and keep walking, phone to my ear.

First mistake.

The woman rolls her window down, sticks her head out the window, and unloads a string of expletives at me with fury and gusto that I would reserve for someone who maliciously hit a child.  Now, would you call a person who jaywalked in front of you a fucking bitch?  Would you repeatedly call her that while you pull out into the intersection and continue to yell at her while you made a left hand turn?   It felt way over the top to me and mostly uncalled for.  So, with the phone still to my ear, with my mom still on the line, and with premeditation, I raised my left hand and gave her the bird.

Second mistake.

The woman practically parks her car in the middle of the road and increases her roar.  I thought she might actually leave her car on the road and come after me.  I seriously had to think about whether or not I was going to have to defend myself, or whether or not I should just run.  Given the size of the woman, I was sure I could outrun her.  I just wasn't sure if I wanted to.  She, either having exhausted her list of expletives, or perhaps because of mounting pressure of cars behind her, finally took off.

However, an older gentleman, who was walking behind me, decided to get involved with the only party that was left, me.  He informed me in no uncertain terms that there was absolutely no cause for my flipping her off, shaking his head and telling me I should be ashamed of myself.   This is when I finally said to my mom, 'Mom, can I call you back?'.  When I tried to address the gentleman he couldn't be bothered to stop.  When I asked him if I could talk to him for a minute, three times, he kept walking, and kept telling me how wrong I was.

When I sat down at the train station, I was half mortified at my behavior, half angry at how I was treated.  And then I started to laugh.

Ah, Harlem.

Gorges and Prairies

I'm sitting in the Harvest Time Bistro in downtown Wadena, Minnesota, overhearing snippets of intriguing theological conversation while scarfing down a piece of Apple Bread pudding made entirely from ingredients grown locally here in the great state of MN.

I spent last weekend in Ithaca, NY with my Aunt Ruth, Uncle Bruce, cousins Roz and Arthur and Laura, and little, adorable Lucy.  Here's a pic of the waterfall at the end of their road:

It was great to be with family-- there's a real delight in being with people who are your people, who've known you since you were in diapers.  We had a great visit-- ate delicious food, went to a farmer's market, swam in the lake, picnicked outdoors, listened to some great Latin music at an outdoor venue, and even hiked Upper Treeman in the pouring rain.  The only real downer from the weekend was the drive back--I drove the four hour trip from Ithaca to the city in 6.5 hours, through flash floods. 

So I returned, sat down at my piano, and asked myself 'how best to move forward?'  The answer came back loud and clear-- 'Go see Jim.  Now. ' So I get on the internet, and find a really cheap fare to Minneapolis, and flew out Tuesday morning.

It was a good choice.  Fall is in the air here, bright and sunny with a fragrant, cool breeze.  I do three-a-day voice lessons with Jim and in between them go for a walk, or a bike ride, and maybe this afternoon I'll go jump in one of the 10,000 lakes.   The surrounding area provides plenty of beautiful scenery:

Quatro Na Bossa

Heard some fantastic bossanova music late last night at one of Lincoln Center's Jazz venues, Dizzy's Coca Cola.  Laura Ann Boyd from Quatro Na Bossa is good friends with my sister, and I had met her several times down in Richmond, but had never heard her do her thing until last night.

Fabulous!  For those of you who love this type of sound (a la 'Girl from Ipanima'-- Dana!!)  check them out at www.quatronabossa.com.  Great venue, great music, great night.  Unfortunately, crappy pictures.  Sorry.  Here's one of LA from her website...

Staycation Retreat

When I think of vacationing, I think of going to the beach with my family, or for a family reunion during the summer.  Vacationing with the Rices is one part lounging, one part boot-camp:  we wake up when we want to, we go to bed early or fall asleep to a movie, we lay on the beach (with copious amounts of sunscreen and large hats) reading books, we eat delicious food and have lots of snacks.  But we also swim, hike, bike, play tennis, beach volleyball, kayak, surf, snorkel and sail.  The older I get the more I realize that, although I am uniquely me, I do fit the pattern of my family to a T.

Take this week for instance.  It's the first week this summer that I haven't had to keep all guns blazing in relationship to my body and my voice.  I thought I'd go out and see some of the sights of the city.  I wandered off to see Roosevelt Island on Monday, but between the humidity and the heat, my brain stopped working and I literally couldn't figure out how to get to the darn Island.  Which is ridiculous because its not that difficult.  So, I went home and just decided to not worry about having an agenda for the week and letting myself do whatever I wanted.

I apparently want a Rice family vacation.  What have I been doing?  Running in the morning.  Swimming miles at night.  In between, sleeping, reading, eating delicious food, tanning, taking naps, going for leisurely walks nowhere in particular, avoiding the subway, and staying cool. 

I've also spent a ton of time praying this week, which honestly feels a bit decadent.   I've calculated it out, and it feels like I've been in forward motion for a year-- from the moment the great move of 2009 started, I don't think I've paused for much other than a quick breath.  This feels like the moment, so I'm taking it.  Staycation or retreat, it's a good week.

Principessa Pic

Thankful, Part III

Well, my summer projects are over.  I've got an email into the photographer of my two shows, and if he gets back to me I'll post the pics of me as Marcellina and me as La zia Principessa.  Yesterday's performance to a packed out, standing-room only crowd, was super-fun and I probably did the best singing and acting job I have done to date in that moment.  So fun to peak right when you need to.

My parents came in for the show, and my cousin Roz, joined.  After the show, my brother joined us and we all went out to dinner and then back to my place for dessert.  I'm thankful, again, for my family's unwavering love and support of me as I do this nuttiness.  And for their willingness to buy me wine after shows!

So, what next?  I have disciplined myself not to ask that question until today, the day after I've completed the project.  The answer for today, and probably for the week, is to go do all the things I wanted to do but didn't this summer in New York.  So, hopefully, there will be some tennis, some listening to music in parks, to wandering along the rivers, museums, beaches, street food, and some salsa dancing.  Anyone want to join?

Thankful, Part II

The last two to three days feel like what I always imagined a good conservatory experience would be...I'm learning a lot, I have supportive colleagues and amazing teachers.   I'm trying new things on to see what they feel like, and I get to watch everyone else work through and grow in their roles.  I'm getting a ton of encouragement and a ton of positive feedback, the most gratifying of which is  'You listen and change so quickly.  I can really see you working hard and changing up your game in response to feedback.  Very proud of you.'

Plus, my director wants me to look very Mad-Men knock-out for my role.  So nice to have two roles where I was supposed to be ugly and instead I get to look diva.  Downside:  have to shop for this role.

Fascinating, but not surprising to me that all this happy goodness is happening now that my daily mantra is, 'God, I've come to the end of myself.  Help me to die, so that You can live in me.  Help me to let go and just trust that You have me.'  And then I (try to) stop worrying and just go for it, calmly and intentionally.  So thankful.

Thankful

I'm sitting on my fire escape, drinking a glass of very cheap white wine, watching the sunset over the brownstones of Harlem.  I've had a tough-ish day, which really just means more than the usual battling of inner demons, but the tell-tale signs of PMS have appeared and so now I can write it off as that and move on. 

I went swimming this evening at the pool across the street from my house, a free outdoor double-Olympic size pool with friendly staff and surprisingly few people there.   During the five minute walk there, I called my parents to tell them I had a hard day, and then to say that I've had surprisingly few hard days for a girl who just moved across the country, and so we put it in perspective.  My dad also suggested that it might be that I'm coming to the end of what I know-- my last role will be over in 10 days, and so maybe I'm getting anxious.  I got to the pool,  put in a mile, my second this week, pulled myself out, dried myself off and walked home while watching the clouds turn orange, feeling serene, at peace and cozy here in Harlem.  On the way home I checked my phone, with a message from a director, asking for my availability for the rest of August.  A little gift to me.

Sitting on my stoop I feel tiny and inconsequential.  I can see millions of apartments lighting up in the evening to the west of me, with cathedral spires pushing up like beacons over the city.  I'm thankful for the work of the day, thankful to be alive, thankful to be able to experience this life, a tremendous gift. 

Long Time, No Post

I confess I haven't posted in so long that I feel like scrapping the blog.

What to say?

I'm in rehearsals for Suor Angelica, where I've been given a peach of a role, and I really enjoy singing it, unlike the last role I had, which kind of drove me nuts.  The performance, by the way, went well.  I got through on my ability to act and be comic, however, and not on my singing.  And everyone told me I looked hot (which is hilarious, because the character I was playing was supposed to be old, ugly and mean.  They re-characterized it and just made me over-the-top self important with a hint of snarling contempt.  I'm grateful-- who wants to be old, ugly and mean?  And who knew I could get away with murdering Italian because I'm considered operatic eye candy?)

I had an amazing singing experience yesterday.  We did a musical rehearsal for Suor Angelica and it ends with the entire cast, sans me, singing a huge, loud, exquisitely beautiful Requiem type piece.  Over 40 well trained operatic voices pouring out sound in a smallish room-- it was an incredible sonic overload.  I started giggling half way into it.  Uncontrollable laughter, in my opinion, is an extremely appropriate reaction to being overloaded by beauty. 

I'm learning a lot about focus and practice, but I'm also practicing how to get out of my head and go for it.  I'm also learning how, in the words of my friend LL, in coming to the end of myself and what I can do, to actively die, so that God's strength can be glorified in my weakness.  Vague statement, I know. Still trying to get my head around it.

Sha-Sha-Sha-Shoes

Let me tell you a little story about today.  The Stage Director emailed everyone: 'Whatever shoes you are wearing for the performance you will wear every day this week'.  So I had to go out and buy a pair of shoes.  I think I'm the only 30-something woman in the world who does not own a basic black pump.  I own a pair of sexy stiletto slingbacks that make me 6'2'', clogs, boots, sandals and tennis shoes.  And that's it.  So, off I go a-shopping into the great metropolis.

New York, unlike LA, is chock full of shoe stores that have row upon row of high-end, well designed, ergonomically and spinally correct shoes.   And the owners of these stores know who they are selling to-- and so also stock the stores with handsome (but not overly so) men over 40, who will gallantly bring you your shoes, put a stocking on your foot, slide the shoe ever so delicately over your toes, grasping your heel to guarantee a snug fit -- in a word, foot flirtation. 

I confess, I enjoyed every minute of it.  It was a hot day,  I was tired, and so to leisurely sit in a chair while my man J.C. ran around suggesting and comparing the relative attractiveness, quality and comfort of several different pairs of heels while slipping stockings on my feet and talking to me about the Yankees was pure delight.   On top of that, I even got to play the part of best girlfriend advisor to an older Jewish lady who was having ever so much trouble picking something to go with her sundresses for the summer.  

I settled on these little ladies.   I know they don't look like much, but what's really sexy about them is how comfortable and well made they are, and how they were 75% off!

Marcellina, Part III

Holy Moses.  I am so tired.  Did I realize how much freaking work Opera was going to be?  Heck no.  Performance of Nozze is one week away, and I will basically do nothing but eat, sleep and drink Mozart (and maybe one or two beers) for the rest of the week.  Which will make it the third week in a row.

So that's the reason I haven't posted.  If I had posted it would have been the 'Oh Crap!  I'm fired' freakout I had at least three times in the past week, which would have been followed up with 'Phew! Not fired!'.  The most recent occurrence of this pattern was on Thursday this week, when the Musical Director said he was worried about me in front of everyone.  Which was followed by a major anxiety attack, a great night of not sleeping and questioning my existence, which was then followed on Friday morning with a very rigorous coaching, a clear strategy set, and a lot of encouragement.  This guy has got my number-- scare the crap out of me so I'm listening and then tell me he believes in me.  I work really hard under these conditions, apparently.  I don't really want to know what that says about me.

All this to say, that I'm being inducted into the crazy world of performance personalities.  I'm also being humbled by the incredible talent that surrounds me-- some amazingly good voices in the group, and I'm honored to be among them.   Most of all, I'm learning how to focus, how to execute, and how to quiet all the voices that crop up at the most inconvenient times to derail any real work that's being done and lead tired, unwary me down paths of 'This is what always happens to me...', 'Why did I wait so long to do this? I'm so behind'.  Blah blah blah.

And for that, I have a book recommendation.  The book The Inner Game of Tennis was recommended to me by two different people within a day of each other, and so I grabbed the last copy at Barnes and Noble.  This book is subtitled The Classic Guide to Peak Mental Performance, and can be applied easily to any performance or competitive endeavor.  I honestly think that book saved my ass this week.

Can you say ass on a blog?  I guess we'll find out.   For those of you who pray out there and are kind enough to add me to your list, pray that I would run and not grow weary.   Muchas Gracias.

Poem: A Morning Offering

 I bless the night that nourished my heart
 To set the ghosts of longing free
 Into the flow and figure of dream
 That went to harvest from the dark
 Bread for the hunger no one sees.

 All that is eternal in me
 Welcome the wonder of this day,
 The field of brightness it creates
 Offering time for each thing
 To arise and illuminate.

 I place on the altar of dawn:
 The quiet loyalty of breath,
 The tent of thought where I shelter,
 Wave of desire I am shore to
 And all beauty drawn to the eye.

 May my mind come alive today
 To the invisible geography
 That invites me to new frontiers,
 To break the dead shell of yesterdays,
 To risk being disturbed and changed.

 May I have the courage today
 To live the life that I would love,
 To postpone my dream no longer
 But do at last what I came here for
And waste my heart on fear no more.

John Donahue
 (To Bless the Space Between Us)

Marcellina, Part II

So, table read was last night.  When Figaro started the show counting in English instead of Italian, I knew I was home free.  I thought we were going to read the entire show in Italian, which would have made me extremely self-conscious.  Instead, I got to relax and bring the funny.

Marcellina is referred to as an old bat several times in the show, and I'm curious to know how I'm going to play that without the aid of makeup, a fat suit, or a costume that I can hide in.  This will be a minimalist/black box production with no money for any trimmings.  Still, its an opportunity to see what I can bring to life through thoughtful character work.  A challenge.

The cast is fun and friendly, and I think everyone wants to have a good time and get a long.  No divas here, which is great.  And I want to bring a sense of generosity and joy to rehearsal each day.  That is my goal.  I also want to be so well prepared that I can enjoy the process and the people.  So far, so good.

Hot City in the Summertime

Newsflash: it's hot.  It was 90 degrees last night at midnight, but with the humidity it felt like 95.  At midnight.  I'm not so sure I like this part of New York life.  It is, however, an excellent excuse to eat a lot of ice cream. 

Good news:  Park across the street from my house has a ginormous pool.  And adult lap swim every night at 7 pm.  I've invested in a cap and goggles and am headed there tonight.  Maybe I will end up liking it so much that I'll do a triathlon by the end of the year!  Or maybe I'll just stay cool this summer.

Home for the weekend

One of the major pluses of being in NYC is that not only do I live in the same city as my brother, but I'm well within driving distance of my sister Monica in Richmond, VA and my parents, who live in western PA.

So when Monica went to my parents house for the week so her kids could attend VBS at our home church, and when my sister Dora dropped off her kids at Grandma and Grandpas last weekend while she and her husband moved into a new house, I got to go home and visit all my nephews at once.  A weekend of Thomas the Train, Bob the Builder (who knew there were so many different pieces of construction equipment!), swimming at the pool, playing at the playground, going for ice cream and settling disputes that frequently came up over a general reluctance to share. 

Best quote of the weekend:

Daniel, age 4, while walking to church:  Aunt Joanna, don't you love how the letter P is formed?

Pics:

Excitement (and a little danger) in the Hood

I was somewhere between showering and dressing yesterday morning when I heard of ton of sirens and, peering out the window, saw 8 cop cars barrel down Morris Mark Parkway.  Thinking they were all on their way to some sort of emergency call somewhere I else, I thought no more of it.  Until I heard the helicopters circling my neighborhood, so I got curious.

I looked up 'Harlem police pursuit' on google and found an early report of a car crash on 122nd and Lenox Avenue, two blocks away, so I went out and took a look.  I'll show you pictures, but they're not very good.

Turns out the police were responding to a robbery and pursued a suspect, the suspect's car jumped a very large median and plowed into an oncoming car and several pedestrians.  What I saw out my window was the police pursuing some guys, who were running away from the crash on foot into the park across my street.

And then I read this article today in the WSJ:  armed robbery in broad daylight.  An elderly nun killed in the pursuit.  I walk by her convent every day.  And all this two blocks from my house.  So sad.

Marcelina, Part I

I'm currently prepping Marcelina for a July performance of The Marriage of Figaro, which means I'm doing weekly solo coachings, some ensemble coachings, and a lot of external reading-- some fun one's like the play the opera is based on, Beaumarchais' La Folle Journee, and some yawners like Charles Rosen's The Classical Style.

It's honestly been a little touch and go.  I got the role because someone else dropped out, and I have never done this type of singing-- my voice is a huge and a sometimes unwieldy honking horn, and my weaknesses in singing lie in the language and word area.  The Marcelina stuff is elegant, precise and wordy.  Not a match made in heaven.  I was trying to describe this to a friend in analogy, and the best I could do was basically say, 'think of an elephant on ice skates'. 

My coach has really been extremely patient, with only one or two despairing remarks thrown in along the way.  But sensitive little me is not used to being the slow achiever in the room, and I've been in a panic that he's going to replace me.  So, I've been hard at it all week--trying to find ways to get this stuff programmed into my body, trying to stay relaxed and focused while at the same time working my ass off.

It paid off-- I had a coaching yesterday.  He seemed pleased with my progress.  I could actually relax and enjoy working with him.   Better yet, I could see how I might be ready in time.

Divine Conspiracy

Yesterday's sermon was on the Blesseds, in particular Blessed are those who mourn.  I remembered that years ago I read Dallas Willard's book The Divine Conspiracy and was floored by what he said regarding the Blesseds/Beatitudes.  So, after hearing what Milind had to say about it on Sunday,  I pulled out TDC to see what Willard had to say.

I had forgotten how powerful this book is.  Opening the book and reading a couple of paragraphs had the effect of a strong spiritual magnet for me this morning-- aligning me to what is important, reminding me of the joy and power of the Kingdom of God, and helping me gently put aside the distractions that keep piling in on me, or perhaps, that I keep piling on myself.

And that these moments keep happening to me, that the right word keeps showing up when I need it, just reminds me of how incredibly kind God is, how near, how loving, how infinite his mercies.

On Sunday I got to read Lamentations 3:19-30 for the church, and in the middle of a very sad passage, there is this beauty:

Because of the LORD's great love we are not consumed,
for his compassions never fail.
They are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.
I say to myself, "the Lord is my portion; therefore I will wait for him."
The Lord is good to those whose hope is in him,
to the one who seeks him;
It is good to wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord.

Favorite Headshot Ever!!!

Why I love me some liturgy

Because I'm wandering around my house this morning, feeling wayward, lazy and very human.  I'm studying Carmen and I'm thinking about treachery, selfishness, sex, power and jealousy.  I'm worried about the role I'm learning, fearful of getting replaced, worried about money, my body and why the hell I'm doing all of this in the first place.  I can feel it all like a weight around my neck.  And then I remember the words of a prayer, because I repeat them every week at church:

Oh Lord, to you all thoughts are known, and from You no secrets are hid.  Cleanse the thoughts of our hearts by the inspiration of your Holy Spirit, that we may perfectly love you, and worthily magnify your holy name through Jesus Christ our Lord.  Amen.

God is present in all things, I can be radically present to Him at every moment, without shame, no matter what.

Which is a freaking amazing thought.

Why NYC needs another TJ's

The Bread aisle.  Seven o'clock on a weekday.

Thank heavens!  A new TJs is opening on the Upper West only a few stops away on the subway.  Saved!  We're saved!

Funny? I think so...

This brownstone is across the street from my apartment.  I can't walk by without chuckling...but then, I'm easily entertained.

Oh Happy Chaos!

I am exhausted.  Nursery duty today at All Angels.  11 kids, two adults, two hours, and not enough A/C.   

Hats off to all parents everywhere.

My feet were immortalized in song today

Apparently I'm the tall white lady in the black dress with the pretty feet.  At least, that's what one subway entertainer dubbed me the minute I stepped onto the downtown 2/3 this morning.  I was on my way to Home Depot to buy my second (and hopefully final) air conditioning unit because it is FREAKING HOT in New York today people!  I wasn't paying much attention to my surroundings because I was mesmerized watching this You Tube video of my dad playing Vanilla Rice: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ybz_z-3o3lc&feature=channel

So, I stepped into the subway car, laughing at my Dad's dancing, when I hear, "Ladies and Gentlemen, I will now sing this next song for the tall white lady in the black dress.  I will sing it to this lady right here with the pretty feet.  Here we go."  And without further ado, he starts singing "I've got sunshine, on a cloudy day..." skips the rest of the verse and goes right into "I guess you'd say what can make me feel this way?  The tall white lady with the black dress and the pretty feet with the college degree."  He stops singing, looks right at me and says, "Honey, if you were my girl, we'd go back to my place and I'd serve you Kool-Aid.   We'd drink it out of mayonnaise jars."

And with that, he moved onto The Barney Song, sang a quick Feliz Navidad (which he pronounced Police Navidad), and then off he jumped to the 1 train. 

Guess I won't get that Kool Aid then.

Last Night at the Apollo

Brian scored some sweet tickets to Amateur Night at the Apollo, so at 7:30 last night we were seated at the historic theatre where the many notable entertainers, including Michael Jackson, Ella Fitzgerald and my fave Aretha Franklin got their start.  Ben Vereen was the host for the evening. 

I should back up and say the reason Brian scored the tickets was that his friend Darryl was competing in a show made up entirely of teachers from NYC schools.  And that the audience was primarily made up of their STUDENTS.

You may already know that the Apollo encourages audience participation-- if you like them, you clap.  If you don't, you boo, and a character/dancer/entertainer comes on and stops whoever is doing whatever and mocks them off-stage.   

Now, imagine the dynamic. High school teachers performing for high school students who have the power to boo them off-stage.

Ladies and Gentlemen, it was a blood bath.

A bluegrass band barely made it through its introduction.  Spoken word poets were seriously discouraged from even starting.   Tap dancers and a modern dance troop were summarily dismissed.   A woman came out and started singing Gershwin's 'Summertime' and I was fearful for her life.  She didn't even get through the first word before the whole place erupted in boos. 

The ones who did make it through were one absolutely amazing spoken word poet (I'd never seen good spoken word, and it is awesome!), one dance group that was so weird and strangely sexual that you just had to watch, an excellent saxophonist who had the strategic advantage of being able to drown everyone out by putting his sax to the microphone and saturating the audio sphere, a band who was ABSOLUTELY TERRIBLE but sang  'Come to My Window' with such a piercing sound that you couldn't here anything for five minutes after, an old white guy who sang a bluesy song with references to drugs, sex and alcohol (which I guess made him cool), a girl who hoola-hooped (never seen it before: blacklight hoola-hooping), and Darryl.

Darryl is a young, smooth looking, immediately likable African American who sang 'Take it Slow' with a perfect touch.  Seriously, he was the only guy who walked on stage all night that I didn't brace myself for the terror to come-- he fit the venue, he chose music the kids knew and liked, his voice was amazing, and he knew how to perform.

And that's why he won.  At the end of the night, the audience cheers for who they want to win, and they wanted Darryl.  He now gets to compete for a chance at 10,000.  And I got to go home and listen to Bach.

Head Shots Here We Go

I've scheduled headshots with my new friend and amazing photographer Corey from church for the 13th.  Ironically, we're going to shoot on a Sunday instead of praising the Lord, but Corey says we should be done in time to go to the 5 o'clock.

I don't like getting my picture taken (Corey says most people don't).  And one has to prepare for said picture taking by engaging in two things I don't really like to do:  spending money and making definitive decisions about my appearance.  It's very vulnerable making.

Also, Corey really wanted to photograph me, partly because I look like I can really bring the heat-- intense, larger than life, putting it all out there Joanna.   Which I'm still trying to get comfortable with in my skin, and I always feel a bit silly about, even though I know a. It's why I'm attracted to opera in the first place and b. It's what will sell tickets to my shows, or what's going to get me hired.  I feel like I'm gonna fail, or look dumb.  But hey, it's just Corey, a camera, and me.  What's to fear?

So here we go--teeth whitening (the cheap kind), gym every day (why not), eyebrow waxing, clothes shopping, and trying to decide about makeup and hair. 

So, all my actor friends, you may be getting a phone call here pretty soon to talk strategy: clothes, hair, makeup and prices.  And, if you've got a funny story to share, I want to hear that too!

BBQs, dumpster diving and the pot smokers down the hall

Hello All!  I hope everyone had a lovely Memorial Day weekend.  I got to go bike riding in Central Park with Brian...

...where all the best of NYC frivolity and exhibitionism was on display, and went to a BBQ on Monday.  Saturday night I played the heroine at the Amore Opera company-- the Third Lady that was scheduled got sick, so I got called in at the last minute (well, 2 hours before curtain) to sing Third Lady in The Magic Flute.  After the show, I met up with Brian and his two friends to go hear The Renaldo The Ensemble-- quite a show.  If you're in NYC, we should go.

Today is back to singing and the mundanity of daily life.  Although it was fun to acquire two new pieces of furniture from the trash...

Paramount is shooting a movie up the street and their trucks are all over the place.  I confess, it made me a bit homesick for Los Angeles.

And finally, coming back into the building, I ran into the residential pot smoker.  The common hallways of my 7 floor apartment complex act as a chimney for all the fumage, so you can always tell when they're partying.  Good to finally put a face with the smell.  :D

On catcalls while walking down the street

As a female living in the heart of Harlem, there is no end to the male attention I receive.  That African American men can engage in this particular social interchange so easily, happily and habitually surprises me, since I have spent the majority of my adult life in circles where men barely make eye contact.  Talk about culture shock.

On my four block walk to the subway, I am chatted up, given random compliments, stared at, and, last week, 'offered' a 'part' in a movie.  As long as these overtures occur before sundown, I usually respond to all attempts with good-natured friendliness.

Guys who wish me a good day get a friendly good day back.  Men who offer me movie parts get a 'thank you for the compliment' and a goodbye wave.  Starers, my least favorite because they feel a little rude, get a brisk head-nod (I see what you are doing) or a curt hello (I'm not impressed).  It may be objectification, but I guess I'm not enough of a feminist to care.

Everyone knows that big city life can make a person feel small, invisible and lonely.  The skyscrapers alone are a lesson in humility.  Add in living shoulder to shoulder with the richest, most successful people in the world and your calibration of your own worth gets skewed.  Doesn't everyone want to be noticed, seen as valuable, worth knowing?   Is this one of the many small ways to combat invisibility, and put the lie to the insistent idea that one is not good/rich/pretty/important enough to talk to?

Did I just create a rationale for catcalls as an humanitarian good?  Oh dear.  Well, back to singing....

Living in the face of uncertainty without fear

I don't know if I have anything really profound to say on this subject, but I like the line.   I've been grappling with fear on a kind of low-grade basis for the past 24 hours, which is not surprising to me.  I have just come through a period of great activity and success, and now, after two days of recuperating, doing laundry and catching up on TV and netflix, the question stares me in the face: now what?  Which gets stretched into "what am I doing this for, anyway?" and "how much money do I have in my bank account?" and "wouldn't life be so much easier if I just got a REAL job?"  So I decided to do what I always should do when I feel that way-- go to the gym.

Working out seems to relieve, at least momentarily, a lot of the 'what am I doing again?' feelings that can accumulate in my bones and muscles and leaves me feeling less in my head and happy to be alive.  And it did.  And as an added bonus, while I was reading a magazine while going fast and high on the elliptical machine, this snippet from a sentence in an article caught my eye:  living in the face of uncertainty without fear. 

So that is my prayer and goal for this week-- that I can somehow walk, then jog, then run toward the next thing with joy in my heart, trusting God, enjoying life, and believing that God really can teach me to live so that the words of the Psalmist are a living reality:  I will fear NO evil, for You are with me.

Parents

My parents rolled into town on Friday to see my do my thing at The Magic Flute and also at the All Angels Coffee House on Saturday night.  It was great to have them here-- they loved my apartment, loved my view, loved my singing, loved my church.   While most of my weekend revolved around singing, my mom sewed curtains for my apartment on Saturday.

Is it bizarre that we are such good friends?  My parents are amazing people in themselves, and they seem to take great delight in the wacky things I do and the way I have been living my life.  They've been some of my biggest cheerleaders and closest confidantes along the way.

I am also impressed with how they continue to live full lives of good things.  My Dad just started visiting the men in the local prisons and has had great fun being 'Vanilla Rice' ala Vanilla Ice--he dresses up in a black turtleneck, a gold chain, and a pair of sunglasses to do raps for the kids at church!  My mom is running between different women's groups, helping elderly people to and from doctor's appointments, and sitting with a woman (one of the teachers at our local high school)  who is terminal with cancer.  They still love to camp, still love to read and discuss books, love to travel, love their grandkids, love life.

It's just one of those things that I didn't realize when I was a kid, or a teenager, or newly starting out after college-- my parents know me in a way that no one else in my life will.  They love me in a way no one else does.  And after working through all of the 'what did you do to me' crap and the 'I need to differentiate myself from you' stage, I get to enjoy knowing the two very unique, mature and wonderful people that are my parents.

Another Openin'...

Here we are in all our glory.  The three ladies.  Honestly, I've never felt less buxom in my life. And we had a blast last night, such a silly sort of fun-- all of us running around in ridiculous costume, chatting backstage, running on at our cue, coming off stage and laughing at whatever hilarity occurred (and there was plenty o' hilarity).  

During the overture, I was already in place hiding behind this rock pile where the ladies first make their entrance, when Pamina (the star of the show) discretely flags me down and says I've got this glorious bouquet of roses waiting for me.  Turns out my very sweet brother sent me two dozen roses, which now look beautiful on my piano.  

I've been dating this guy Brian for the past couple of weeks, and even though I warned him that this might be an amateurish show, he insisted on coming, flowers in hand.  I met him after, he took me to a wine bar and we got to laugh and talk through the show.  He kissed me goodnight, put me in a cab and I was whisked away home.

I feel a little fairy princess-ish at the moment.  Now, if I can only lick this cold....

Third Lady

Here's me in my costume as Third Lady to the Queen of the Night.  I have to tell you that the most fun we have all night is doing our eye makeup.  I and the First Lady and the Second Lady are in the first half hour of the show, and then wait forever for two small scenes in the second act, so we hang out and try to figure out how we can pile more glitter and more curleycues onto our faces.  Stage makeup is fun!  I think we'll make it even crazier for opening night.  

Otherwise this show is, well, let's just say that we've dubbed it the "Waiting for Guffman production of The Magic Flute".  I feel sheepish when family and friends say they are going to come.  I wouldn't wish this experience on anyone I liked.  However, in the tradition of my dear friend Staci, I'm going to practice thankful Thursday regarding this production:

This production has given me:

An opportunity to work on my craft-- I've been in an opera-- woo hoo!

To steady myself under adverse and slightly trying conditions: like when the blocking changes from day to day, not getting any feedback from the director, never being sure who you are going to be singing with and whether or not they know their music.

I am learning how to focus on stage;  there's a certain presentness to all that's going on that you have to have-- singing, music, tempo changes, conductors cues, fellow actors, etc.  Staying in the moment while having your radar up-- it's fun and a challenge.

I have gained confidence:  I'm better than I thought I was, and people come to me for help.  I'm getting compliments on singing, stage presence and acting.  

It has shown me where I make stupid mistakes that can easily be fixed by patient attention and self-control:  surprisingly, I'm the smallest physically of the three ladies.  And boy those other two are loud, especially since they are singing in a range where it is easier to be heard.  To trust that I can be heard, not to push, not to change anything, but stay confident in my technique and sound when everyone else seems to be drowning me out has GOT to be the major challenge of the night.

Ack, those pesky necessities, focus and discipline

I'm preparing for my dress rehearsal tonight for The Magic Flute, which goes up on Friday.  (I'm on opening night, yay!)  I've been sick for most of the rehearsal process (all one week of it) and today is the first day that I can actually think about trying to make a good sound.  Most of my rehearsals have just been trying to squeak something out while nailing down blocking with the other two ladies that make the trio.  We basically move as a unit around the stage, which I think makes us look creepily like a robotic show choir when we sing, but hey, I'm not the director.  So in singing along with the recording today to work through the parts, I'm noticing that I can, if I concentrate on it, sing very, very well.  The trick is to do it while you are moving and acting and gesticulating.  My voice teacher says singing opera is kind of like juggling while riding a unicycle and today that feels dead on.

I wish I had another week of rehearsal.  Oh well.  At least I get to do the role three times, so there's an actual chance of improvement over the course of the run of the show.  I'm thankful for the opportunity to try and kick some of my sloppy, bad habits and my 'oh-who-cares-its-going-by-so-fast-no-one-will-notice' attitude.   I can sing this very, very well and I will.  

Macbeth, au naturale

Last Saturday night, I went to see my friend and fellow ex-Ecclesian Brandon Morrissey trod the boards at the West End Theatre in the Frog and Peach Theatre Company's production of Macbeth.  My date and I paid for our tickets, found seats in the theatre and readied ourselves for the tragic deeds to come.  Pointing to the picture of Macbeth and Lady Macbeth in bed together on the front cover of the program, we joked that it looked to be a low budget production if they couldn't find any costumes for the leads.


The show was really good--amazing sword fights, good casting, a beautifully evil Lady Macbeth, Brandon was doing great.  But the weirdest thing happened when Macbeth goes off stage left to kill the king-- he comes back having lost all his clothes.  For no apparent reason.  I mean, he wasn't even carrying the clothes he had on him when he went to kill the king.  Where did they go?  Wouldn't a pile of his clothing at the side of the bed be evidence?  Doesn't he watch any crime dramas?  What's going on here?  Did he stash them in a broom closet?  I don't know, but there he is, having a fully normal conversation with his Lady standing in a hallway, stark naked and covered in blood.  I couldn't make heads or tails of the reasoning, but Lady Macbeth seemed to think it was a perfectly logical thing to do, because when she went off to check on the King (and his drunken guards) she came back less than 30 seconds later wearing no clothes either.  Wow.  

Full male nudity in a forty person theatre. What's a girl to do in those situations?   I was just so shocked by the weirdness of it.  It was in half-light, so I confess for a good part of the scene I was trying to figure out if he was really naked.   Which just makes a person stare harder.  Once I figured out that, yes, that man's junk is really out there on display, I tried to avert my eyes and keep paying attention to the dialogue-- after all, they did just commit murder, which I thought was pretty serious business.  But who are we kidding-- NOBODY in that theatre was listening to a word they said because we're all gawking/reacting/comparing/criticizing/envying these naked people.

Guess we were half-right about their being no budget for costuming, and least for five minutes of the show.

My Times Square Bomb Scare Experience

Oh Yes.  I have one.  It was that I was stuck in a subway tube for an hour and twenty minutes.

Little ol' me had a rehearsal up on 190th street at 5 PM and a date at 6:30 PM in the theatre district.  Already running late from my rehearsal, I phoned the gent to say that I was going to be late, that I was getting on the train at 6:15 and we agreed  since there was no way that I was going to make our 6:30 reservation that we'd meet at 7 and then head to the theatre at 8.  I then stepped into the subway.

And I stepped out at 7:55.

I stood the whole time.  The intercom didn't work, so though we knew that the dispatcher was trying to tell us something, none of us could hear a word.  We just sat in a dark tunnel for 10 minutes, then moved 100 feet, then sat for 10 minutes, then moved another 100 feet.  The only thing I could do to calm my raging irritation, anger and general helplessness was to repeat to myself, 'I recognize that I am not in control of this situation.  I accept that I can do absolutely nothing.'

To top it off, once I got landside at 59th street, picked up all the kind messages from my date saying that he figured I got stuck and he left my ticket at the theatre and he had a granola bar for me (great guy!), I  jumped in a taxi, gave him the address of the theatre and told him to step on it.  He kind of looked at me and shrugged and said, "you know, it probably would be faster if you just walked. "

So walked I did.  The House Manager who seated me late told me that there was a bomb scare, I put two and two together, and went in to see the show.  Only after the show, a late dinner, and a walk to Pinkberry, did we venture over to Time Square to see the action.

And then I took a taxi home.

I love you, Thomas Merton

"Prayer and Love are learned in the hour when prayer has become impossible and your heart has turned to stone."  Thomas Merton

What an encouraging thought.  How wonderful to hear that recognizing my emptiness and inability to love can be my best step toward God.  I'm so thankful today that the tired, anxious mess that I am can be viewed not as a failure who desperately needs to revise her entire life plan, but a woman poised to learn how to truly love God and others-- that the fact that I am bewildered and empty can be looked at as the first step in new growth.

Oh Lord, help me to remember that in quietness and trust is my strength.

Little West 12th

Last night was one of the most beautiful evenings in the city since I moved here.  Singing all day in the apartment, I finally left the my place around six and was surprised to find mild temperatures, a frolicsome wind to kick up my hair and a shiny sun to make me wish I had remembered my sunglasses.  It was an evening ripe for adventure.


And adventures I had, o yes.  I discovered the Meat Packing District along Little West 12th.  This area of NY promises to be a haunt for the upcoming summer months.  Not only is it near the new Highline Park, a groovy green space created on an old elevated railway bed running for blocks and blocks up and down the West Village, but it is also home to The Standard Hotel, which houses a BEER GARDEN, a huge outdoor area, sitting right under the aforementioned Highline Railway bed, and full to the gills with the afterwork drinking crowds.  Huge steins of beers, huge pretzels, lots of people, noise and fun.  I loved it.


The street is also packed full of amazing restaurants, including the one my brother works for, Pastis:

I would recommend this area for any foodie visiting New York-- from the cobblestone streets to the industrial turned hip warehouses, it's fabulous!

Flying-by-the-seat-of-my-pants-Opera-Singer

I keep getting emails late at night from this coach I'm working with, who apparently has more roles than he has singers to do them, or something.  Anyway, I'm now in three shows in the next four months:

--Third Lady, Magic Flute:  I got this yesterday and it opens in two weeks.  Thankfully, in English.  Three to four performances.
--Marcellina, The Marriage of Figaro:  Someone dropped out, and did I want to do it?  I play an OLD lady, comically.  In Italian.  Oh dear.  July 25th.
--La Zia Principessa, Suor Angelica:  Fun, mean, evil aunt.  Can't wait.  August 15th.

Maybe this explains the air-headedness?  My head is stuffed with music!