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.