Amphigory Alley

On Austria

2007-08-19T06:32:00.000-07:00

Note: OK, I'm actually back in NY now, but I'm too wiped to write something original. Here's my open letter from Austria that most of you have probably already seen. I'll post an update with further thoughts on the whole experience and a few comparisons soon. Here's a short tidbit though -- Austrian cabbies speak better English than their NY counterparts. Scary...

Graz has been wonderful. The town is beautiful; there's amazing
shoppping; there are so many amazing voices, and I have been blessed
to work with some truly fabulous musicians, directors, coaches, and
instructors. On the down side, I caught some plague about 12 days ago
and was out of commission for a week and missed A LOT of my German
classes.

Here are a few little tidbits should you choose to come visit Graz:

1. It is about 2 hours from Vienna. Graz is the heart of Styria, and
the Styrians pride themselves on not being "citified" like the
Viennese. In fact, a few weeks ago, the governor of Styria invited
all of the musicians to a special ball at this historic castle on the
outskirts of Graz. Normally it's a museum, but they opened it
especially for us. It's full of gorgeous paintings and tapestries and
is surrounded by acres of gardens stocked with peacocks!

2. There is no air conditioning ANYWHERE (this is probably why I got
sick). Today it was only in the 70s, but we had a crazy two-week heat
wave not long ago, and it just about killed us all. I have decided
that if the Europeans would just invest in air conditioning, their
productivity would seriously increase.

3. No stores are open after 6pm, and nothing is open on Sunday. It's
no wonder the Austrian economy is kind of whacked. Nobody works ...
except for those in the food industry, which leads me to the next
thing you should know:

4. Ninety-percent of the food here is fried. They fry EVERYTHING.
All main courses come with either potatoes or fries; there is no
escaping the starches. However, the fried cheese is pretty awesome.
Instead of mozzarella sticks with marinara sauce, you can have
camembert or emmentaler with cranberries. It's a real treat. Plus,
I've discovered that it helps to become a regular somewhere and make
friends with the cooks and/or waitstaff. You get the delicious things
they save for themselves (like this awesome juicy stuffed rotisserie
chicken I just had) and little extras like choclate rum sundaes...

5. Speaking of chocolate, if you have not had Mozart Kugeln, you're
missing out. Therefore, I'm bringing lots home for all of you. :-)

6. The Graz Opera has a huge season, so you should all definitely
check it out should you choose to visit. The Grazers also love their
Viennese operetta, and I've really enjoyed getting to explore more
operetta tunes here. I've been able to work with one of the most
famous Adele's (Die Fledermaus) of all time, and she definitely knows
her operetta. She coached me on an aria from Lehar's Paganini that
sang this evening at the St. Leonhard Pfarsaal (don't even ask me what
that word means, but St. Leonhard is the "suburb" in which we are
based), and I ROCKED. Just thought you'd all like to know. Anyway,
I'm bringing all of this wonderful music back with me, so we might
just have our own Operettenabend very soon... :-)

Should you decide to visit, I'm here for two more weeks, and I can get
you a great rate on a dorm room (sad but true, my room is only
slightly larger than my laundry room in Abilene). Heh.

Well, that's all for now. I must get to bed and continue to rest my
rather tired voice. I can't seem to rid myself completely of what our
staff doctor has termed "The Graz Gunk." Plus, the antibiotics make me
sleepy. You should all send me positive vibes, thoughts, prayers,
etc., because I would really like to be healthy for the next couple of
weeks.

Love to all and know that I appreciate all of your encouragement and support,
Opera Barbie

Cupid's Challenge

2007-02-05T11:27:00.000-08:00

Although I've taken a longer-than-usual hiatus from the blogosphere, I actually started several different posts that I just couldn't see through to conclusion. I've been working on one about Micah, one on how much these church of Christ gender roles "debates" bug the crap out of me, and one remembering my father, who died six years ago last week. I'm going to blame the heinously frigid weather and the gloomy entropy it brings for the fact that my brain can't muddle through anything of real depth right now, so I'll deal with a less angst-ridden issue.

Here's my current conundrum: I'm not sure where to take the Musical Genius for Valentine's Day this year (we alternate, and it's my turn again). For our first, we had Ethiopean. I don't remember exactly what we did the next year, but I think that we stayed in and ordered takeout on account of abysmal weather. In 2005, I picked Cafe Mozart -- excellent food, but very cramped quarters. Plus, it gets a little loud with the "special Valentine's jazz combo." Last year, MG chose Korean barbecue (which is actually just a spicier take on fondue and was much more romantic than it sounds), and I want to find something different and interesting for next week. I've checked out Citysearch, but nothing is really a sure thing. Some of the places that have the most appealing websites and menus receive some of the worst reviews. Any suggestions?

True Grits

2006-12-26T18:33:00.000-08:00

One would think that you could find a wide variety of grits -- and I do NOT mean the instant kind -- in a Georgia grocery store. However, I discovered on Saturday night that if one assumed this, one would be very wrong. I wanted to serve baked garlic cheese grits, which are delicious, as one of many side dishes at our Christmas Eve dinner. I assumed that procuring grits would be fairly simple. After all, I had made it to the South, where grits are a staple -- right? In actuality, I had to go to three different grocery stores before finding anything other than Quaker instant grits (which you cannot bake and which would not be appropriate to serve as a side), and the only option I finally found was a beaten up box from Aunt Jemima.

In contrast, every New York grocery store offers several types of grits. Odd.

Fum Fum Fum

2006-12-17T19:17:00.000-08:00

No, I have no idea what that actually means, but someone thought it would make a great title for a carol.

Today I think I spent about $70 on Christmas music at the iTunes store. This is a bit frightening, and I blame Auntie Amanda, whose Christmas craziness must be contagious (it also manifests itself in an uncontrollable urge to bake the most delicious confections imaginable). For Christmas, she gave me two CDs full of holiday tunes, and I just couldn't stop amassing more. I bought a whole Robert Shaw Chorale Christmas CD just for the nostalgia factor (I grew up singing in the Atlanta Symphony "Christmas with Robert Shaw" concerts -- amazing stuff).

And I just remembered one more that I need -- "Fairytale of New York" by the Pogues. Sadly, this song fits my current mood, brought on, of course, by chronic vocal schizophrenia (luckily tempered by Christmas almost-cheer -- my mood not my other issues), so it's definitely worth the $0.99.

Anyway, I'll leave you all with a list of the next 10 songs on my Christmas playlist (at 107 songs and climbing!) before I go cheer myself up with some of Auntie Amanda's bourbon balls and eggnog cookies (stolen from last night's Christmas fest).

1. "A Mad Russian's Christmas" from the Trans-Siberian Orchestra's Christmas Eve and Other Stories (it's the Nutcracker hyped up with electric guitars)
2. "Auld Lang Syne" by Guy Lombardo (this one's from Auntie Amanda)
3. "Winter Wonderland" interpreted by Macy Gray
4. "Christmas Is the Time to Say 'I Love You'" by Billy Squire (also from AA; I was totally unfamiliar with this one)
5. "Christmas Is Coming" from John Denver & the Muppets (courtesy of AA again; so fun that it makes me feel 5 again)
6. "Es Ist Ein' Ros' Entsprungen" by the Trapp Family (aka "Lo, How a Rose" as sung auf Deutsche by the Sound of Music fam)
7. "Corpus Christi Carol" from Jeff Buckley's Grace (It's a carol, so that makes it Christmas-y)
8. "O Holy Night (Minuit Chretien)" sung by Luciano Pavarotti (no Christmas collection is complete without this)
9. "All I Want for Christmas Is You" a la Mariah Carey (More Christmas Music from Amanda)
10. "Here Comes Santa Claus" from the Andrews Sisters' Christmas album (LOVE it)

And that's just a smattering. Now go make your own!

The One Word Quiz

2006-11-30T07:57:00.000-08:00

Since I am not feeling like doing expenses today (or anything else for that matter) and am too tired to write about my Thanksgiving or the Musical Genius' broken arm (broken on Thanksgiving and occassioning a visit to the St. Luke's ER that lasted until 4am!!!), I am taking a cue from Timesmacker and Little Light. Without further ado, the One Word Quiz:

From Udge. A kind of word association if you're looking for busy work.You can only answer with one word. No explanations.

1. Yourself: anxious
2. Your spouse: beloved
3. Your hair: blond
4. Your mother: precious
5. Your father: missed
6. Your favorite item: chair
7. Your dream last night: bizarre
8. Your favorite drink: red
9. Your dream car: spacious
10. The room you are in: soul-sucking
11. Your ex: fat
12. Your fear: shaming
13. What you want to be in 10 years: singing
14. Who you hung out with last night: love
15. What you're not: awake
16. Muffins: pumpkin
17: One of your wish list items: camera
18: Time: drags
19. The last thing you did: yawned
20. What you are wearing: red
21. Your favorite weather: sunny
22. Your favorite book: undecided
23. The last thing you ate: cantaloupe
24. Your life: okay
25. Your mood: sleepy
26. Your best friend: encouraging
27. What you're thinking about right now: pants
28. Your car: nonexistent
29. What you are doing at the moment: thinking
30. Your summer: unknown
31. Your relationship status: sustaining
32. What is on your TV: nothing
33. What is the weather like: spring
34. When was the last time you laughed: yesterday

Mystic!!!

2006-10-22T14:32:00.000-07:00

So after my last post, I figured it was definitely time for me to get out of the city for a little while. My sister C-Lovely kindly obliged and whisked me off for a weekend in Mystic, CT, courtesy of her firm's rather generous alt travel policy. Having spent countless hours over the last four years (pretty much since my family went without me) planning a Mystic minibreak, I was over the moon when she suggested it. And, minus the hassle of getting there, it was everything I thought it would be. Here are some observations from my trip:

1. Never, EVER take the George Washington Bridge if you want to go to Connecticut. It's not the 95 you want, and it will add HOURS to your trip.

2. A Cadillac is a nice way to go, but OnStar is pretty useless.

3. The Inn at Mystic: I'm not sure why it's featured in 1,000 Places to See Before You Die, but it was a charming and convenient place to stay, with gorgeous harbor views. It's not a bed and breakfast, but it comes close and provides more privacy and better amenities. Plus, the full breakfast buffet at the Flood Tide restaurant is delicious (and comes with your room). Dinner at the Flood Tide is quite a treat, as well. Down side -- the not-so-friendly staff and the power issues. Warning: Do not try to use your own hairdryer.

4. Penguins: The highlight of our visit was the Mystic Aquarium's Penguin Contact Program. Ten of us sat in a very small, relatively sterile room with a seventh-month-old penguin chick named Green Pink (colorful naming convention, right? Each penguin has a two color combination name and wears those colors in a beaded wing braclet), who waddled among us, played with buttons and tassles on our clothes, hair, strings, camera cords, and anything she could wrap her beak around. We were able to pet her back and scratch her neck and even listen to her heartbeat with a stethoscope. Since we sat near the door, she seemed to gravitate towards me and the man next to me, so we had TONS of penguin contact. It was amazing. Run, don't walk to participate in a program like this if you ever have the chance.

5. Mystic Pizza: Truly a slice of heaven and not remotely on my diet. Strangley, we ran into the special agent's favorite IT guy there on his way back from the WVU/UConn game and a detour to Gillette Castle (which I am saving for a future trip. Bottom line: Delicious pizza, great service, and the movie's not bad, either.

6. Paolo Coelho: He has nothing to do with Mystic, CT -- unless discovering Mystic is my Personal Legend (Although Mystic is delightful, I rather hope this is not the case). Sister C recently discovered The Alchemist, and we explored every bookstore in town in search of more Coelho books for her. After much urging, I decided to buy myself a copy of The Alchemist (I borrowed Dawne's a few years back, but I don't remember much about it) and rediscover it for myself. When I finally update my links in the sidebar, it might appear under "What I'm Reading," along with several other books, including one by my hero, Coach K.

7. B. F. Clyde's Cider Mill: The last steam-powered cider mill, this anacronistic gem was pretty nifty. We watched them press apples, and I picked up a half-gallon of cider for Thanksgiving, along with homemade, no sugar added strawberry preserves and maple pumpkin butter (way too sugary, but who cares?).

Well, folks, that hits the highlights. Definitely worth repeating. Maybe I'll retire there...

Grouchy Smurf

2006-10-11T19:57:00.000-07:00

Tonight I hate New York. I hate whiny nieghbors with their screaming kids. I hate leering doormen and security guards. I hate the infinite exercise in torturous tedium that passes itself off as my job. I hate Times Square with its tourists walking slowly four abreast. I hate the crappy grocery stores with their half-dead produce and illiterate cashiers and stockers who don't know the meaning of customer service, let alone how and when to employ the phrase, "excuse me." I hate my ass of an associate who tried to blame his utter incompetence on me this afternoon when he forgot to include labels on a chart. I hate loud people on the subway. I hate whoever knocked on my door and left a nasty note this evening while I was singing in the shower. I have to suck up all the noise in this godforsaken apartment building -- your kids, all the running and jumping around, the drummer upstairs, the screaming boys on four, all of the yippy dogs, and the car alarms that go off at 3am. The least you can do is grin and bear it while I finish rehearsing what I have to audition with tomorrow evening. It's called New York. If you can't take it, move to Purchase.

Please Turn in Your Songbooks to Number 571

2006-09-05T17:04:00.000-07:00

One of my most vivid, and most admittedly bizarre, childhood recollections involves the hymn, “Trust and Obey.” When I was 3-4 years old, this was one of my favorite songs. It has a slightly martial rhythm and uncomplicated melody, and I absolutely adored it. Whenever we sang it at church (and probably at home), I would belt it out at the top of my small, yet already powerful, lungs to the delight my father, a bari-tenor who loved to sing and frequently led singing at our congregation.

However, on the particular occasion so ingrained in my memory, my father was a bit horrified with my ecstatic joy in singing “Trust and Obey.” It was either a Sunday or Wednesday evening service, and he had been tapped as the song leader. My sister Laura was still too young for evening church, and my mother was keeping her in the downstairs nursery. I couldn’t believe my luck! I was going to get to sit on the front row with Dad! For a daddy’s girl like me, there was no better treat. He was always proud of the way I sang out boisterously; little did I know that this time would be an exception.

For most of the service, I was able to contain my enthusiasm and just belted out the tunes. However, when he announced, “Let us be standing,” and sang the opening, “When we walk with the Lord...,” it was apparently too much exhilaration for my 3-4 year old constitution. I just couldn’t be still and started marching/dancing along with the martial, dotted rhythms, and by the time we reached the chorus, I must have really had my groove on. That is, until I looked up at the pulpit and saw the abject horror on my father’s face. Almost immediately one of the deacons raced down front to grab me and wrestle me back into a seat.

I was perplexed and confounded. I couldn’t wrap my brain around their strange behavior. After all, I was just giving God all the glory in song, right? I mean, “there [was] no other way to be happy in Jesus,” right? Well, I guess my father didn’t agree, because my bewildered bottom received a sound spanking once he was free of the service. “Trust and Obey” has never quite held the same allure since.

This also might explain why I’m such a terrible dancer...

Body by Infomercial

2006-08-20T20:30:00.000-07:00

I hardly ever watch infomercials. In fact, I generally become annoyed that Law & Order isn't showing and change the channel. However, every so often, when I am extremely bored, a little depressed, or suffering from insomnia, I am sucked into one of the many half-hour "Have a Brand New You with Minimal Effort" pitches that play on almost every channel in the wee hours of the morning or on the weekend.

My first foray into "Body by Infomercial" was the Swimsuit Perfect six-day diet and exercise plan. I embarked on this six day arduous ordeal the summer of my sophomore year in college. It was a dismal failure, and I demanded and received a refund. Here was the gist of the plan: One ate 3-5 small meals a day, drank several special "Swimsuit Perfect" teas, and did at least 18 minutes of cardio a day (apparently, the body doesn't start burning fat until after 18 minutes). The meal plans were atrocious and absolutely painful, especially for an Epicurean such as yours truly, yet I followed them to the letter. I even boiled my chicken -- a nasty way to prepare chicken that leaves it completely tasteless and almost impossible to eat. After this week of famine, I saw virtually no change in my physique, which irony of ironies, I would be so happy with now, and I vowed never to try anymore infomercial diet plans.

Fast forward a couple of years to the emergence of Proactive solution, my second stop on the Body by Infomercial Train. Of course, this was before P. Diddy, Vanessa Williams, and Jessica Simpson tried it, but strangely Rodan & Fields never asked me to endorse their product. I don't really remember whether or not the skincare products were effective, but I do remember that they kept sending me replacement products that I did not order and billing me for the aforementioned. A poor graduate student who had to spend almost all of her student loan to replace a drowned car, I had no patience for this financial hassle, and I pledged never again to order any more beautifying infomercial products.

And yet, five or six years later, I am once again taken in by an infomercial promising me gorgeous thighs in just twenty to thirty minutes a day. I couldn't resist purchasing that marvel of physics, the Lateral Thigh Trainer. Of course, the company forgot to send me the free resistance bands that I was to receive for ordering within the next 18 minutes. Maybe that's why it didn't work and ended up relegated to different closets in the apartment before it came to rest in the streetside garbage pile.

When will I learn? A few weeks ago I purchased my latest Body by Infomercial package, the Slim in 6 plan. I was once again seduced by the standard "look like this in 30 minutes a day blah blah blah."

The ginormous package I received included DVDs, resistance bands, and various booklets, most on eating well, and they also sent along a "free" measuring tape. At least this time I received everything I ordered; however, many of the diet suggestions are conflicting. One booklet says to plan your meals based on the 40-30-30 plan outlined by Barry Sears (I happen to love the Zone diet, so this sounded good to me); however, another section recommended snacks more along the lines of 80-20-0. I received a useful book of recipes for low glycemic index foods, but the portions were way too tiny for anything more than a snack, and they didn't really confirm to the 40-30-30 rule, either. Somebody named Mishi also came up with a food pyramid that they sent along, which is helpful and interesting, but not really a dietary regimen. You can visit the website and receive a "customized" meal plan, but these are pretty bland and a bit incomplete.

Of course, I discovered upon playing the DVDs that only the start up video, which is used on solely the first two days, is close to 30 minutes in length. I believe that for the duration of the plan, I will be committing 60-90 minutes a day. This is a bit frustrating because my time is quite limited as it is. Furthermore, I can only workout at least three hours after a meal, but I have to eat 5 times a day every 2-3 hours. Given my schedule, this means I can only work out in the mornings or three hours after my last meal. If you know me, you realize this is not going to happen given that I can barely get to the office before noon as it is and that the Musical Genius has a hard time preparing the evening meal before 10:00pm. I am compromising by working out at least two hours after I eat; this is the best I can do.

In short, I don't think I'm going to be a Slim in 6 success story. However, after 5 days on the plan, I do feel much better, and while I'm not completely following the oft-conflicting dietary suggestions, I feel much better and am no longer recessing into blood-sugar-crash coma between 3-4 in the afternoon. The workouts are thorough but doable for the most part -- although I think I might have pulled one of my obliques and don't know how I'll manage through that and the menstrual cramps I'll be having this evening and tomorrow (sorry if that's TMI). I guess I'll find out. Ironically, while I have 30 days to demand my money back, it's a 42 day plan. At present, I'm leaning towards seeing it through to the end. I suppose I'll just have to run the risk of being conned by the infomercial monkeys once again.

The Expense Syndicate

2006-08-03T08:58:00.000-07:00

I have discovered during my time in the financial services industry that small people who have no authority, garner little respect, and are frustrated because they are not higher on the corporate food chain often like to lord whatever power they think they hold over whomever they can get away with oppressing. Sometimes, given my association with the special agent who keeps the firm afloat, I escape the badgering. However, on too many occasions I am not so lucky. Consider my latest run in with Very Annoying Assistant from what I'll call The Expense Syndicate, populated by those small people referenced above.

But first, by way background, you need to know several things:

As a temp, I used to review expenses on our old (and better) system. Very Annoying Assistant submitted the worst, most convoluted expense reports I have ever seen. She was always including itineraries and travel approvals for trips not even remotely associated with the receipts she submitted while, of course, for the submitted receipts, there was no documentation. Why VAA was even considered to review other people's expenses reports is beyond me.
My expense reports are incredibly thorough and detailed, and when we were still using the old (and better) system, people from Accounts Payable used to e-mail me to thank me for creating such fabulous reports, supplemented with memos that should be up for literary awards.
The new expense system has been the bane of my existence. Even though in beta testing I brought up many potential problems and ways in which it would complicate my life and suck my will to live, all of my concerns were ignored. Now Accounts Payable must audit all of the special agents reports and Amex bills for the past year because his accountant and I are having a terrible time getting his corporate Amex statements to reconcile (which I told them would happen). While I love going the extra mile for my favorite super spy, both he and I think that it is ridiculous that I should be forced to spend all this time on the phone with his personal accountant because The Expense Syndicate insists on making the creation of an expense report into some Rube Goldberg project.

The special agent and his occasional diva fits strike such fear in the hearts of The Expense Syndicate that they rarely, if ever, bother me about his reports -- except to reject our annual department Christmas lunch, which still irks me seven months later. However, his associate generally strikes people with something else not so useful, so when I submitted his taxi expenses, VAA promptly sent the report back with the following:

B: Please change the the [sic] conference/seminar expenses to taxi travel. List the conference as the business purpose. Also tell associate that he will need to keep the white credit card copy, not the pink, as it is much more legible. Thanks, VAA, Most Incompetent Person on the Planet.

Seriously. Seriously?!! She sent the report back because two cars to conferences were charged as conference-related expenses and she didn't like the color of the car receipts! When I told her that technically he was not traveling, and that the receipts were conference-related as she could see by the conference documentation I had to dig up off the web because associate had lost it, she rudely and patronizingly told me that associate was "traveling" to a function (this was even worse than when she tried to show me how to do long division, a pointless and irritating encounter I won't transcribe here). While I could see her point (I always note the special agent's cars to meetings as taxi travel; the temp had just made an entry error, and I hadn't caught it), to send something back for such a petty reason seemed a bit much to me -- especially considering that when I reviewed expenses, the Reviewing Guru was very insistent that we not send things back -- even VAA's abysmally incoherent reports -- unless it was absolutely necessary because it's simply not nice to increase someone's workload and annoy them when you can easily remedy the problem yourself (in this case, by changing the business purpose or just ignoring it -- it's a freaking taxi expense!).

Furthermore, I hate -- HATE -- being addressed as B. You know my name; print the whole thing out. I do not go for nicknames, and certainly not for initials.

However, it was mostly her utter rudeness and almost palpable schadenfreude-ish malicious glee over $30 in taxis that completely enraged me. I almost quit my job -- literally -- over this mess. I left for an hour in the sizzling heat and almost did not come back because I was so furious. This one situation is just a microcosm of the absurdity that goes on in this place every freaking day (but less today, Auntie M, because your old boss in not in the office).

In dealing with this, the associate, whose expenses are already closely scrutinized because he keeps taking cars at unauthorized times and eats his overtime meals at shady, illicit restaurants (not really -- they're just not on our corporate dining site) decided that VAA and her close friend, Annoying and Incompetent Office Manager, are emissaries of the "how to inflect maximum annoyance" mafia. While he and I don't agree on much (though since I so skilled in dissimilation, that would be news to him), we definitely see eye to eye on this. I sooooo need to quit this job.

The Special K Challenge

2006-07-28T12:03:00.000-07:00

In preparation for my weekend in Saratoga, during which I fully intend to swim somewhere, I decided to try to slim down a tad with the Special K challenge. For those who don't remember or haven't seen the commercials, you're supposed to replace two meals a day with a bowl of Special K (or, in my case, Special K Redberries, which has a little more taste).

I had embarked upon the Special K challenge a year ago with some success, so I figured I'd give it a go again. Only this time, I think I've not risen to the proverbial challenge -- mostly because I hate being hungry. I'm sorry, but having only 100 calories for breakfast (plus milk and, in my modified version of the SKC, a boiled egg) and lunch simply puts me into a coma by 3:00 pm. It's just not sustainable. In fact, today I chose not to sustain it and had a cheeseburger and chocolate chip cookie for lunch. Moreover, it's 3:40 pm, and I'm feeling more awake than I have all week.

Interestingly enough, I haven't seen any commercials advocating the SKC lately. Now Special K is simply trying to take back breakfast. I chalk this up to the fact that after replacing two meals with little more than flaky-textured air, no one has the energy to go grocery shopping. Hence, cereal sales were probably down.

Wilkommen!

2006-07-24T18:41:00.000-07:00

That is how I was welomed by my new Macbook, and I must confess that I am already truly, madly, deeply in love with it. I honestly do not mean to sound like an advertisement, but it is an amazing machine -- with built in wireless. The Musical Genius has been goggling at it and is still flabbergasted that I am on the net without a modum and sans Earthlink, AOL, et al.

I have been rather impatiently awaiting its arrival for the past 10 days, but once it was out of the box, starting up and getting on line was truly a snap. And I can't wait to try out all of the super fun applications. Scary. I really do sound like an ad.

Planning My Mini-Break (For Real)

2006-07-18T13:04:00.000-07:00

When the Musical Genius finally, after years of prodding, agreed to take a weekend mini-break with me on Sunday, I was beyond overjoyed. However, it seems that I might have been counting my chickens before they hatched. For starters, we are not going to Mystic, my destination of choice and for which, for the past three years, I have been planning the mother of all weekend trips. Instead, we have decided to go to Saratoga Springs.

Our main reason for picking Saratoga is that Marcie, a soprano with whom MG has been working for at least 15 years, is singing with the Philadelphia Orchestra at the Saratoga Performing Arts Center that weekend. Unfortunately, the events at SPAC coincide with the summer Thoroughbred racing season, which is seriously complicating my trip planning.

The most annoying thing about the racing season is that all of the area bed and breakfasts extend their minimum stay to 3 nights -- even for a weekend -- and up their prices by in some cases over 100%. Even if I wanted to pay for time I wouldn't use, it's difficult to find an available room, even with three weeks lead time!

Nevertheless, the most difficult aspect of my quest for Saratoga accomodations is finding a smoking room for MG. I have found cheap motels, RV parks, and campgrounds that will allow smoking (Joy! Just where I wanted to stay on my idyllic upstate mini-break); however, it has been virtually impossible to find charming lodgings that welcome the smoking set, especially given racing season parameters. I even looked at a dairy farm bnb with Holstein cows!

Of course, now that this short vacation with my beloved is actually within my grasp, I'm certainly not going to give up just because most people are averse to carcinogens. However, there must be a smoke-friendly inn or bnb somewhere -- or at least one with balcony or porch connected to an available room, and I am determined to find it. I will not spend my weekend getaway in a Days Inn or -- worse -- a glorified trailer park! And I want someone to cook me a five course gourmet breakfast!

Independence Days

2006-07-07T13:34:00.000-07:00

I just returned from an incredibly lazy six day stint in Tennessee, most of which was spent at my mom's riverside cabin, aptly named "The River House." It's a bit of a family tradition to celebrate the Fourth of July there. For as long as I can remember, my mother's whole clan has gathered there for swimming, sun, boating, fishing, skiing, and canoeing -- not to mention grilling out -- one time my aunt even made her own beer-battered hushpuppies -- and feasting on homemade ice cream.

This trip was appropriately relaxing and replete with an afternoon aboard a pontoon boat, and the homemade peach ice cream that followed was fantastic. I even treated the fam to my new breakfast specialty, cinnamon raisin French toast English muffins (say that five times fast). However, perhaps the most amazing thing about my six days away was the fact that for four of them, not even a smidgen of makeup touched my face, and I didn't even unpack my blowdryer. If you know me, that should astound you.

18 Inches

2006-06-29T13:59:00.000-07:00

If I remember correctly -- or I could have made this up -- there is an invisible bubble with an 18 inch radius around each of us. It encompasses our personal space. Maybe for some people, the bubble is smaller, and for some I'm sure its diameter is even wider. However, most of us know the moment that bubble has been breached. For some reason, if someone we don't normally allow in our personal spaces decides to move within that 18 inches, we sense it immediately. Personally, I instantly feel my shoulders tense up, and my jaw clenches. It's as if I'm bracing for an imminent invasion. While I could be an extreme case (which I doubt), I know I'm not the only one who reacts this way; check your own response. Given the universality of this experience, it completely blows my mind when idiots get on an almost empty elevator with me and proceed to invade my 18 inches when they could be taking up space several feet away from me.

Of course I'm "here," I just went around the corner for waffles...

2006-06-21T09:33:00.000-07:00

While I am not crazy about my job per se, I always enjoyed working with AuntieM, who totally rocks. And, of course, the special agent is a pretty great guy. Assisting in saving the world economy is not a bad gig, all things considered. However, now that AuntieM is gone, I have to put up with the other nuts in this place all by myself. Her "replacement," Miss Punctuality, is certainly no substitute, and furthermore, she seems to be on a mission to get me fired.

It's no secret that I can't be counted on to arrive on time for anything unless my life (or my voice) depends on it. I'm reasonably punctual for lessons, auditions, rehearsals, and the like, but showing up at the office on time (whatever that means now) is a completely different matter. I have a terrible time waking up in the morning, and the fact that I kind of abhor life in the financial services industry doesn't exactly spur me onward towards the office. I do make an effort if I know that the special agent may need my help before 9:00am, but otherwise, my beauty sleep (and my vocal health!) takes precedence.

However, although everyone seems to know that I'm rarely at my desk at 9am (or even 9:30am lately), I don't think it's appropriate to broadcast this fact, which Miss Punctuality does on a regular basis. Is she trying to teach me a lesson? Is she trying to make the special agent angry with me? Why does she persist in telling anyone who calls for me or stops by before I come in that I have not made it to work yet (emphasis hers)? What is to be gained from this? Can't she just say that I'm not at my desk? Or that I've run out to get breakfast? While I realize that I should just suck it up and get up in the morning, she should learn that it doesn't pay to make your colleagues look bad -- especially when you don't know how to do their jobs and would be completely screwed if they got fired. Which probably won't happen, but still -- I don't want the special agent to become unhappy with me. She told him at 10:15 that I wasn't in YET, and I have a feeling that I will receive a stern 90 second lecture when he returns from his current mission.

Speaking of missions, it has not been a good week thus far for the special agent. He's run into some pretty icky snares lately. Canceled flights, UPS bungles, stolen toiletries -- it hasn't been pretty. To top it off, we discovered this morning while he was waiting for yet another delayed flight to a far off land (destination TOP SECRET), that someone had cloned his cell phone and run up a large bill in the thousands -- probably by making calls to Namibia or Nigeria. Needless to say, he is not a happy camper today, and I don't think that being told that I wasn't in yet at 10:15am did anything to help his temperment. And really, the Number 1 Most Important Task of an assistant to a superspy is making sure that said secret agent is in a good mood. The economy depends on me, and I cannot fail!

Rookie of the Year

2006-06-20T10:49:00.000-07:00

First of all, congratulations to DJ and Eric on the birth of their little cowgirl! They are sure to be the best rookie parents of the year and deserve all kinds of accolades and accompanying brouhaha. However, the title of this post refers to the New York Liberty's Sherill Baker, and if you have not seen her play, you need to find a way to get to Madison Square Garden and cheer her on. She's phenomenal!

My sister, Citizen-C, also a capable baller, is Sherill's biggest fan. She and Sherill's older brother were classmates and friends, and C-Lovely and Sherill used to play pickup games when Sherill was just in junior high (but still dominated anyone who dared step on her court). C wore #22, which Sherill adopted for her own in high school, and after Sherill's amazing performance at GACS, the number was retired. When I moved back to Atlanta and started teaching voice at the school, Sherill was playing varsity. Ever the basketball lovers, my family and I cheered her on at almost every game. C was Sherill's staunchest supporter, and we traveled to Macon to watch her dominate in the state tournament and lead her team to a championship (or two?). C and I were also front and center at the Naismith Awards, at which Sherill was named Miss Georgia Basketball. We even made the trek to Chattanooga for the Georgia/Tennessee girls basketball allstar game, for which C had made her own "Go Sherill" T-shirt.

Fast forward a few years. Sherill has finished up school at UGA (where she broke records and performed impressively in spite of the fact that Andy Landers didn't really know what to do with her), and like me, she's found her way to New York. Unlike me, she was drafted by a WNBA team and has a job doing what she loves. Also unlike me, she has an agent!!! Who gets her work in Italy!!! Anyway, while I wish that my operatic career more closely paralleled her basketball career, it is an undeniable fact that Sherill Baker rocks! And I, wearing my autographed Sherill Baker Liberty #10 Jersey, am going to see her play tomorrow night at Madison Square Garden! She is amassing some pretty amazing buzz and some impressive stats, and tomorrow is the last chance to vote to send her to the WNBA AllStar Game (which you can bet I will do). She's definitely my vote for WNBA Rookie of the Year, and all I can say is that the special agent had better get me a ticket to the Beijing 2008 Olympics. I'm betting that Sherill could be on her way to that milestone, too.

Alimentary Amore

2006-05-18T11:33:00.000-07:00

Two of Mike Cope's recent posts jumped out at me today, and both are culinary-themed. The ones on hymns snagged me last week, but after reading through the 100+ comments on each music-related post, I really have nothing to add to that discussion that probably hasn't been said ad nauseum. However, I can't pass up the posts on Starbucks and the Food Ladies because . . .

I LOVE Starbucks and Food Ladies!!!

Or maybe because . . .

I LOVE FOOD!!!

I'll return to the Food Ladies tomorrow, but I'll address my love of Starbucks today (incidentally, you must try the banana creme frappacino -- delish). For starters, one must understand that I passionately adore food, sometimes in an almost scary way. It really frightens my youngest sister, who thinks that my delight in dining is a bit bizarre. While I'm not really a total Epicurean, I enjoy food enough to sit around reading cookbooks and surfing the web to find interesting restaurants and B&Bs (with amazing breakfasts) that I would like to visit. I can't help it -- good food makes me happy, and it makes me feel good.

Part of it has to do with my blood sugar sensitivity, I'm sure. When I get too hungry or go too long between meals, I experience pretty bad depression and become amazingly short tempered and even weepy. Nothing cures these shortterm doldrums like some of my Musical Genius' best salmon dip.

Food is also effective on my more serious bouts of sadness that aren't even blood sugar related. My first birthday after my father died, my sister Citizen-C took me out to dinner and a Lakers game. I was mopey, depressed, and irritable all the way to the restaurant, but once I looked at the menu and ordered my glass of red wine and interesting dish with pesto and goat cheese, I started to perk up almost immediately -- before we even saw physical food.

However, my fondness for Starbucks also has a lot to do with my joy in sharing delicious delectables with people I love. At some point, Starbucks became my happy place. Not only are the specialty drinks delicious (especially the Christmas ones), but I'm usually enjoying them with friends and family. Meeting Auntie M for coffee has become one of the highlights of my week. I remember fondly sharing gingerbread or eggnog lattes and apple cider with Mom and Sarah after the symphony, having a chai latte with Cori after a crazy evening at the Grill, and slurping frappacinos with Wells before or after a looooong day of teaching. Going back even further, I loved having Starbucks espresso shakes from the Bean Sprout in the middle of day with my music department buddies. The yummy caffeinated concoctions and companionship were just what I needed to run the emotional gauntlet of a late afternoon voice lesson. It's no coincidence that "Mucho gusto," which is a Spanish idiom for "pleased to meet you" has the same roots as gustatory. For someone like me, friends and food are ofter intertwined.

Not only was Starbucks a great place to go with friends, but it was also a great place to be alone, and a quiet place of escape. I would pop into the one right across from the GACS music building in between hostessing and teaching and have a latte (and maybe a cookie or toffee bar) and read a novel or write a bit. I did my best Bible studying there. Now I might frequent the one on 110 and Broadway and work on translations or journal. For some reason the atmosphere is just right -- sometimes more comfortable than my own couch.

I haven't even mentioned the Starbucks Bearistas . . . which I won't start on, but I just adopted this one after a tough day, and he makes me smile. And who can overlook the Hear Music collections, particularly the Artist's Choice series, which began with one of my favorite CDs ever.

Anyway, there's so much more I could say, but I'll save my inspiration for the Food Ladies tomorrow or Monday.

Crazy Skinny Lost Girl

2006-05-09T09:06:00.000-07:00

Caveat: This post is going to make me sound evil and insensitive to the plight of a loony, drugged-out nutcase. I'm really not; I am normally rather compassionate, and this person obviously could use some compassion along with real help of the psychological variety. However, I have been under quite a bit of stress lately, and I just want to be left alone. I'm seriously thinking about writing to Gothamist and calling Morningside Public Safety about her -- especially when she goes into muttering and stomping mode. Read on and forgive my momentary lapse of goodwill.

I first ran into Crazy Skinny Lost Girl, or CSLG, a couple of months ago on a Sunday afternoon not too far from D'Agostino's at 110 and Broadway. However, I think she's been haunting the Columbia University area with increasing frequency for the past five or six months.

Actually, Daughter was the first to encounter CSLG. She ran into her near Morningside Park when out walking the "family" dogs several months ago. CSLG has since abbreviated her schtick, but Daughter received the full measure of the insanity. It went something like this:

CSLG: (in a very high voice) Excuse me, can I ask you for directions.

Daughter: Um . . . OK . . .

CSLG: I fell and hit my head (or something like that) because I have an eating disorder, and St. Luke's won't treat me because I have an eating disorder, so I need to get to somesuch eating disorder treatment center (St. Mark's?) on Eighth Street. Can I walk there from here? Is it close?

Daughter: No, not really. Couldn't they take you in an ambulance?

CSLG: Provides some weird excuse I can't remember. My sister could take me. Do you have a cell phone? We could call her.

Daughter: Well, I'm just out walking the dogs. I don't really have anything with me.

CSLG: Can we go back to your apartment to get it?

Daughter: Um . . . You could take a cab.

CSLG: I don't have any money, and I can't talk to men. I can't touch money. It's unclean. Maybe you could hail the cab, tell him where to go, and give him the money for me.

Daughter: Uh . . . I don't have any cash on me. I'm just out walking the dogs, and I really have to get back to the apartment. Worst case scenario, you could just stiff the cabby.

CSLG: But he would be a man. I can't talk to men. They scare me. They're unclean. But you could talk to him for me. We could go back to your apartment, and you could get some money.

Daughter: I wish I could help you . . . Look, there are a couple of policemen over there. I'm sure if you explained your predicament to them, they would drive you down to the clinic.

CSLG: Starts muttering and stomps off.

Until a couple of months ago, I just thought this was a bizarre, slightly amusing story. CSLG definitely scores points for creativity. At least this was how I felt before CSLG started stalking me. OK, she's not really stalking me, but she has decided to lurk almost daily, without fail, on the stretch of 110th between Broadway and Columbus and has, as of this morning, asked me for directions to this eating disorder facility at least FIVE times. The first time, I was polite and listened to her for a couple of minutes simply because I remembered Daughter's story and kind of wanted to hear this mess for myself -- except that I was running late for a voice lesson. She told me that I seemed very approachable. I think this is sometimes not such a good trait to have.

The second and third times, I just told her I couldn't stop because, once again, I was running late for something (sadly, this was true -- I am late for life). She started stomping around and muttering to herself.

However, the fourth time, I was a little bit peeved. I had been having a bad day and really did not want to be bothered by CSLG or any other crazy person roaming the streets of New York. I said, "Look, both I and a friend of mine have given you directions before. You've been looking for this place for six months. You could have walked there from here a gazillion times already. If you have not found it yet, you are not going to find it." I did not stick around to hear what she would have muttered back.

Naively, I thought that after my mild invective, CSLG would stop bothering me. I know other people in our building have had similar run-ins with her, and my Musical Genius has called her on this scam or whatever it is several times (apparently, she now needs directions so badly that some men are no longer "unclean"). However, as I was speedwalking to the subway -- late for work again -- who should approach me with her crazy, whiny, "Excuse me, can I ask you for directions?" This time I just sighed and said no. Maybe she'll have better luck this evening.

2006-04-20T13:37:00.000-07:00

It's Not Easy Being Green...

You Are Kermit

Hi, ho! Lovable and friendly, you get along well with everyone you know.You're a big thinker, and sometimes you over think life's problems.Don't worry - everyone know's it's not easy being green.Just remember, time's fun when you're having flies!

The Muppet Personality Test

2006-03-10T14:10:00.000-08:00

The Unveiling

Here it is: Post #1. And I have nothing to say. I'm still trying to work on the template, and I just want to preview it, which I cannot do without having at least one post. Whose bright idea was that? Whenever we are developing a new product for the special agent, we always make sure he can do just about whatever he wants with it rather than having to jump through hoops (I am the hoop jumper here. That's what assistants to special agents do). Anyway, I don't feel like jumping through anything at the moment; I'm sleepy.

I must apologize for the state of the blog format at the moment. It needs some serious work, but I'm too busy assisting the superspy or tra la la-ing away to learn any more about HTML. If I had extra time, I would read or do yoga or go to the movies . . .