Arrested Development

I just bought a set of major appliances. A washer and dryer to be precise. I might add, this was my first purchase of a major appliance. I felt like such a grown-up. Those of you who know me might find that odd since, as I am knocking on the door of 40 (an age some people actually consider "over the hill"), I have been a grown-up for rather a while.

But consider the usual rites of passage into adulthood. Home ownership. Marriage. Children. Major appliance purchases. Responsible employment. I have managed to avoid pretty much all of those for a very long time. That goes a long way toward demonstrating the old adage, "age is just a number; you're only as old as you feel." Many days I just don't really feel grown up.

Don't get me wrong-- I have certainly shouldered enough adult responsibilities. I vote, pay taxes and other bills, keep a roof over my head, contribute toward my (ha!) retirement, try to earn my keep, etc. And my friends are "grown-ups" with houses and children etc., so it's not like I don't have a peripheral/vicarious experience of all of that. But that feeling of being a "fully actualized" grown-up only comes in flashes-- like today, when I bought my laundry appliances. Or when I think it's time to seriously think about buying a house (which I'm doing again). Or when my friends talk to me about their young adult children and/or grandchildren. Or when people I knew as very young children invite me to their weddings.

Now that I'm in school again, I spend a lot of time around people who are somewhat to considerably younger than me. They will tell you that one of my popular refrains is "... because/but I'm old." I don't say it to get sympathy. I figure if I say it enough, I might convince myself.

Oh well.

Whatever you do, VOTE!

That's it, essentially. Even if you don't vote for the people I want you to vote for (and you know who you are), it is our civil right and responsibility to participate in the annual attempt to make our governmental needs and desires known.

I remember being really excited about this time in 1988, when I was finally going to be able to go into one of those tiny booths and change the world. And to top it all off, my first election was going to be a presidential election. That's like having your birthday on the autumnal equinox or something (oh wait, I often do!). [Note: I was actually legal to vote in 1985, but since I was in college out of state, I didn't actually get to do an non-absentee vote until the presidential election, when I registered in NC. I think. It's all fuzzy now.]

Granted, my guy lost. Miserably. Was trounced, actually. As has often happened, given my personal political bent and the states in which I have lived since that fateful day in 1988. But this has not dampened my enthusiasm for the project. In fact, it has only strengthened it.

Have I voted every year? No. I must admit to being "too busy" a couple of times. Or not "bothering" to negotiate the byzantine system of polling places to find out where I was being shunted to once or twice. I always regret it when I don't vote.

So VOTE, dad-gummit! Make a difference somehwere, even if you don't think you can.

Topping off the tank.

Ahhhh, if you can't have an actual vacation, you can at least have a gig where you get your batteries recharged.

I just (ok, a couple of hours ago) drove in from Austin, where I spent the week making music with the incredible artists known as "Conspirare: Craig Hella Johnson and Company of Voices." For the two of you who don't know, it's an Austin-based chamber choir with members from all over the country. Essentially all practicing professional musicians. We get together in various configurations 2-3 times per year for a 4 concert series. Rehearse for a few days, do a few shows, change a few lives.

Conspirare's big gig (our version of the Nutcracker, essentially) is Christmas at the Carillon. It's a collage concert where Craig comes up with a theme and finds ingenious ways to bring sacred and secular, classical and non-classical music together to give it life. Since it's at the start of HBU's winter quarter I've never actually sung one. I did however, get to attend one when they took it on the road to Galveston. It was really amazing.

I digress. This rep's title was International Masterpiece. Only three works on the program; Stanford's war-horse (but oh-so-beautiful) "Beati Quorum Via (Blessed are the undefiled in the way, who walk in the law of the Lord)," Daniel-Lesur's Le Cantique des Cantiques, a 12-part choral wonder juxtaposing the text of the Song of Solomon with various Latin chant texts, and Gretchaninov's All Night Vigil, a 40-minute marathon for mixed/double choir and soloists requiring the basses to sing F two octaves below middle-C.

Yes, we have the Basso Profundo Assoluto in our group. His name is Glenn Miller (really!) and he's an Organist/Choirmaster at a presby church up in Michigan. He is amazing. I want to see what his chords look like! He took those low notes and made the seats in the back of these churches vibrate. You don't so much hear as feel him sing sometimes.

Anyhoo-- Craig is right up there with Richard Bado in my book. Getting to spend a week away, really making a connection with the music and with the audiences reminds me of why I do what I do. And why it's so important.

And no, it's not always perfect. Six hours a day of rehearsal and standing through a fairly difficult 40-minute piece in Russian (excuse me, in Church Slavonic) is a workout. And since it's me, there were several misadventures along the way (including tossing my credit card in a garbage can at a Shell station on I-35 between San Marcos and New Braunfels-- ack!). But all in all, I think I'm ready to face the rest of the year.

I better be...

Friday the 13th indeed...

Now, I am not the suspicious sort. Well, actually I am. But I am not usually superstitious. I didn't even think about it being Friday the 13th until someone pointed it out.

But now that you mention it, what better day for:

- A totally freak snowstorm shutting down my hometown of Buffalo, NY. Yes, I know we get snow, but not in October. And certainly not 2 feet in a day when just a few days before it was 60 degrees.

- An equally freaky Houston cold front that had us in the 60s this morning. Ok, not so much freaky as freaking great.

- Losing a cell phone not once, but twice in the same day? Lost by my mother's definition of, if I don't know where you are you are lost?

- Getting stalked by a killer mylar balloon which had heretofore been quietly residing (ok, lying in wait) on my dining room ceiling. It had begun to deflate; I presume the prevailing winds in my apartment kept it moving ever closer to me in different rooms. Eventually it met up with the ceiling fan. Again, not once, but twice. And it being a ceiling fan in my apartment, it had rather a nice build-up of dust. Dust which is now spattered all over my bed. Did it die? Of course not. I had to commit murder. But it was self-defense, officer, I swear!

- Speaking of balloons: the helium birthday balloons carefully inflated and released by the Maestro and myself in the Übermezzo's studio all falling by this morning? I'll just bet the helium was cut with some other nefarious gas. We are in the midst of a helium shortage, you know.

I'm just sayin'...

Like a fine wine...

Mea culpa! Pretend it's not really been almost a month since we chatted! And what an almost-month it has been.

(This will be brief as, true to form, I am mid-important-daunting-nowhere-near-finished-task.)

The performances advertised in "Shameless Self-Promotion" went really well. The Zilkha Hall one could have had a LOT more butts in seats. So all you Yankee Hobbit Fans (ok, all 2 of you), call all your buddies and tell them to come to Ars Lyrica's next do in November. It'll be hot. I promise.

The "all about Divameg" show was fun too. Not very often you get to sing Chaka Khan, Richard Strauss and Thomas Dorsey in the same show.

Turning 39 was great! Had a wonderful day and an amazing dinner with a few friends. Lots of wine, lots of laughter, no song (well, the HB song, but that doesn't count).

The only bad thing (well, besides being swamped), was witnessing a rather horrific accident last week. I didn't see the actual impact, but I heard it. It was unlike any car crash I've ever heard before. From what I have been able to gather since, the "hitter" was traveling up to 80 mph and hit the "hittee" without slowing. Hence the sound. But heard it I did and turned in time to see the hittee (a car) fly vertically into the air and roll a couple of times when it hit the ground.

The people in that car didn't make it. The driver was drunk. You hear those two lines a lot, but until you see it happen, it doesn't really sink in. Two people, minding their own business, presumably following the rules and making safe, sane choices; mowed down because of the bad choices of one individual.

Besides not being able to shake the images from my head, I also can't seem to shake the feeling that I need to make my choices count more. Something about the possibility of being unmade by someone else's decisions makes making the most out of what you've got more important.

Be safe.