This is going to be my new phone. Just as soon as Sprint gets around to frickin' selling the damn things. Granted, it isn't pink, which is something of a drawback, but, other than being not pink,  it's perfect. I can't wait. I've been saving a "donate your phone to American troops overseas" mailer for months in anticipation of this phone. Also, I really hope that they give my old pink phone to some sailor who likes pink, otherwise it's going to make someone really unhappy and that's not the point of the exercise.

I have no idea if my current phone is bluetooth compatible but the new one will be and I will accessorize it with this.

In November, I will be investing in a new classic iPod which will be tricked out with a recording device and one of those player things for the car. My collection of cd mixes is getting out of hand and being able to play directly from the iPod will take care of that problem. As for recording part, I think it's the wave of the future for singers. We all need to get tech savvy. We're already way behind. It's time to shave off the baritone hair, burn the mother of the bride suits and join the modern world.

November is also the target month for getting my very own copy of finale. I need it. I think every singer needs it. After much soul searching, it occurs to me that the point of going to the opera is to hear great singing, not to rub your hands with glee wondering if the soprano will crash and burn on the high Fs or the piano Cs. I want to hear a great performance and if that means a change of the key then I'm down with it. Unique voices shouldn't be shoehorned into little boxes especially when the music was written to fit unique voices in the first place. It makes no sense at all. If I feel like singing Cenerentola, then I'm doing it and I'm changing the keys to make it work. If you're a mezzo who wants to sing the Konigin, I see no reason why you can't do the same. I'm over the opera career thing, and that means I can do as I like.

This interests me, in particular this sentence:

House Republicans were also cheered by a decision by the Securities and Exchange Commission this week to ease rules that force companies to devalue assets on their balance sheets to reflect the price they can get on the market.

You see, back when Enron was imploding, one way to make it look like your company wasn't in the crapper was overvaluing your assets. The overvaluation of assets is a good way to make it look like you have cash available to pay the bills when in reality you don't have a pot to piss in. Hence, having studied accounting, and economics and history for no good reason other than finding stuff interesting I will say unto you...

LIQUIDITY LIQUIDITY LIQUIDITY

It's all about liquidity. Head straight for the liquid assets. How much cash surplus is there? How much cash is coming in compared to total expenses. How much debt is there. What is the percentage of debt to, say it with me, LIQUID ASSETS ?

As long as there is interest to be earned, money will be lent. Have no fear. Greed is alive and well and it will see us all through. More to the point, liquid assets have purchasing power. Liquid assets have flexibility. Liquid assets are much easier to turn into more cash than fixed assets. Liquid assets do not become financial liabilities when tax time rolls around.

As for those of us who don't have enough assets to concern ourselves with whether they are liquid or not, I say unto you it is a good time to make yourself look like a good credit risk. The money lenders want money and now that they're not earning interest from the high risk borrowers, a low-risk borrower is a very valuable commodity. Start paying down on the credit as much as possible. Cut the unneeded expenses (I hate to say it, but I may take a break from voice lessons.) Make yourself look as liquid as you can, because it will put you in a great position to negotiate the remainder of your debt into a more favorable form- I'm thinking early 2009 looks like a good target for this project. Right now, everyone is freaking. We need to hold off until everyone who is going to default, defaults, leaving behind a much smaller of potential borrowers which ups our market value.

I have said it many times, and it bears saying yet again- money is power. Money needs to work for us. Money doesn't help you unless it's yours.

And now back to my regularly scheduled fiction writing...

 

Oh the clutter, it burns us, precious, it burns! How can I have this many receipts for non-deductible food and coffee? How many tags can be torn out clothes as I'm walking out the door only to end up floating through the ever-expanding pile of stuff. Holy crap, there's stuff here that I don't even remember owning. Where are all the hair pins coming from? Have I really been using that many of them show after show? How is it that they're all on the bedroom floor? Am I pulling them out of my head in my sleep? What's the point of pinning things together with pins, if all the pins fall out and work their way into the carpet? Why is it that no matter how many neat little tackles boxes I buy for my beads and rhinestones, said rhinestones and beads always end up spilled all over the floor? I can't even remember why I kept all the damn magazines. There must have been a reason, but damned if I can remember what it was...

I have also discovered a small pile of notebooks, all filled with notes about fictional projects. I hate having piles of notebooks. Hence, in October all of my online activities are very likely to be suspended in favor of a month of fiction writing. Yes, that's right. You'll be bombarded with short stories from various verses and there will be updates to my fanfic in the order of whatever chapter notes and drafts I happen to discover first. Won't that be fun?

Over the last few days, I've been playing around in the wonderful world of phandom drama. A teen decided to write a fic around Phantom in 15 Minutes by Cleolinda Jones. People, including me, politely pointed out that she should credit the original author and maybe, yanno, get permission. The kidlet got nasty in e-mail, claiming that she was right and we were wrong wrong wrong. Then someone, okay it was me, notified Cleolinda of the sitch and many more people politely informed the kidlet that plagiarism is wrong. At last, kidlet got the message and then posted the craziest apology ever... not to Cleolinda or to any of the original reviewers that she flamed but she apologized to her readers. It's like stealing candy from the corner store but hey, you feel bad and you apologize... not to the owner of the store, but to your friends, because you let them down by getting grounded for stealing. She also blamed her parents' divorce and hurricane Ike and her poor emo sorrow and her evil cousins who totally sold her the rights to a script that can't possibly exist unless someone spent hours either transcribing it from youtube or deleting every last copyright notice out of the original. Yeah, I'm sure we all have cousins who would spend hours and hours engineering an elaborate fraud in order to make fun of us knowing that it surely won't ever get back to their folks what with them being related and all and of course no one will be screaming "You little bastards have made me look like the crappiest mother ever in front of the ENTIRE FAMILY and I am going to kill you all stone dead from stress-related diseases because from this day forth you will never again know a day without nagging!!!!!!!" I'll have you know that death by nagging is an extremely lingering and unpleasant end, that's for damn sure.

As I was de-cluttering I finally found and sent in the order form for Quinlan Road Publishing. I've ordered "The Mummer's Dance" and "Dante's Prayer" at long last. I also need to get on the ball to schedule a massage for this week and a mani/pedi for before or after the rehearsal luncheon for zansidhe 's wedding of awesomeness. Fingers and toes must be done the day before because they don't stay looking nice for as long as we'd like and I'm not a fan of the fake nails. Fake nails and playing the piano for hours every day do not go together, alas.

My "Glitter and be Gay" has reached new heights of awesomeness whilst I remain displeased with my version of "Vanilla Ice Cream." It's better than it was, but the song still just isn't me. I'm crossing it off my rep list and that's that. I think I'm singing Regnava (minus the entire middle section because responding to an Alice that isn't there is just too stupid, jumping right into the cabaletta as I do in every other bel canto aria out there makes more sense) and the Doll Song. If I'm doing anything else, it had better be "God Help the Outcasts" because I really really want an excuse to do a Gypsy costume. As for Regnava and the Doll, I'm thinking it will be Tim Burton all the way- Corpse Bride for Regnava and Sally for Olympia- unless I really get inspired by something... and since I took the Think of Me dress apart for Corpse Bride anything interesting could be labor intensive... although it is horrendously tempting to do a Christine costume for the doll because what is Christine but the Phantom's singing doll? I'd be the only one to get the joke but I can live with that.

I think I'm done arranging music for December's mini-Mikado. Now I just have dialogue to put together. I haven't even made a start on putting together Don Oiche and the Wexford Carol for the holiday concert, although I do have a pretty clear idea of how I'll do it. The Lakme Duet cuts down very easily into a managable pop-classical format but I think the Pearlfishers duet will be more challenging. I'd also love to create a three minute version of Tatyana's letter scene, but I think that means giving up on cutting the 20+ minute scena down to three minutes and instead, picking out the most memorable tune and using it as the basis for an original work... which leaves me saying, my concert project might have an actual original work on it? No way! Actually, if it comes to that, I'm doing an original arrangement of Christmas music? No way!

In November, I'll be singing "She walks in beauty" from Vanity Fair (which I will need to order in the higher key) and this insane Kathryn Grayson piece from Anchors Away called "Waltz Serenade" which includes trilled high Fs and ends on a piano high F. Yeah, it's crazy stuff. I don't know how I do these things, I really don't. I'm also planning to work on "Love is Where You Find It" from The Kissing Bandit because I like it a lot and it might fit into the concert program I'm working on. I need to have one song in my solo selections that passes for perky. It's either that or I go back to the Fruhlingstimme Waltzer which would work but it's one of my party pieces and I like to get away from those every so often.

2008 is much too surreal for my taste. It's been this bizarre mixture of the really good, the really bad and the completely insane. There's not much to be done about the bad and good, but I do wish people would cool it on the crazy. Speaking as a person who is crazy, crazy is not nearly as cute as people think it is, nor is it anywhere near as much fun. In fact, crazy people like myself spend the majority of their lives keeping the crazy under wraps because being insane isn't funny or sexy or particularly endearing unless you're a character in a movie. Of course, I'm preaching to the choir over here, but what the heck. Sometimes it helps to let it out.

I'm writing because I have run out of decent books to read. Therefore, I am forced to write my own crap, so that I can read it later as I reflect that there are still no decent books to read. My current project can be found here, because I wanted some kind of modern fairytale romance thing but with a Gaelic/Pagan twist and faerie world that was both enticing and dangerous but I am too freakin' lazy to not write it as phanfic. You see, Phantom of the Opera is 100% in the public domain which means that I can do what I like with the story and it belongs to me and no one else. Parody is also in the public domain which means that this is also my property and if you want some real fun, try finding the ALW lyrics quotes because I love sneaking them in and no one thus far has pointed out a single one of them. The trouble with playing in phanfic-land, however, is that everyone wants you, the author, to make life boring by turning your character descriptions into "Christine Daae looked just like she does in that musical" and "She tore off the Phantom's mask and he was exactly like it says in the book... hold on a sec and I'll cut and past from the Guternberg Project..." If you're not waxing poetic over Gerry Butler's tanned thighs three sentences into chapter one, then you get a zillion PMs about "The phantom is totally like Gerry right? Because that's my kink..." or "This is Leroux!Erik right? because that's the best phantom..." Oh kids, this is Tytania!Erik and I'll be a nice little faerie and I won't say anything to kill your dream of Gerry's abs or Leroux's lack of nose, if that's your kink, but I am so not going to screw all the mystery and interest out of my own damn story by saying that Dumbledore was gay... I mean, that Erik has a nose. Personally, I hate authors who are so obsessed with their fantasy that they have to describe every last detail of their characters lest some reader should imagine it wrong. Imagine whatever you like. Insert your favorite kink. Insert yourself. I don't care.

Today, I like to think of Christine as a redhead but yesterday I was leaning towards blonde and tomorrow I'll probably decide that brunette is the way to go. So, I'll probably refrain from specifics not only to refrain from spoiling the reader's fun, but so that I don't have to ruin my own. The only reason I ever said that Carlotta was brunette in Conjuror's Masque was because it gave a good throwaway line to one of the managers and I knew that 90% of the readers wouldn't absorb the idea that one brunette soprano is just like another to mean that Carlotta must also be a brunette- and yes, that bit is totally a swipe at the interchangability of an endless parade of Christines made up to look exactly like Sarah Brightman. Nevertheless, I still get people asking if Carlotta is a redhead. So, the information is there, you just have to be paying attention but I seem to be the only one who really likes to get absorbed in a story.

And now I'll go back to writing fiction because 2008 is much too batshit to be expressed in fact...

Don't worry, Nanowrimo is coming up and it's guaranteed that my inspiration will dry up on November 1st and I'll be back to long journal entries...

Just so you know, I do understand that people do stupid crap on a regular basis. We can't help it. It's part of being human. When we're on the internet, we tend to be twice as stupid, twice as often. That's just how it is. I don't blame people for that. However, I'm not taking anyone seriously when they fall into the same idiot traps that we've all been making fun of since the internet was invented. Let's face it, if your behavior has a pithy made up name, or has been mocked on youtube or gets its own tag on fandom wank, then you know that you're not going to be taken seriously. That's not to say that you can't turn around and change your mind tomorrow and it's all rainbows and sprinkes and cookie time at the mutual admiration society online, I'm just saying that today, when you say goodbye to the internet for the lulz, I am so not buying nor do I expect you to break out the hankies over my latest pseuicide attempt.

I am never posting here again! Goodbye cruel internet!

Really? You'll be back. You know you will. You're probably here right now, desperately pouring over the replies to your farewell and waiting to be talked into coming back. You know you are. The rule is, in 97% (I'd borrow JenniferGoverment's percentage, but I cannot recall what it is and I am too lazy to look for it) of cases, any person who cares enough to bid the internet farewell is way too involved to ever leave. It's a miracle if they can stay away for 24 hours. The people who actually leave just leave. They stop posting. They delete their account. They are gone and if you don't know them well enough to contact them by e-mail, then you won't be seeing them again.

I know who you are! I know who did this!... but I won't actually contact you directly or mention your name because ummm... I just won't.

Has this ever led to a remorseful confession? ZOMG someone says they know who I am, whatever shall I do? Seriously, when people know who you are or what you did, they tell you to your face. You get an e-mail asking what the hell you think you're doing. You get unfriended by 300 people at once. Every last one of your trolling handles is splashed all over the headers of the next ten posts. I should add that I do think I'm slightly guilty of this one, in a "meh, I could find out who that is but I'm too lazy and I don't care, but let's screw with them anyway." So, seriously, if I actually know who you are, you'll hear about it. If I'm threatening, you can just sit back and laugh your ass off. But I totally could find you. If I wanted to. Totally. Yeah, who am I kidding?

I was only joking! I did it for the lulz!

If it's a joke, why is no one laughing? Seriously, if you were trying to be funny, you clearly failed. Most of us can see a joke, even if it's not a very good one. If you're trying to hurt people's feeling then man up and be a real troll. When a person is actually trying to be funny and it leads to hurt feelings and drama, they apologize. When someone is trying to be an ass and gets called on it, they're just joking. I'm not sure this crap worked the first time someone tried it back on the arpanet and it certainly doesn't work now. Just don't bother.

I'm sick! I'm dying! I've died and this totally isn't me posting this, it's my sister!

Teenage psueicide, don't do it (admit it, you actually do get this reference.) It's also known as "Muchausen by Proxy Server." Think about it. So many fools are playing this game that it has its own name and a clinical diagnosis. Oh, I know, it's a tempting game because once upon a time, it used to work. Even today, well-meaning people will send ipods and lip gloss to comfort you in your misery, but you'll still get found out. You'll still lose respect. People will harp on it years later. Go ahead and try it if you really need sparkly butterflies, just don't expect to escape the girl detectives and the haters because there are entire communities devoted to finding this crap out. And then telling everyone on earth.

No, I'm really dying! d...d...d...dying!!! Must... e-mail... 9...1...1.....*cough* *gasp*

Please, someone tell me there's a movie somewhere where someone stutter types an e-mail as they expire. I could swear I've seen this done in older movies on typewriter or in *gasp* handwriting but not by computer. Someone please make this movie. Based on true life events!!!

The lurkers support me in e-mail! Hundreds of people e-mailed me to say they agree with me and you suck!

Wow, so the lurkers could take the time to contact you by e-mail but can't be bothered to post a reply. Wow. That makes tons of sense. In Bizarroworld. Where you apparently live. You have to wonder about friends who, for some reason, don't want to be seen to be supporting you. It's a little creepy, really. Let's face it, if you're getting dogpiled on a forum, anyone who supports you is going to jump in the fray (for the lulz.) Honestly, it does suck when no one agrees with you, but pretending that do won't make you look any less alone.

This is her sister speaking and she totally left forever and it's all because of you! This is her best friend and I totally agree with her!

I will openly admit to once going anon to inform someone who wanted to know where I was that I was ZOMG GONE FOREVER. Except, I wasn't exactly gone forever, because I was right there, licking my wounds and being pissed because no one was begging me to return. Out of some misplaced pride, I'd skipped the whole goodbye post thing and the lurkers supporting me in e-mail just wasn't cutting it. Anyways, I don't think I've ever run into a real best friend, lover, relative or whatever who spent all their spare time, lurking around online in the hopes of getting a chance to defend their dear one's name. The one or two times it happened, both the injured and the defender were fifty times crazier than the crazy who decides to pretend to be their own defender. Even then, the knee jerk response was O RLY? Pretend to be your own biggest fan if it makes you feel better, but know that, over in e-mail, all the lurkers are picking apart the IP evidence.

ZOMG I am a totally different person. A complete stranger. And I support you! What do mean we have the same IP?

The right person could pull this off. I could pull this off. You might suspect me, but you'd never be able to prove it was me. It just takes the patience to either run across town to an internet cafe to play the role of my new bestest friend, or remembering to log into an anonymizer when my new pal posts and then to log back out to post as myself. I'd also need to run everything through spellcheck, so those pesky errors don't give me away. And it's vital not to (oops) forget which account I'm logged into before posting... which has happened to every person I've ever seen who tried to play this game. We're strangers! No, wait, we're best friends! We're roommates! She's my live-in acunpuncturist who sometimes uses my computer! Seriously, it's just not worth the effort. No matter how hard you try, some smart bastard will ask why your only supporter always posts with an anonymizer and writes just like you do. Once that happens, you have to move down to the next game.

ZOMG I am bi-polar! I have multiple personality disorder! I'm dyslexic and OCD and I see dead people!

You and everyone else there cupcake. My friends and I can sit around and compare dosages on our sanity pills, that's how crazy we are. Chances are, you're not even remotely as insane as the people who are wondering why you've spent the last seven hours having an extremely involved tl:dr conversation WITH YOURSELF on the internet. Crazy, alas, is not on the registered list of acceptable excuses. Not to worry however, as we all know that you're best friend's cousin's hairdresser's ex-roommate (that's a Spaceballs reference, I think) will be here any minute to tell us that you just died from death and it's ALL OUR FAULT, HATERS!!!

I thought that I wrote it myself!

I'm probably as soft on plagiarism as anyone. My shit gets posted on opera forums without any attribution at all, and yet the perpetrators still live. I'm pretty sure that all the good phrases have been coined and all the good jokes have been told. However, despite all the books I've read and movies I've seen, I can mostly tell the difference between what I thought up on my own and what I've heard from another source. I can also say that although I may come up with the same phrase as someone else (or steal the same bit of cleverness from Austen or Dickens) I cannot imagine being able to replicate entire paragraphs of another author's writing without knowing what I'm up to. Sorry. It's especially vexing when someone happens to be stealing (copying really, because when we steal we actually get away with it) another author's plot and someone forgets that they've got the original book in front of them as they're writing. Did you know that there are entire computer programs devoted to catching this stuff? I mean, thank god they didn't have that stuff when I was in seventh grade or I'd have been so screwed. Anyways, if you're caught, then you're caught. If you're using this excuse, you might as well skip straight to sending your evil twin Skippy on over to tell us how we all made you die from the sad.

It was a social experiment!

Seriously, if it was, I'm coming to house and I'm going to kill you. Yes your honor, it was a homicide experiment. Admit it, if this one were actually true, you'd probably be hated about 10,000 times as much as you are now for being a garden variety douchebag. So, let's see, you came to our internet forum, riled everyone up, hurt feelings, made the server robust, waster bandwidth and you were just doing it to be a smugly superior dickface? Which university put you up to this again, because I am calling them RIGHT NOW. We're suing because your "social experiment" gave everyone here PTSD and OCD and VCR or something and now our manicurist's dog has to learn how to type so he can come here and post that we can never post again.

You'll be sorry when you feel the might of my online petition!

Dude, I will not only feel the might, I will sign it myself. Repeatedly. As "Steve-o the Wonder Horse." Neigh.

I just finished my novel. It still needs to be revised, but it is technically finished. This is a first. I am GIDDY.

So, thanks to the economy and needing to pay off everything I've had to put on credit cards this summer, I will be having no fun in the fall. I need money and that means church gigging for every single Sunday that I can book. So, I get to have modified fun because the major drinking and late nights just can't happen when I have to be singing. I knew perfectly well that I was signing on for this when I started singing. I vowed that I would suck it up and suck it up I will. I would tell any newbie singer that you have to make sacrifices if you want to be a performer, but it's not the kind of big sacrifice where you sit and ponder whether to go to a YAP or be a bridesmaid at your brother's wedding. Those decisions are actually pretty easy to make and most people are understanding about them. It's the small choices that really really suck and that will eventually wear most people down.

Do you see that new movie you've been anticipating for months or do you accept a wedding gig that day instead?
Do you go out with your friends that you never see or do you stay in so you don't blow it at your church gig?
Do you book a romantic weekend with your beloved or do you haul off to another audition in some ugly place?
Do you plan your dream wedding/holiday/whatever or do you take whatever's available that doesn't conflict with the performing season?

When you're sitting in school, all gung ho, you think it's a no-brainer, then when it's time to suck it up, you want to bang your head against the walls. I don't want an every sunday church gig, but I kinda need one. Maybe one sunday a month off to enjoy Dim Sum would be good, but no more than that. I'll go to the parties and I'll have a great time, but I'll also have to watch how much I drink and I'll be leaving at a sensible hour because this is the life I signed on for and right now I just can't afford to turn down work. No, I'm not hurting as badly as all that, but this summer was hard and I don't want to go through that again. I need to make sure that for summer 2009, I have money in the bank, lots of church subbing (seriously, that extra $400-600/month is a godsend because it pays off all the little bills like phone, insurance, netflix and all that) lined up and probably a paid opera gig, even if it means sucking up a gig I won't like so that I won't be so reliant on the teaching income. It's what you have to do and that's that.

The only thing I will refuse to give up is the Friday and Saturday that I will have off for Zansidhe's wedding because when it's really important, people do have to come first.

You are receiving this message with our special offers because you are
on our list of friends and customers or have otherwise requested to
receive such information.  If you do not want to receive promotional
messages from us, or would like to limit the information you receive,
please click the Edit Preferences link below and change your
preferences, or e-mail info@classicalsinger.com with "UNSUBSCRIBE" in
the subject line.

Ummm no... actually, you pulled my e-mail from a mailing list or an online post on some other singing site because I never actually gave you people this address. Or maybe you pulled it from that time I e-mailed to let you know about a fraudulent listing on your auditions page, which you did nothing about, by the way. The address I used back when I subscribed to your stupid rag is long defunct, sorry to say. Seriously, you suck, Mark Stoddard and Classical Singer.

Joy! Credit card crisis has been averted. Because I was paying attention to the accounts online, I was able to pay down to bill enough to avoid any overage charges and all is... well not happy smiles, but the screaming and wailing has been avoided.

Today, one of my students brought me a cake. She had a couple months of lessons before moving to Japan, and I haven't seen her in a couple years. She was one of those kids who don't give a lot of feedback in lessons so I never could tell if she was happy and I didn't feel like there was a lot of rapport. Well, it turns out that she was happy and now she's in eighth grade and will be back in the area for the entire school year and happy as can be to back in lessons. She's a little more outgoing than she was and expressed an interest in singing some of the music I had with me, so I am really kinda humbled and pleased.

This is the first time I've been back to the dowtown building since June and all the staff at Starbucks are people I have never seen before. They're slower than the old crew. Also, there are cupcakes now, and that's just wrong. It's a coffee place. NO. CUPCAKES. They did have pumpkin bread and some muffins which had better not be the pumpkin ones because there were oats on top and not pumpkin seeds and I can't support that. I'm sorry. Oats go on the bran muffin, people. Only on the bran muffin! I saw oats on the pumpkin bread and that just ain't right. The good lord didn't intend oats and pumpkins together in bread.

Two years ago, I programmed "Three Little Maids from School" on a recital. The kids liked it okay. Last year we did "I am so Proud" with the dialogue about finding someone to execute... well, that one they loved. They also loved doing With Catlike Tread and The Pirate King. Yep, the men get the fun songs in shows and the girls love it when they get their hands on them. They want to play Pooh-bah, Koko and Pishtush rather than YumYum, Pitti-Sing and Peep-Bo. I wonder how they'll react when I give them sailors and monarchs of the sea from Pinafore in the Spring. So, now I may actually end up buying some of the male singer Broadway anthologies because the girls are taking over that rep. The only question is whether they'll barf nails at NATS if I let the girls bring in their favorite songs.

As for me, I won't be singing at NATS and I can only pray that I won't end up judging. I'll be devoting the preparation time to a new demo CD which will cover the Lynam competition requirements, so I can apply in 2009. It won't be that hard to cover and I make use of the CD for other auditions if I'm smart about my selections. Call it the grown up version of NATS, you do the preparation but in a different way and aiming for higher rewards, but you still have a goal and preparation to do.

I think my rep for the regular concerts (selections confirmed in bold, the rest are subject to change according to the program, oh heck even confirmed stuff will change):

September: Broadway Concert
Glitter and Be Gay (Candide)
Too Much in Love to Care (Sunset Boulevard)

October: Halloween Concert
The Doll Song (Tales of Hoffman)
Regnava nel silenzio

November: Music from the Movies
She Walks in Beauty (Vanity Fair) this is almost confirmed
Time to Say Goodbye (Blades of Glory) I expect to get talked out of this

December: Holiday Concert
Medley- Walking in the Air, Bell Carol (speaking as a crazy person, this carol is indeed what it sounds like in my head)
Wexford Carol

Meanwhile, the other main soprano, the main belter and I were talking about how much better things are when we keep our songs to a reasonable length. Together we are campaigning for shortened interludes and cuts in our arias. We have all had friends in the audience say that songs were pretty but TOO LONG, so we're hoping to work on that. We think that if we set the example, others will follow in our bevity-laden footsteps.

Yesterday, I sang on a concert program, some of which was recorded by my mom on her latest tech toy. She only got snippets for the most part, but I have to say that what I heard was damned good. I was actually happy with the majority of my singing which happens very rarely for me. I'm particularly happy with Caro nome, which sounds effortless nowadays (thanks to a tremendous amount of effort on my part every time I sing it) and I Dreamt I Dwelt in Marble Halls is a great addition to my rep. I sound really pretty and surprisingly Ruth Ann Swenson-ish (her albums have been coming up on my party shuffle lately) which makes me happy because I worshipped her when I was starting out as a singer.

It was a fun concert, and shockingly pleasant and undiva-ish, which means that the people with attitude issues weren't there for this one. It was a relief, let me tell you. Singing is not fun when everyone acts like every performance is a life and death competition. I also felt like I was in a better place as a performer. I've been doing some soul searching about who I am and how I want to sound. My conclusion is that I don't like my loud-as-hell voice in the stratosphere and I'm happier with a sound that is quieter but warmer and more pleasant. I had a teacher who was all about the giant sound all the way up to high E and further, but it doesn't sound pleasant to my ears. I thrive on the beauty of my voice and if losing the full-voiced Es and Fs means losing the Gs and As up there, then I am prepared to live with that.

I had a chance to chat with a belter who has a gorgeous voice- really mellow all through her belted range. We talked about doing high pop belt and vocal health and she said that she's working on classical technique to help maintain vocal health while she performs as a belter. She said that Idinia Menzel among others has run into major vocal problems because of constant pop belting. We talked about placement and what she told me fit in with the way I handle belting in my own singing, so it was great to get some useful feedback from someone who sings "As Long As He Needs Me" the way I used to dream about singing it.

After the concert, I was bouncing off the walls until 2am or so, when it occurred to me that sleep would be a good choice. Then I realized that the book I was reading had been left in the car and I dithered for 15 minutes about going out in my bathrobe at 2am to collect it, ultimately deciding that it would be wiser to leave the thing be. Fine, I'll just wash the hair products out of my hair so they don't make me break out overnight and brush my teeth so I can go to bed. I went to bed at 2:45. Not good. Then at 4am my phone goes off with a text message which wakes me up and freaks me out. My thoughts went like this "Who texts at 4am? Serial killers!!! They're texting to tell me they're going to kill me... oh screw them, if they're that set on killing me, they'll text again... zzzzzzzzzz..." Then I had nightmares about going out to buy donuts but all the shelves were mislabeled so I couldn't tell which donut was which. Yes, I know, even my nightmares are OCD. I'm the only person I know who walks into Lush and near flips out when they've put the Titsy Totsy bath bombs in the Sex Bomb bin. The least they can do is take the labels off if they're planning on going all wonky-boo on me. If I don't know that the bin with the Titsy Totsies was meant for Sex Bombs then it won't bother me.

I woke up around nine or so in the morning which means that I could sort of claim that I slept six hours but we all know that I didn't. That doesn't make for a happy day, because my crazy doesn't tolerate exhaustion very well at all. I can't write because I can't organize my thoughts well, and even a really clear plot idea can get murky. Then I get frustrated because I really do enjoy my own writing and I am forever running out of stuff to read. I really need to walk to the library tomorrow, where I will pay the massive fine I racked up when I thought I'd returned Platee because it wasn't on my desk only I'd actually misplaced it and I didn't realize until the library sent me a letter to say "ZOMG what have you done with our dorky Rameau DVD, other dorks might want to watch it too!" Sadly, that kind of thing happens more often than it should in my world. I once was convinced that I'd never recieved my car registration when it turns out that I not only had it, I'd opened it and tucked it in with the pile of "to-do" on my desk only to complete block out all memory of the event. I ended up driving down to the DMV to pay my fees only to find the paperwork two days later, which would have allowed me to renew online and saved me hours of time. Needless to say, this is why I have to de-clutter constantly, because all I need is a little stress and a couple of nights of bad sleep and it's a fast train to crazy town.

As for crazy town, I'll tell you exactly how I got there. Oh don't get me wrong, the brain chemistry helps but you need more than that to be really nuts. I've spent most of my life being put down every time I do something well. It's like no one can control their jealousy nasties around me, because as we all know, if someone looks okay with themselves then they are made from plastic and you can say any shitty thing you like to them. You can tell them that they might look good now, but just wait until tomorrow when they'll be unattractive and unloved! Oh sure, it looks like they just accomplished something great, but you should definitely point out that you see through them and you can see that their accomplishment is actually valueless. Better yet, play passive agressive games and act all bitchy or talk about them behind their back because they probably deserve it or are too lofty to care. This is my life. I have a successful year and I end up spending the majority of my time feeling like I'm worthless, everyone hates me and secretly they all think everything I do is crap. Even my mom has slipped into the "Is this actually your work??" trap like I'm five years old and copying pictures out of color books. The worst is that I'm such a basket case that I'll babble, self-deprecate and explain when people come up with this crap, instead of saying "Yes, it's all mine and it's fabulous. Deal with it or fuck off, your choice."

Trouble is, once you've dealt with enough crap from people, you see it everywhere even when everyone is being nice to you. It messes you up but good. If no one is saying that you suck, your brain does it for you. If people aren't falling over themselves telling you how much you rock, you take it to mean that they despise you and are plotting your downfall. This doesn't lead to good networking skills, let me tell you. It's a recipe for being a doormat, because you will suck up anything in the hopes of being liked, you don't like yourself well enough to stand on your own, and in the end, when you act like you think you're crap, why should anyone trouble themselves to disagree? Oh I know how my sick mind works. I know that I've had a great year and I should be networking like mad to keep it up but I'm feeling so low that I don't even want to bother with my one upcoming audition. They'll only hate me and reject me because it's me.

Nevertheless, knowing that there's a problem is a step towards solving it. So, in the coming months, my intention is to stop second-guessing and questioning everything I do and trying so hard to please others which only ends in no one being happy. If I please myself, at least one person comes out feeling good. And with that, it's time to get some sleep.

There are times when I want to bop myself on the head. Seriously. I hid my main credit card so that I wouldn't abuse it. Now I have no idea where I put the damned thing. Lovely. So, I had to drag out the second card, the one with the messed up low limit because although I have another card with the same bank that gets a credit increase every six minutes, this card never ever gets one. Never. This is why I'll be transferring the balance and cancelling the card in the very near future. So, I brilliantly find the crappy card and use it because I forgot that it's that crappy. This leaves me having to make an emergency payment because holy crap, I completely forgot that thing is such a mess! So, since I'm there, I pop around and pay all my bills and then it occurs to me that maybe I could fix my problems by reporting the missing card lost and getting a new one. It took something like two clicks. Why did I not do this as soon as I realized I'd lost the damn thing? Who really knows. This is what happens when I'm all stressed out. So, to pass the time, I give you some rules for Phantom of the Opera fanfiction:

1. Thou shalt not name thy random vampire Alucard because dost not thou knowest that it's been done. A lot. Yea verily, we hath read of Twilight and the scrummy hotness of adding vampires into every story. Just not vampires named Alucard. Thou shalt get real and accept that even in fiction, no one is fooled by that nonsense.

2. Though shalt check the names and composers of thy musical selections on Wikipedia. Or againt the information on a CD insert. For lo, the Lord frowneth when it is said that Bach alone hath composed the Bach-Gounod Ave Maria. The Lord liketh it not when thy soprano singeth Schumann's Gretchen Am Spinnerade, and if thou knoweth not why that's amusing thou canst look it up. Yea, it isn't that hard to fact check.

3. The Lord hath decreed that the works of Josh Groban shall not be quoted in phanfic. Nor shalt thou include any songs from the animated Anastasia film or any material produced by Disney. Trusteth in thy reader that they are as dorky as you, and knoweth the lyrics already.

4. The Lord doth pointeth out that a guy wearing a mask in the modern era would probably endure the pointings and laughings of the crowd. For verily, a wee tiny mask would looketh foolish.

5. The Lord hath decreed that time traveling teens are never ever funny. Unless the Phantom kills them. Then it's comedy gold. Thus spake the Lord, your God.

6. Thou shalt not hooketh the Phantom up with Christine's daughter because lo, it is messed up. Would you really want a man who was trying to smex your own mom? Not to mention that Gerik would be canon!Erik's age by the time Christine's daughter was old enough to be felt up all over her music of the night. The squick is mighty.

7. Wherefore is there no Jem/Phantom crossover fic? It would be pleasing in the sight of the Lord. The Phantom could hijack synergy, strangle the misfits and give his music, if thou knowest what the Lord means and the Lord thinks that you do, to Kimber after he spikes Jem's throat spray. Admit it, you would totally read it. The Truly Outrageous Music of the Night, peeps.

8. If they character is not deformed, or a musician, then the Lord suggest that thou trottest over to one of the many Gerry Butler fan sites, where they will all be happy to enjoy the story of some guy who happens to look like Gerry. The Lord is just saying.

9. The Lord hath decreed that thou shalt begin thy historical fiction with an author's note stating that thou can't be bothered to observe actual history. The Lord knoweth that thou hast learned thy history from an HBO miniseries and the Lord is not amused.

10. The Lord hath said it before. The Lord shall say it again. Thou shalt use a spellchecker, for lo, didn't our Lord pause on the cross to spellcheck before giving himself up for the world? Well, there thou art.

I swear the Food Network is out to get me. They spent an entire frickin' day running shows about donuts. DONUTS. I was especially interested in a place called Voodoo Donuts up in Oregon, so interested that now I'm dreaming about the place. Sadly, however, there isn't a thing on their menu that I'd be able to eat. Oh, I'd want to eat their wacky donuts, but since I almost never touch that kind of food, my body isn't exactly comfortable with it. I'll get through two bites, if I'm lucky, before the gag reflex sets in. If I'm unlucky, then the smell of donuts will make me want to be ill. It didn't used to be that way, but after years of cutting the most fattening stuff out of my diet, I've lost the knack of eating it. If I go to McDonald's the only thing left for me to order is a diet soda because even the salad dressing is too fatty for my delicate wild salmon and sushi fed frame.

Want the donut. Can't have the donut. Unlike the bulimic chicks, I prefer not to expel my food from either end, thanks.

Know which donuts I can eat? I can eat the raised chocolate ones. The glazed ones are usually too sweet for me. In my perfect world, they'd make a raised donut with nothing on it, but I'm the only person who lives in that world, so it isn't cost effective to cater to it. The ideal donut experience is Dunkin Donuts. Oh how I miss them. They're everywhere on the east coast and nowhere to be found in California. Nada. Nothing. Can't find a single franchise within two hours of my area. Dunkin Donuts was always the best place to get coffee and a donut. They had the best drip coffee. The coffee went with the donuts. Pure joy. I can get a donut at the fancy market, assuming I can get there early enough to snag the one donut my body will agree to digest, but the coffee options just don't cut it. Starbucks and Peets offer fancy crap not plain old good coffee. Eating a donut with an espresso beverage is retarded because they just don't match up. Espresso goes with fancy pastries (no, nothing available at Starbucks qualifies.) Cappucini goes with biscotti (personal note- I hate biscotti, it's like eating sedimentiary rock.) Those foofy sweet mochas and macchiatos (is that even a real drink, I ask you???) are to be consumed by themselves because they are so freakin' bad for you that we're all lucky our arteries don't jump out of bodies and attempt to strangle us before we even get our order in (I'll take a venti carmAAAAAAAUGH.) Also, the people at the coffee shop restaurant don't appreciate it when you show up with your own donut that you brought with you. The diner people don't like it either. If you ask for the coffee to go they just point you to the Starbucks. There's no way to win this one unless there's a Dunkin Donuts in your area.

Don't start with me about Krispy Kreme. I can't even make it through a single bite of a Krispy Kreme. I'm not kidding. I took one bite of the plainest donut they had, chewed and then could not swallow. I had to spit the thing into a napkin. My digestive system was screaming "Oh hellz no!" just as soon as I got through the first layer of sugar never mind that those donuts are full of sugar cooked in a sugar bath dunked in sugar sauce glazed with sugar and in case you missed it, they are some damn sweet donuts. I just can't deal. No Krispy Kremes for me and I curse the day that they came here instead of the blessed Dunkin Donuts. Honestly, couldn't we do with one less Taco Bell to make room for the donut love?

See, the problem with Silicon Valley is that everyone around here is full of crap. They want to be all classy, so they go to Starbucks and Peets and order fake espresso drinks all the while not having the slightest clue that they're totally being had. They think that if a drink has a foreign sounding name, then it means that cool foreign types drink the stuff in fancy foreign places. Yeah, I can hear all the people who have actually lived in Europe laughing right about now. I'm sorry, but if there's a Starbucks in Paris, it's only there so the tourists can stop in on their way to Disneyland. Still, my local area is nothing but people desperately trying to be cool because they didn't feel special enough in high school so they go to Starbucks and eat bad pastry and drink lousy espresso (yes, I know that I'm addicted to their incredibly crappy espresso, pray for me) rather than going to a donut place for a good donut and decent drip coffee.

Speaking of my bad espresso habit, I stopped ordering whipped cream on my drinks because it makes them too sweet. No biggie. Well, now they're doing something with my mochas that's making them sweeter than they used to be and I am not a happy camper. I am going to have to switch to drip coffee. Drip coffee doesn't make me all high on chocolate and sugar. I am not a happy little camper. You have lost my love Starbucks. Between the fact that ever since they retrained everyone to make drinks, the wait is like ten years instead of three minutes (three minutes is almost too long, I want my bad espresso NOW), they got rid of decaf frappucino (it's like sugary death in a cup but all the retard parents pour it down their kids' gullets and now the little bastards will end up bigger addicts than me because mommy can't get it decaf anymore but damned if she'll give up her non-fat- AHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAA- carmel macchiato and serve the kiddies milk at home) and they have those godawful (yes, godwaful is one word, deal) viviano things which from now one we will call the "moririano" because a chocolate banana drink with an espresso shot tossed in is not going to help anyone in the remaining alive department. I am so annoyed with Starbucks that I am totally writing them out of my brilliant book (take that Starbucks, now all the archangels are going to have to drink coffee at independent coffee shops and aren't you sorry now? okay, you're not, whatever, see you tomorrow for my morning fix) although I won't be boycotting them because there's no Peets near my work.

If we had Dunkin Donuts, I wouldn't have these problems.

I will now write the next few novels by Philippa Gregory, so that those of us who used to enjoy her work won't have to wait for them or waste $19.95 and four hours on them.

Katharine of Valois: some title with "love" or "passionate" in it

ZOMG I am an innocent, hot, virginal and nubile princess in happy happy France... Wangst! The English are invading not that I'd know anything about that because politics are for the big strong men! More wangst, we lost and now I have to marry the horrible English... yeehah, he's hot and we're smexing 24/7 and I am in lurve! Oh noes! My hot yet strangely possessive, controlling and kinda jerk-ish husband is dead. Woe! I am left in the dumps of dumpitude to mourn about how lonely and oppressed I am. ZOMG hot Welsh dude and smexing ahead. Wangst, the evil oppressive men won't let me marry him. We'll have a scrillion kids and live happily ever after and our descendants will totally rule England and then they'll be sorry!!!

Isabella of France: some title with a reference to sex of some kind

ZOMG I am an innocent, hot, virginal and nubile princess in happy happy France... Wangst! I've been married off to the English king... oh wait smexing, so that makes it okay.... WTF he's gay??? Woe! My gay husband's boyfriend hates me and I have been banished to some place of suckitude to mourn about how oppressed I am. ZOMG this other guy is hot and smexable even if he is a crazy megalomaniac hell bent on taking over the kingdom using me as an excuse, because being so sweet and female and maligned I don't think about politics tee-hee! Yay! We won! Boo! My son totally had my crazy boyfriend executed which means I'm oppressed... in a comfort for the rest of my life without the smex. Damn.

Elizabeth Wydeville: Some reference to her blonde hair

ZOMG I am an innocent, hot, virginal and nubile chick in happy, happy England... Wangst! I've been married to some guy who isn't a king, but at least this way I'll have enough sexual partners to get my own book. Woe! My husband is dead. Wangst! The new hot king is totally trying to smex me but I hate him... no, I love him... hate! love! hate! Wait a minute... TWOO WUV!!! Bring on the smex. More woe! My husband is dead, dead as a pickled herring and now I must protect my sons from the evil oppressive... crap, that didn't work out well at all. Luckily, we can spend a couple hundred pages going on about my innocent, hot, virginal and nubile daughter who is, ZOMG oppression, going to be married off to Henry VI to live a life so devoid of drama and smexing with random people that she won't get her own book. Well, at least I can prophetically state that my daughter's descendants will totally rock this nation. Now back to my comfortable yet oppressed exile from court. The end.

Anne and Isabella Neville: Something about roses because the word "Other" has been overused.

ZOMG We are innocent, hot, virginal and nubile chicks in happy, happy England. Smex! Anne is betrothed to the Prince of Wales it's TWOO WUV! Smex ahoy (although it's historically unlikely that any such thing ever happened) Woe! Daddums is like at war and stuff but we wouldn't know anything about that being sweet little girls and all. Whatever will happen with the TWOO WUV??? ZOMG New king and Isabella is married to his bro, smex and more TWOO WUV! Woe! Daddums is like at war with the new king, but now Anne can totally be with the ex-prince of wales that she probably wasn't really with but hey we needed to get some smex in here somehow! Woe! Dad is dead! Woe! The ex-prince is dead! Wangst! Now Anne has to marry Richard III. She hates him! She loves him! Hate! Love! Hate! ... oh wait, evil sex is totally hot, MORE TWOO WUV!!! ZOMG Isabella died of death! Woe! Wangst! The king is dead and Anne's husband took the throne! More wangst, he's evil! Yet more wangst, Anne is dying of the deathly death but not before prophetically prophesying and Richard III will totally get what's coming to him!!!! Dead now. The end.

The sad thing is that I'm so desperate for something new to read that I'll probably break down and buy the books anyway. I mean, I've already heard that the latest one, about Mary Queen of Scots is a snore, but if they still had a book shop at the mall, I'd probably be reading it right now. Wangst and woe.

The stuff-up-puppy's-nose doctor determined that there was, in fact, nothing up Angel's nose. Thus, nose exploration was not necessary and she was able to come home. What she did have was a bacterial infection that resulted from her catching a doggy virus. She is on antibiotics and doggy Tamiflu. So, apparently, the dog caught the same cold that my sister and I had. Yeah, I have no idea how that happened, but other than the bacterial infection, all her symptoms were the same as what sis and I had. Go figure. She's also quarantined from other dogs for two weeks, so no puppy class for a while. Angel will be thrilled, because she was getting tired of all the other pups trying to hump her. She's too sexy for her puppy class, apparently.

Angel's temperature is back to doggie normal. She'll be spending the night at the vet for observation and they may check in the morning for anything lodged up her nose. Her bloodwork is normal, so a virus is looking like the most likely problem. Mom and I went to visit her, and she jumped up as soon as she saw Mom and was pretty much ready to leave with us. She was responsive and moving around more than she had been. The vet says that she doesn't think Angel is in danger right now, but she's still in the isolation part of the ICU because of the germs.

So, things are less bad than they were this morning when I skipped out of my voice lesson because I knew that I was not going to be able to focus at all for two hours (60 minutes of lesson and 60 minutes of total commuting) just in case ZOMG something happened and if anything did happen, I was going to be very upset about being 30 minutes away, so there you are. I'm out the price of a lesson, but it was the right choice for me. Nothing happened, but that's a good thing.

This morning Angel had weird snot coming out of her nose and a 104 fever. She's at the vet in isolation right now, being treated for infection. Good thoughts are appreciated because we love this dog and we've lost a puppy before... and I don't think anyone can handle that again. Hopefully, they treat whatever it is and it's all okay.

Remind me the next time I decide that I can watch footage from A.I. that it is vitally important to my mental well-being that I not do so under any circumstances. There is NOTHING in this movie that doesn't squick me right on out. In fact, watching it makes me fear for the sick and twisted souls of every last person involved with this horror show... and the most horrifying part is that no one seems to realize that this is the scariest and most evil movie ever. Can we say "flesh fair" anyone? I will never again be able to watch NASCAR with praying for the fate of humanity. Can we say torture through boredom? It's the movie that never ends, and then when it does end, you wish that they'd just killed the poor kid at the flesh fair. Can we sapient teddy bear? I fear it and yet I want to cuddle it and then it has to die from boredom because the damn writers have no fucking hearts at all.

I hate you, A.I. I hate every single second of your film from the first to the last. You should never have been made. You made me hate Haley Joel Osment too, and he was so cute in that other movie that didn't suck. I also curse the existence of CGI for making it possible for douchebag movies like A.I. to be made in the first place and for completely ruining the Star Wars franchise. If not for CGI, the prequels and all those idiotic "improved" editions of the classic trilogy would have NEVER EVER HAPPENED.

And don't think anyone's getting a pass on the last Indiana Jones and all that crystal skull crap. The people who own crystal skulls give them names and talk to them. Is there a single one of those things that has any kind of archaeological pedigree at all? Even on the damn history channel special, they never actually specify where exactly the crystal skull "legends" are supposedly from or when they originated. Well, duh, because saying some crazy jerk thought it up as a way to con people doesn't sound mystical enough, now does it? Nevertheless, this is mere stupidity as opposed to the evil which is A.I.

Jude Law with a shiny plastic face, like an anatomically correct Ken doll who crawled up the drain pipe from Hell. The fractured fairy tale that leads to an increasingly unpleasantly creepy bunch of dead ends. Dumping acid on sympathetic robots while the crowd cheers. A little fucking kid and his adorable yet scary teddy bear, underwater and staring at an old statue until the boredom kills them. Disturbingly freaky robots of the future. The kid's mom, who hates him, coming back to life for one day and then dying and it's supposed to be sentimental WTF???

MOST. EVIL. MOVIE. EVER.

My great mantra in life is:

People are very very stupid. I am a person, and therefore, the majority of my brilliant ideas are probably very very stupid. So, before I make an idiot of myself, I should probably stop and consider the rules of logic and common sense, just as a precaution against how incredibly stupid I probably am.

You would be surprised at how well things tend to work out when you stop and think stuff through this way. It keeps you from doing stuff like investing in Beanie Babies because when you think it out, you realize that they're stuffed toys and honestly come on. I'm not saying that I don't love me my collection of the ugliest Beanies ever made (for example, I have two different, but equally hideous, Beanie octopi), I'm just saying that on the day when I was seriously considering a Beanie bat, then priced between $75-150, I applied the stupid rule, waited about a year and got my bat for under $15 on eBay. Right now, I have my eye on the Beanie Loch Ness Monster, because the octopi need a friend.

Yanno, I really should start f-locking the final two installments of Stupid Stupid Vampires and the next bunch of This Ain't Twilight (for which you can thank zansidhe who actually expressed an interest in what happens next.) I'm not saying that I've decided to do it, but that it's on the table.

Also, I will very very likely have a couple of short stories to share from Stupid-Stupid-Vampires-verse and This-Ain't-Twilight-verse which will definitely be under a lock. Yes, I know the majority of the entire world doesn't care. I'm just warning the 1-3 people who do.

In the meantime, my new haircut is awesome and the salon I'm going to looks like it's timewarped from 1988-92, which I love. My latest favorite Christmas music doesn't exist in vocal solo sheet music, so I have to set it myself and I need to get the quilt and dust ruffle that match my bedding.