Sick

I’m lying here in bed, watching about my 20th episode of West Wing in my third day of being sick. I hate being sick! You’ll have to imagine that last line being yelled at the top of my lungs while my voice crackles, the phlegm running over my chords.

Damn you, American Work Ethic. Why did I sing yesterday and on Friday? Both times, I thought I was going to pee my pants for fear right before my solo came up. I have to prove to those people that gave me that solo that I can be consistent and reliable. To crack on my solo would be not just a personal embarrassment but would also make my chances of getting more solos nil or close to it. Really, though, I am coming to learn, I should have just called in sick, but with my understudy also out sick, and the core of the Men’s Chorus down to just me, I didn’t have much choice. It just pisses me off, though, that no one seems to have noticed that I readily put my self in harm’s way for the benefit of all. So, like I said, damn you, American Work Ethic.

Oh, and, by the way, being sick sucks!

Schadenfreude

Of course, living here in Germany, one thing that interests me are things that cannot really be translated. At first, it was things like “doch,” the German word that automatically disagrees with what you are saying. For example:

Question: “You didn’t understand what I said?”
Answer: “Doch!” (means “Yes, I did understand you.”)

It’s so convenient, because you basically are saying “what you just said is not true” by just saying one word. Plus, it has that really guttural sound at the end of which gives it that extra umph to really make the point.

What interests me about little things like this is that they are examples of how language has evolved differently. But, even more interesting is when one starts to extrapolate as to what sort of commentary such linguistic differences make on German society and societal ways of thinking. To me, it’s obvious, Germans love to be right almost more than anything, and they have a word to prove it.

I was getting really sick of what was an apparent cultural block, making it almost impossible for Germans to understand the gist of what I was trying to say. I thought that they didn’t understand because they kept disagreeing with me. Little did I know, until this friend explained it to me, that disagreeing is not in any way negative, but, in fact, can be considered positive. A typical German way of starting a conversation, one that can be expected to last a minimum of 45 minutes on any given subject, is do disagree with what you are saying. To just say, flat out, “you’re wrong” is nothing but an opportunity for you to begin the taking apart of the subject at hand and prove that you are right. It was when a friend explained the lack of negativity in the “you’re wrong” statement that I started to understand why a German friend of mine, years ago, said that I would really get along well in Germany. He was right. I really like it here.

At any rate, what was to be a short anecdote as a lead-in turned out to be too long. Nonetheless, the differences in German that cannot be translated are now more rare, but I heard one the other day that really wins, hands down, the Untranslatable Kraut Prize.

Schadenfreude. This is a word made up of two other words (“Schade” – pity, and “Freude”- happy.)

Schadenfreude is when you take delight in the misfortune of others. For instance, when Bricky’s arch nemesis Crochety completely messed up his part in Aida and cracked all over the place, Bricky laughed, actually laughed, visibly, on stage. He had Schadenfreude. He was so overcome with joy at his colleague’s misfortune that he had to laugh. When your most hated neighbor’s house burns down, you would have Schadenfreude. You get it. It is a human feeling not unfamiliar to us all. Troubling, however, is the fact that there is a word for it in German. What does this say about Germans?

Old man

Monica thought it was so funny when I told her, some days ago, that I thought my true self was a little, old man that lives in my stomach. And, well, I guess she’s right; it is pretty funny. Anyway, in the quest to finding my true self, I meditate to discover what my real feelings are, and I sometimes have visions that, in some way or another, represent “the path.” The old man is just such a representation.

Whether I believe in re-incarnation, or angels that are allowed to come back and roam the earth in human bodies only to better do the will of God, is immaterial here. The point is that, when one allows his imagination to open up, some pretty crazy things start pouring out. In my case, they are crazy, entertaining, and, thankfully, completely benign. It’s like my old teacher used to say: “Dear, you are so weird. But in a good way.”

Who is the old man, really?

I believe that there are some talents that I possess that I have heretofore not tapped into. Amongst them are my spirituality and wisdom. The old man represents both of them. There is not much in life that surprises me, and I generally hold to the belief that, for whatever reason, I know what is going to happen before it does, and am readied for the event when it occurs. How I could actually acknowledge that and just trust myself is perhaps a key to my next stage of development.

The wisdom is showing its face in other ways. I have come into some money of late, as some of you know, because of a settlement from an motorcycle accident. Now, I am going to invest this money. But, as I learn more about investment, I am really in the beginning stages of being only slightly aware of the market and am on my way to knowing enough to actually do something with the money. In this quest, though, I find myself shying away from companies that could potentially make a lot of money on the backs of their poor workers. Firms like Wal Mart (54 percent of their workers children are uninsured), Waste Management Systems (uses incinerators), Big Oil (has recently disclosed that they are making record profits this year at the expense of the consumer) are examples. I guess I have a conscience. Who knew?

The depths

Depression can be such a powerful thing. Sometimes I get these attacks that really take me into the depths. When I go to that place, everything becomes shaded by my feelings and, consequently, looks much less clear, duller, grayer, and more hopeless.

These times happen much less than they did when I was in graduate school. But, they have been happening a little more since I came back from America. I think that a lack of resolution with an ongoing, bad relationship with my father is affecting me in adverse ways, on a subconscious level.

It’s time to go and see someone. I just have no one to ask for a referral. I don’t want everyone in the theatre to know my private affairs, and I don’t have any friends outside of the theatre. Hmmm.

Love is...

I think I have decided that I like sitting at home and doing nothing. The time went by so wonderfully slowly today. I would normally feel guilty about watching movies and eating yoghurt, but that’s just not going to happen today. Damn you, silly guilt.

I thought this morning, probably because our 7-year-old niece will be spending the weekend with us, about what sort of lessons I would teach a child. I have always said that the number one challenge of this life is to love and accept yourself. If everyone would do that, I am sure we would all feel a little more love from one another. It’s funny, you know, they always say that one has to love oneself in order to love others, but they don’t really talk about how it is that you can love yourself.

Anyway, I tried to love myself today and it really worked. I had a great day!

I even crack myself up sometimes when I'm in a good mood. I know that it must seem weird to just see me sitting silently somewhere and to then just start laughing for no apparent reason.

One thing that made me crack up: I used to work for the government answering questions over the telephone about the FAFSA (the Free Application for Federal Student Aid.) It is a form that you have to fill out to apply for any kind of money from colleges or from the government. I.e., just about everyone who has gone to college has filled one of these babies out. Occasionally, when parents would call asking about why their kids weren’t going to be receiving any federal grants to go to college (in spite of the fact that the family’s gross income was 6 figures), we had to break the bad news to the greedy bastards.

We were instructed to say that all of the numbers that the parents had used to fill out the form were then put into a big computer somewhere. It then calculated what the parents should be able to pay per year for the potential child to go to college. When the people would then invariably ask if they could see the equation, we would say, per our instruction, that the equation was so difficult that you would need to be a mathematician to understand it, but that, of course, we would be glad to send them a copy. (I think that I sent maybe 2 in the more than 9months that I worked there.)

I just thought it was so funny, though, when I said the line one day “well, the equation is very complicated and you would need to be a mathematician to understand it.” and the man on the other end said “Well, I AM a mathematician.”

Lull

Fitting for Wildschütz
Dentist APPT (to fix the tooth I cracked while eating a candied almond)
Performance of Nacht in Venedig

Saw Bullitt last night, and old copper movie. It was very good, as Ebert had predicted. There are such funny things about 70s movies, though. The whole movie climaxes when the criminal is caught on a plane before it takes off, but he escapes out the back door of the plane, jumps onto the tarmac and starts shooting at the police. This means that his gun was with him on the plane! Wow, those sure were the days, as the song goes. Doctors smoking cigarettes in hospitals, no one wearing seat belts, rotary phones, and practical medieval surgical procedures make the movie seem so dated, even though I remember the 70s. The whole movie is about the mob, but, for whatever reason, unlike the Godfather, they were unable to use that word. Instead, they called it “the organization.” That was kind of funny, really. “Yes, we have to get this witness on the stand if we ever expect to prosecute the organization.” just doesn’t have a ring to it.

Went to visit my friend Betsy, an American, in Mainz on Saturday. It is always good to see her. She is so funny. Her career is really starting to take off; she even got a review in Opernglass, our Opera News. She is so unsure of herself, though. Aren’t we all? She really is wonderful, even if she does make me feel like a clod for having sub-standard German sometimes.

Sunday and Monday, we were in Wiesbaden visiting our friends Thorsten and Wulf. Wiesbaden is so beautiful. It is so rich, and the houses, consequently, are so grandiose and Riviera-esque. At any rate, we drove to Limburg, a beautiful little town. we drove there in Thorsten’s DS (déesse.) It is this old French car that I just love. It was a beautiful day, too, and the city was packed. It was cool to see how all the people looked at us in our funny car.



I’ve been in kind of a sour mood lately, and I can’t say that I know why. Things are so complicated sometimes. It is hard to see what makes me tick. I do know one thing for sure, though: I really hate Bricky. He is such a self-aggrandizing, egotistical, soulless bitch. And, he called me a “colossal elephant” yesterday in rehearsal, which is enough to make me hate him.

Evita!

Ok, I should have brought my minidisk recorder and that’s all there is to it. Don’t ask me how it’s possible that a German opera chorus, completely international in its make-up, and completely old school in its vocal technique, would be asked to sing the musical "Evita." It is just so wrong in so many ways. I am sure that I will never be able to describe the horror to you, but, since there is no record of what I have just lived through, I will have to use my words to describe to you the meeting of two worlds.

These worlds are strange bedfellows, as strange as let’s say a professional basketball player and a professional taxidermist, or maybe like a Bible salesman and a union fluffer or something. Anyway, the point is that oil and water just don’t mix, and I am here to say that operatic voices and musicals don’t mix either. Period. End of story.

I mean, in the score for "Evita", which the chorus painstakingly read note for note, putting T’s at just the right place, syncopating methodically and singing triplets like a friggin’ metronome, there are some high notes. There are even high D’s for the sopranos. But, seriously, do they have to sing them full out? Have you ever heard an operatic soprano sing a high D at the end of the first act of Evita? The sound of us all in that moment could summon up the rapture, let’s just say, and it seems like more than way over the top.

And there are 3 of us out 17 that are American. We have people from Slovakia, the Czech Republic, Russia, Romania, and a bunch from right here in Germany. When all of these people try to sing in English, one of the most complex to sing because of our strange vowels and diphthongs, it is a roller coaster ride to the happy farm and I ain’t kidding:



Don’t craayah forah me, Argentiiiiiiinaaahhhhh
Zee truz iz I nahever left yuuuuuuuu.
All zru maee vild deeeez
maeee mahd egsistahnsss

I won’t even go into what an embarrassment it is to try to explain to these people, all of whom are older than myself, what the words “slut” and “bitch” can be best translated as in German. Of all of the surrealism that I face on an everyday basis here, I would have to say that tonight’s rehearsal may have been a probable highpoint. Fellini, I have a new concept for you that you might want to consider...

Sing, boy, sing!

I had my first lesson with an old student of Inci Bashar that has been working on the German stage for 22 years and is a Wagnerian soprano. Finally, someone who just lets me open up and sing, and doesn’t try to shut down my voice and make it smaller. Finally someone who agrees, I think, that I am a young Heldentenor. And, finally someone, who is really going to be able to help me on my way because she really likes my voice and is perceptive and honest enough not to let me get away with bad habits. Plus, she only lives an hour away, and charges 40 Euros a lesson. Amazing! Maybe it is time.

She wanted to know if I could financially swing it and just stop, right now, singing in the chorus and concentrate on my technique and getting my solo career off the ground. Wow. This whole time I have resigned myelf to being a chorister just because it is easy and sure. Is there, still, really a chance for me? I don’t know. But, I do know this, I aam going to try to sing some concerts and solo stuff this year and just see what happens.

She said something very interesting yesterday. She realized that she was spinning her wheels in frustration trying to go onto the next step in her career, when a friend asked her “do you really want it?” She had trouble answering that question. She had achieved so much already and was enjoying time with her kids at home, that she had to ask herself if she really wanted to not just be a well-known Dramatic Soprano in Germany, but, rather, internationally. When she comes up with the answer, it will all fall into place accordingly.

I have to ask myself this question, too. Will I have to become frustrated with the chorus and my fellow singers so much that I will force myself out, or, will I decide that I want more and reach out in another direction? I have seen first hand how hard it is to be a soloist from working so closely with them here. I am just not sure whether the payoff is great enough. But, I am realizing for the first time something that I have forgotten: singing is my form of artistic expression. Being able to communicate as an artist is no good if no one hears it.

I definitely need my whore.

Pr the example of my friend Karen, I have taken Google’s advice and have made a little list of just what Google thinks I need by typing in “MY NAME needs”. Thee mother of all super computer brains has told me, without doubt, just what I should be setting as goals for my life. Thank God, because, until just this moment, I thought I was a boat on the listless seas of life, without sail or oar (random homophony, yes!)

PS Did any of you see that article in the Onion a couple of months back that said that Google plans to destroy all information not readily obtainable of google? What a brilliant idea.

J. needs a stable and nurturing family.
J. needs a heart transplant.
J. needs a disciple and soul mate.
J. needs to simply keep active.
J. needs his whore.
J. needs to live successfully and fully.
J. needs a family who will adopt him.
J needs to lose weight!
J. needs to crawl.
J. needs sudden rescue from the matchmaking schemes of his aunt.
J. needs to be taught how to imitate autistic children.
J. needs an assistant nearby in case he becomes incapacitated.
J. needs a bride tonight.
J. needs a number-10 wrench.
J. needs a German lap dancer!
J. needs to write a letter clearly explaining what happened.
J. needs a lot of shit.

PPS As it turns out, for those of you reading my blog on a regular basis (and by that I mean the thousands of my adoring fans...), Bricky was punished rather severely for his actions the other day by the heads of the theatre (Dicky’s bosses.) So, there is justice after all. Now, to come up with a way that I might win Dicky’s respect...

Your introduction to the Antichrist

I just can’t believe that it is only the second month of the season, and there are already things that cause me to not be able to sleep. I promised myself that I would just try to let things go this year, realizing that some things are just not that important in the scheme of things. But, for whatever reason, I can’t seem to...

This last Monday, a member of the chorus, who has been with the company for 14 years and who sings a lot of solo roles on the stage, got angry at another member of the chorus during a rehearsal, threw a tantrum and stormed out. Bricky, as I will call him, is a personal friend to both of his immediate bosses (the chorus director and the general music director.) So, his tantrum went unpunished.

The problem is that the entire chorus knew that what he did, albeit unprofessional and disrespectful of his colleagues, would go unpunished. They knew this because they know that every member of the chorus receives different, preferential treatment based on their worth and tenure. This is the philosophy of our chorus director, Dicky. This kind of feeling, that someone amongst us is golden, that he will not be punished, ever, that he will get away with murder, is extremely bad for any group. The men’s chorus is incensed about this. Bricky should have received some kind of punishment, considering there have been many other offenses before this, most of which not out right or obvious enough to punish. But, to storm out in front of the group, and for this to have been so obvious a mistake and against the rules, and still not to be punished for it, is a smack in our faces. Every member of the chorus knows in his heart that if he had done the same, walked off the job in effect, he would have been severely punished.

I went to Dicky about this. I thought he should know, in case he hadn’t realized it, that the morale of the overall group was at stake in this little, yet symbolic matter. He said that the matter was over because he had a talk with Bricky, and because Bricky is having trouble at home and problems of a personal nature, his indiscretion was forgiven. I have no problem with this. I have sympathy for my fellow man, even is he is someone that I consider to be diabolical and (to repeat what everyone in the chorus calls him) a psychopath. If he is having trouble at home, he deserves our understanding. What followed in the conversation with Dicky, however, is what has truly, since that time, upset me.

Dicky said that we all have different worths, and must be treated accordingly.

“Bricky has been in the theatre a very long time (even longer than me!), he said. Bricky is a hard worker. He is always in the theatre. He has really great musical ideas. I know this, because I share all of the same ones. You can’t compare someone who has just begun in the theatre with someone who has been here for years. People who have been here a long time are more experienced, and just know more about how things work.”

And what I understood from the conversation: You are just a beginner. You have no worth, or very little, compared to Bricky.

Dicky really believes that the world is a hierarchical place, that we all have our place in this structure, and we are on pedestals if we so deserve it. Or, as my case is, we are stuck in the nether regions of the structure’s basement, never to see the light of day until those above us die or move on, thus passing on to us their offices with windows.

You have no idea how this has made me feel like shit. To think that all of that education and experience that I have had in the theatre was suddenly wiped out when I entered the doors of this one for the first time makes me sick to my stomach. All of this because my boss is so small minded as to not recognize that we all bring to our art different talents and experiences, most of which were lived and learned before coming here. I hate hierarchical thinking. I hate the way it forces some of us to be considered second-class citizens. But, for it to be thrown in my face, seemingly telling me that I have no real worth, is too much. I can’t just let it go. I am not the shit under someone else’s shoe, and nothing will make me resign myself to believing such.

So, of course, I am thinking about what I must do to combat against this. Suggestions?

German Unity, Yay

Tag der Deutschen Einheit
(The day of German re-unification—a national holiday*)

Went to visit Brian’s cousin in Kaiserslautern. Had lots of fun. Brian is black and so is his family. So, I spent the day soaking up as much of what I now miss about America: cultural diversity. You have no idea what it is like to have to live in such a homogenous culture. The only minority is the Turkish one, and I, like many Germany, do not really relate to it (different culture, different language, head scarves, etc.)

I burned a DVD for Brian’s cousin because we had talked about this great movie that I had recently seen before visiting her last time, the “Diary of a Mad Black Woman.” I had burned the DVD that morning before my shower and, as I was leaving, Chris handed it to me and I put it in my bag. I get to Brian’s cousin’s house, and hand her the DVD. She look at it and says
“uh, Diarrhea of a Mad Black Woman?”
“Huh?”
“This says Diarrhea of a Mad Black Woman. Is that some kind of joke?”
You have to understand, that this movie is sort of the pride of the African American community right now. It was poo pooed by many critics, but won some people’s choice awards. I guess Chris, being his jovial self had decided to make a little joke, as usual, without thinking of the implications, only of the obvious pun when he wrote the title on the DVD. Needless to say, my efforts to make a connection with this woman that I like very much were stunted in a moment when she perceived that I was making a joke about a movie that I supposedly liked and that is one of the pillars of African American culture. Thanks, Chris.

* Should really be celebrated on the 9th of November, the date the wall actually came down, but that date coincides with Kristallnacht, one of Germany’s darkest days. So, October 3rd was chosen instead.

Mundane

Yesterday: Premiere of Nacht in Venedig (Strauss)
Today: Fidelio Matinee

I’m sitting here at amazement, reading the almost hourly blog entries of my friend Karen, feeling like a clod for not writing every day, and thinking that my friends are all lazy and mean by not writing more in their blogs for my entertainment (Lillie, Alton!)

I must say, though, that blogs are allowing me glimpses into worlds of old friends with which I, normally, would not have extended conversations about the mundane parts of their everyday existences. I feel like I am not out of touch with Karen’s life anymore, for instance. It may just be her writing , but I can almost really get a feel for what is up with her.

So, why not share these things with all of you.

I wake up in the morning, I am beginning to realize, with a tone already set for what the day will be. What I have dreamed in the night tends to have lasting effects with me, for some reason. Some days, I am longing for the past, or caught up with the many mistakes I have made in my life. I think it is really easy for us all to put things that matter in the back of our minds somehow as we lead our lives, hoping to address them later. But, I am finding, later often doesn’t come, and those things for which we have no time in our conscious hours are beinga hashed out in our sleep. (And knowing a little bit about what the subconscious is supposed to be, I am not sure that I want to leave such important business that sees a fish, a car, and a virgin as equals...)