Commentary on life and all that it contains.

Schnitzel

2009-06-30T22:25:00.001+02:00

In the effort to write something in this God-forsaken space, the forgotten room in a wing of my brain that has been boarded off for some time and left in my back pocket, I write something. Cue music.

It is a boring subject, I can assure you, that has been an on-going theme in my life (and will be until this body’s last breath.) In spite of this, though, I do have to occasionally put the best foot forward in order to “keep it real” from one homeboy to another, as I dare not disappoint my fizz-nizzle homeslices, whom I like to call my ‘gangsta devotées’. Ach Gott, to be cool takes such concerted effort…

I love food. I love to eat; I love to cook; I love to read about food, smell food, taste all kinds of food, to be comforted by food, to obsess about food, to watch cooking shows, to browse cooking books, to visit all manner of restaurants. I love food and just about everything that has to do with food. The one section of any larger store that you may have a hard time prodding me out of is the gastronomy section, and, consequently, the kitchen in our home is one of the better-prepared rooms, laden with all sorts of utensils: those completely utilitarian and necessary and those bought for their innate prettiness in spite of their often deplorable uselessness. C. and I love to cook, to experiment with food, and, above all, to eat the fruits of our labors. As Julia Childs so wisely once said, “You have to love to eat in order to cook well.” I attribute this principle to my savoir faire in the ‘heart of the home’.

But love, imbibed with enough passion can cross the Styx into obsession, a realm that, somewhat like the perfume, reeks of helplessness and compulsion. This version of love for food is one that I am in the midst of changing, what I like to call my ‘next greatest challenge’, duly implying the very heroic nature of the effort, implying that one of us, food or me, may not come out alive.

The third party in the quest to obsession’s liberation is my counselor, Frau Dr. B., who appears in this medieval vision as the Tree Nymph, sitting on a branch just above me, able to advise in her other-worldly fashion, having heard all these stories of mine before, unflinched by my needs, able to always find an obvious answer to my, unbeknownst to me, completely benign questions.

Frau Dr. B. (such a non-nymph-like name) seems to have awakened me to the possibilities of change, change in my behavior, in my ways of thinking, in my outlook. Funny how simple it all is in the end, really, especially when I am a big fan of self-importance, arrogance, stubbornness, and the innate complexity of the universe. ‘Just change things slightly, a little at a time’, she said. ‘Harrumph’ was the response she got, I believe. But now I would totally write a song, something to the words “now I’m a believer”, had it not been done before me.

No, I am not thin now. No, I can’t go on Oprah gloating at the successes of losing the equivalent of a small compact after being cut out of my house and rescued by Richard Simmons. The world has not moved, and, all in all, I am still the same bearish, well-fed overly-grown cherub. But my mind has changed, my will is different, and, although I still love food bordering on impassioned obsession, I have crossed back from the other side, back to the living where people eat with joy in their eyes, not wolfish, shocking looks of ravenous need, with eyes that could burn a laserbeam hole through that delightful piece of fresh, genuine Wienerschnitzel so often taunting me in my dreams.

If only I WERE a Superfriend and had those kind of powers. Now that’s an idea: Schnitzel Man, he’ll flatten you with his powerful fists and then finish you off to a crusty finish as hot grease shoots out of his fingertips. Dedicated to the betterment of the world through understanding, he volunteers on the side, working toward better German/American friendship and understanding.

Mmmm, Schnitzel. That sounds good about now.

2009-06-26T11:53:00.001+02:00

This is incredible!!!!

Bathtub IV from Keith Loutit on Vimeo.

2009-06-26T06:10:00.000+02:00

All the news that is news.

2009-05-30T12:40:00.001+02:00

For all the virtual whining and general angst that I wrote concerning my career in this blog over the past years, you would think that now that things are going well, I should at least inform those 2 people who read this blog but don’t have daily contact with me of the news of late… (Yes, I mean you Dennis. I am excited about the package you sent and, because of the instructions, I can only guess it has something to do with our hero…)

Well, here’s “since Christmas” in a nutshell. My agents (I have 4) managed to send me out on about 8 auditions at different opera houses throughout the country in January, February and March.

The first audition was all the way across the country, a plane, train and bus ride away. I remember walking out on stage and being so nervous that I couldn’t think of anything except two words, repeating in a quick loop in my head: “I’m nervous.” I was so nervous that I could practically hear my knees knocking, and I could not, for the life of me, remember what words came next. Thank goodness I had practiced my rep like a madman, so my body took over and preformed rote.

But, things got better with experience, and with therapy and some Homeopathy, I was able to get a hold of myself and sing well by the last few. I did a lot of singing, a lot of traveling. I sang for great big houses and tine, little ones. The big houses all had the same response: 1. Great material, 2. He’s too young to sing Heldentenor repertoire, and 3. He is too inexperienced. One of the big houses (actually my favorite by far) was very interested in me, and asked my agent to inform them of all of my upcoming engagements, as they want to follow my career. That’s cool. At the time, I was thinking ‘Good feedback, but what I really need is a job.’ Silly boy.

One of the last auditions that I went on was for a very small house in the former DDR, in Nordhausen. It was a cute little place, with a sweet, albeit very small, theatre. The people were very friendly at the audition, and I had a nice conversation with the people in my audition. To make a long story short, I ended up getting that job. It is a Festcontract (a salaried position) for 2 years. The thinking is, if I am to be taken seriously by the bigger houses, which are doing the rep that I really would love to do, then I must first address two of the points of criticism that they consistently gave. With this job, I will get a lot of experience, and 2 years will pass before I am available again, making my age less of a factor, hopefully.

I am a religious man, and I, during this entire process, opened myself up to God’s influence upon my life. I was working under the principle that, since I did not know where I should be and how it would work out, that I would just do my best, accept all auditions, and make my job a simple one: to sing well. I believe that the outcome is what is best for me right now. I have much to learn in Nordhausen, obviously, and especially because of the circumstances leading up to this jobs materialization, will be very open to these lessons.

The rep for the first year is set. It was a bit of an issue at first, as the rep is not exactly perfectly suited for my voice. But, the experts at hand are telling me that this rep will help me to keep my voice very lyric and less “shouty”--a tendency of many Heldentenors (see “The Bayreuth Bark”.) The first year, I will sing the roles of Don Ottavio (Don Giovanni—Mozart), Baron Kronthal (Wildschütz—Lortzing), Jack (Mein Freund Bunbury—Wildhorn) and Tamino (Zauberflöte—Mozart). The Bunbury thing is actually a DDR musical based on “The Importance of Being Earnest”, so that’s cool. Should be fun. Maybe I’ll have to dance, so I’ll enjoy that.

How things come full circle. My understanding of the circumstances has really progressed. It took me a while to realize that I had finally accomplished what I had set out to do 18 years ago when I first studied voice at university. Yes, in reality, I had already been a successful singer in that I had spent much of my life now being able to support myself through music, either teaching or singing. But the coveted Festcontract is practically something of lore in the singing world; every young singer wants one, and it is practically seen as obligatory for anyone starting out in order to be taken seriously. That is the way, I have come to realize, that I thought of it, either having been programmed to do so or having hyped it enough in my mind. But, there was something that came over me when it began to sink in that I had finally “made it” by my own standards. In some ways, being married to Chris, living abroad, having money, and now a career, I have achieved in my life what I have set out to achieve and that gives me a very deep satisfaction.

Now the current reality of learning my first role, and the one perhaps least appropriate for my voice, is upon me. It has been pretty hard going, as singing this light Mozart with my actual voice goes against every musical instinct within me. But, I have to use what I have been given. I can’t just wake up and change the instrument I use in order to suit the music the way a flutist would change flutes or an organist would change registration. Somehow, I will have to make this role mine. The head of the opera house knows he was getting a young Heldentenor. I just hope that he realizes what that will sound like singing Mozart. ☺

2009-05-25T08:14:00.000+02:00

Windows

2009-05-24T19:13:00.000+02:00

I love this time of year in Germany. The weather is starting to warm up enough that people are beginning to leave their windows open for much of the day. In my Berlin neighborhood, where many of the houses date back to the earlier part of the century, the houses are all made of stone, with walls a couple of feet thick. Old apartments like ours (built in 1911) have double windows, both open up into the apartment like French doors, and there is about 5 inches between the first and the second window. This means that, although the construction is quite old, it is not as inefficient to heat as one may think. It also means that you hear almost nothing from the outside. But now, the illusion that we are isolated from other people, even though we live in a big city, has been completely debunked. As we leave the apartment and walk through the courtyard, you can hear other people’s conversations, occasional laughter, or even, if we’re lucky, lovers’ quarrels. Sometimes I have to giggle to myself as I walk into the previously-silent Hof, now hearing occasional, enormous farts from where I know a little old lady lives or a guttural belch from little-miss-prim-and-proper’s apartment. I makes me fantasize about meeting these people near the trash bins as we empty our refuse, making polite conversation together, me gently, unobtrusively inserting comments like “So, did you learn to cuss like that in the service?” or “I hope those gastro-intestinal problems have begun to clear up.” Suddenly the once private has been horribly exposed. Surely by the end of the Summer, I will have seen just about everyone in the building naked at one time or another, or at bare minimum in some kind of unflattering light, perhaps the Herr-Doktor-so-and-so picking his nose or some obese woman undulating to an aerobics DVD.

Speaking of the obese, I have been jogging which makes my time outside, within earshot of said events more frequent. I actually find it a bit odd that it has taken the Germans this long to leave their windows open as we have had temperatures in the 70s for some time. Today was 72 degrees Fahrenheit, and I saw a neighbor out on a walk, pushing her newborn in a baby buggy. She seemed surprised that I had been jogging. “In this heat?” she said. This is heat? Wow, I barely broke a sweat and she seemed to think I should be worried about over-exposure. How could such a sensitive race have practically taken over the continent not that long ago? I still find it hard to believe sometimes. They seem so gentile and refined nowadays…so genuinely nice most of the time.

Peak of Summer, in jackets and Scarves...

2009-04-08T20:06:00.003+02:00

I witnessed a virtual run on the ice cream parlors because it was 20 degrees Celsius on Tuesday (68 Fahrenheit). I thought it only fitting, then, to revisit a post made previously on May 16, last year:

My God, Germans love ice cream. I mean, yeah, they love ice cream like any other culture of the world loves ice cream. But, there’s something about the Springtime coming, poking its head out of every crocus climbing with light speed out of the barely-thawed German ground, that practically forces Germans to buy a scoop just about every time they pass an ice cream stand.

And, you know, the Germans being the Germans, they have the whole thing down to a fine art. Ice cream here is not just ice cream…it is Italian ice cream, which I can vouch for—it’s some of the best I’ve ever tasted. Some of these little shops put Baskin Robbins to shame with their flavor choices. And, the secret? It’s made fresh, usually in the store, by the very guy who scoops it out for you. Or it could be his son. Or daughter. It’s a family business. (No, I don’t mean “family” like that…)

And then there are the ice cream parlors. That’s right, like the olden days. (I am just sorry that this being a foreign country, I can’t work the word “jerk” into a sentence and feel confident about its anachronistic harmlessness.) Can I get an “amen”? These places are decked out like some fancy restaurant, beautiful white leather, brass everywhere. The waiters, all Italian, of course, take your order from a menu that resembles the lexicon offered by the Cheesecake Factory, complete with glossy pictures of some of the frozen delights piled high with sprinkles, cookies, and chocolates of all kinds. No Sunday stroll would be complete here without a sundae that even the chintziest German can rationalize away as a reward for his weekly Spaziergang. He’ll fork out upwards of 3, 4, or 5 euros. I thought I was getting gypped the first time I considered what I had just ordered, until the moment the confection arrived at my table. If my normal indulgence of a scoop or two could be considered a bungalow, these 5€ crowning achievements must be at least the Chrysler Building. Well, just trust me, they are a sight to behold.

The weather has been in the 70s (F) for almost two weeks now. And, you can’t walk more than two steps without seeing someone with a cone in their hand. Perhaps the worst of them all is a fella named Christoph, who thinks that it is his droit de seigneur to have 3 scoops every time he steps out the door.

It’s just another weird German obsession, one which seems to be genetically imprinted, because I have yet to see a German who doesn’t celebrate the blossoms of Spring without the obligatory icy balls of sugar overload.

Maybe it’s their way of claiming victory over the dreary German winter. The winter is personified in balls of ice cream, in suspended animation, immobile and vulnerable with a bit of flavor added to not make the procedure seem so grotesque. The German looks at the hard winter sitting idly before him, he considers it, cradled by its little waffle friend, and takes that first bite, slowly gnawing away at that which gave him one grey day after another, slowly killing his spirit over months. This monster had tormented and even killed generations of other Krauts before him. Our proverbial German savors that bite, and thinks, “Vinter you are MINE. I detroy you!” Insert evil laugh here. (But, you know, the kind of laugh that only cackled inside his head, because, this is like a thought the guy is having, and not an actual like talking out loud moment. And stuff.)

Maybe they just like ice cream and it’s too damn cold to eat it when your nipples are so hard because of the cold that you come home to find your favorite blouse completely shredded above the midriff. I hate it when that happens.

2009-03-19T20:09:00.001+01:00

Have the Germans absolutely NO racial sensitivity?

2008-12-18T22:51:00.003+01:00

I really love this building near Unter den Linden. It looks like something from Blade Runner. This picture was taken at 5PM, by the way...notice how pitch black it is outside.

2008-12-15T23:17:00.003+01:00

You know, I was wondering that, too.

Here Comes Porna-Klaus

2008-12-15T23:00:00.006+01:00

I find it funny that Christmas in Germany seems to be even cheesier than I remember it in America, with Christmas Markets, the time-honored tradition of eating a piece of chocolate every da for 24 days before Christmas arrives, etc. Yes, they tend to decorate more sparingly with lights and usually go for the "classy" look rather than the blinking, multi-colored, over-the-top look, but it is still pretty gaudy. And early! By the end of October, you can see evidence of Christmas decorations. At least in America, you have Thanksgiving as a barier that most people use as a marker, careful not to begin their decorating until after that lest they look too white trash.

Here, though, everyone celebrates Christmas, even your run of the mill, neighborhood porn shop makes an attenpt to be festive. I certainly hope they remember the reason for the season. har har

Random Thought-provoking Pictures

2008-12-15T09:43:00.003+01:00

Finally, I have found an advantage to having such a large shoe size (14 US): on the 6th of September, when Germans celebrate St. Niklaus, and we wake up to magically find candy and goodies in our shoes, I tend to get more than someone who, say, wears size 5 pumps.

Aufstieg

2008-12-10T13:42:00.001+01:00

So much has happened over the past few weeks, so it may be hard to bring you up to date on the fabulous life of the me. Whatever. I am fabulous with or without circumstance. Kind of. Not really. Double whatever.

Whereas my career could have been likened to the Sahara on any day—dry and uneventful, no activity on the limitless horizon. Now, a drought in the desert seems to have been the wrong metaphorical reference altogether. Here I was, tent pitched, hunkered down for the long draw, only to realize that I had set up shop in a riverbed and thunder claps were to be heard off in the distance.

In a stroke of genius (what I would have, at that time, called one of my little schemes), and having been alerted to the fact that small theatres in Germany have an aversion to working with agents as they like to save money and not to pay those agency fees, I wrote all of the opera theatres in Germany with less than 750 seats. That’s 36 theatres. (I will give you a sec to recover from this figure…) I sent them all out, with a letter explaining who I am and what I am up against as a young Heldentenor—all sob-story wrapped in the intrigue of “diamond in the rough” kind of jargon of The Biz, enclosed my resumé, and referred them to my website where they could hear audio examples of my voice.

By Tuesday, I had received 3 responses. One theatre doesn’t do opera anymore. Another had no openings for Heldentenors. The third, a very good theatre, wrote a nice, long, very encouraging email saying that they really enjoyed the audio clips, that they don’t need anyone right now, but would invite me as soon as they had a vacancy. Well, needless to say, I was on cloud nine. Cloud nine, table for one…yes, I prefer the self-congratulatory, gloating corner. Non-smoking? Oh, who cares?

On Wednesday, I was still reeling at the news that there is someone out there who sees my potential. Riding through the gray Berlin drizzle, my cell rang. By the time I could stop to answer, someone had already left a message. It was the Opera Director from a small house in the West of the country. They need a Max for Der Freischütz, and they want me to come to audition in the beginning of December. Success! Really, up until now, I haven’t really sung for anyone who does the hiring and the firing. Coooooool.

But the week wasn’t over. The Dream Agent (remember him?) was coming to town and wanted to hear my progress. I sang for him on Wednesday evening and he was EXCITED. He went back to Austria and wrote an email to all of his contacts, introducing me, and recommending that they hear me immediately. And, without giving away theatre names, as I am still paranoid about being burned as I was when leaving my last job, I will tell you that these places are top notch. It’s funny, because I am trying my own little scheme off to the side, trying to gather some experience in D houses, at the same time being sent to A houses by the Dream Agent. Kinda crazy. And some of these auditions will be in opera houses that even the least opera fan amongst you would recognize, and for gigs that are in 2012, when I will be 40. Weird.

At this point, I am recovering from my first house audition that was yesterday. I HAVE SO MUCH TO LEARN!!!!! I can seriously not recall ever being as terrified as I was singing my heart out on that little stage. I have never experienced stage fright to that extreme. I guess hiding somewhere in the chorus was the tip of the proverbial iceberg. With more success comes greater and greater exposure. I must learn to keep my wits about me. It went well yesterday and they seemed interested with a steadfast German promise of “we’ll call you.” So, we’ll see. But, the experience of my first real house audition: priceless.

Dow Down

2008-11-21T21:37:00.003+01:00

Remember that dream I had in the Spring, the one where I saw the financial market's collapse? Well, I had another one. In this dream, the Dow plummets to 3000. Considering the Dow was nearly to 14,000 not that long ago, this would indicate times perhaps worse than the Great Depression, when nearly a third of the workforce was unemployed. What a nightmare.

2008-11-21T21:34:00.000+01:00

Cuteness

2008-11-13T18:38:00.002+01:00

Do you remember when there was some Republican-initiated controversy when Michelle gave Obama the old fist bump, saying that it was some terrorist signal? Talk about out of touch. Geez.

Random Thoughts or Lack thereof

2008-11-13T12:04:00.000+01:00

A few points:

1: I think it is funny how people are questioning the Fed, and its recent backtracking ad re-organizing of the bailout plan. I guess this air of indecision makes people think that Paulson does not know what he is doing, as it indicates in some way that he is not sure what is driving the financial crisis. Well, let me help you out. The answer is quite simple, in fact it is only one word: DEBT.

So much of the world financial market has been centered around speculation, that being hugely in debt has become somehow normal (60% of GDP for America, 64% of GDP for Germany). The housing crisis was partly brought on by mortgages that were negotiated with the understanding that real estate prices will always go up, leaving many now owing more than their house is actually worth as home values plummet. This tied into very high averages of personal debt, and, thusly, people living from paycheck to paycheck, will make this Depression (yeah, you bet your ass I call it that) very hard, especially for Americans, and the British. Thankfully, extremely high credit card debt are virtually unknown here as most credit cards are issued by banks that only extend credit card credit for one month before it comes out one’s account automatically. That tied in with the extremely developed welfare system will make the transition over the next couple of years a little easier here than in the States. People are still to be seen shopping here, spending money for Christmas, etc., which, according to NBC, is happening much less in the States. This may be a very false sense of security, I know.

I did take some pride in this stage of the storm when the CEO of Deutsche Bank (my bank) went on public record as saying he would be ashamed of his company if it were ever forced to accept public funds to stay afloat (remember AIG?) Anyway, before I go off on another Germany-loving tangent, I will at least acknowledge that this problem is a worldwide one, and when looking at the Dax and the Dow, they practically mirror each other in their gains and losses. Germans are just a lot more fiscally conservative as a whole than Americans, and I hope this will help them in the coming years in some way. This with the fact that we have a more developed, albeit not entirely viable, renewable energy system and public transportation system will mean that even when the times get hard we can at least have power and transportation, but I digress.

2. The Supreme Court decided that blasting high-intensity sonar through the Pacific was absolutely necessary for the security of America, even if it meant killing, maiming and potentially torturing whales. Fuck that. You assholes! I suppose those old tards on the bench haven’t gotten the memo that the Cold War is over. Or, are we expecting those now rag-tag towelheads called Al-Quaeda to procure themselves a nuclear submarine, drive it up to San Francisco Bay and fire one off? Give me a break. It’s time to bring back those tired old 70s “Save the whales” bumper stickers.

3. Gun sales are up 300-400%. Wow! A blackie got elected, so we need to protect the farmstead. Jesus. And you need an automatic rifle for that? Hey, I have no problem with hunting. It’s actually a good way to keep some deer populations from getting out of control. But, pistols and automatic weapons for personal security? That’s just plain stupid. Contribute to the Bradley Center, if you agree!

4. People, including GW himself, are questioning whether or not we bail out the car companies. Well, I understand the sentiment. They got themselves into this whole mess by not being “with the times” and creating more energy-efficient hybrids, electric cars, etc. Instead, they just kept making SUVs and gas-guzzling trucks. In spite of this horrible foresight, though, I would like for you to consider one thing: how is America going to, under the new administration, become the world leader in alternative energy and low energy transportation without the infrastructure of the Big 3? Unfortunately, our future depends on them, so we’ll have to bail them out, too. It’s just that simple.

Laughin' with Nancy

2008-11-10T09:57:00.001+01:00

First comes shock, then awe. I was seriously expecting myself to run through the streets of Berlin, like some Olympic track star, in a complete haze, tears running down my face, chanting “Obama” “Obama” at the top of my lungs. Instead, when I awoke in the middle of the night on Tuesday, I could not stop myself from turning on CNN, where I caught the last few minutes of Obama’s speech. I was relieved, of course. But perhaps more confusing to me was my lack of jubilation as I climbed back into bed and told Chris “Obama hat gewonnen” and we both dozed off, back to dreamland.

Actually, my mood since the election has been some kind of strange disbelief, a non-realization of what has come to pass. I don’t know if it is the dire circumstances that surround the political environment; the pinnacle onto which O. has been thrust does not seem so regal at this trying a time. Perhaps it is simply disbelief that has colored the undercurrent of my mood. One thing is for sure, though, being emotionally overcome this morning for the first time since the election certainly denotes some kind of disconnect between last Tuesday night and today. I must have just needed time to come to believe that I AM awake, and that history HAS taken place, and I was there to witness it all. Cool. Unbelievably cool.

It looks like the mystique of the “Bubba vote” and the “Bradley Effect” were so incredibly disproved. My whinings as well about the incompetence of the American voter, as well, were disproved in one fell swoop. My theory, though, that the “Bubba vote” would be offset, and, ultimately, outweighed by a much more elusive and immeasurable effect (I guess what we can now call the “Obama Effect”) seems to be true.

The “Obama Effect”, my newest theory, is a phenomenon at the other end of the spectrum from the “Bradley Effect”. It describes a portion of the electorate deeply influenced by the injustices of the past, ridden with some form of ‘white guilt’ about how things have hitherto for been for minorities in our country, especially for blacks. These are the kinds of whites with big hearts that would have walked alongside their black brothers and sisters during the Civil Right Movement, the kind of whites who feel a deep empathy within, and have wanted to act on it for some time. These are the kind of whites, like me, who have waited their entire lives, for a black man to burst onto the scene, a well-educated, intelligent, articulate black man, for whom they could cast their vote.

Darkening in the bubble next to Barack’s name was a moment that I will always remember, because, for me, it was an actual action, a defined almost anti-climactic physical manifestation of something within that I have wanted to express for a very long time. I feel that I did my part to give back to my African-American compatriots what my forefathers had stripped away from them—their dignity. Very symbolic, yes, but palpable all the same.

And, what was it that made me laugh and cry simultaneously this morning? What was it that prompted such an outright emotional response? Obama made a minor gaffe in a press conference by referencing Nancy Reagan’s séances in the White House. On the news this morning, they noted that Obama called Nancy to apologize and that it was said that the had a “warm conversation.” Why did this make me cry? Because, I realized that Obama may be just the man to unite our country in a way not yet seen, partly because even Republicans can see in his election a poignant symbolism a partial healing of a deep, old wound. Putting all politics for the moment aside, they will greet him warmly, with the rest of us, as our new president. That is so heart-warming.

I am so interested in what the mood is in America right now. It was also said on the news that things seem notably lighter than before. Is that true?

Teach?

2008-10-31T17:35:00.000+01:00

Finally. I had my first two singing students today.

To be honest, I could have skipped all the way home à la Gene Kelly, umbrella in hand from the exhilaration from having taught for the first time in years. I REALLY LOVE TO TEACH. I have always said that I’m a much better teacher than singer. No idea whether that’s actually true or not, but one thing is for sure: I love teaching, whereas I am only just now beginning to appreciate performing. Is the universe telling me something? I guess when Obama wins the election and begins to turn the country around, I should think about teaching positions in the States…

Tomorrow is my big recital--my first big “exposure” to the Berlin crowd. I am actually looking forward to it. I love the music I am singing. I had no idea how fun ultra-sappy operetta-esque music could be to sing. I am really enjoying it. This music reminds me (not surprisingly) of Art Nouveau architecture, so laden with frills, but never enough to seem heavy. And, I am happy to know that I do not need to feel as confined in my sound as I had been during rehearsals, where we rehearsed in a smallish room. In the church, I will be able to use more of my “real” voice, which is another wonderful development worthy of shouting from the treetops.

Anyway, I am so loving Berlin. Things are just right here somehow. I cannot readily define it in any specific terms, but I am truly happy. There’s something to be said for that.

Not funny.

2008-09-26T11:04:00.001+02:00

The more I listen to Chris laughing hysterically while he watches Fraggle Rock, the more I understand why my jokes are simply not funny to him.

I agree, Marcy for President!

2008-09-25T11:07:00.000+02:00

'A First Premiere' Redundant?

2008-09-22T10:33:00.000+02:00

I never thought that I would be the type to walk down a red carpet, lined by photographers with zoom lenses so as to catch my every pore, video cameras, and adoring fans. Well, no, they were not MY adoring fans per se, but, for a moment, I caught myself daydreaming, imagining that in the parallel universe where the other J. lives, teenagers are huge Wagner fans and obsess over the up and coming Heldentenor. Flash of the bulbs and I am back to reality, me in my brown suit in the gray and black suit world. Unfamous, unrich, unbekannt. I think I might prefer this.

Chris told me weeks ago to keep Thursday open for a “surprise”. The need to surprise me at every turn seems to be an inherited, suspiciously perhaps-genetic trait of his entire clan. I don’t know what exactly gives such pleasure in seeing the surprise on their victims’ faces, but they simply must have it, and every member of the family goes to strange, even uncharacteristically obsessive lengths to get that reaction. But, to a control freak whose clock is typically too-tightly wound, surprises typically annoy me. They complicate the uncomplicated, frustrate even the most potentially docile situation and just unnerve someone who has few to spare.

Why is it that Chris cannot imagine how anyone could not love surprises as much as he does? I will le him answer this for you, as the mention of is name undoubtedly has caught his eye…

So I met the Chris at Potsdamer Platz at 6PM on Thursday, walked to the Sony Center, and, turning the corner, saw a giant Wall-E balloon. Now, even though you may imagine that a German movie premiere would not be as glitzy or extreme as its Hollywood version, I can hardly imagine how this version can have paled in comparison. Wall-E, partly because Pixar movies have hitherto for been hits, every one, and partly because the release dates have been scattered across the world, instead of being simultaneous (as has become the norm of late), this premiere in particular was hyped to steroidal levels. They flew in officials of every department who made the movie; the head of Disney Germany introduced them; the dub-over star was there (there’s very little dialogue in this movie), and the little robot who must have cost a mint as he looks exactly like his cartoon version, complete with puppeteers controlling his every move behind the scenes, had been flown in as well. Maybe he sat next to the Pixar people on the plane. There was free food, free drinks, free Wall-E video games, and, of course, the opportunity to hobnob with the German elite. We took advantage of this by standing in a corner like frightened little bunnies, pointing at famous people and wondering who the rest were, and saying things like “we should really introduce ourselves” followed by pre-pubescent giggles. I was standing in the bathroom waiting for a urinal after the movie (when have I EVER had to wait to pee—the benefits of being a man) when a reporter with a big camera around his neck asked me if the guy at the third pissoir from the left was the Minister President from somewhere. I would so like to have been able to give a wittier answer than “I don’t know, sorry”, (if only we had been in france where “pissoir” rhymes so easily with “savoir”) but alas, efficiency of speech seems to take over my brain when it can only focus on commands like “Pee” and “Now”.

A classic ‘methinks he dost protest too much’, I have to admit that I did really like the surprise. Would this involve me admitting such to Chris? I don’t think so. Methinks you dost not know me too much.

And, the movie, oh, the movie. This is a truly great movie! I cannot recommend it highly enough. I remember John Dickerson from Slate mentioning that “The Road” by Cormack McCarthy was one of the best books that he had ever read, because of ingeniously told story. The book had the added benefit, he said, of being called perhaps the best environmental novel of the modern age. This comment came to mind when thinking of Wall-E. The movie is filled to the brim with social commentary galore, yes, but, the over-arching, almost subliminal theme to which our children will be exposed is one of utter imminent environmental desolation barring the powers that be coming to their senses. Of course, the anti-capitalistic ‘beware the giant corporation who claims to be your best friend’ was also one I cannot disagree with. In these critical days, though, when our earth needs vigilance in order to right the wrongs of past generations, the message this movie sends is powerful in just the right dose. Pixar is more than just a trite message summed up at the end à la Disney. It seems the genius of its master works has been outdone once again, at just the time when one would expect a decline.

Well done. Quite well done.

PS I am still pondering the meaning of the inevitable popularity of a movie so named in a city whose wall brought it to the forefront of the world’s focus some 19 years ago.

Despair

2008-09-17T08:04:00.000+02:00

The most worrisome aspect of the current political climate is that it has made me, one of the most politically active people I know, completely turned off to it. I was so excited when I saw Obama speak in Berlin this year; I was so excited that a black man, an articulate, intelligent, educated black man who shared many of my ideas politically won the nomination of my party. But now, now that the hope has been sucked out of the campaign, in one stark slap across the face in the form of a 40-minute speech at the Republican National Convention, I am already disappointed even before the fact.

I now believe that Obama will lose the election.

The only glimmer of hope is that some in the media are starting to call a spade a spade and talk about the McCain campaign’s lies, actually using just that word “lies”. That’s really how I feel, that McCain is telling a bunch of whoppers and that Americans everywhere, so easily dissuaded because of “spin”, don’t really care or know whether they are true or not. This election will be about personalities, not politics, as McCain’s campaign advisor so rightly said. Well, that is just sad. So sad.

Dick Armey’s correct assessment of the American electorate with his theories about the “Bubba vote” (voters who resonate with Obama’s ideas, but that will, in the end, not vote for him because he is black) greatly trouble me, too. Chick Todd, on Meet the Press, also understood this incalculable, unpollable danger into account when he said that Obama would need to be ahead in some swing states by at least 48% in order to cancel out these independent “Bubba” voters. They are the ones who have said that they are undecided only because they are unwilling to take a hard stance against Obama, all the while knowing that they won’t vote for the man.

There is only one hope now, that Palin makes some huge, in your face mistake before the election.

The only other hope, one which I do not even flippantly entertain in my mind, is the hope that Americans will simply see through the lies and propaganda. Two words dissuade me from believing this, though: “Swift” and “Boat”.

I hope you all enjoy your soccer mom as president. I hope the international leaders find her charm as folksy as you have once 72-year-old McCain kicks the bucket in his first year.

But, you know what, if it happens, then you deserve the consequences. That is what the last 8 years have been anyway, haven’t they—payback for bad choices? I can understand how the election in 2000 took place, that seemed like a fluke. But you elected that idiot TWICE! I agree that the majority spoke in the last two elections. I also simultaneously agree that you all got what you deserved by making such a stupid choice. The Iraq war, the repeal of habeus corpus, Guantanemo Bay, a plunging dollar, a housing crisis, bringing on an overall economic crisis, these are all what you brought onto yourselves. Now, if you vote for McCain, you will be wishing onto yourselves more of the same, perhaps worse. And you will deserve it.

America, I am so close to giving up on you. I feel like some battered wife who stupidly sticks by her man. And now, in the midst of another beating, I keep repeating to myself “this can’t be happening”.

A Glimmer of Hope?

2008-09-16T08:28:00.001+02:00

This is an article I found in the Post. Very interesting.

Whose Elitism Problem Now?

By E. J. Dionne Jr.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008; Page A21

In democracies, all political factions run against an elite. Since the New Deal, Democrats have cast themselves against the financial and business elite. Since the 1960s, Republicans have thrashed the cultural and intellectual elite.

Over the weekend, the moneyed class became a richer target. The foolishness of our financial geniuses now threatens to bring economic sorrow to Main Street. Franklin Roosevelt's 1936 attack on "the privileged princes of these new economic dynasties" never sounded so up to date.

Americans don't mind wealthy and even rapacious capitalists, as long as they deliver the goods to everyone else. But when the big boys drag everyone else down, Americans rise up in righteous anger. The New Deal political alignment endured for decades because the financial elites were so profoundly discredited by the Great Depression. The New Deal coalition dissolved only when prosperity began to seem durable and only after the GOP discovered the joys of baiting Hollywood, the media and the academy.

There is always something slightly phony about anti-elitist politics. Plenty of investment bankers are Democrats, and Republican politicians who claim to speak for devoutly religious cultural conservatives are usually far removed from the world (and the values) of those whose votes they court and whose resentments they stoke.

But the captains of John McCain's campaign figured they might wring one more election victory out of the culture war. They ridiculed Barack Obama as the celebrity candidate loved by Europeans -- the right always consigns Europe to the elitist camp -- and harped on his unfortunate comments, ripped out of context, about "bitter" voters who "cling to guns or religion."
For good measure, McCain chose Sarah Palin as his running mate. A religious and proudly gun-toting mom, Palin has turned expertise itself into a badge of elitism, proclaiming pleasure in her lack of a "big, fat résumé" that "shows decades and decades in that Washington establishment."

But anti-Washington politics is itself rooted in the interests of the financial elite. When the private economy goes haywire, it is always the federal government that has to step in. When those whom Teddy Roosevelt called "malefactors of great wealth" get out of hand, Washington is the only town with the authority to hold their power in check.

Therefore, the party of the business elite has always pursued its interests behind slogans proclaiming a war on Washington and its "bureaucrats" -- and never mind that a little more regulation might have prevented the subprime-mortgage-buying, short-term-profit-maximizing Wall Streeters from wrecking the economy.

All of a sudden, the culture war seems entirely beside the point, an unaffordable luxury in a time of economic turmoil. What politicians actually believe about the economy, what fixes they propose, whether they side with the wealthy few or the hurting many -- these become the stuff of elections, the reasons behind people's votes.

And nothing more exposes the hypocrisy of financial elites riding the coattails of those who revere small-town religious values than a downturn that highlights the vast gulf in power between the two key components of the conservative coalition. Even cultural conservatives will start to notice that McCain's tax policies are geared toward the wealthy investing class and Obama's toward the paycheck crowd. Even the most ardent friends of business have begun to argue that a re-engagement with sensible regulation is essential to restoring capitalism's health.

For some time, McCain's strategists figured they could deflect attention from the big issues by turning Palin into a country-and-western celebrity and launching so many ill-founded attacks on Obama that the truth would never catch up. The McCain strategists' approach reflected a low opinion of average voters, and some Obama supporters began worrying that their opinion might be right.

But those so-called average voters understand the difference between low- and high-stakes elections. They develop a reasonably good sense of who is telling the truth and who is not. And though it sometimes takes a while -- and a shock like this week's economic news -- these voters almost always turn on politicians who manipulate cultural symbols as a way to escape the consequences of their policies.

In 1936, FDR argued that "private enterprise, indeed, became too private. It became privileged enterprise, not free enterprise." He insisted that "freedom is no half-and-half affair. If the average citizen is guaranteed equal opportunity in the polling place, he must have equal opportunity in the market place."

The stakes in this year's election went way up this week. The days of Paris, Britney and the exploitation of divisions around race, gender and religion are over.

The End

2008-09-16T07:58:00.002+02:00

In an ever-ongoing campaign to convince others of my own greatness, I bring to you an excerpt of a quote from an entry on June 7th of this year. In it, I predict the eminent decline that hit Wall Street yesterday. No, I am not an economist. Really, I know next to nothing about nothing when it comes to money. But, sometime it takes the village idiot to see the writing on the wall. I am rethinking the sign I refer to in the quote:

“Several months ago I had a premonition that much more than a recession was on the horizon. I believe that the staggering amount of debt that the typical American has accumulated, the specter of inflation because of oil prices, etc., the terrible weakness of the dollar (also a product of bad trade practice with China et al.) and the bulging national debt (aggravated by the cost of the Iraq War) all together spell a horrible, potential doomsday for us all. I say “us all” because when America sneezes, the rest of the world gets a cold. Although I have, perhaps, been involuntarily pulled into the vortex of European over-confidence, and there is a part of me that hopes that our economy here could weather such a storm, the truth of the matter is that the interconnectivity of the world’s economies is such that this crisis could actually create a domino effect that feeds off of itself, and thus destabilizes the world economy. There is potential tailspin there that is undeniable.

Now would be the time to convert stocks into cash, I my opinion. Or, perhaps I should say, yesterday was the time to convert assets into cash.

I am just short of painting a sign saying, “The end is near” and walking through the streets of Berlin.”

The End

2008-09-16T07:58:00.001+02:00

Pavlov/Venice

2008-09-11T23:19:00.003+02:00

Most of you know, I think, that I was an exchange student in Belgium when I was young. I was 18 and went abroad for an entire calendar year. I learned many lessons there, and accumulated a lot of stories in the process. The exchange students with whom I lost contact are showing up, one by one, on Facebook, and we are all rekindling old friendships lost but not forgotten.

We all went on a 15-day bus trip around Europe at the end of our year. It just so happens that this trip in particular was, as I am sure for others, emblazoned in my memory. The bus driver of the trip, in a great stroke of genius, decided to gently elicit a Pavlovian response on us by playing loudly, every morning, “Pretty Woman” on the bus’ speakers. At the time, we thought that it was one of the most annoying aspects of the trip, sitting there in the bus, ready for many more hours of travel, groggy and incoherent, listening to Roy Orbison is his beautiful but somewhat extra-terrestrial voice croon Pretty Woman. (This was the same bus driver that, being stopped entering Hungary, played “Radio Free Europe” on the stereo as the communist guards came into the bus and checked our passports.) What a character. As it turns out, a brilliant character, because, even today, every time I here “Pretty Woman”, I reminisce about that trip through Europe, when I was young and my dreams seemed just before me.

Reconnecting with many of my old accomplices, I am reminded about stories that I had long forgotten. I was a bit embarrassed, actually, when a friend read to me what I had written in her year book at the time, something to the order of “to S., the woman with a thousand complexes. Try and get laid sometime.” Nice. I guess I was as blunt then as I am now… After apologizing profusely to S., she said that she remembered me fondly, as a friend who, when we had all run out of money and were craving some Italian gelato, simply put out his hat ad started singing until we had enough liras to buy just a bit more. I had completely forgotten that story. Well, someone unearthed a picture of this. I got such a kick out of it:

Palin Under My Skin

2008-09-08T22:33:00.001+02:00

If I hear one more commentator say that Sarah Palin is a force to be reckoned with because of her “spunk” or her “charisma”, I am going to scream.

The woman became popular overnight because she said what everyone on the Right had been wanting to say for months. She lambasted Obama, a holy figure that seemed untouchable. Because of fear of a white guilt backlash, mixed with lingering notions of political correctness, McCain has, until now, been unable to ratchet up a pointed rhetoric against Obama. Somehow, someone on the McCain ticket knew that a woman could come out and insult Obama all she wants, as answering back would almost certainly backfire on the Democrats. The “old white guy” has been the favored punching bag of choice for some time. The Obama campaign should have taken advantage of that status before she ever came on the scene. Now, because Obama/Biden do not want to further alienate Hillary supporters, they have to pussyfoot around how they will deal with Palin. I’ll bet they are simply waiting now, biding their time until Palin will finally be “made available” to the press. They are surely hoping, just like the rest of us, that she will make some telling gaffs within the first few days, taking away the post-convention bump McCain now sees.

Surely McCain sees the potential for danger in her. That is why he is keeping her close by his side now, undoubtedly having his aides bring her up to speed on world affairs at every free moment. Of course, there is a distinct possibility that she is as savvy as she is vicious, in which case we’re all in trouble.

For the first time in my life, there is someone for whom I can willingly vote. I would hate to think that it will all be spoiled by some hickish Moose-hunter from the north who refers to her husband as the “first dude”. Then again, although such circumstances certainly read like pulp fiction, it, all in all, does seem somehow poignant and fitting for the days in which we live, if it were to come to pass.

Where is Hillary in all this, anyway? She would be the perfect point guard on this as she is in a unique position to completely tear apart Palin as no one directly in the Obama campaign could. Come on, Hillary, be a good sport and take this bitch out! I do love me some girl on girl fighting-to-the-death action. I once saw two girls fight in high school. Man, that was one of the scariest things I ever saw: hair-pulling, grunting, spitting. That’s hot!

I knew we should be worried.

2008-09-08T17:35:00.002+02:00

Hypocrisy

2008-09-05T19:05:00.001+02:00

Cheeky

2008-09-05T09:22:00.000+02:00

An annonymous commenter from my last blog brings up some very good points, most notably, of course, the one about me, the question as to whether I consider myself a part of some “intellectual noblesse oblige class”.

Answer: well, yes, I do consider myself an intellectual. And what is wrong with that?

In America, this is seen to be some kind of automatic conceit when one admits it aloud. “Intellectual” is a compliment that, as an American, is to be meet with false humility, a sweet smile, and some folksy response like “naw, I just like to think” or some such thing.

Truth be told, many think that I live in Germany because I am an opera singer or because I am gay. The real driving force behind me being here, though, is that I live in a place where someone who is intelligent and has a lot of curiosity about the world, driving him to learn more and more, is not viewed with suspicion. In fact, intellectuals in Germany are heralded. I first learned this about Europe when I was an exchange student in Brussels. I remember distinctly watching an American movie subtitled in French. As I followed the subtitles, I remember noting that there was no good translation for “nerd”. I asked many people about this, and later came to understand that “nerd” was not a term directly translatable because denigrating someone who was good in school or interested in learning would make no sense in Belgian/French/German--European society. Why would there be some horrible pejorative term for something for which all students aspire? Hmmmm, I thought, Europe might be just the place for me. Ever since then, I dreamed of living here, free of the societal pressures to “just be normal”.

In America, there is nothing more dubious than being an intellectual. The best villains out of Hollywood are Shakespeare-quoting, latte drinking, opera aficionados hell bent, for whatever reason, on blowing things up in their search for world domination. “Real” Americans like Andy Griffith, whistling on his way home to have lunch with Aunt Bee and Opie, not a care in the world, proud to tell you that his chosen reading includes the Bible and Life Magazine. That is why Sara Palin is such a danger. She has a very folksy appeal that Americans love.

In America, I was always some kind of black sheep, unless I was tucked away in my little university town. From the time I was a small child, no one in my town of 1,000 shared an interest in Classical Music, “the Avengers”, “Doctor Who” and literature from the Middle Ages. When I say it like that, you begin to understand, don’t you? I am everything that is reviled within the unspoken portions of the American psyche: a gay, intellectual opera singer. Three strikes and you’re out. People ask me when I will return to live in America. You should see the looks of surprise when I say “probably never.”

I love America for what it is. It is an idea, a philosophy, a beautiful country, and a well-meaning people. But America never really liked me. They didn’t have a cookie cutter in my size, I guess.

As to “noblesse oblige”, well, I don’t think that really exists in America, does it? Some of the smartest people I know are teaching at $30,000 a year in universities. There’s nothing “noblesse” about that.

As to the rest of the warnings of becoming an “embittered lefty”, I wouldn’t worry too much. My vitriol about Sarah Palin stems simply from the writing I see on the wall. GW is an idiot. I knew it back then, but people voted for him anyway, because they would have preferred to have a beer with him over Gore or Kerry. I knew it was a horrible mistake, one which was made for the country by social conservatives and die-hard Republicans coming out of the woodwork in 2000—“real” Americans. I never was one of those who insisted that the election was “stolen” or some such thing. He won fair and square as far as I am concerned. But, that such an idiot could be elected to our highest office TWICE really says more about our country than I ever could, doesn’t it?

Now, we can get into a debate about whether intellectuals (we may need to define that, I guess) are better suited to running the country than cowboys, but that will have to be another time.

BTW, I thought my last entry was quite tongue-and-cheek funny. Oh well.

Best in Show

2008-09-04T22:19:00.001+02:00

I have some bad news: this presidential race is going to be much closer than I thought. ‘Why?’ you ask. Well, in spite of the lack of “real” education and “real” experience, Sarah Palin appears to be a huge threat to Obama’s race to the White House. The pundits can make fun of her all they wan--the woman, raised in rural Alaska, has a very real and very strong appeal to “normal” Americans, the kind that voted for GW in the past.

Watching Palin’s speech at the Republican Convention, I was absolutely floored at both what she was saying and with the audience’s enthusiasm for her words. She slammed Obama as he has never been slammed before, and the audience, starving for someone to say the one-liners they have undoubtedly heard at one time or another, went absolutely wild. These people, admittedly the “inside the beltway” type even if they don’t necessarily reside in D.C., have been itching for a fight, and it looks like they’re going to get one, and how. Obviously the McCain campaign, well aware that Joe Biden was hired as the dark side of that good cop/bad cop relationship, found themselves their own little firecracker to push back. They knew Biden would spend the next two months biting at the heels of McCain in every attempt to derail him, both because Obama seems to be very unwilling and almost chronically unable to go on the offensive, and because McCain was able to, because of the extended fight between Obama and Hillary, fly virtually unnoticed under the political radar for months on end, immune to any potential criticism from the Democrats. Biden now has a counterpart in the other campaign, though, and she is, as alluded to in her speech, a pit bull waiting in the wings. As the Republican Campaign Machine sharpens her teeth, training her to go for the jugular whenever possible, her handlers, I am told, have even taken to poking her with a stick through the bars of her cage in her down time, an attempt to “keep the fight in her” as she rests between training sessions. Rumor is, they went through three sparring partners in the first day alone. One can only hope they throw Ann Colter in the ring with her at some point and rid us of that cunt once and for all. My luck being what it is, they would probably swoon from mutual admiration for each other instead of fighting, frustrating the on-lookers as they sniffed each other’s butts in ecstasy.

This Palin woman is a real power hitter of the back woods variety, folks, and I ain’t kidding. I know she’s got some razors hidden in that up-do of hers. Don’t let that smile fool ya; she’d just assumed tear your heart out and take a bite out of it while you look on as talk to ya. Biden had better be on his toes for the debate, and the Obama campaign had better start to change its tactics or it’s going to get a modern Swift-boating as the crème-de-la-crème of the Evil Party begin to hone their zippy one-liners. The tenor of the speeches seems to be tailored to the cowboy-hat-wearing-war-mongering-oil-baron-wannabes that litter the Convention Center’s floor. But I would have to agree with Palin when she muses at the political elite’s great underestimation of the masses. That is to say, that they underestimate just how many hicks there are in the world.

All in all, I was saddened, frankly, that the idea of playing nice between the camps is not to last longer than it has. After seeing Mrs. Palin speak, though, I am convinced that there is no other way to win than to just jump into the brawl, arms flying, hoping to hit some soft spot as you juggernaut your way to the November polls. I am not sure, really, how Palin is going to play out in the media. But, as fickle as the American public is, I am not sure they can be trusted to just cognitively know who would be better to send to Washington on their behalf. It’s such a double standard that the public yearns for in its politicians. They expect them to be pure, and dead set against furthering their own interests, to be even and knowledgeable on policy and foreign affairs, all the while complaining when they don’t get down and dirty in the Primary ring, fighting to the death in some semi-celebrity deathmatch this time between McCain the Snickering Leprechaun and Obamatron, Robot of de Peoples. I guess American’s ideal candidate would be a pretty, pastel Mother Theresa coating with a creamy O.J. center, the evil within just waiting to be unleashed.

That’s just what worries me. If you were to put these factors into your “perfect candidate logarithm”, mix in some fun 80s pop and a lightning storm, what may emerge is your Weird Science pre-pubescent fantasy, a hot supermodel, who is there to serve you but put you in your place when you need it. She is an overly fertile, top notch MILF. She is Sarah Palin, your pit bull wearing lipstick.

Lesbos, more than a Greek island? Discuss.

2008-08-22T11:19:00.002+02:00

Well Berlin certainly has a well established, pronounced gay community. This is the kind of statement to which many of you will simply reply with ‘Duh!’ But, to me, it is a bit of a surprise, as I have not thought of Berlin as being a gay Mecca. It just hasn’t occurred to me. Cologne is really known as the gay center of the German world here. But, as I have come to learn, Berlin is Germany’s intellectual and artistic center. I guess 1 + 1 does equal 2…with culture come gays. It’s just that simple.

Chris and I went to the Gay Museum last night to see an exhibit on lesbianism because an old friend of Chris’ had contributed to it. The whole experience is not exactly what I would rate as one of my most enjoyable times to date. I suppose there are always things to learn, even from imperfect situations. I would surmise that what is to be learned from this one is simple: I still have some very deep-seated prejudices dancing around in my head.

How can I say it without offending anyone? Hmmm, that seems like an utter impossibility. So, I’ll say it like this: I don’t tend to get along with lesbians. And being shoulder to shoulder with what seemed to be hundreds of them made me want to just run away screaming. You can call me a bigot if you like, but it seems to me that lesbians tend to be even more virulent man-haters than the most extreme femininazis. I find it interesting that gay men tend to love everyone: they love straight men (they want to sleep with them, after all), they love women (they serve as our best friends), they “love” other gay men (this is actually a stretch, because gay men can be so mean to each other, but, hey, every list must have at least three elements.) Lesbians, on the other hand, do not have men as their best friends as would make sense. No, their circles tend to be other women, all of whom share their same outlook and philosophies. The gay community tends to be open to everyone. The lesbian community, however, seems to exclude.

Now, before you go to the hardware store to buy some rope in order to properly lynch me, I will say that I have some very dear lesbian friends. They do not in any way resemble the aforementioned remarks. They do not hate men, and do not hate me because I am one of them. They’re cool, and nice, intelligent, and well bred.

So, what does this mean? I abhor people who do not realize that they have within them the same evil potential as others have. It helps me to sympathize with other people and their plight if I try to imagine that that same evil exists within myself. Any high-minded belief that Karma can be reached on earth, one where we are truly freed of our prejudices, is futile in and of itself. We should keep reaching for it, yes, but the moment you think you have attained it, you should take it as a warning sign that you are oppressing something within!

Being driftwood amongst the sea of lesbians last night, I imagined that, if I brushed past someone in the crowd, I could offend someone or, even worse, could elicit some sort of mean feminist response, verbal or otherwise. I imagined that all eyes were on me, as the womyn thought to themselves ‘what the hell is HE doing here?’ These were imagined effects of my own prejudices, bubbling up within me and taking hold, prejudices that I wrongly believed had been eliminated with the experience of time.

Really, these wonderful lesbian friends I spoke of before are great ambassadors, helping to eventually squelch the inner dialogue that may run through my head at events like this. Wondering if some butch lesbian has a higher testosterone count than me is really more a commentary on me and my self-doubt than on her and her mustache, after all. I will get better in this area, I’ll bet.

Maybe I’ll go to next year’s exhibit to test my progress. I can only hope that the gruesome photos of grotesquely disfigured clitorises branded into my frontal lobe will not be remembered when I go next year. Maybe they will have the decency not to show those images again. Perhaps I should turn the tables a bit and see how they would like it I show up next year with a self-styled T-shirt showing penises in the final stages of syphilis and gonorrhea. Then at least my prejudices will seem well founded as they throw my ass to the curb, yelling, “You cannot censor my artistic expression!”

No, he's not an "old white guy", but...

2008-08-20T10:03:00.003+02:00

For all y'all who find it hard to believe that Obama will be the next president of the United States. It's kind of like the last weeks of Hillary campaign, when everone was urging: do the math. (You need 270 electoral votes to win.)

A Panda is a bear, too, right?

2008-08-15T10:26:00.001+02:00

Imagine a portion of Mexico that has been, for some time, populated by an American minority. They speak American English; they consider themselves American. But, the border behind which they live is a Mexican one, recognized by both countries and the world. Then, one day, an overly zealous new Mexican president, decides to break the hold that America has culturally, politically, financially on this region. This new president is intent on taking back Mexico’s land in spite of the people living there. Really, he could care less whether the Americans living there were scared just enough to flee over the border and to find new homes in America, leaving behind their wealth and infrastructures for “real” Mexicans.

Do you honestly think that, when the Mexican tanks rolled into this fantsy, putting Americans in danger, maybe even killing a few, that an American force would not cross the border of Mexico to slap the hand of their weakling military apparatus, giving a message, an obvious message, that America would not stand by and allow Americans to be harmed or put in harm’s way? I think we all know that America, faced with the same circumstances, would have done the same thing. Just remember that, as we all start to point our fingers to indicate Russia’s culpability. Do not forget that Saakashvili, the president of Georgia, was basically thumbing his nose at Russia, daring her to react, expecting, wrongly as he now must realize, that the world would come to his aid if anything happened.

I strongly believe in the principle of ‘it takes two to tango’ when there is a fight. This situation did not begin when the Russian tanks rolled across the Georgian border. It is an incident that warranted international attention long before that. Yes, the situation is much more complex than most people understand, including myself. But, in the climate of the world today, one which seems to really want and need an enemy, Russia is being vilified beyond its own value, vilified almost as if the people running most of the stories in the media’s coverage have taken their moves straight from a 1960s-era playbook.

Chris and I had a very interesting discussion this morning about the opening ceremonies of the Olympic Games. I guess they must have been too perfect, so much so that it has brought into question almost their every aspect, allowing the western world to point its finger at China, lifting the curtain of its inner workings, and noting time and again that the impressive show that we witnessed represents, somehow, China’s real, evil self, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. The popular stories here focus on the fact that the masses that performed the intricate dances at the ceremonies were mostly soldiers, enlisted to perform, practicing their choreography for years so that they would be flawless…that the perfect little girl pristinely singing at the beginning was just lip-syncing (because the actual girl who sang the song was not pretty enough to have made the cut)…that the fabulous firework feet that exploded before a helicopter shot leading to the Bird’s Nest just before the beginning of the ceremonies were actually computer-animations, only the last one of which, the one seen from the Nest’s interior, was real. Chris had an interesting thought: if this had been an Opening Ceremony in the US, a ceremony completely staged by Hollywood, and the same sorts of behind-the-scenes stories later surfaced, most people around the world would just have smiled and said “that’s Showbiz.” But, this is evil China, and it is our job to find fault, to point out the extreme human cost of this unexplainable beauty that we will likely not forget. The beauty. The wolf in sheep’s clothing.

I think that the mind automatically calculates the worth of things when we see them. If I were told that the planning stages for the Opening Ceremonies had started three years ago, that the costumes were begun two years ago, and that rehearsing had started a year ago, I would not have been surprised. It looked that polished. But, when you take these figures and they begun to be multiplied by two and three, it seems an injustice somehow, an injustice that some young soldier from the farm was brought to Beijing, his only purpose to repeat the same choreography day in and day out for three years. And these strange injustices are stacked upon the backs of the Chinese, only so that their coming out to the western world will have a blinding sheen. At some point, within the netheregions of the calculating mind, a figure that begins to be too high, and then, ultimately, to be far too high, indicates a kind of sick need for control. It is this sick need that properly illustrates the Party’s influence over the Peoples Republic of China. Same players, slightly different mask. It certainly makes me want to read “Manufacturing Consent” as the Chinese reform a current American propaganda technique, reshaping it and labeling it “Made in China”, this time in just the perfect light, complete with theatrical wind machines, smoke, and maybe even a mirror or two. I mean, isn’t copying the secret to China’s success after all?

There is something about the two themes—Russia and China--that intermingles. I don’t know how. I don’t know why. It’s a taste, though, lingering in my mouth. Something smacks of interrelation, and I can’t be the only one who discerns it.

Russia wants recognition, too; it wants the kind of respect that it had in the world during its communist heyday. I would be interested to know how the people of Russia see this Georgian incursion. I would think that they see it as just and even feel a tinge of pride that the world can do nothing to stop them in their old backyards. In its own way, this little war is a show for Mother Russia herself, a little propaganda boost to make your every day Russian feel virile again. Oil revenue has allowed Russia to pay down her debt, and she doesn’t want China, with whom she has always had rocky relations, even in the old days, to upstage her with some uninterrupted coming out.

The timing of it all is suspicious, is it not? Something smells fishy, though. Georgia’s place in the oil industry definitely raises an eyebrow.

There is a part of me that is beginning to play into the conspiracy theory that the governments of the world have seen the writing on the wall, and know that there is much less oil left in the world than has been previously thought. Now, they are jockeying to firm up their future supply as things begin to get bumpy. China seems to be the last in line to realize this; surely she does not think that her supply from the Sudan is sure enough? It looks like China, always the slow child amongst them all, will be the last one to invade a country in order to sure up future supply demands. Or, do they think they have enough money to continue to push up the price of oil on the world stage? Maybe they have learned from our lack of success in Iraq and have figured the benefit-cost ratio as poor, seeing invasion as an unsure gamble. Hmmmm. They might have something there.

Our Valiant Leader

2008-08-09T23:18:00.000+02:00

To lighten things a bit, I share with you some of the dialogue heard on the German, state-run television station ARD during the opening ceremonies of the Olympic Games. In the long parade featuring every country imaginable, I can imagine that the commentary could seem thin, lots of dead air needed filled, a responsibility shared by a man and woman team of announcers. At times, the shots of the parade would cut away to a map outlining the whereabouts of whatever remote island chain with more than 5,000 citizens was currently walking past. The coverage showed everything from the several bands that played during the athletes’ march, to the portion of the stands where presidents and kings would stand as their team entered, waving and wishing them luck, to endless shots of the athletes walking through color and onto a large sheet becoming progressively more rainbow-colored.

When the team from Guam came through, though, this came over ARD:

Woman: “And here we see the team from the territory of Guam. You will never guess who the head of state of this small island is...”
Man: “I honestly have no idea.”

The screen splits to show an obviously uninterested G.W. Bush, his jacket off, slouching in his seat, talking idly with Laura, perhaps dreaming of drinking a Bud on the ranch in Crawford.

Woman: “Geroge W. Bush. The territory is a protectorate of the United States of America.”
Man: “Oh... Does he know that?”

I literally fell out of my seat laughing.

Concentric Circles

2008-08-09T10:58:00.001+02:00

Two thumbs up seems not enough, but a modern thinker is always in some phase of self-correcting when it comes to lauding praise upon anything; the danger of sounding Pollyanna looms heavily upon the psyche, often preventing me from being what is currently taboo: sincere. That being said, I could not help but beam, and even shed a tear or two, watching the Opening Ceremonies for the Olympic Games in Beijing. Something about it hearkened back to the 90s, back to a time before 9/11, when Pax Americana was a reality and hope filled the hearts of many, including me. It was actually possible in that day and age to believe that perhaps war would be no more, that the prosperity of the 90s would go on forever and that the world would make a “great leap forward”, insisting on the potential of Man. I remember crying after 9/11, some time after, actually, is when I finally let go. But, it wasn’t for the thousands of victims that I cried, it was for the loss of Hope and the implications of what 9/11 would mean for our future of all of us. Not long after the attack, it became apparent that this next generation would be one fraught with worry and disillusionment, and that this dream of the fulfillment of human potential was a false one somehow, that the green side of the meadow on which we were standing was just a bubble in time and the ground beneath our feet would soon be scorched earth.

But yesterday afternoon, watching the Opening Ceremonies, a chord struck within me, a chord similar to the one that used to resonate there back in the 90s, and I couldn’t help but be moved. Something about it heralded a new beginning as a feeling welled within like those hopeful days before 9/11. Something about yesterday signaled that the last 8 years could have been just a bump in the road and that we soon would all be united again, back on the path of a real future for us all.

This question inspired from the 60s marches, ‘what would happen if we really did give peace a chance?’ has been on my mind for some time. The hard-lined commentators seem to have come out of the woodwork against Germany’s “weak” troop response in Afghanistan. Many say that Europe cannot commit because it lives in a bubble of peace and stability both economic and social. But, it is only here in Germany that I have ever seen such a strong conscious movement to question what the end result of societal choices made today would bring tomorrow. The question of “how will it affect others around me” seems to have been emblazoned upon the German spirit, as a result of its tragic past. Never could I imagine seeing in America posters such as I see here with lines like “What kind of society do you want to build?” upon them.

Europe is not perfect. There is still racism and anti-Semitism, anti-foreign sentiments, and conceit without measure. But, don’t the same critics who blame Germany for being so insular in its prosperity that it puts its head in the sand when something outside its borders goes terribly wrong, don’t these people have to admit that the peace and prosperity present here were earned, that the social architects of the 60s an 70s should be praised for the Germany of today? I mean, why would a society that is doing so well force itself headlong into situations which could jeopardize its own existence? It seems that Germany’s greatest critics would have it willingly make the same mistakes that GW has made for the States. We will never know what would have happened if America had refused to let its Commander-In-Chief persuade it into unjust war. Something tells me, though, that much of what is going wrong in America today can be charted back to this bad choice, all these negative aspects being a part of some strange ripple effect flowing from the concentric epicenter. I could imagine that the housing crash would be quite a reach to link to Iraq, but I doubt that its economic effect would have been so great if the national debt weren’t already at a critical level. Now, I’m just meandering.

Funny-ness

2008-08-05T10:26:00.002+02:00

A few days ago, some friends of ours were asking e what I find funny. That was kind of difficult to describe as I don't actually laugh out loud at that many things... Well, hmmm, I thought. I find Flight of the Conchords funny. Do you know them?

It's all about you.

2008-08-04T22:04:00.001+02:00

Chris does this thing where he rates my blog entries according to how many times he's mentioned in them. A three-star blog is only such because it mentions him thrice. Well, not to be too predictable, but...

Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris Chris

Laughter. Medicine. You know the rest.

2008-08-04T10:02:00.000+02:00

I was sitting in a café, eating a fantastic piece of Torte, sipping a great cup of coffee after church on Sunday, chatting it up with a hilarious new friend, when I realized that, amidst the frolic of fast-paced banter between us, there was some resistance within me. More and more, Christoph and I are beginning to build a new life for us here. But, this new life resembles in no way the one that I had in Pforzheim, and, most pointedly, it resembles in no way the sedentary, often hopeless, and solitary existence that I led in the Fall and Winter of ought seven. Within in me exists, still, a sort of resistance to this new, fabulous life which is presented on a silver platter before me. It’s kind of weird. As I was sitting with my new friend Alex, I had to consciously let go of this resistance, and “go with the flow” of conversation—fast, witty conversation in my own language. It was a struggle to keep up with the tempo of the repartee; I felt myself an Eeyore in Tigger’s world. But, I let go little by little and all was well. Alex is a conductor who gigs all over the world. He wants me to come over this week and sing something. (Note to self: not be such a bad person to know professionally.) For sure, though, he will be a great person to now privately, but only when my sides want of some splitting per laughter.

Yesterday was a night out at a comedy club. A friend had given us the tickets as a house warming, and both Chris and I were skeptical (not of the friend, but of the club.) Skeptical of German comedy, you ask? So silly of us. We always say that one of the thinnest books in the world is called “Good English Cooking.” Well, there is only one book in the world thinner, entitled “German Humor.” It’s not really true of course (except for the prejudice that English food sucks, because that is SO true.) The club was a nice outing, and the comedians were all professional and quite funny. I was surprised, too, that I didn’t have “language issues”. I know it may sound silly to you guys in the Sates, but I can be proud of myself that a went to a stand-up comedy performance and understood about 90% of it all.

2008-07-31T23:15:00.001+02:00

It is so refreshing as an artist to see someone who can truly inspire you, delight you and lighten your heart. Ennio Marchetto is just such a pop sensation, who has captivated the modern scene by using so ingeniously simple things such as paper, velcro and playback so entertainingly. Tickets to see Ennio were a surprise gift to Christoph for our one-year anniversary. A 30-minute bike ride through the Tiergarten after Chris was finished with work put us smack dab in the middle of the Government Quarter, where a tent has been erected for summer performances. Behind us was the Chancellery and beside us the Reichstag. When we arrived, Chris finally learned of this closely guarded surprise, and I am happy to say that, for once, I was able to delight him.

I guess the whole bike-riding thing, the low population density, and the abundance of vegetation in a city this size are not the only reasons to love Berlin. For once, I am able to go and see things that I have wanted to see for a long time without huge amounts of effort. Ennio is just another reminder of why Chris was so smart to have wanted so badly to move us here. I trusted him, and that is paying off.

Here is a clip of Ennio. If he is near you, I very, very strongly suggest seeing him.

The Forgotten Obvious

2008-07-29T18:34:00.001+02:00

Ok, people, I think we all can admit that the cruel shock that many of us have been experiencing at the loss of Tim Russert on “Meet the Press” has been duly sharpened by the strident, abrasive effects of watching his temporary successor Tom Brokaw feel blindly his way through the pitfalls of an hour-long news show which requires improvisation and REAL preparation. I am sorry to get the feathers of you Brokaw fans ruffled, but the man just rubs me the wrong way. I don’t know what disease he has, and I am bound to be putting my foot in mouth for saying this, but must he, seriously, rasp so as he inhales, clenching his jaw, forcing air through the corners of his mouth? And the phrase “who the heck does this guy think he is?” certainly comes to mind as he asks his questions so condescendingly from his ivory tower? (You know that there is nothing that an arrogant prick hates worse than being condescended to.) Greatest generation my ass. Even that as a title rubs me the wrong way.

I think it’s time for an open letter to NBC: replace Brokaw ASAP or lose me as a fan!

Watching Brokaw grill Obama for 50 minutes on the “Meet the Press” webcast reminded me that I meant to mention a point about Germany and the Germans’ seeming reluctance to participate in Afghanistan to the extent that the world community thinks that they “should”. It was interesting to see Brokaw mention the countries, who, again according to some unknown consensus, seem to be shouldering their portion of the burden there. Holland, Britain, Canada, and France seem all to be doing their part, unafraid to assume positions in provinces wrought with havoc and violence. The Germans, though, are unwilling to be redeployed away from the North, where they enjoy, or so it seems by both Brokaw’s and Obama’s descriptions, drinking Afghani equivalents of Pina Coladas whilst sitting under Afghani equivalent palm trees. They actually have palm tress there, I believe, but whatever.

I am a bit annoyed at the lack of pointing out the obvious on this point. These aforementioned countries all have professional armies just like our own in the US, where people volunteer to serve, knowing full well that they will be putting themselves, potentially, in harm’s way. Germany, however, is made up primarily of conscripted service. Every young man 18 years of age must make the difficult choice: either serve 9 months in the army, or do civil service. The vast majority of young German males opt for the civil service, which includes wiping elderly people’s asses, teaching bratty kindergarteners inane songs and the like.

Has anyone thought about the implications of making an army, made up by and large of youngsters who are there because the law says they must be, go into a suicidal war zone and lose their lives? Would America be comfortable letting THEIR young be drafted and sent into potentially hazardous situations, perhaps never to return? Well, if the world were truly at war and the public opinion were behind it, as in the Second World War, yes, I could see that America would be courageously willing, as it has been in the past, to heroically send its young into battle for the betterment of us all. But, can you honestly tell me that the draft would be accepted in an environment such as the one in America right now? I don’t think so, a point so well illustrated in the movie “Fahrenheit 9/11” as Michael Moore basically chases senators around the capitol, unable to get any of them to volunteer the service of their own children into the military.

War is unpopular enough in Germany as it is. NATO should be happy that the Germans are serving there at all. Angela Merkel has just promised additions to the troop presence in Afghanistan from Germany. But, if the troops are repositioned, and the death toll begins to rise, you can bet that the public will begin protesting on the streets against sending their young, almost all of whom are there against their will, to their likely deaths.

Very Interesting Article

2008-07-27T19:15:00.001+02:00

A Long Wait at the Gate to Greatness

By John Pomfret
Sunday, July 27, 2008; Page B01

Nikita Khrushchev said the Soviet Union would bury us, but these days, everybody seems to think that China is the one wielding the shovel. The People's Republic is on the march -- economically, militarily, even ideologically. Economists expect its GDP to surpass America's by 2025; its submarine fleet is reportedly growing five times faster than Washington's; even its capitalist authoritarianism is called a real alternative to the West's liberal democracy. China, the drumbeat goes, is poised to become the 800-pound gorilla of the international system, ready to dominate the 21st century the way the United States dominated the 20th.

Except that it's not.

Ever since I returned to the United States in 2004 from my last posting to China, as this newspaper's Beijing bureau chief, I've been struck by the breathless way we talk about that country. So often, our perceptions of the place have more to do with how we look at ourselves than with what's actually happening over there. Worried about the U.S. education system? China's becomes a model. Fretting about our military readiness? China's missiles pose a threat. Concerned about slipping U.S. global influence? China seems ready to take our place.

But is China really going to be another superpower? I doubt it.

It's not that I'm a China-basher, like those who predict its collapse because they despise its system and assume that it will go the way of the Soviet Union. I first went to China in 1980 as a student, and I've followed its remarkable transformation over the past 28 years. I met my wife there and call it a second home. I'm hardly expecting China to implode. But its dream of dominating the century isn't going to become a reality anytime soon.

Too many constraints are built into the country's social, economic and political systems. For four big reasons -- dire demographics, an overrated economy, an environment under siege and an ideology that doesn't travel well -- China is more likely to remain the muscle-bound adolescent of the international system than to become the master of the world.

In the West, China is known as "the factory to the world," the land of unlimited labor where millions are eager to leave the hardscrabble countryside for a chance to tighten screws in microwaves or assemble Apple's latest gizmo. If the country is going to rise to superpowerdom, says conventional wisdom, it will do so on the back of its massive workforce.

But there's a hitch: China's demographics stink. No country is aging faster than the People's Republic, which is on track to become the first nation in the world to get old before it gets rich. Because of the Communist Party's notorious one-child-per-family policy, the average number of children born to a Chinese woman has dropped from 5.8 in the 1970s to 1.8 today -- below the rate of 2.1 that would keep the population stable. Meanwhile, life expectancy has shot up, from just 35 in 1949 to more than 73 today. Economists worry that as the working-age population shrinks, labor costs will rise, significantly eroding one of China's key competitive advantages.

Worse, Chinese demographers such as Li Jianmin of Nankai University now predict a crisis in dealing with China's elderly, a group that will balloon from 100 million people older than 60 today to 334 million by 2050, including a staggering 100 million age 80 or older. How will China care for them? With pensions? Fewer than 30 percent of China's urban dwellers have them, and none of the country's 700 million farmers do. And China's state-funded pension system makes Social Security look like Fort Knox. Nicholas Eberstadt, a demographer and economist at the American Enterprise Institute, calls China's demographic time bomb "a slow-motion humanitarian tragedy in the making" that will "probably require a rewrite of the narrative of the rising China."

I count myself lucky to have witnessed China's economic rise first-hand and seen its successes etched on the bodies of my Chinese classmates. When I first met them in the early 1980s, my fellow students were hard and thin as rails; when I found them again almost 20 years later, they proudly sported what the Chinese call the "boss belly." They now golfed and lolled around in swanky saunas.

But in our exuberance over these incredible economic changes, we seem to have forgotten that past performance doesn't guarantee future results. Not a month goes by without some Washington think tank crowing that China's economy is overtaking America's. The Carnegie Endowment for International Peace is the latest, predicting earlier this month that the Chinese economy would be twice the size of ours by the middle of the century.

There are two problems with predictions like these. First, in the universe where these reports are generated, China's graphs always go up, never down. Second, while the documents may include some nuance, it vanishes when the studies are reported to the rest of us. One important nuance we keep forgetting is the sheer size of China's population: about 1.3 billion, more than four times that of the United States. China should have a big economy. But on a per capita basis, the country isn't a dragon; it's a medium-size lizard, sitting in 109th place on the International Monetary Fund's World Economic Outlook Database, squarely between Swaziland and Morocco. China's economy is large, but its average living standard is low, and it will stay that way for a very long time, even assuming that the economy continues to grow at impressive rates.

The big number wheeled out to prove that China is eating our economic lunch is the U.S. trade deficit with China, which last year hit $256 billion. But again, where's the missing nuance? Nearly 60 percent of China's total exports are churned out by companies not owned by Chinese (including plenty of U.S. ones). When it comes to high-tech exports such as computers and electronic goods, 89 percent of China's exports come from non-Chinese-owned companies. China is part of the global system, but it's still the low-cost assembly and manufacturing part -- and foreign, not Chinese, firms are reaping the lion's share of the profits.

When my family and I left China in 2004, we moved to Los Angeles, the smog capital of the United States. No sooner had we set foot in southern California than my son's asthma attacks and chronic chest infections -- so worryingly frequent in Beijing -- stopped. When people asked me why we'd moved to L.A., I started joking, "For the air."

China's environmental woes are no joke. This year, China will surpass the United States as the world's No. 1 emitter of greenhouse gases. It continues to be the largest depleter of the ozone layer. And it's the largest polluter of the Pacific Ocean. But in the accepted China narrative, the country's environmental problems will merely mean a few breathing complications for the odd sprinter at the Beijing games. In fact, they could block the country's rise.

The problem is huge: Sixteen of the world's 20 most polluted cities are in China, 70 percent of the country's lakes and rivers are polluted, and half the population lacks clean drinking water. The constant smoggy haze over northern China diminishes crop yields. By 2030, the nation will face a water shortage equal to the amount it consumes today; factories in the northwest have already been forced out of business because there just isn't any water. Even Chinese government economists estimate that environmental troubles shave 10 percent off the country's gross domestic product each year. Somehow, though, the effect this calamity is having on China's rise doesn't quite register in the West .

And then there's "Kung Fu Panda." That Hollywood movie embodies the final reason why China won't be a superpower: Beijing's animating ideas just aren't that animating.

In recent years, we've been bombarded with articles and books about China's rising global ideological influence. (One typical title: "Charm Offensive: How China's Soft Power Is Transforming the World.") These works portray China's model -- a one-party state with a juggernaut economy -- as highly attractive to elites in many developing nations, although China's dreary current crop of acolytes (Zimbabwe, Burma and Sudan) don't amount to much of a threat.

But consider the case of the high-kicking panda who uses ancient Chinese teachings to turn himself into a kung fu warrior. That recent Hollywood smash broke Chinese box-office records -- and caused no end of hand-wringing among the country's glitterati. "The film's protagonist is China's national treasure, and all the elements are Chinese, but why didn't we make such a film?" Wu Jiang, president of the China National Peking Opera Company, told the official New China News Agency.

The content may be Chinese, but the irreverence and creativity of "Kung Fu Panda" are 100 percent American. That highlights another weakness in the argument about China's inevitable rise: The place remains an authoritarian state run by a party that limits the free flow of information, stifles ingenuity and doesn't understand how to self-correct. Blockbusters don't grow out of the barrel of a gun. Neither do superpowers in the age of globalization.

And yet we seem to revel in overestimating China. One recent evening, I was at a party where a senior aide to a Democratic senator was discussing the business deal earlier this year in which a Chinese state-owned investment company had bought a big chunk of the Blackstone Group, a U.S. investment firm. The Chinese company has lost more than $1 billion, but the aide wouldn't believe that it was just a bum investment. "It's got to be part of a broader plan," she insisted. "It's China."
I tried to convince her otherwise. I don't think I succeeded.

Obamania with Meat

2008-07-26T19:12:00.001+02:00

The political fall-out post Barack’s Berlin speech has been interesting to watch. Almost as equally interesting, though, was the opportunity to watch the speech in perfect sound and comfort of my favorite chair on You Tube. I believe that the couch potato Obama experience was even more thrilling than actually having been there. This does mean, yes, that I am a boring sod.

The throngs (glancing back to be sure that I got an “r” there for the more persnickety among us) were mostly made up of energetic Berliners younger than myself. The sun beat down on us as we moved closer to the Siegesäule where Obama was to speak. I arrived later than I had planned, as I went with my friend Becca, who also has a fine blog (everydayberlin.blogspot.com) and her posse of German civil servants. The somewhat leisurely meanders having passed through the Brandenburg Gate and headed to the Säule, converged, slowly, then more slowly, the at a snail’s pace until we were so tightly squeezed together I almost expected a small Japanese guard to come and push all the air out of us so the doors of the Fujimoto Express could close and we could be on our way. That actually would have been preferable in some ways, in that Japanese trains, presumably, have air-conditioning as opposed to those steroidal Mississippi-size sunrays that beat down on my library tan for hours on end on Thursday. I was actually surprised that the throngs, young and German as they were, did not smell worse. I guess I can thank the Higher Power that I wasn’t coming to see Obama speak at the Champs-Elysées. ‘Stinky’ says my imagination.

Party-pooper as I am, although I was excited that we did actually get close enough to see the One, I just had to complain my ass off about the lack of technological foresight of those who put together the sound system. You could almost hear the speech one-mile behind you better than the speakers that were a few feet away. This caused the strangest echo-effect that made me think I was a fetus hearing our next president for the first time, but from the womb. I had serious trouble understanding the man because of this, and I am relatively sure that the majority of those around me, most of whom are not native speakers, understood little to nothing. Well, thanks technical crew; that certainly made the hours-long wait in the sweltering heat well worth it. Dumb asses.

Those of you who know me will not be surprised that the event that stuck in my mind was not the words of the Redeemer, but, rather, the event that followed--getting the chance to eat at the Döner (Gyro) stand that is rated in Lonely Planet as Berlin’s best. It was gooooooooood. My black friends would describe it as being “so good, it’ll make you slap your momma’”. That’s good all right. The Döner is the Berliner’s preferred fast-food. It is said that Germany has more Döner stands than McDondalds. I believe this is true. Normally, one only gets one good element of the three necessary for a Döner: the pita, the meat or the sauce (the vegetables are all about the same.) Usually it’s a good pita, but the meat sucks, or the meat and pita are good, but the sauce was made by someone without taste buds. Rarely, you get the chance to have a Döner that has all 3 elements in harmony with one another. This was one of those times, and I mark it as THE BEST DÖNER YET CONSUMED.

Today, Chris took us to a little art fair where there is a man who makes business cards as you wait. We need them especially fast as we are going to a social event tomorrow and want to make some “connections” if we can. This guy was so cool. He had a little printing press there and did all the typesetting himself. The cards look really embossed, like they were made earlier in the twentieth century. That may be because all of his materials were actually from that time period. ☺ A bit disconcerting was that the typeface was made out of lead. I asked him if this presented any health problems or risks. ‘Not if I wash my hands regularly and don’t smoke while printing.’ Well, that’s certainly comforting, considering he had just put out a cig before saying that. It’s just cool having something that was made right in front of you, by hand. Don’t ask me why. It just is.

Watch NBC

2008-07-24T11:58:00.001+02:00

I just learned that the NBC Nightly News will be hosted from Berlin this evening for al you stateside. Look closely into the crowds at the Obama rally. Maybe you’ll see me! ☺

Registered "Ein Berliner" Before Obama's Speech

2008-07-23T21:12:00.001+02:00

Yes, I will brave the throngs tomorrow to see our next president in person. (Some estimates in the press, unknown to be reliable or the contrary, are estimating an attendance of one million.) Hmmm. This seems very unlikely, but we shall see. If tomorrow is anything like it was pushing my way through the interested German Obama fans at the “Democrats Abroad” stand at the embassy opening, this should prove to be quite an adventure. Is it me and my sense of entitlement that spurns on this idea in my mind that people who can actually vote for this fella should be ushered to the front? Or, should it be the opposite, since this IS kraut country. Moral dilemmas abound. I will definitely be taking my passport, just in case it may help. I wanted to print out an extremely large sign with something ridiculous like “Opera Singers for Obama” or “Angst-ridden Existentialists 100% for Barrack”, but, unfortunately, no signs are allowed. I’ll let you know how it goes.

Where have I been? I have been on a European vacation with my sister for the last two weeks. It was a whirlwind of craziness, and I will need a couple of days to recover. As my sister so lovingly pointed out, I am a man who needs a lot of time by himself, and 2 weeks of 24/7 with a sibling was definitely a sharp contrast to my semi-hermit cave dwelling tendencies. We both got through it unscathed, though, and she has a lot of memories and photos to show for it.

Really, I consider this to be the real start of my move to Berlin. Now I am able to devote much of my time without hesitation to my future endeavors. And, we kicked off the start of this period with a trip to the government office in our neighborhood to register. This need to be officially registered in the city where you live was one aspect of Germany that really freaked me out at first. I felt it was some sort of infringement on my freedom. It was a little too East German, my movements being monitored by the civil servants of an overly bureaucratic society. I got over it once I realized the benefits of registering. In a lot of ways, it makes for a more trusting society, in that so few people can simply escape debts or crimes by moving from one place to another unnoticed. But I know better than to digress into another social analysis. The time is just not right.

One quick anecdote, though... When we went to be registered, the civil servant needed to see our proof of marriage (we both thought it was cool that she didn’t even bat an eye at this.) When looking at our marriage certificate, she became puzzled when she could not find a number she was looking for. After all of us joining in, looking for the number which listed our marriage, we realized that the number was “1”. She was so delightfully surprised at this, the way that only someone who pushes papers all day could only be. I guess she had never seen a marriage numbered “1” before. She leaned over to show her unbelieving pencil pushing compatriot. But, we were the first civil union in Chris’ little town, and, therefore, get to be Civil Union Number 1. I thought that was kind of neat. At any rate, we are registered now, and I am officially a Berliner.

Expanse

2008-06-28T22:56:00.003+02:00

Culture shock can easily be defined as being so inundated by the differences present around you in a foreign culture that you seem at times overwhelmed. Mostly, the term refers to moving to a different country, where the foreign language, food, people, or lifestyle can seem so different as to destabilize one’s comfort level. Moving to Berlin was by no means the same as moving to a different country. But, strangely enough, the culture shock that I now feel seems as great if not greater than when I had moved to Germany.

I guess there were limitations in living in such a small town in southern Germany. I tended to have either overlooked these limitations, glossing them over, or simply exercising my talent for boundless rationalization in order to come to grips with where I was. I must have, as, by the time I left, I had no idea that they were as pronounced, or, for that matter, that they even existed. Even now when I try to identify what those limitations were in Pforzheim, there is a strong commentary that wells up within my psyche insisting that I either never really needed those things I longed for anyway, or was content to live with some variation of the original. But, these commentaries, borne out of necessity, seem to shrivel when I walk into my local Berlin supermarket, and find myself, slack-jawed, standing before the “American section” where I can buy Betty Crocker cake mixes, Hellmann’s mayonnaise, or Pam cooking spray. There is always some heavenly music that plays when I remember myself stunned before the marketing that was before me as I beheld the almost-forgotten foods of my homeland: trumpets, organs and harps play the Music of the Spheres, as the rest of the market is dimmed by the spotlight shining down from the heavens on me and those beloved products, its radiance forcing the other shoppers into some kind of suspended animation. For this one remembered moment lasts but a few moments, just time enough for me to change into my tutu and prance a quick pas de deux with the macaroni and cheese. On one hand, learning to bake cakes from scratch was a skill that Pforzheim forced upon me, one for which I am grateful. On the other hand, was it really necessary to go 4 years without Root Beer or Doritos?

This limitless expanse which is Berlin, culturally, gastronomically, socially, is at the heart of my culture shock. I would equate it to a Neolithic cave dweller, perfectly happy having lived his life within the forest, suddenly finding the point at which the forest is forest no more, and, as he walks through the tree line, finds himself before a seemingly endless plain. How I imagine I would feel at this enormous surprise cannot be the normal reaction, as some free spirits, I would think, would simply run off into the distance, at last feeling free. I, that is, the Neanderthal I of this story, would probably look for a while in amazement, and simply walk sheepishly backwards, retreating to the shade of constant twilight, at least for a day or two, until I worked up enough courage to wander out into the nakedness. The Berlin of endless possibilities is, to me, disquieting like that first glimpse of the plain. Yes, it is a wonderful disquieting, but disquieting none-the-less. Just forgive me for a couple of weeks while I look my urban gift horse in the mouth, and quietly back away. I will wake from my slumber and realize soon how lucky I am. Until then, though, I will just have to accept my powderpuffness, floating around, eyes full of wonder, praying silently that a stiff breeze doesn’t just blow me away forever.

Relationship advice? Ask your token gay.

2008-06-10T16:36:00.001+02:00

I couldn’t help but cut and paste this article in case you had missed it. It’s about the potential differences between straight committed relationships and gay ones. Looks like you breeders have something to learn from us after all. Har har.

For insights into healthy marriages, social scientists are looking in an unexpected place.

New York Times
By Tara Parker-Pope
Published: June 10, 2008

A growing body of evidence shows that same-sex couples have a great deal to teach everyone else about marriage and relationships. Most studies show surprisingly few differences between committed gay couples and committed straight couples, but the differences that do emerge have shed light on the kinds of conflicts that can endanger heterosexual relationships.
The findings offer hope that some of the most vexing problems are not necessarily entrenched in deep-rooted biological differences between men and women. And that, in turn, offers hope that the problems can be solved.

Next week, California will begin issuing marriage licenses to same-sex couples, reigniting the national debate over gay marriage. But relationship researchers say it also presents an opportunity to study the effects of marriage on the quality of all relationships.

“When I look at what’s happening in California, I think there’s a lot to be learned to explore how human beings relate to one another,” said Sondra E. Solomon, an associate professor of psychology at the University of Vermont. “How people care for each other, how they share responsibility, power and authority — those are the key issues in relationships.”

The stereotype for same-sex relationships is that they do not last. But that may be due, in large part, to the lack of legal and social recognition given to same-sex couples. Studies of dissolution rates vary widely.

After Vermont legalized same-sex civil unions in 2000, researchers surveyed nearly 1,000 couples, including same-sex couples and their heterosexual married siblings. The focus was on how the relationships were affected by common causes of marital strife like housework, sex and money.

Notably, same-sex relationships, whether between men or women, were far more egalitarian than heterosexual ones. In heterosexual couples, women did far more of the housework; men were more likely to have the financial responsibility; and men were more likely to initiate sex, while women were more likely to refuse it or to start a conversation about problems in the relationship. With same-sex couples, of course, none of these dichotomies were possible, and the partners tended to share the burdens far more equally.

While the gay and lesbian couples had about the same rate of conflict as the heterosexual ones, they appeared to have more relationship satisfaction, suggesting that the inequality of opposite-sex relationships can take a toll.

“Heterosexual married women live with a lot of anger about having to do the tasks not only in the house but in the relationship,” said Esther D. Rothblum, a professor of women’s studies at San Diego State University. “That’s very different than what same-sex couples and heterosexual men live with.”

Other studies show that what couples argue about is far less important than how they argue. The egalitarian nature of same-sex relationships appears to spill over into how those couples resolve conflict.

One well-known study used mathematical modeling to decipher the interactions between committed gay couples. The results, published in two 2003 articles in The Journal of Homosexuality, showed that when same-sex couples argued, they tended to fight more fairly than heterosexual couples, making fewer verbal attacks and more of an effort to defuse the confrontation.
Controlling and hostile emotional tactics, like belligerence and domineering, were less common among gay couples.
Same-sex couples were also less likely to develop an elevated heartbeat and adrenaline surges during arguments. And straight couples were more likely to stay physically agitated after a conflict.

“When they got into these really negative interactions, gay and lesbian couples were able to do things like use humor and affection that enabled them to step back from the ledge and continue to talk about the problem instead of just exploding,” said Robert W. Levenson, a professor of psychology at the University of California, Berkeley.

The findings suggest that heterosexual couples need to work harder to seek perspective. The ability to see the other person’s point of view appears to be more automatic in same-sex couples, but research shows that heterosexuals who can relate to their partner’s concerns and who are skilled at defusing arguments also have stronger relationships.

One of the most common stereotypes in heterosexual marriages is the “demand-withdraw” interaction, in which the woman tends to be unhappy and to make demands for change, while the man reacts by withdrawing from the conflict. But some surprising new research shows that same-sex couples also exhibit the pattern, contradicting the notion that the behavior is rooted in gender, according to an abstract presented at the 2006 meeting of the Association for Psychological Science by Sarah R. Holley, a psychology researcher at Berkeley.

Dr. Levenson says this is good news for all couples.

“Like everybody else, I thought this was male behavior and female behavior, but it’s not,” he said. “That means there is a lot more hope that you can do something about it.”

Legacy

2008-06-09T17:31:00.003+02:00

I just lifted these sentences from a Washington Post article. It sort of says it all, in my opinion.

"Unfortunately for the president, many historians have already reached a conclusion. In an informal survey of scholars this spring, just two out of 109 historians said Bush would be judged a success; a majority deemed him the "worst president ever.""

A majority? That is classic. Bush is coming to Berlin to commemorate the Berlin Airlift this week. I am just so sad that I won't be here, as I would love to construct a sign that reads "Another expatriate ashamed of the Bush presidency." Maybe I could have even ended up in some newspaper. Oh well, it goes on the long list of 'things just not meant to be.'

The Genius

2008-06-08T19:43:00.002+02:00

I don't now if any of you know this, but Frank LLoyd Wright is a huge inspiration of mine. Well, I always celebrate his birthday every year on June 8th. I'm afraid this year will just be by eating Bratkartoffeln inspired by the Guggenheim, and watching some FLW footage on YouTube, but, considering the circumstance (my PBS special DVD set is packed away in Pforzheim), it will have to do.

Truth is Life.

That's him on the left in case you've never seen him.

OMG, this is great!

2008-06-07T18:40:00.000+02:00

For those of you that remember the "little black dress" incident:

2008-06-07T15:25:00.012+02:00

Due to overwhelming curiosity (ok, one comment, but a kick-ass comment nonetheless), I am forced to brag to you about our apartment. ☺

I took a walk through of the neighborhood last night, because that is, after all, a really good way to see the good the bad and the ugly of a Kiez. Well, whereas I was happy that we would be moving into this neighborhood, I am now ecstatic.

Not more than a block away from our apartment is a beautiful little plaza, very green, which was, last night, filled with middle-aged yuppies just like, kind of, us. Nice restaurants are there, two supermarkets, a butcher, a cheese store (yayyyyyyy), etc., etc. In the other direction from the house are some cafés and, almost beyond believable, a real French bakery for croissants and baguettes. And the entire neighborhood is quiet…very quiet. Our location is also 5 minutes away from 3 different subway lines, one of which has a very quick link to Chris’ work. In other words, we have really lucked out. We put our need and positive energy out into the universe and she/he delivered.

The apartment itself is in a Seitenflügel, so off of the side of the courtyard. German apartment buildings constructed as ours (around 1910) were constructed in a square with a courtyard in the middle. As was often the case, the entryway of the building was built to impress.

You can see our apartment on the (American) second floor when you walk into the courtyard and look to the right. The courtyard itself is a beautiful garden filled with roses and other flowers.

When you enter our apartment, you are propelled into a time warp, as it appears that the apartment, with all of its moldings, (probably) original kitchen tiles, and beautiful hard wood floors (Dielen), has been untouched since its construction. In fact, there is a large rectangle section of the kitchen floor without tiles where the large, fire burning stove once stood.

The bathroom is a trip, too, as the tub and water basin are built into their little prep-school-esque portion. The other half is free space with a big closet.

Just to of this closet in the bathroom is another closet that you have to duck to enter as it is a real Water Closet where the toilet is housed, separately. I personally think that is hilarious. Many German homes have a separated WC, but I haven’t seen one like this since I stayed in an old, converted château in Lyons. I have always considered pooping a private experience, now it can be revered as such an act, separate from the world.

What the pictures do not capture is the extreme vertical nature of the apartment. The ceilings have to be almost 14 or 15 feet high.

This picture goes only to the top of the door, but there is a whole portion there that extends to the ceiling that you cannot see. For reference, I am 6 feet 2 inches.

The apartment is about 950 square feet. And, it came at a good price. Anyway, we’re happy!

Glück auf

2008-06-07T11:52:00.001+02:00

I must just be in the mood for predictions lately. Somehow, though, as I watch the NBC Nightly News, and read the papers, it seems that the people normally “in the know” about such things have just got their heads in the sand. I believe in positive thinking; hell, I even started reading (and not finishing) “The Secret”. (How gay am I?)

But, there is a storm a-brewing, people, and I would suggest that everyone take shelter. Even NBC described it as “the perfect storm”, a combination of sky-rocketing oil prices (a barrel up more than $10 in one day), a spike in the unemployment rate (now at 5.5%), and the stock market plunging (down almost 400 points.) Most believe that gas will be $5.50 a gallon by July 4th.

Several months ago I had a premonition that much more than a recession was on the horizon. I believe that the staggering amount of debt that the typical American has accumulated, the specter of inflation because of oil prices, etc., the terrible weakness of the dollar (also a product of bad trade practice with China et al.) and the bulging national debt (aggravated by the cost of the Iraq War) all together spell a horrible, potential doomsday for us all. I say “us all” because when America sneezes, the rest of the world gets a cold. Although I have, perhaps, been involuntarily pulled into the vortex of European over-confidence, and there is a part of me that hopes that our economy here could weather such a storm, the truth of the matter is that the interconnectivity of the world’s economies is such that this crisis could actually create a domino effect that feeds off of itself, and thus destabilizes the world economy. There is potential tailspin there that is undeniable.

Now would be the time to convert stocks into cash, I my opinion. Or, perhaps I should say, yesterday was the time to convert assets into cash.

I am just short of painting a sign saying, “The end is near” and walking through the streets of Berlin.

Life and Death

2008-06-06T11:18:00.000+02:00

I just want to be the first to say it: Hillary would make a wonderful Secretary of State. She would be bored out of her mind with the mostly-symbolic nature of the office of Vice President. The only nice thing about the post, really, is that Americans seem to think that being one affords you the reasonable possibility of being the president the next time around. I have two words to refute just that argument—Dan Quayle.

Foreigners love Hillary and they loved Bill as a president, so her appointment would have that sort of fame-factor, giving us at least some leverage. Plus, Secretary of State is a very important job, those who have worked in the post often being major voices in administration policy decisions. Really, the past 2 really successful secretaries of state were women (Madeline Albright and Condoleeza Rice.) Maybe it’s that secret women’s gene that allows them to multi-task that just makes sense to fulfill such a complicated job description. Women are just great politicians, though, really.

Chris’ grandfather passed away yesterday. It is a very sad moment for the entire family. Opa was such a gentle and wise soul. He will be missed. We will fly back for the funeral this week and I will stay in the area to solidify our moving out of the South.

Oh yes, which brings up the ‘sweet’ part of the bittersweet day that was yesterday…we got our dream apartment! We will have the keys on Tuesday and are now moving frantically into the next stage: the moving itself.

Feeling, truth

2008-06-04T10:06:00.000+02:00

Just some tidbits of what’s been on my mind:

The apartment search continues…

Whereas I am more hopeful in that we have seen some acceptable apartments over the past few days, the whole process does seem to be even longer and drawn out than I had expected it to be. We have applied to one place so far and will apply to a couple more, I am assuming. Then, fate, God, and all that will have a real hand in determining whether we get the place that is right for us or not. I am feeling positive about it today.

Obama. What can I say? When NBC announced that he is the “presumptive nominee”, I got teary-eyed again. A black man, as the nominee, maybe even as president. It is just what the US needs right now, and the one thing that will instantly heal the divide that GW has created between us and the rest of the world. Obama really does epitomize hope for many of us and I can’t wait to see him defeat McCain. Things will be ugly between now and November, though. So, be prepared for the ugly head of racism to rear its head even more boldly now than ever before. But, he will come through this trial by fire with shining colors. I believe.

There are so many young women here in Berlin that dress like total sluts. What is with this, people? I just can’t imagine, even if I were really good looking, wanting to wear such things that would so extrovertedly show my sex appeal. I would find it kind of denigrating. Something about it is sad, as though they are advertising that the only thing that they really have going for them is the beauty that they now possess, but that will, eventually, fade. Or, maybe there are some real brain surgeons and astrophysicists under those smoky eyes and hot pants and I’m really the one with the problem. I guess it is kind of like the skinny opera singer thing. Yes, I am sure that you could find one, and yes, he or she would be an exception to the rule, but there is always some hollowness behind that façade that eventually disappoints. Stereotypes are a dangerous thing especially in that they are so often true.

Berlin

2008-05-30T12:01:00.001+02:00

Berlin. ‘Oh my’ is all I can think to say right now. It is Friday. I have been here for 5 days now, and the crash course on what is what here continues. I feel, though, that my brain is full and cannot process another drop of input. This place is HUGE, and yes, I have to scream that word as I still cannot fathom it. It is so much bigger than I have ever imagined and I have only seen a small percentage so far.

The apartment search is becoming a bit more problematic than I had hoped it would be. Berlin has been overbuilt in the past 10 years or so; that incoming investment to renovate and build in previously blighted areas of the east has resulted in plenty of rentable space. The prospected influx of pilgrims arriving to a formerly unavailable Mecca of German pop and high culture was a bit over-hyped, I guess. This should translate into a very good thing for us. But, after looking at several apartments and rifling through the hundreds available on-line, we have not had superb luck yet. We are still learning the trade secrets, I guess. And, amongst those, one of the most disappointing to us, being truly children of the computer age, is the fact that, in order to find a really good apartment, the kind that get snapped up almost immediately after going public, one has to get the newspapers that feature the apartment ads on Saturday, weed your way through the secret lingo (you know, like in real estate ads, when it says “cozy”, they mean “tiny”), select what you’d like to see, and go to set “seeing times” that mostly occur the very next day, on Sunday. This seems to me to be not just a throwback method reminiscent of ancient days, but extremely ineffective especially in that several photos of the place are certainly not a feature of the newspaper ads as they are on the internet sites. The internet sites, though, seem to only feature the apartments that no one wants, some of them laying open for months on end before being snatched up out of desperation. I can only hope that said desperation will not come too soon for us, as it seems obvious that, in perfect German style, things simply run at a much slower pace that I would expect. That being said, tomorrow’s beginning of the whirlwind tour of potential apartments will certainly add another blister to my throbbing collection. (I think I have walked here more in the past 5 days than I have in the past 3 months in Baden-Württemberg.) I’ll let you know how it goes. Supposedly, many people show up to the best apartments, forcing you to elbow your way through the droves to see the goods. Then comes the competition to show who has the most preferable resumé, complete with several documents ensuring that we will not be deadbeats as renters. No one checked my credentials for the apartment in Pforzheim. But, hey, if this means getting a dream apartment where we will be happy staying for years, I am all for it. Besides, it can’t be any worse than the under-the-clothing kind of groping going into a credit check, etc. that one has to go through to rent a closet somewhere in America.

Truthfully, I am going through a rather pervasive culture shock at this point. My worries will, of course be greatly dampened when we get a place and the actual moving is over. But, I have the feeling that the idea of going from a place where choices were limited immediately to one where choices of all kinds are limitless will be one which sticks with me for some time. Of course, many of my friends already assume that I am a big city kind of person. I seem to be the last that will be informed of this.

As a side note, amongst the beautiful surprises that I have come across here, is one of special mention: I can listen to NPR here on a regular radio! Unbelievable. I feel like the country mouse on his first trip to the big, bad city.

My Icy Tits. And stuff.

2008-05-16T00:24:00.001+02:00

My God, Germans love ice cream. I mean, yeah, they love ice cream like any other culture of the world loves ice cream. But, there’s something about the Springtime coming, poking its head out of every crocus climbing with light speed out of the barely-thawed German ground, that practically forces Germans to buy a scoop just about every time they pass an ice cream stand.

And, you know, the Germans being the Germans, they have the whole thing down to a fine art. Ice cream here is not just ice cream…it is Italian ice cream, which I can vouch for—it’s some of the best I’ve ever tasted. Some of these little shops put Baskin Robbins to shame with their flavor choices. And, the secret? It’s made fresh, usually in the store, by the very guy who scoops it out for you. Or it could be his son. Or daughter. It’s a family business. (No, I don’t mean “family” like that…)

And then there are the ice cream parlors. That’s right, like the olden days. (I am just sorry that this being a foreign country, I can’t work the word “jerk” into a sentence and feel confident about its anachronistic harmlessness.) Can I get an “amen”? These places are decked out like some fancy restaurant, beautiful white leather, brass everywhere. The waiters, all Italian, of course, take your order from a menu that resembles the lexicon offered by the Cheesecake Factory, complete with glossy pictures of some of the frozen delights piled high with sprinkles, cookies, and chocolates of all kinds. No Sunday stroll would be complete here without a sundae that even the chintziest German can rationalize away as a reward for his weekly Spaziergang. He’ll fork out upwards of 3, 4, or 5 euros. I thought I was getting gypped the first time I considered what I had just ordered, until the moment the confection arrived at my table. If my normal indulgence of a scoop or two could be considered a bungalow, these 5€ crowning achievements must be at least the Chrysler Building. Well, just trust me, they are a sight to behold.

The weather has been in the 70s (F) for almost two weeks now. And, you can’t walk more than two steps without seeing someone with a cone in their hand. Perhaps the worst of them all is a fella named Christoph, who thinks that it is his droit de seigneur to have 3 scoops every time he steps out the door.

It’s just another weird German obsession, one which seems to be genetically imprinted, because I have yet to see a German who doesn’t celebrate the blossoms of Spring without the obligatory icy balls of sugar overload.

Maybe it’s their way of claiming victory over the dreary German winter. The winter is personified in balls of ice cream, in suspended animation, immobile and vulnerable with a bit of flavor added to not make the procedure seem so grotesque. The German looks at the hard winter sitting idly before him, he considers it, cradled by its little waffle friend, and takes that first bite, slowly gnawing away at that which gave him one grey day after another, slowly killing his spirit over months. This monster had tormented and even killed generations of other Krauts before him. Our proverbial German savors that bite, and thinks, “Vinter you are MINE. I detroy you!” Insert evil laugh here. (But, you know, the kind of laugh that only cackled inside his head, because, this is like a thought the guy is having, and not an actual like talking out loud moment. And stuff.)

Maybe they just like ice cream and it’s too damn cold to eat it when your nipples are so hard because of the cold that you come home to find your favorite blouse completely shredded above the midriff. I hate it when that happens.

Nathan Gunn, God's cruel joke.

2008-05-14T23:57:00.002+02:00

I went to the University of Illinois with Nathan Gunn and he was one of those singers that, when he got up to sing, everyone's heart sank. There are certain unwritten rules for opera, ok? Most of us are fat; it's just that simple. So, when someone who looks like a friggin' model gets up and sounds gorgeous, well, it made us want to jump out of our seats, pull out our swiss army knives and execute him à la Caesar in March. Some things in life are just too good and must be destroyed.

A message from the pulpit. "Pulpit", that's a funny word. It almost sounds naughty.

2008-05-14T11:52:00.002+02:00

Some wonderful friends of ours are strong churchgoers who have been enjoying lots of Bible study of late. I don’t know if it is because of my upbringing, or just that I, myself, am somewhat conservative in some areas of my life, but I seem to attract, and relate well, to fundamentalists of all sizes and shapes. Anyway, I was visiting these friends of mine and we had a lengthy and interesting theological discussion over a sumptuous dinner that the hostess had prepared. In the conversation, I basically quoted the movie “The God Who Wasn’t There”, a fantastic documentary that I recommend everyone, whether a strong believer or not, watch. There is a part of the movie where they surmise how the Gospels could not possibly have been written by anyone who actually witnessed any of Jesus’ miracles. I remember finding this terribly interesting at the time and passed it on at this recent dinner. But, after my hosts kindly disagreed, because they believe in the Bible’s 100% infallibility, I realized that I had no facts to back it up.

I did some research on this, and came up with these interesting facts, in this case about the Gospel of Matthew:

According to Wikipedia (I know, I know, but I just don’t have a theology library next door) “The majority of scholars date the gospel between the years 70 and 100.”

The life expectancy of people from the Classical Roman times until the Middle Ages was 20-30 years. By the absolute latest possibility, Jesus died in 36 AD. So, someone who was a young man (old enough to observe and understand Christ’s miracles) of let’s say 15 would have been dead long before 70 AD when Matthew was written. If Matthew had been 15 in 36 AD (by all accounts he was portrayed as an adult, so older than 15), he would have been 49 by 70 AD--the earliest that Matthew is thought to have been written. The possibility of someone reaching that age in that era of human civilization would not just be rare, but very much unlikely. This is why most theologians believe that the Gospel of Matthew was not actually written by Matthew.

“Beginning in the 18th century, however, scholars have increasingly questioned that traditional view, and today the majority agree Matthew did not write the Gospel which bears his name.” (Ehrman, Bart D. (2004). The New Testament: A Historical Introduction to the Early Christian Writings. New York: Oxford, pp. 92-92. ISBN 0-19-515462-2.) I find it interesting that even theologians of the 18th Century were questioning the validity of the authorship of the first gospel, yet today there are still millions who believe it because it is the book’s title, and, therefore, author. Of course, they are “taught” by equally conservative ministers whose understanding of the Bible is a little too “reading is believing” mixed with the obligatory “blind faith” that they teach.

All of this should not force one to doubt Christ’s divinity or the miracles of Christ, in my opinion. It should, however, dissuade one from believing in the absolute truth of a book that was transcribed by imperfect men. In my opinion, it is the message of Christ, which should be foremost in our minds, it is, after all, the real proof of His divinity: his divine message, which transformed the world as we know it.

I feel that Christians who refuse to pull back the veil to have a real look at the Bible are fooling themselves for many reasons. But, my job as a thinking person and an open-minded individual is to remove the veil completely and confront, head-on, the many possibilities of the Bible and its meaning. Why is it that theologians who spend their entire life learning the languages of the Bible, learning about sociology, anthropology, history, archeology, etc. are, by an extreme majority, liberals on the question of the Bible’s infallibility?

Herr Doktor. Or, maybe not, after all.

2008-05-13T19:37:00.002+02:00

I guess I'm going to have to take my qualifications into the bureau that they're talking about in this article once we get to Berlin, otherwise, I cannot insist that people use my title. I'm not really into that, but just in case. Baden-Württemberg doesn't observe this old German law, originally intended to not put lesser educational systems on par with its own (it was never intended to slight America, instead third world doctors of all kinds insisting on being called "Doktor.")

Non-European PhDs In Germany Find Use Of 'Doktor' Verboten

By Craig Whitlock and Shannon Smiley
Washington Post Foreign Service
Friday, March 14, 2008; Page A01

BERLIN, March 13 -- Americans with PhDs beware: Telling people in Germany that you're a doctor could land you in jail.
At least seven U.S. citizens working as researchers in Germany have faced criminal probes in recent months for using the title "Dr." on their business cards, Web sites and résumés. They all hold doctoral degrees from elite universities back home.
Under a little-known Nazi-era law, only people who earn PhDs or medical degrees in Germany are allowed to use "Dr." as a courtesy title.

The law was modified in 2001 to extend the privilege to degree-holders from any country in the European Union. But docs from the United States and anywhere else outside Europe are still forbidden to use the honorific. Violators can face a year behind bars.

Ian Thomas Baldwin, a Cornell-educated researcher at the Max Planck Institute for Chemical Ecology in Jena, has stopped calling himself "Dr." ever since he was summoned for interrogation by police two months ago on suspicion of "title abuse."
"Coming from the States, I had assumed that when you get a letter from the criminal police, you've either murdered someone or embezzled something or done something serious," said Baldwin, a molecular ecologist. "It is absurd. It's totally absurd."
No one has questioned the legitimacy of his degree or whether he has the right to conduct research here. But going by "Dr." is verboten. If he wants to refer to his doctorate, German law dictates that he identify himself as "Prof. Ian Thomas Baldwin, PhD, Cornell University."

Baldwin confessed in a telephone interview that "there's no question I'm guilty as charged." But he hopes prosecutors will give him a break.

In his defense, he noted that the Max Planck Institute has always addressed him as "Prof. Dr. Baldwin" since it offered him a job a decade ago, and nobody warned him he might be in legal peril if he did likewise.

The proper use of honorifics is no small matter in Germany, a society given to formality where even longtime neighbors insist on addressing each other using their surnames. Those with advanced degrees like to show them off, and it is not uncommon to earn more than one. A male faculty member with two PhDs can fully expect to be called "Herr Professor Dr. Dr. Schmidt," for example.

In effect, forcing Americans to forsake their titles amounts to a social demotion. "It's an indication of the hierarchization of German society," said Gary Smith, director of the American Academy in Berlin. "Germans are much more status-conscious about these things, and the status is real."

Smith holds a doctorate from Boston University and has tempted fate by answering to "Dr. Smith" during the two decades he's lived in Germany. He said he was told years ago that there is a legal way for foreign PhDs and MDs to register for permission to use the appellation, but he has never bothered.

"It wasn't worth the trouble of doing anything about it," he said. "It's really an absurd situation in a globalized world."
The German doctor rule has been in effect since the 1930s, but it has been only sporadically enforced in recent years.
That changed last fall, when an anonymous tipster filed a complaint with federal prosecutors against seven Americans at the prestigious Max Planck Society, which operates 80 scientific research institutes across Germany. Federal authorities forwarded the complaint to prosecutors and police in at least three states, who decided to take action.

Joerg Stolz, the chief prosecutor in the city of Jena, which is investigating Baldwin and another researcher at the Max Planck Institute there on suspicion of title abuse, said those two probes were "near closure."

He said his office had recommended to a judge against filing charges. In that event, he said, the matter would be referred to the Cultural Ministry in the state of Thuringia, which could still decide whether a civil fine is warranted.

Detlef Baer, a spokesman for the ministry, said officials planned to drop both cases. "We spoke with the parties involved and determined they had no criminal intent," he said. "They were given instructions as to how they can refer to their titles," by citing the degree but not calling themselves doctors.

Another American investigated by police is an astrophysicist with a doctorate from Caltech and membership in the German Academy of Sciences.

The criminal investigations have alarmed higher education officials in Germany, where U.S. researchers are in high demand and treated as blue-chip recruits. Last week, state education ministers met in Berlin and recommended that the law be modified so anyone holding a doctorate or medical degree from America could be addressed as "Dr." without running afoul of the police.
"This is a completely overdone, mad, absolutely ridiculous situation," said Barbara Buchal-Hoever, head of Germany's central office for foreign education. "We are talking about highly acclaimed researchers here. . . . The people who have pressed charges must be gripers or troublemakers who wanted to make a totally absurd point."

Even if the proposal is adopted, however, it would extend the privilege only to people with degrees from about 200 U.S. universities accredited by the Carnegie Foundation for the Advancement of Teaching. Anyone with a PhD from Canada, Japan or the rest of the non-European world would still be excluded.

For now, the old law remains on the books. It is unclear when, or if, Germany's state parliaments will change it.
So the next time Dr. Condoleezza Rice (PhD, University of Denver) or even German-born Dr. Henry Kissinger (PhD, Harvard) pay a visit to Berlin, they may want to stick with the title "secretary of state."

So true. Again.

2008-05-05T22:22:00.000+02:00

Figaro's Hightime

2008-04-25T08:57:00.001+02:00

It was last night, while watching Marriage of Figaro here in Pforzheim that a sudden realization came over me. I have the strangest profession ever. People get up, put on costumes, and sing, for hours on end, works hundreds of years old, usually dated and about silly subjects, get clapped for, then go take their make-up of and go home. That’s just weird. And, frankly, not quite the lofty goal I had made it out to be for such a long time. It’s weird, but, if I end up not making it in opera, I don’t think that my heart will be broken. At least not after seeing the Marriage of Figaro. Chris loved it. I found it musically interesting but über-trite.

Speaking of Chris… Today is his birthday, so if you get a chance, you should email or call him. He would love that.

Obama Vincitor!

2008-04-23T11:01:00.000+02:00

The problem with Obama? A comment yesterday asked “So why can't Obama ever seem to close the deal?” Well, I’ll tell you why…

Yes, Obama made a gaffe by calling small-town America bitter and xenophobic. But, truth be told, small-town, small-minded people are Obama’s biggest problem. It really doesn’t matter what he says, how eloquent he is, what kind of vision he has for the future of America. All of this is moot for your everyday hick. They only see “blackie” and refuse to vote for him. I know a significant number of people who won’t vote for the man because he’s black. In my mind, considering how little baggage he has as a politician, there can be very few other viable explanations.

If anyone wants to know why such a ray of hope is having trouble being the nominee of the party, and will continue to have trouble until he is slimly elected to the White House, one must take a good look at who we are as Americans. That’s painful isn’t it—to turn the magnifying glass back upon ourselves for an explanation? We are comprised of a people that pride themselves on their under-education, their simplicity, their “common sense” way of viewing the world. Educated people are to be feared, not to be trusted, and are just plain difficult to talk to. There is nothing worse, after all, than being an intellectual in American society. Believe me. I know.

Americans want a President who is only slightly smarter than they are. They want someone that they could go have a beer with, not someone who would possibly lecture them. Let me put it this way, George Bush was elected President a second time. That should say it all. Obama’s patriotism is measured only by whether he puts his hand over his heart during the Natonal Anthem and whether he wears an American flag on his clothing. Wow, that is such a developed way of looking at things… If that is the measure of one’s patriotism, then America, quite frankly does not deserve Senator Obama.

What ever happened to the days of FDR, when even poor Americans knew that he represented hope and voted for him again and again? You want to talk “elitist”? Just listen to some recordings of the man, his very speech gave away his blue-blooded heritage. Why are people pointing to Obama as unelectable? He is that intellectual-type like Dukakis, Kerry, or Gore, all of whom were unelectable themselves. Part of me thinks this argument has validity, while the other part wants to hold onto this hope that America is not really what it is.

Oh well, if it walks like a duck and talks like a duck…

Why did Hillary win big in Pennsylvania? Because she won big amongst the state’s number one big constituent: whites making less than $50,000. And, more difficult to calculate, she won big amongst perhaps the biggest core constituency in the nation as a whole: racists.

America simply does not know what is best for it. GW is the shining example of this. So, this will be no different. I am sure there are millions of people like me, wishing that perhaps, for once, things really will be different. Let’s just say, I’m not holding my breath.

Part This

2008-04-10T00:18:00.002+02:00

Am I the only one sickened by this over-the-top, Hollywood deification of Charlton Heston? I mean, the guy wasn’t all bad…he did participate in the de-segregation of the sixties. But, in his old age, he did say a lot of racist things, not the least memorable of which was on screen in Michael Moore’s film “Bowling for Columbine.”

The guy was an extreme gun rights activist, a lifetime NRA member. He was the one that coined the phrase “from my cold, dead hands”, daring anyone to take his firearm away from him. Without getting into the debate for the 1000th time, I can tell you first hand that gun violence in Germany is a rare occurrence indeed, because guns are restricted and controlled by the government here. America will only be so lucky to someday be the same way.

I just can’t believe that people see this man as some kind of holy icon simply because he played Moses in a movie. The working word of that sentence is “played”. He was not Moses, people. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I don’t think he was the scum of the Earth or anything, but the guy was a bit of a clod, and to see him revered by the public like this is a sad commentary.

Hillary Deathwatch

2008-04-08T00:52:00.001+02:00

The percentage you see below illustrates the chances that Hillary has to win the nomination, according to Slate.com:

Mike TV

2008-04-07T00:37:00.001+02:00

Is it possible to make up for years living abroad, without the luxury of television, I mean American television? So many of the snob intelligentsia of America look to TV as the downfall of the all society. I think I have yet to see a “Kill your television” bumper sticker o anything but a Volvo station wagon. But with the advent of technology and the means to program and watch whatever programs you favor the most, the watching of television is surely at a whole new level for most. Somehow, with the avoidance of laws by rogue states, it is possible for me to watch, via the internet, a whole slew of American shows that I have never before seen (“Mad Men”, “Noah’s Arc”, “Dexter”), or even rewatch old favorites from Andy Griffith to “My So-called Life” or “The Facts of Life”.

The meaning that I have so cleverly masked here is what this technology means, how it impacts my everyday life. Well, I’ll just put it to you like this: you know those statistics that come out every once and a while that say that children sit in front of the TV for three hours daily on the average. I am putting that measly number to shame. I am ingesting media at this point to such an extent that, if TV were a actual nutrient, I would be unable to fit through the door for my sitcom girth…Richard Simmons will have to come and unplug me from the set so that the firemen can chainsaw a hole in the house big enough for the crane to lift me through. I will not go willingly, though, and some famous designer will make headlines as he revisits high school algebra in order to calculate the dimensions for my tailor made straightjacket, a necessity as I start to convulse and fight when losing visual of that beloved screen.

But, you know what, to hell with excuses; I am having so much fun at this point that I almost don’t mind gorging myself on TV like seawater for some shipwrecked, overly tanned, extremely parched soul on a life raft. I am happy drinking this pixeled brine for the time being. Batten down the hatches, I’m on my way to TVLand euphoria and neither hell nor high water will stop me. Kill my TV? Heyl no! I am actually toying with the idea of watching two screens simultaneously.

So true.

2008-04-03T16:26:00.002+02:00

My Left Hemisphere

2008-04-03T13:19:00.001+02:00

This is a fantastic video that really changed my way of thinking. Watch it! (Thanks, Monica.)

My Heeeeeero!

2008-03-23T23:57:00.001+01:00

Ok, I have to admit, sometimes I think that my husband is the absolute coolest thing alive. Yeah, yeah, sometimes I think he isn’t, but today, the glass half-filled reassumed itself within my perceptions of the C man…

Occasionally here in Das Vaterland, you may find some teenager behaving badly, being a litterbug or what-not. If said teenagers get caught doing such things in the presence of older people, though, adults have no qualms whatsoever correcting the erring youth (it takes a village, right?) Tonight, my Hubble, in perfect C-dude form, saw a young man on the train intentionally drop some paper on the ground.

“Excuse me. You dropped some paper.”
“I know,” the young man said.
Afraid of a confrontation with the two older, yet obviously extremely hip 30-somethings, both with white Macs on their laps busy away at assorted duties/non-duties, his friend said, “Pick it up and stuff it in there,” indicating the trash.

The C-ster hates litterbugs, and perhaps uncouth youth (say that five times fast) even more. I often have wanted to say such things to kids but never do. I have a bit of a fear of teenagers—a fear I account to having watched the old Star Trek episode where Captain Kirk is almost murdered by kids of some adultless planet. Their chanting “Grups! Grups!” still looms in my brain. Mix that image with a little of “Village of the Damned”, and I am practically sure that kids are out to get me. I guess I just love people who have the balls to do what I wish I could. That’s my baby. He can do so much that I can’t.

Salty Mountain Specter

2008-03-20T14:58:00.001+01:00

Oh, to have nerves of steel. My sleep patterns over the last two nights was fitful and light, much too light.

I am in Salzburg, singing for a conductor from the Mozarteum. I worked with him for and hour and a half yesterday and will do the same today. His wife, the Voice Teacher, recommended that I stay just around the corner from the Mozarteum in a monastery of sorts. Actually, it is a home for priests, not monks.

I had a little trouble finding the place yesterday as the address that I had was above two enormous doors on the side of a church (I know, you’re thinking, well, you know you’re going to stay in a Monastery, why not try the church, right…) Well, these were the kind of enormous doors that must have allowed for a carriage to come through at some point. And, one learns after being in Europe for so long, that the enormous doors of a church usually remain locked and one enters from a smaller door at the side. Even walking up to the door and trying the handle on this non-deserted street made me feel like a fool. But, alas, the handle, the ancient handle with its skeleton key mechanism, seemingly having survived the entire nineteenth century and maybe more, gave way and I entered a courtyard where a lady ironed bed sheets in a little side room that must have housed a footman or some such person before, but is now labeled “Rezeption”. Passing through that door was like my won Lookingglass. On one side, life seemed to live on, while on this one, the clocks must function differently, because I have stepped back, way back, and in just one instant.

I need to have a thesaurus at my side, because the images of this place (why didn’t I bring my camera) are just immense. I don’t know for what Archbishop it was built, using the money from some Baron or King, but it is BIG, ok? The woman at the reception points me to my room, and I’m off, on the search for it. Well, the lack of signage and immensity of it all means that it takes me some 10 minutes to find my room. The place is in the middle of Salzburg but by the time I work my way into the belly of the monster, I can practically hear my own breath. It is quiet. Überquiet. It is as though, in spite of being immaculate and filled, absolutely filled with plants on giant stands everywhere, the place has grown unaccustomed to the living. I thought, actually, until this morning at breakfast, that I was the only one in this cavernous place. Hence the “oh to have nerves of steel”, perhaps deserving the under title, “oh, to not to have the flightiness of a thirteen year old girl.” By the time I curled up into my little bed in my oversized “cell”—a cell with thirteen-foot ceilings, minimum, my teeth were practically chattering for fear that a ghost would come get me. Geez. Here I was, already a light sleeper unable to doze off for fear that a monastery could be haunted and I was all aloooooone here, waiting for the Ghost of Christmas Past to melt through the door at any moment and scare the Be-Jesus our of me. (I might have to say a Hail Mary for using the J-word there.) How can my nerves be so unreasonable? It is at times like these that I realize how ill-suited my weak constitution is for this whole business I’m getting myself into. It is almost funny now to be talking about it. But last night, it was me against the Netherworld and I ain’t kidding.

It is a neat experience, though, to be staying here. It is very nice, actually, almost luxurious, really. And all for the asking price of 27€ a night. This seems to be a secret hideaway, though, available only by word of mouth. I mean yes, anyone can call and book a room (I’m still not sure if they allow women), but knowing that the place even exists…that’s the thing. I am lucky to have found it, I guess. And, truth be told, I think that it is even good to sometimes be scared. It brings us back to what we were as kids, afraid of monsters under the bed, and bumps in the night, or, if you’re a bit older, of murdered priests with rosaries they use to murder their unsuspecting victims as they come back from the dead, singing devilish Eucharist plainsongs that, when played backwards, say things like “I am the devil” or “The blood of the lamb won’t save you now.” Insert scream here.

Happy Clucks

2008-03-13T20:58:00.002+01:00

For along time now, Chris and I have only bought free-range eggs. After having seen some of the horrifying videos of how chickens are treated, it only seems right somehow. Don’t get me wrong. All in all, I am a country boy and don’t have a lot of sympathy for animals that we eat, for the most part I consider animals to be beyond stupid and almost deserving of being my main course. I have no intention of becoming a full-fledged vegetarian (I have tried it before, several times, in fact, all unsuccessful. Well, maybe I should say ‘successful’ up until the point that I started to crave steak or bacon.)

Anyway…

I digress.

What a surprise.

As many of you who read this blog may have surmised, I am rather proud of my adopted country. The inroads that this society has made concerning environmental standards, aiding the poor, the sick, etc. are all things to be proud of. But even I was pleasantly surprised at the progress I just learned of. Chickens in Germany will no longer be allowed to be held in cages beginning in 2009.

The government has not imposed this law upon the economy willy-nilly. They made the decision based on animal cruelty standards. Since the announcement that the new law will go into affect, it has observed that non-free-range-eggs have gone down in production from 90% to 68%. This is a trend which they expect will continue throughout the year.

This is a socialistic government at work. What this means for me is that my omelets will eventually get cheaper, since I have always made them with the more expensive free-range eggs. The omelets my naughty neighbors have made using eggs from caged hens will get more expensive, but only for a time until supply and demand takes care of that. For years, we have bought free-range eggs as a way of voting our opinion with our dollars. Other people were obviously doing the same, and it paid off by basically punishing those cruel individuals who either did not know or did not care about where eggs come from. (This is an opening for my vegetarian readership to go off on me about meat in general.)

(This idea of voting with the dollar is partially a response to one of my comments from a previous blog entry about crossing the Atlantic on a freighter. The author of the comment pointed out that I should just fly in any case because even if I were to boycott the airline flight, the plane would fly anyway. This is true in the short-term, but, eventually, if more and more people refuse to fly, there will be fewer and fewer flights scheduled, and, therefore, fewer emissions.)

Well, I guess the main point is that I find this egg decision to be a very advanced principle for an industrialized nation of 80 million. We should not treat the animals that we raise for food so badly. They should be raised humanely. After all, our ability to rise above or own barbarism is what separates us from our food!

This whole discussion remind me of a commercial. I like the cat best:

Kitty's Day Out

2008-03-10T15:59:00.001+01:00

My friend Adam seems to be my cat’s new best friend. BFF, you know… She loves to wrestle with him and play rough. Chris and I don’t really roughhouse with her anymore (our hands couldn’t take the ongoing abuse.) So, Mia is always elated when Adam comes over and she can regress to her animalistic catness. Today, though, they have decided to be cultured and go out on the town for a spot of shopping.

Shiver Me Timbers

2008-03-09T19:37:00.002+01:00

Chris and I had a nice Sunday walk around town. It was nice to see nature, even in spite of the “concrete jungle”, as friends of ours used to call it. It caught my eye, when passing one of our three interconnecting rivers here in Pforzheim, how much natural energy there is for the taking in this world, yet we still have energy problems. If we were just a little cleverer about it, tapping into the world’s natural, renewable resources along with conserving the energy we use, there would definitely be enough to go around.

A subject that has for some time puzzled me is what people, conscious of their own carbon footprints, can do when they must travel internationally. The carbon emitted in order to take one flight across the ocean is so high that it almost cancels out our step forward in getting rid of our car.

I have considered becoming a passenger on one of these giant tankers that make regular crossings over the Atlantic. Did you know that you can book passage on one? It costs about $100 a day, which includes your food. Doing some research on it, I found that a guy wrote a book about his travels on a freighter. It sounds interesting, so I put it on my “to read” list. He said the food wasn’t too shabby on his first voyage. It was:

BREAKFAST 
Fresh milk/ chilled orange juice 
Asst'd. Cereals 
Eggs to order 
Fried corn beef hash 
Baked beans/ plum tomato Fresh baked bread 
Marmalade/jam/butter 
Coffee or tea

LUNCH
 Soup: Garlic soup w/crouton Salad, Greek salad 
M. Course: Stir Fry Beef Tip's w/vegetable, Chips, Fried eggplant 
Fresh baked bread Dessert:
Custard with toppings 
Coffee or Tea

DINNER 
Soup of the day 
Salad of the day 
Entree: Spaghetti carbonara 
M. Course: Chicken in tomato herb, boiled potato Buttered pasta, steamed rice, broccoli 
Asstd. Cheese/cold cuts 
Fresh baked bread 
Dessert: Fruit cake w/custard 
Coffee or tea

This sounds good to me. I think I’ll book a ticket just for the bread. I mention it, though, because I thought it was funny when I was weighing the pros and cons aloud to Chris when I said, “Yeah, I could take one of those ships across. But, even when I make it to the States, I am still 500 miles from civilization.” This made both of us laugh, as I inadvertently grouped the entire East Cast into some kind of barbarian wasteland. I kind of feel that way, I guess. That’s probably why it slipped out. As a Midwesterner, though, I find people from the East to have such an almost innate stridency that I never really feel at home unless I’m talking to someone from “back home”, someone whom I can rely on to be somewhat polite and well-intentioned.

There I go again, being close-minded and prejudiced. I’m still voting for Obama in spite of myself.

So True

2008-03-08T09:25:00.000+01:00

Teeny in so many ways

2008-03-06T23:25:00.002+01:00

Chris has been working on a test project for a great job prospect. Unfortunately, the target group for the advertisements, which he is creating, is girls between the age of 15 and 24. This means that he has had to research what girls like these days, what music they listen to, what they read. It is interesting how little we know on this subject. I thought Nelly Frutado was the name of some gay fruit drink.

This means that our lives (me by default) has been inundated, somewhat against our wills, by teenybopper media for days now. I guess it just got the best of Chris. He went to his room, found a shirt that he must have worn as a teenager himself and did his best impression of a teenage girl of today. I have to say it is pretty accurate. Oh, and hilarious. And, yes, unbelievably gay. Fun, though, you’ve got to admit.

Grace

2008-03-05T12:32:00.000+01:00

Who this bitch think she is? I, for one, would love to see Hillary just bow out gracefully. What ever happened to stuff like that anyway, people who cared more about showing that they had class than about jumping into the mud to fight it out to the bitter end? I long for those days again. Maybe that’s why I’m for the cool-as-cucumber, Cary Grant-esque Obama and his smooth-talking ways. He is a kind of throw-back/throw-forward, an indicator of what’s to come. Or at least I hope so.

Not much has been going on here. This singing is still going well. I am going to Salzburg in a couple of weeks to sing for the Voice Teacher’s husband who is a conductor at the Mozarteum. He will supposedly be able to help me with his ideas. I’m looking forward to it, but, yeah the pressure’s on.

Chris has a really cool job prospect that we are both crossing our fingers for. But, we know better now than to get our hopes up until a contract arrives to be signed.

I am generally very upbeat these days, and don’t have much to complain about.

The Light in the Road

2008-02-15T10:39:00.001+01:00

This week’s lesson and coaching did not go so well. They weren’t horrible, but they were not the extremely positive experiences they had been last week. That is ok. Circle of life and all that crap. But, I have noticed something that I need to continue to work on: centering on the positive. Last week, I had done so much meditation, and was able to get my heart chakra open. Maybe I should say something about that: I probably have mentioned that the “end game” of my vocal development, this part where there is just fine tuning to be done, annoying fine tuning that my sweeping generalities kind of mind finds hard to concentrate on, is enough to get me sent to the funny farm (where maybe I could learn to be funny. Secret!)

Anyway, I equate it to the mind games that a sportsman plays with himself before the game--he psyches himself up, making himself believe that he can win. That’s what I am going through on some level right now. Last week was such a contrast to this week because of this “focusing on the positive” idea. The problem is, you gots to be vigilant, wacking those negative impulses out of your head. Really, you don’t try to get rid of them, you just shift your focus to the positive. I’ve been too yin-y and need to be yang-y.

Grunge is out people! The frustrated intellectual who wears all black and sees the universe as a decrepit place is so 90s. I think that I have enjoyed wallowing in the mire for far too long. Now is the time where I have somehow allowed myself to stand up and see the horizon. I kind of forgot it was there. This week, though, was an involuntary slip back into the pit. Must stand up and escape. There are parts of me that don’t want to leave the darkness.

Speaking of the mire… Just finished a truly remarkable book called “The Road” by Cormac McCarthy. Now, this is truly a masterpiece of writing like I have never seen. Spectacular wordsmanship. Truly amazing. Please read it. It is really one of the best books I have seen in a long time. It may not necessarily be the right book for someone like me who is refocusing on the positive. Let’s just say Pollyanna does not make a guest appearance in the book. But, I could hardly put it down and it has been strongly in my mind since I read it. McCarthy has to be one of the most gifted writers I have encountered. Did I mention it won the Pulitzer?

Verloren

2008-02-11T18:04:00.000+01:00

Do you ever feel like there is something that you do, something that you know is bad for you, but, because of your own obsession, you can’t seem to stop. We all have vices, yes, but this is more like that accident that you can’t turn away from. In this case, every time, I do it, I verbally say “Ah!” This is an “ah” twinged with anger and resentment, resentment that I have somehow, once again, been had. Being had, I guess, is supposed to be an intriguing thing. I must secretly love it, because I keep coming back for more. When I consider my inability to stop, I liken myself to the beaten wife who has to stay with her husband. That’s right, every time I do it, I kick myself, yet do it again at the very next opportunity.

Ok, I have a confession to make: I am addicted to “Lost”. It has strung me along for three whole seasons and, with my being unable to stop, will string me along for another.

What was it they said about ‘curiosity’?

So, does anyone have any ideas as to why the team has come to the island?

Mitt Romney is the devil, encore.

2008-02-11T11:01:00.001+01:00

This is a blog that I posted in December 2006. Just wanted to say: I told you so!

Finally, a political figure to which “Lug'” has devoted his entire blog has made it to the national news. Before I heard his name recently on NPR, I had only heard of him after having been heavily “criticized” by ol' Luggy in my blog entry about Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid's being a Mormon. (See “Oh my God, I'm a bigot”—November 15, 2006.)

Well, I thought Reid was bad enough. Geez. At least Reid has the common decency to masquerade as a Democrat. But, to just go streaking through the political landscape with your right-wing Republican goods just hanging out? These days? Dude, that is so 1996. It's like what I always say about you breeders out there: “I don't mind straight people, I just expect them to act gay in public.”

Now that I have become more familiar with Mitt Romney, the soon-to-be ex-governor of Massachusetts, I think I can understand better the reason behind my Mormon prejudice. When anyone says something like "Attaching the word marriage to the association of same-sex individuals mistakenly presumes that marriage is principally a matter of adult benefits and adult rights. In fact, marriage is principally about the nurturing and development of children. And the successful development of children is critical to the preservation and success of our nation." Uh, ok... what was it abortion rights activists used to say...“keep your laws off my body”? Well, Mr. Romney, I urge you to keep your silly Momo definitions off my vocabulary!

I mean, since the purpose of marriage is making little kiddies, those that fail to pop them out must automatically see their marriages as giant failures, right? Just because a Mormon couple that has anything less than 12 kids is a total let-down to their faith doesn't mean that the thousands upon thousands of couple who have chosen not to reproduce should feel valueless, does it? When such a concise and constraining definition of marriage comes down from the governor himself, one would think that he could someday envision legislation decreeing that couples, when issued a marriage license, should be given a fair time frame to have progeny of some kind. If they have no children within the time allotted, the state should revoke their license and render them automatically divorced!

The Massachusetts millionaire claims that he abhors discrimination against gays, insisting that he only wants to protect the institution of marriage. Yet, he is also against civil unions for gays. Why doesn't he just come out and say it? Why are politicians always incapable of saying what they think? He thinks that gays are the pox of society and doesn't want their existence in any way sanctioned by the government. That's what he thinks. Just say it for Chrissake. I am sure he would like to just ship us all off somewhere...

(I have secretly loved the idea of getting shipped off to an island together, all us from the evil gay underground. Can you imagine the beach parties, I mean “Hello”! I can just see the newest reality show “Lost: a gay romp in the jungle” being a big hit. Let's just say, we wouldn't have killed off that hunky Mr. Eko quite so haphazardly. Damn you ABC and your CBS ways!)

I digress.

Oh, yeah, Mitt Romney, devil, etc.

I, in closing, just want to point out that Mitt (what the hell kind of name is that anyway...is that one of them Mormon names) wants to run for president. That is SO funny. I mean, what do these people think? Do they think that my fellow WASPs are just going to sit around and let an actual self-professed cultist climb that high on the social ladder? I just have to chuckle to myself that they don't seem to understand that this governorship was just table scraps to keep everyone satisfied. Well, nothing says happy multi-cultural society like a token Mormon Neocon on the ticket, right?

What's scary is that Mitt actually believes that he IS a good ol' boy. It's like when Dave Chappelle plays a blind Ku Klux Klan leader who doesn't know he's black because he was raised by white-supremacists. He never found out the truth because no one ever had the heart to tell him.

Well dammit to hell, someone's got to: Mr. Romney, you ain't got a snowball's chance in hell of being the next president of these here United States. Just go back to business and go back to what y'all are good at, making money and little Momo babies. All my best, J.

Witty Sampler

2008-02-09T18:48:00.000+01:00

Confessions, today:

1. I “happened upon” a copy of the movie “The Naked Gun”. I remember thinking that it was funny when I was young. I watched a bit today and practically laughed myself off my chair. Get a copy, people. Watch it. It’s still funny.

2. I am not sure if I have mentioned this before…so forgive me if I repeat myself. Sometimes, my muscles kind of tense up, especially in my upper back and trapezius muscles. It takes a lot to get them to release. Magnesium helps a lot. But, the only thing that is sure to work every time is 12-13 minutes in a 90 degree (Celsius) sauna followed by about 6 or 7 minutes outside (during the winter). This hot/cold combination forces my muscles to release and gives me an overall almost euphoric feeling. I highly recommend trying the sauna sometime if you are not familiar with it! And, now when Frühjahrsmüdigkeit is creeping up on a lot of people, this hot/cold combination is a great cure for the time between the winter and the spring when we all start to feel unusually tired.

3. An absolutely fabulous movie that I recently came across is “Atonement”, based on the story by Ian McEwan. This movie has everything in it—great acting, sumptuous cinematography, and a story that is just beyond belief gut wrenching. Atonement is a Merchant Ivory kind of movie set in the 30s and 40s in Europe. It has my greatest stamp of approval of any movie I have seen in some time. The only weak point is the music, in my opinion. It is a score by Dario Marianelli, and is some rather lame attempt at minimalism, based strongly on the sounds and rhythms of a typewriter. Mr. Marinelli also wrote the music for “V is for Vendetta”, and I remember much appreciating its Neo-Classical flare. I guess the point being is that not every composer can compose in every genre. To most of you the music of a film is not so important. For me, though, it is something that I really notice. His score, apparently, has also been nominated for an Oscar. I had no idea this movie was even in the running for so many awards before I had seen it. (I just had to reveal what great taste I have.) Anyway, I strongly disagree with the nomination of the composer.

Thinking

2008-02-07T10:19:00.001+01:00

I think that I probably talked to you about the cultural experiment that Joshua Bell took part in some time ago. He played in a train station somewhere, in normal clothes, just to see if anyone would even notice greatness if it were placed before them. The experiment, unfortunately, showed the worst side of people: practically no one noticed him at all.

Having 45 minutes until my next train from Stuttgart to Pforzheim today, I left the Hauptbahnhof, which is adjacent to the city’s sprawling pedestrian shopping center. I walked out to get some fresh air and also to see, if, just by chance, my favorite accordion player was there, playing in the open of winter. He wasn’t. But, I was lucky enough to make a new discovery, another accordionist, a young man, who played some long, Debussy-esque jazz improvs, some lasting nearly ten minutes. Well, he was just brilliant.

I am coming home from having had a marvelous coaching yesterday and an equally exquisite voice lesson today. I am definitely on the upswing of life’s mania/depression. As the layers of dust covering my instrument are being lifted, I am discovering sounds that I have never heard come out of me before. At the same time, the layers of my carefully constructed, guarded psyche are being peeled back and revealing parts of myself I have not known for a very long time. Who knew it...singing is not just an intellectual act. Instead, it is an expression of body, mind and spirit, all.

And just as I have been contemplating what the word “passion” means to me, I happen upon a brilliant street musician who is playing his heart out, but being practically ignored. I say “practically“, because it is the part that really touched me. It is true, yes, that most people seem to not even notice that the man is playing before them. But, there are a few, a blessed few, that recognize what they are hearing, veer from their paths to come closer, stop for just a moment amongst their stress-filled lives, and listen. And, when they do, they take out their change purses and give generously, often simply emptying all the coins they have. When I noticed this, the tears welled up. It seemed to say: it does not matter if great numbers recognize your talent, because those who do are so emphatic about it, it makes up for the loss.

This answers some questions I have about humanity.

When I ask myself “do I have passion within me?”, I often come up with strangely complex answers, many of them taking on the form of the “if a tree falls in the wood and no one is there to hear it” kind of composition. Believe it or not, and I know this basically means I am a bastard, I believe one of the reasons that I am so hesitant to share what I have within me is this burning question “does the world deserve it?”

The idea of pouring out the passions that lie within me into a world that kills and maims so easily, that does not seem to respect even the most innocent among us, a world that, in spite of its great beauty, seems to be filled with an equally grandiose amount of shit, a disproportionate amount of which seems to be created by Man, is a hell of a lot like “pearls to swine”, if you ask me. This makes me an egotistical bastard, an asshole, yes. But, I am so sick of this war and war in general (all that killing.) I, thank God, sincerely, that I do not have to witness it first hand. That anyone would have to endure such things as war, child abuse, wife beating, close-mindedness, and even just plain meanness is such a shame. The idealist in me, unwilling to admit that yes, life is unfair, is sickened by the state of the world today.

Rise above it, you’ll say. I am trying so desperately to re-connect with God and open my heart. But, in my over-sensitivity, I feel like my heart is damaged beyond repair by this world. When a child dies, many a preacher or do-gooder would say “he/she was just too good for this world.” What does that mean? And why is it only applicable to babies?

At what pint can you be simply thankful for the blessings bestowed upon you and deaf to those who have nothing?

So much for the Voice Teacher’s friendly advice of “don’t think too much.”

2008-02-02T18:02:00.001+01:00

At least now I know what happened to me...

2008-02-02T17:57:00.000+01:00

Ok, this is fucking hilarious...I mean hirarious:

Bad English, asia style

2008-02-02T17:50:00.001+01:00

Ok, I cannot claim I discovered this. Chris actually passed it on to me:

www.engrish.com

A sample:

Enlightening/Puzzling

2008-01-31T16:27:00.001+01:00

There is so much that I am learning about myself by intensely studying, refining, and polishing my voice. The interesting thing about this kind of study is how much the principles that underlie the technique of singing are principles that can guide life in general.

Let go of control.

My voice is inhibited, greatly, in fact, by an overabundance of tension in my tongue. The tongue, actually, is a very large muscle that extends all the way down your throat practically to the voice box where your chords are housed. There is a delicate balance in how much tension should be in the tongue. The tongue must move...it is what we use to articulate consonants, and it helps us to form the different vowels that we use to communicate. But it should not be bound in tencion in order to sing well. The root of my tongue is very thick and full of tension (the wrong kind), basically disallowing a good portion of my sound from actually making it out of my body.

It’s funny, though, since in English, when someone has trouble communicating, we would say that “the cat’s got his tongue.“ In some fundamentally incorrect way, I am using the base of my tongue to form the sounds that I want to produce. Unfortunately though, this kind of control is just the kind that actually inhibits the “real” sound that my voice is capable of.

So, I try to control my sound in an attempt to make it better. But this need for control actually makes the sound worse. Allan likes to use the word “allow”: We must allow ourselves to be open to what life will bring us, not constantly seek to control our world. This is a principle that I have been working on in my meditation for months now. Letting go, or allowing, is not easy for a control freak. It is almost an ironic juxtaposition, one where the cause has the opposite effect as was desired—this principle being turned upon itself once again, since the cause should never have been instated in the first place.

It seems like a sort of Buddhist principle, really. “Do nothing” seems to be the guiding principle of voice, the teacher, through time, stripping from the student all that they have ever learned was correct in order to reveal a fully natural, unencumbered instrument. But “do nothing” is, of course, over-simplified. Really it is just a matter of doing all ther right things and none of the wrong ones.

No one knows everything.

Studying with a voice teacher, especially with one as intense as mine, and at the “polishing” level where every slight mishap is addressed, and condemned, is like going to a very strict church of some kind. After every lesson, I leave the service feeling like a sinner who fears for his very soul. It is frustrating being a horrible vocal sinner, you see, and can, at times, seems like a never ending story, a saga of bumps along Art’s road-to-nowhere. Sometimes I feel like a caged animal in the presence of the Voice Teacher, going slowly mad being continuously poked and criticized. She pushed me to a near break-down just a couple of weeks ago. I felt like a new Christian who’s been to a two-week tent revival and is just plain churched out. Hell, sometimes you just gotta backslide and booze your way right to the whorehouse when you got an injection of Jesus just a little too intense for your recently-baptized soul.

The Voice Teacher just has so much energy and does tend to rant like a preacher “getting’ Jesus”, the otherworldliness of a lesson made poignant by her All Seeing Eyes practically seeing straight through me and catching every last incorrect thought or impulse. Call me human if you must, but I can’t help but get some Schadenfreude, though, when I know that the Voice Teacher has said something that just ain’t right.

Voice Teacher, obviously unimpressed by the size of my instrument, has declared that it is a medium-big voice (as opposed to a big-big voice), that she thinks that I have made the switch to Heldentenor too early, and that I would be a great oratorio singer (singing things like the Messiah and the Elijah.) I was listening to my lesson of just yesterday, and thinking to myself: how could anyone think that is anything except a Heldentenor?

But, you know what? I didn’t come to the Voice Teacher so that she could rethink my Fach for me. I came to perfect my technique. I will rely on vocal coaches and the people like the Dream Agent to help determine what kind of rep I should be singing. Besides, I really could care less what I sing. The most important thing is what I get hired to sing. I know it sounds odd, especially considering how obsessed I am about the subject, but the question of my Fach is moot, or should be.

It’s like the old joke that waiters are neither pessimists or optimists because when they see a glass half filled/empty, they only think ‘I don’t need to refill it yet.’ For me, the point’s mootness at this point in my career is most like ‘get me the gig, and I’ll sing it…whatever it is.”

"Hosanna…a client!"

2008-01-26T22:10:00.000+01:00

The Dream Agent called to ask me if I might want to sing Lohengrin in 2009. I, after falling out of my chair, simply said a resolute "Yes".

My first big gig!

The performances will be concertante and will take place in Frankfurt an der Oder, Potsdam and Berlin. Lohengrin…my dream role….now a reality. I can barely believe it. Thinking of this gig brought back memories of a caricature drawing a colleague from the chorus in Pforzheim made of me a couple of years ago. The bubble above my head is Lohengrin's most-famous line in the piece. The book is titled "How will I be a great tenor."

Because it was meant at the time tongue-and-cheek, I find it especially poignant somehow.

My progress with the Voice Teacher has also taken a great leap forward and is producing some pretty amazing results. Things are looking up.

Randometer Kopierkatze

2008-01-19T11:01:00.001+01:00

When we last saw our hero, he was battling giant centipedes on the planet Zyrgon…

I know it has been a while, and a lot has happened, so, inspired by Monica, I might have to just do a Randometer list in order to bring everyone up to speed.

1. Dream Agent, in November, recommended that I polish up a few things with the Voice Teacher in Munich. I had a lesson with her and decided to re-locate, part time, to Augsburg where she also teaches, in order to intensely “get shit done”. I have had three lessons so far. Thursday, I came home to Chris (thank God for his existence) and had a mild nervous breakdown. I guess I am not just doing a few things wrong…it’s more like EVERYTHING I do when I sing is wrong. On Thursday, I was on the brink of giving up singing all together. Seriously. I am better now, so don’t worry.

2. So, I live in Augsburg in a little apartment, ok tiny apartment, from Tuesday till Thursday every week. I sleep on a foam mattress that Monica once bought and used when she visited us in Pforzheim. The lack of a real bed and all of the walking (which I hadn’t done for the past three moths) and the intense breathing exercises the Voice Teacher had me doing especially focusing on the back muscles, brought about my back going completely out when I was in Augsburg. I can think of no more pitiful sight that what I must have looked like, barely able to walk, hunched over like I had osteoporosis, limping my way to the doctor where he gave me a shot in my back and extra-powerful pain meds. I am better now, but that was trying. The whole experience, really. is a trial of some sort. The set-up and the way it is playing out is like the universe plopping a very significant question before me, in dazzling marquee lights: “How much do you want this?” My will was almost broken this week. But I ain’t nobody’s bitch.

3. Convinced that I would absolutely lose my mind just sitting around, waiting for my next voice lesson, I started training at the Language School. I need a hobby. Teaching English seems like a good one for me. I have been training for the past two weeks and will teach my first class, in front of a bunch of businessmen on Tuesday. It should be fun.

4. Augsburg is cute. It looks a lot like what most people in America would think a typical German city should look like. It must not have gotten bombed out during the war. The one thing I have noticed, though, is that I see so man nuns on the streets here. I think I am going to start counting them. I will offer my data later.

5. Chris had a job interview in Berlin this last week. The interview went really well, and I was so proud of him for getting his portfolio together and presenting himself well. He ended up only being the runner-up. We were disappointed, but he has another interview this next week. I think he will get a job in Berlin soon, finally concreting our plans to move there.

6. Books I am reading/have recently read: “The Prize Winner of Defiance, Ohio” was pretty good. It tells the story of how a mother ended up supporting her large family by winning poetry, writing and jingle contests in the fifties and sixties. The story is very nice, but the book itself is quite badly written—going for the folksy style but never quite getting it right. “The Genius Factory: Unraveling the Mysteries of the Nobel Prize Sperm Bank” is good. It is written by David Plotz who also writes for Slate. I like Plotz’s writing style. I am half-way through and am wondering, though, if there is really enough material for a book here? Phyllis Diller’s “auto-biography” called “Like a Lampshade in a Whorehouse” is looking pretty good. I find her very funny, so her little anecdotes with inserted one-liners are great. I especially like the line that she was so ugly as a baby, the doctor “said it was the first full-term miscarriage he had ever witnessed.” I have just started this one, but it looks pretty good. Her ghost writer/editor seems to have done a pretty good job.

That’s all the news that’s worthy to print, so far. I know, because I have been monitoring it, that there are a good number of you reading my blog. It would be nice to hear a comment every once and a while…

Obamania

2008-01-05T12:07:00.001+01:00

I feel like a lame John Kerry (‘First I was against the war, then I was for it, then against it…’) I really was behind Obama at the beginning. I thought that someone with his record, “look”, and well-spokenness (as opposed to my bad writiness) could win the nomination, and, ultimately, the presidency. Really he is the only one of the Democrats that appears to have a very solid anti-war stance, this, ironic considering my lead-in, mostly because of his voting record on Iraq.

Anyway, I just wanted to share how overcome with joy I was, after having turned coat, defecting to the Hillary camp for some months, hearing that Obama won Iowa. And, when he said “They said this would never happen” at his speech, I have to admit, yes, I did shed a few tears. The significance of a black man winning anything in this presidential race hit home like a pile of bricks when he said that, my heart melted, and I realized the error of my ways.

What fooled me into thinking that Hillary is electable anyway? We all know she isn’t. Too many people hate her.

Now is the time for change, and the people know that, I think. A friend and Washington insider is trying to tell me that Obama doesn’t have a chance. What does he know? Hell, he even thinks that McCain is going to win the Republican nomination. I sincerely doubt that.

Anyway, I am all for Obama. I only wish that he would get with an elocution specialist or something and improve his delivery. He says “uh” way too much especially when improvising in debates.

A re-formed Reform

2007-12-31T11:35:00.000+01:00

No sooner had I asked the universe this question of Muslim extremism in ma previous entry than I received an answer in a commentary in the Washington Post today by Reza Aslan, an Iranian born scholar. The article today asserted that Obama cannot be the best choice for the presidency because of his lack of experience in foreign relations.

But, more important than this hypothesis, is that the article led me to research Dr. Aslam. As it turns out, he wrote an interesting book that I ordered today. In it, he theorizes that what is going on in the Middle East is an inner struggle, one for the reigns of Islam, one which will determine in what direction the future of the religion goes. I have said this for a long time, that the biggest problem with Islam is that it didn’t have a Reformation. But, it looks as though the circumstances at hand point to the possible fact that we are in the very midst of Islam’s Reformation. That would be nice. Difficult but nice.

Below is the New York Times Book Review of Dr. Aslan’s book:

The Jihad Is a Civil War, the West Only a Bystander
New York Times
By WILLIAM GRIMES
Published: May 4, 2005

For many in the West, the 9/11 attacks on the World Trade Center turned a page in world history. They signaled the onset of a monumental struggle between fundamentalist Islam and modern, secular democracy, what the Harvard scholar Samuel P. Huntington has called a "clash of civilizations."

Not so, Reza Aslan argues in "No god but God." "What is taking place now in the Muslim world is an internal conflict between Muslims, not an external battle between Islam and the West," he writes. "The West is merely a bystander - an unwary yet complicit casualty of a rivalry that is raging in Islam over who will write the next chapter in its story."

That history, grippingly narrated and thoughtfully examined, takes up nearly all of "No god but God." Mr. Aslan, an Iranian by birth and a doctoral student in history and religion at the University of California at Santa Barbara, has written a literate, accessible introduction to Islam (or, more accurately Islams), carefully placing its message and rituals in historical context. Complete with a glossary and an annotated bibliography, it could easily serve as a college textbook.

Mr. Aslan is, in a certain sense, a fundamentalist. The Christian sense of the word is meaningless in Islam, of course, because Muslims believe that the Koran was dictated by God and, therefore, that its words are literally true. But like the puritanical Wahhabists of Saudi Arabia, whom he reviles, Mr. Aslan looks to the first Muslim community in Medina, established by Muhammad 1,400 years ago, as a model for reform today. His Medina, though, is a communal, egalitarian society dedicated to pluralism and tolerance. The problem with Islam, Mr. Aslan argues, is the clerical establishment that gained control over the interpretation of the Koran and the hadith: the anecdotes describing the words and deeds of Muhammad, passed on by his followers and their descendants. Less than two centuries after Muhammad's death in 632, there were some 700,000 hadith circulating throughout the Muslim world, "the great majority of which were unquestionably fabricated by individuals who sought to legitimize their own particular beliefs and practices by connecting them with the Prophet." The stoning of adulterous women, to take a notorious example, originated not in the Koran, but in the virulent misogyny of Umar, one of Muhammad's first converts and later the ruler of the caliphate, who simply claimed that this form of punishment had accidentally been left out of the Koran. Although women in the Medina community were given the right to inherit the property of their husbands and to keep their dowries as their own personal property, later scholars decided that the Koran, when instructing believers "not to pass on your wealth and property to the feeble-minded," had women and children in mind.

One of Mr. Aslan's most important chapters deals with the centuries-long struggle between traditionalists and rationalists over the proper interpretation of the Koran. The outcome weighs heavy on the world today. The rationalists saw the Koran as both the word of God and a historical document whose meanings change through time. For the traditionalists, the Koran is fixed and eternal. Therefore, "what was appropriate for Muhammad's community in the seventh century C.E. must be appropriate for all Muslim communities to come, regardless of the circumstances."

The traditionalists won. The power to interpret the Koran came under the control of religious scholars, collectively known as the ulama, who ended the era of consensus and free reasoning that, up to the 10th century, had defined Koranic inquiry.
If this sounds like a remote quarrel, it is not. Mr. Aslan says it is now being played out again throughout the Muslim world. This, he argues, is the real jihad, not holy war against the West, but the internal struggle for Islam's soul, with reformers pitted against reactionaries in Tehran, Cairo, Damascus and Jakarta, as well as in Muslim communities in the West. "Like the reformations of the past, this will be a terrifying event," he writes. "However, out of the ashes of cataclysm, a new chapter in the story of Islam will emerge."

This has a heroic ring to it, but Mr. Aslan acknowledges that the outcome is in doubt. He places his hopes in the like-minded liberals who, he suggests, constitute Islam's silent majority. "The fact is that the vast majority of the more than one billion Muslims in the world readily accept the fundamental principals of democracy," he writes. Like the reformers in Iran, they are committed to "genuine Islamic values like pluralism, freedom, justice, human rights, and above all, democracy."

This may be, but Mr. Aslan, in his polemical conclusion, tends to assert rather than present evidence. His impassioned plea for an Islamic form of democracy, although moving, sounds sophistical. Religion and the state, in his view, cannot be separate. The very concept is alien to Islam. "At its most basic level, the Islamic state is a state run by Muslims for Muslims, in which the determination of values, the norms of behavior, and the formation of laws are influenced by Islamic morality," he writes. Yet somehow pluralism, human rights, equality of the sexes and religious tolerance would prevail, because, ultimately, these values already exist in Islam.

As Mr. Aslan acknowledges, Iran's halting steps toward a synthesis of Islam and democracy have been discouraging. The example of the Taliban casts a very dark shadow over the idea of an Islamic state. But the tide of history, Mr. Aslan insists, is moving in the right direction, sweeping Islam back, after 1,400 years, toward Medina.

2007-12-30T16:50:00.000+01:00

I wish I could say that I am surprised by Bhutto’s being killed. I think, as I am sure many do, that it is a terribly sad commentary on life in 2007.

I do not know enough to comment on whether she was a shining star, snuffed out by extremism or her political rivals. That would be assuming too much, I think. She was originally deposed because of her own corrupt prime ministership, and was said to have punished her political rivals after having been voted into office. Since I know so little, I do not want to do the typical, human thing and make a martyr out of her, claiming that she was Pakistan’s only chance, or that she was perfect somehow. People do tend to be more perfect in death than they ever were in life, after all.

But, I will say this: I watched Mrs. Bhutto being interviewed several times before her death and I can say that I really liked her. She had that sort of Bill Clinton likeability. You just couldn’t help but be a part of her charisma train.

I am getting so sick of Muslim extremism. Just sick of it. Isn’t anyone else getting that way? It seems like a bunch of backwards hicks are constantly getting their way. It just doesn’t make any sense. It would be like allowing some hillbilly with three teeth in his mouth make all of the decisions only because you’re somehow afraid of him.

How are we going to tell these suicide bombers and all of their kind that we aren’t going to take this lying down anymore?

Munich Installment Two

2007-12-28T13:16:00.001+01:00

For some reason, I have let you hang, unable to tell the greatest horrors of this trip.

At the end of the week, on that Monday just before I came back to Pforzheim, I sang an agency in Munich. As I write and begin to tell this story, a bad taste is starting to form in my mouth, my dander is raised, and I am starting to get that slightly sick feeling. You guessed right, the audition was a bad experience, a really bad one. Someday I will trust my instincts as they told me before both of these auditions to run away and fast. I decided, somehow, for myself, that these were experiences that I needed to have in spite of their discomfort, and gave it the old college try even knowing, instinctively, before I even began, that they would be asses. I am not quite sure whether this was self-fulfilling prophecy or not To even consider I did this to myself is enough to “cook my noodle” at this point, so I will not venture into that void of voids.

I sang before a panel of four people. I sang through “Gott! Welch Dunkel hier” my flagship aria. I believe that I sang it acceptably, perhaps not the best of all of my attempts, but it was also not horrible. I knew something was awry when the initial response to this eight minute tour de force was “Do you have any Mozart?”

Huh? Mozart? Ok, for those of you out of the seen or not total music nerds, asking me, or any Heldentenor for that matter, to sing Mozart would be like asking a linebacker to improvise some modern dance version of swan lake complete with scarves. No one in their right mind would want to hear my voice sing Mozart. It would just be bad. Mozart is all about long, floating melodies, vocal acrobatics, diminuendos, that kind of stuff. Heldentenor repertoire, in contrast, is like a horn call, or drum beats. It would be like asking Metallica to give us their best rendition of Pachelbel’s Canon—yeah, they could do it, maybe, but who would want to hear it?

“Uh…No, I don’t. I have started to look at Tamino again, but no, I do not have any Mozart to present today.” With confused and somewhat blank looks on their faces, they asked me to sing Max’s aria from Der Freischütz. The lightest of the arias I offer.

I sang it well. Again, nothing to write home about, but I am sure it was not atrocious.

They called me down to the little, lone chair that sat before their exaggeratedly long table so they could give me the potential good or bad news. I honestly thought, especially considering they asked to hear a second piece, that they might have liked it. Dear J., you can be oh so wrong sometimes. The tag team verbal stoning started with one of the women. The following is an assortment of her comments. When reading them, imagine a sort of clap of thunder and lightning after each phrase. Maybe even the ornery laugh “the Count” from Sesame Street, but much more evil. No, think the evil, parallel universe “Count” who punctuates little phrases like “Two! Two bad arias.” With a sinister paugh and maybe a side of baby sacrifice. When I personally think of this woman, I see her stirring a huge cauldron of hate out of which pops each comment, in a bubble that pops and some Lord of the Rings voice stage whispers them while “witchy” simply stirs away, a permanent sneer and evil eye painted on her hateful face.

“You are not singing in the right Fach. You should be singing Mozart.”
“You are pushing your voice so much that it really hurts to listen to.”
“Your voice is over-worked.”
“You should just be singing in choruses.”

Then she said “you quite your job in Pforzheim?”
“Yes, I quit my job to go back to America and finish my doctorate.”
“And in which area is your doctorate?”
“Vocal pedagogy,” I say.
When I say this the other woman from the Munich office looks over at the guy from Stuttgart and apparently is having trouble holding back a guffaw of some kind.

My only reply was a stunned, and intentionally trailing off “Ok…”

She tags one of the guys, as I lay, helpless in the center of the mat. Yes, I gave a good fight against “Witchy Dominatrix”, but her final body slam left me momentarily motionless, the breath having been knocked out of me.

He jumps in and begins the pummeling without even a hello or how do you do. At least buy me dinner, bitch.

“If you keep singing like this you will lose your voice.”
“You are not a Heldentenor.”
“A real Heldentenor would have blown the roof off of this place. If he were singing next to you, we wouldn’t even hear you.”
And his crowning achievement, a statement that got permanently wedged in the broken record of my psyche, forever to played and replayed: “Honestly, I do not mean to be mean, but from a tenor to a tenor, I have to say that I am shocked, simply shocked by what I have just heard.”

Note: when someone says “I don’t mean to be mean” expect what comes next to be real, real mean.

I think this was the part when the ambulance was called and the doctors all rushed up to the ring where they determined that it was that last pile driver that had simply driven the life out of me. K.O. folks, and we all go home.

Run away…

It was on the trip home that A. called to see how it went. She was on break from doing a Walküre at the Staatsoper in Vienna and was in Berlin eating at her favorite Indian restaurant. She had an audition in Weimar the next day, and felt the stopover was worth it. That must be some awesome Indian food. Her words were very encouraging, saying that there are some very important people, including the Dream Agent that obviously believe in my talent and that I should just keep going. She said that she had had an audition just before she won her first role in Bayreuth where they also had told her she should sing Mozart. That helped to hear, especially considering how well she is doing now, NOT singing Mozart.

Now that you are either reeling from great Schadenfreude, or in the darkest of depressions because of honest-to-goodness empathy, I want you to know that things were not all that bad. They were balanced by some good news form that week, too.

The Dream Agent had recommended that I go have a lesson with this famous Heldentenor specialist in Munich. I did that. It went well. Very well. She was able to identify immediately the 3 or 4 things that I know I need to work on. She is confidant that these fine-tuning things will be relatively easy to fix and that our work will go very fast.

I got home to Pforzheim after the week in Munich to find a message on the answering machine from the Dream Agent, wanting to know how I liked the lesson. I called him, told him about the auditions, and let him know that I liked the lesson very much. He was soooo nice. He was very consoling about the auditions, and simply said that people just don’t know what they are talking about. He also gave me the best news that I have had in a while, that the teacher in Munich had immediately called him after my lesson and was very excited about my voice, told him that I have a great instrument, and that she thinks that the problems will be fixed very quickly. Then, in a great surprise, and as a sort of saving grace for all that bad that had happened in Munich, he simply said: “When she gives me the green light, we will start going about finding the right house for you.” Cool. Before, he had said that he was interested. Now, it is for sure. Very cool. That means I really have two agents now! And one of them is big time. Me: stoked.

I have already made the arrangements to temporarily move to Augsburg to begin my lessons and coachings. I found a very cheap place from a friend of Chris and mine. He is giving it to us at cost. So, all is well in Denmark and things are on the up.

No, this is not the way that I had anticipated that everything would develop, but I am open to what the Guy Upstairs is working on, and will do what I think is necessary in order to make it happen. I just see it as another step in my adventure. Imagine if I had done the auditions and no one had been interested? That would have totally sucked. I consider this a better-than-average place between complete failure and stardom. I hope you agree.

XMas

2007-12-25T00:08:00.000+01:00

Genau

2007-12-22T19:01:00.000+01:00

This guy articulates well what the main argument is: deciding according to "worse case scenario."

Christian Soldiers

2007-12-21T22:38:00.003+01:00

I came back from Munich on Monday. I sang for two agencies there and had a lesson with this teacher that the Dream Agent recommended. I was able to stay the whole week, thankfully rent-free at the apartment of a friend of mine who is doing a gig at the Wiener Staatsoper. She and her husband have the most amazing DVD collection and like to read, so I was pretty much set.

The auditions were complete and utter horror stories from which I am still reeling. Why do mean people have to exist? I still do not understand the amount of pettiness there is in this business.

In a Maelstrom of inevitability, my train arrived in Munich on Sunday, more than a week ago now. I found A.’s apartment shut up as though someone thought not to return for some undetermined long stint. In December, that translates as ‘I found the apartment bitterly cold inside.’ But in an hour or so, my extremities began to dethaw, a big cup of tea spurring them on.

That next morning, I sang for the notorious opera agent Haase. In 2003, when I sang for him last, I finished my aria, he walked to the door, opened it, showed me out, and as I passed him, said “We cannot work together.” Ok… And, I am going back to him for what reason? Why in the world would I sing for someone who treated me like shit last time? That was a question that seemed especially poignant after the second audition with him.

I warmed up at about 8:15 AM A.’s place for 15 minutes before heading out for my audition. (8:15 AM is an ungodly hour for me and most tenors of the world to be singing. I believe the Italians say it best: “A tenor doesn’t even spit before noon.”) Then, at the audition, I had to wait for another 1.5 hours before I sang, with no chance to warm up after the cold trip over… This is not good. I sang Florestan’s aria for Herr Haase, and, I must say, I sang it rather well considering. After I finished the piece perhaps most famous only because of the great number of people who cannot get through it at all, Herr Haase said, obviously unimpressed:

“You know, Mr. F, many people want to be soloists. I think that if you pursue this, you will just be frustrated. Yes, you could sing in Pforzheim, or Regensburg or Ulm, but not more. I do not know if you would earn enough at these places to live. That is my decision.”

At times like these, there is a secret desire for a comeback that I never dare say…something to the effect of “You cannot foresee with any certainty what the future will bring. And, it’s Dr. F, not Mr.”

I think the only thing that I really disagreed with there was his assumption that, after one hearing, he could chart my entire career as a singer. I do agree with him that I could be a soloist in a D-House such as the ones he mentioned. Where we diverge, though, is that he assumes I could never progress beyond that. Unfortunately, Mr. Haase did not want to take the chance on me as representing someone that sings in small houses is probably not lucrative enough for him.

The Munich story is so long. I will just give you this first installment, so as to muster up the energy to tell you the second and third parts soon. All in all, Munich has emphasized what I have thought all along: that this adventure which will eventually see my career lifting off the ground is one which will take many turns, will require unending persistence, and that same amount of energy but to the second power.

Onward.

Step One: Get Agent

2007-12-04T21:01:00.000+01:00

There are always milestones that happen in this rode to a new level. When I finally signed the letter of resignation for my job in the chorus and sealed into reality that my future would be “anything other than this”, somewhat by intentionally pushing myself up against the wall in order to force myself to move from a comfortable position, taking the risk to become something truly more, I was scared. I was truly scared, really, that I would be sitting on my butt at this point, getting absolutely nothing, thinking ‘I should never have left the chorus.’ These kinds of milestones tend to pass somewhat antic-climactically, one challenge overcome and the sights almost immediately on the next.

But yesterday, when I had my first audition since 2003 for a German agent, I knew that something significant was taking place. I went in with confidence. I was nervous, yes, but confident. I sang through the first aria (Florestan) and she said, with great energy in her voice “You are a REAL Heldentenor!” Cool. Someone else noticed.

Normally, in auditions, you sing through maybe one piece or two. I sang through my entire audition repertoire, four long, extremely difficult Heldentenor arias. The agent seemed very enthusiastic and wants to work together. She even said “I think I may have a Siegmund for you.” Siegmund (from Walküre) would be my absolute ideal role to begin my career. Thirty minutes later, the audition was over, and, exiting the hall, I re-entered the real world.

I have an agent!

Finding someone who is interested in representing me and sending me to auditions that she hears about through her “magic agent channels of communication” is something that, until this point, I have not been able to do. And, on the first try, after 4 years of waiting and working, the first one is interested. I have to admit that I, even considering this anti-climactic nature of looking at my own successes, find this unbelievably, fucking cool! Now, as I go out and sing for other agents, a lot of the pressure is taken off. When I audition now, I won’t be so much focused on whether or not I am worthy, but, rather, focused on what is important, namely, whether this agent is able to recognize my potential and use it to his and my advantage.

I thank God for this. This feels so good!

Something else kind of neat happened…the pianist followed me out after the audition and asked I he could have my card. Interesting. My fried B. knows him and I guess he arranges all kinds of concerts. That would be nice…some gigs.

Success. Ok, now I keep going.

Boner? I hardly know her.

2007-11-28T10:52:00.003+01:00

The universe has somehow decided to take mercy on my somewhat brow-beaten soul. It has finally thrown me a friggin’ bone.

My friend A. sings at Bayreuth and she is so very happy with her agent. This agent has done wonders for A. She is singing at the Vienna Staatsoper and has been invited for an audition at La Scala (in Milan). Being a good friend, she recommended that I send my stuff into “the agent”, as she thinks that he could help me, and that he would be interested in my voice. So, I sent him my CD, my resumé…you know, the works.

I was so very a-feared to call the agent to ask him if he had listened to my CD. What you maybe don’t know is that it is often hard even to get an audition for an agent--the middle-man between an opera singer and the opera houses. I think that the tension would have been palpable to an on-looker as I reached for the phone, muttering a kind of in-tongues pep talk to myself as I dialed.

You see, I have this sort of dream list of agents that I would really like to work with. The list is categorized hierarchically, in typical anal-retention à la J. This particular agent, A.’s agent, is on the top, the far top, as in hey, I would do just about anything to work with this person. He is very far above the others on my list, the equivalent of a great swami on top of a hill somewhere, kind of, well, unreachable. Seeing him like that, really kind of sitting on a cloud somewhere in the sky definitely opens up a whole lot of idiomatic worms based on the word “cloud”, but I will spare you this. Let’s say that his standing in my mind is like when Mel Gibson was in that Saturday Night Live skit called “Mel Gibson: Dream Gynecologist.”—so hot that your annual pap smear seems almost something to look forward to. “The agent” would play Mel Gibson in this somewhat off-kilter parallel galaxy. Getting in with him somehow translates into having a future, at least in my little universe. How I could possibly relate this to a pap smear, the thought of which, for a gay man, would be somewhat akin to just about any scene from “The Aristocrats.”

This overly dramatic profundity about a simple phone call is probably the reason that my hand began to shake whilst dialing.

I should have trusted A., who assured me that “the agent” is not, as I have painted him, a He-man to beat down all of my opera-biz Skeletors. ‘He is a sweet guy,’ she says…’honest, but sweet’ is I think how she put it. It rings on the other end and I immediately know she was right. He is totally nice.

He jumps right in, remembering my name from my info or his conversations with A. “I have listened to most of your CD,” he said. I believe this is where I gulped audibly. “I think that you have a very fine voice.” I begin to breathe again, yet not too deeply, as I wait for the “but.”

His only bone of contention (sticking with that tired metaphor) is that there is not enough legato in my voice right now. (For those of you out of the music scene, this means that my singing is a bit too choppy for his taste.) This is a comment I have received before. I’m thinking ‘ok, I can deal with that. That is fixable.’ I used to sing legato. I was always the one who got “most musical” as the runner up to the beauty queen coloratura trilling her little princess voice right up the judges’ asses. I regress. Again. Hey, there’s always time for bitter.

Overwhelmingly, the agent was positive with me. He swore that he will be in contact with me before the year is out so that I can come and sing for him live. A. said that he is swamped right now and warned not to expect too much right at this moment as his secretary just quit and he has a newborn at home. When he said that he wanted to audition me, for sure, I believe that some part of my subconscious was screaming ‘Goooooooaaaaaaaallllllll.’ The little Chilean sports announcer inside was waiting for this moment and just screamed, complete with Chavezian fanaticism and accent.

The agent said so much. I hung on every syllable of his every word, devouring it like the words of a letter to a ‘dead man walking’ as he discerns, desperate, whether he holds a reprieve in his hands or a farewell.

“The agent’s” other memorable comments include:

“A Heldentenor is not just something you can find on the street.”
“We just need to find you the right house.”
“You obviously have very good technique.”
“I get a lot of resumés everyday. I would say about 90% of them… no, really almost 100% have nothing to offer.”
“I am glad you quit the chorus. You do not have a chorus voice. Your singing in the chorus is probably what took the legato out of your voice.”

I am thinking about getting out the button maker that Chris bought for his niece (and shamelessly kept for himself), and printing a few of these cool catchphrases for buttons-as-accessories. I’ll wear them as badges of honor as I walk the streets, hoping quietly to meet up with old colleagues from the theatre. I could even make the first one out of gold and wear it, blatantly, at my next auditions. How quickly my little Chilean turns into Little Miss Tragic, about to have her gay card taken away by the gay fashion police. Damn.

A. said that “the agent” would be good for me because he has a very good ear (getting his doctorate in Musicology) and has a very good instinct about people. It sort of started feeling a little like the old Hollywood star system when he then gave me the name of someone that he wants me to start working with. “Mr. Demille liked your screen-test, Ms. F. But he wants you to start working with a diction coach right away for your next feature…” Oh Jesus, Little Miss Tragic has become my inner-Vivien Liegh. I guess that’s tragic too.

Anyway, this voice teacher has produced some very notable Heldentenors. Cool. A teacher with Heldentenor as specialty. I had no idea such a thing existed. He rattled off her name and said that he would email me her info. And then, he re-iterated what he had said to me before, that I do not need to be worried, that he promises to be in touch with me.

I hung up and lost all control. I literally wept the craziest tears of joy! I think I may have been shuddering as I blubbered.

I NEEDED THIS GOOD NEWS SOOOOOOO BAD!!!!!

You have no idea. I feel like I have worked my fingers to the bone and gotten nothing in return. Truth be told, the J. has been not feeling so good about himself lately. I just started thanking God immediately. It all just seemed so right. Just real somehow, you know?

A testament to the “real” nature of the agent came when I got a call 20 minutes later. “I just talked to Frau K.,” he said. “ You can go ahead and call her; she is expecting you. This is her number…” Ok. So, this guy means business. He hears my recording, identifies what I am missing, recommends someone to fix it and even does an intro for me. Very cool. Very, very cool.

(I called the teacher and we will meet in December.)

Does this means that things are starting to “happen”?

A deep sense of relief came over me today, a feeling that seems so foreign I feel as though I don’t even possess the words to describe it. There is a part of me, a very deep part, that says “this is YOUR agent! All others will be mere imitations.” Yes, I will still audition with other people, I will still send out my resumés and will still be working to branch out and sing for as many people as I can. But a deep part of me will rest easier now, somehow knowing that what was meant to be has begun.

Pancakes

2007-11-26T14:16:00.000+01:00

You know, I’ve thought about getting up and making pancakes just about everyday for the past two weeks. Really, I’ve dreamed about those pancakes, practically raped by the real maple syrup that drapes over them sitting in front of me, waiting to be bitten. I think I have actually been awaken from positively delightful dream states of some kind or another, beckoned out of my unconsciousness by the elusive pancake-for-breakfast fantasy. I, in my daze, am always quite intent on making those pancakes.

But when I wake, and think about the whole “pancakes for one” idea, I stop dead in my tracks, cut two slices of bread and plop them in the toaster, as my reasonable, and, yes, frankly boring, unimaginative brain takes over and pushes the dull, almost spirit-breaking toast-for-breakfast reality upon me. Damn you conscious mind.

One of these days, the pancakes will win. They will get made. And, viewing this as some kind of sign, a signal from the other dimension, my unconscious mind will, in a great break, simply take over. Then it’s just melting clocks, pink elephants and straight-jackets from there.

Maybe the pancakes shouldn’t be made.

Keep it in your pants

2007-11-24T00:07:00.000+01:00

Just wanted to remind everyone that today (November 24th) is Buy Nothing Day. By buying nothing today, you are taking a stance against the rampant consumerism and the constant need of so many to buy more, more, more. If it is at all possible, try tomorrow, to buy nothing as a way to symbolize that you do not need to consume in order to feel better about yourself.

Beginnings

2007-11-23T10:00:00.001+01:00

I came back from London on Tuesday. I had gone there over the weekend to sing at Covent Garden for a competition. There are very few competitions for which I am now not too old, but this one has a particular portion for Heldentenors, and I felt lucky now that I am singing more like I should to be able to slip in under the wire and see what compete. The competition has three rounds. I will hear whether I have gotten through the first round in January. Then, the second and third rounds are in Barcelona, the trip being paid for by the competition.

The best news of it all is, I rally don’t care whether I make it through or not. I am just happy that I sang well and presented myself well at the competition. I consider this the kick-off of my audition rounds, and am happy that it went well. This is a good sign. There were four people on the jury—two from Covent Garden (one was the man in charge of their young artist program), and two people from the competition. They seemed very pleased.

Snow, Dreams

2007-11-16T21:24:00.001+01:00

One of the things that my spiritual mentor asked me to do is to write down what it is that I want to accomplish with my career, and to be specific about it. This was several weeks ago, and I, as I tend to do, have been chewing on it in my brain—the proverbial cow’s cud, sent only to the main stomach so that it can finally be processed to its bitter end once it has been brought to its final version. Simply put, being specific about what it is that I want to achieve with my voice while at the same time trying to release all of my holding mechanisms as life takes me down an unknown path seems a bit of a conundrum that I just can’t seem to solve.

So far, the only thing that I can come up with is: “I want to express my soul through singing.” That seems like a pretty big step for me up to this point, as hard as it may be to believe. Music is just something that I do because I must do it. I feel it from the core--that I must be involved in it, that I must listen to it, create it, etc. I could go on, but it just gets like Kraft Processed if I do…

I only know that I would never have survived this world without music. It is what kept me alive in my childhood, listening to Public Radio’s classical station brought sanity to insanity. Music is the only means that I have to understand the world. The end of it would be the end of that meaning and, eventually, the end of me.

How, though, I am to fit into the crazy way that music manifests itself as a business is beyond me. I shouldn’t know my own future, anyway, even if my need for control is so great that if I were presented with the option of knowing all that will pass by simply by choosing the right “Let’s Make a Deal” door, I would do it. But, what costume would I be in? Maybe a giant chicken?

I am not saying that these are definitely a part of the goals that will eventually be a part of my list, but I definitely want to:

1. Sing at the Opéra de la Bastille in Paris
2. Sing the role of Siegmund in Walküre
3. Sing the role of Florestan in Fidelio
4. Sing at the Met
5. Sing the role of Siegfried in the opera of the same name.
6. Be a part of a mass-distributed recording of some kind.
7. Be a professor at a university.
8. Sing at Bayreuth.

It snowed for the first time yesterday while we were asleep. I woke up yesterday morning to see the world magically transformed to white, and this after just having dreamed about it… Warm feelings of wonderment (yes, wonderment) came over me, childlike in the presence of such beauty. There is nothing like the first snow and nothing like it appearing, transforming the world around you while you were away, asleep.