Christmas List.....

Orange felted wool Christmas Stocking
Originally uploaded by Alta Marie

In the spirit of The Yarn Harlot's Christmas Knitting Schedule, I decided to make one of my own. There is a distinct problem with this because it is now December 11, and our family Christmas party is December 20th, which means that should I plan to knit anything for my family-- I have all of a week and 1 day to complete the knitting--

This is impossible. So perhaps I will give up. We'll see.

As I type my husband is saying that he has "all the time in the world" to prepare for Christmas..... he is literally saying this right this moment. :) I guess this means he is not hand crafting my gift.

We had a preview on Tuesday for 2500 school-children and it was so much fun!!! They started giggling and screaming right at the beginning, and at the end, they totally lost their minds with glee and were jumping and screaming and it was so much fun. It was also fun to sing in Avery Fisher. There were a few brief moments at a brush up rehearsal on Wednesday where we got to sing without mics, and that was great fun (even though I had "bank voice" from sitting at a desk all day rarely talking, and definitley not singing).

In rehearsal...

This is the first time in a while that I haven't had to leave home to be in a show! what fun this is!
We're at Chelsea Studios rehearsing from now until the show goes up on the 13th. so from 10-6 I'm here rehearsing, knitting and browsing the internet. What a lovely lovely job!
I have knit many cork elves and also some slipper socks for Drake. I'll post pictures soon. One of my colleagues here calls them my "gun cozies." (you know, since we're from Texas...)

I am so thankful to be at a rehearsal space rehearsing instead of auditioning. Such a great feeling! I can only hope that it happens more often...

We decorated the tree a couple days ago, and there were only a few ornament casualties. Yesterday I came home and when I opened the front door I could hear Christmas Carols coming from our apartment upstairs-- Drake baked a delicious ham! how lucky am I this week? toyland, christmas and ham.

Toyland, Toyland

brookeshouldercrop
Originally uploaded by Alta Marie

So as I may have mentioned before, for now I have to post a picture whenever I blog. The pictures that I take most often are headshots, so I've decided that rather than posting random pictures of owls and such, I'll post some of the headshots that I've been taking.

I'm not able to post as frequently, as I've begun rehearsals for Babes in Toyland. Such fun to return for a while to singing as my day job. Returning to it now (again), I am struck by the fact that I am now a grown person dressing up and dancing with human toys....

Such fun. I'm also now really excited about Christmas, which we're not allowed to say in the show. We have to say "the holidays." Naturally, a couple people have slipped and whenever it happens, someone ends up screaming. It's just like the secret word on Pee-Wee's Playhouse, remember that? Someone says "Christmas" and then a bell rings and people run all around with their arms flailing.

I am discovering things about opera on this gig. Alot of my colleagues are from musical theater, one in particular has just finished a tour of Dirty Rotten Scoundrels, and it's been lovely talking with him, and seeing some unusual opera traditions through his eyes. The conductor for the production is a classical conductor-- in opera, the conductor usually runs the show. Everyone defers to him, and he has final say on everything. If the whole thing is staged and he decides that he needs everyone 15 feet downstage, it happens. If he decides that he doesn't want the soprano to stand where she's standing, she is moved. That's that. We also refer to him solely as "Maestro" sometimes "Maestro last-name-here" but that's the extent of it. It didn't occur to me how strange this must seem to those outside of the tradition.

I wonder if in musicals they call you to the stage by your first name or character name or how it's done.... In opera they refer to you as Mr. Last name or Ms. Last name. I'll have to ask him.

In the mean while, I hope you all have a lovely Thanksgiving, and begin to prepare a lovely..... CHRISTMAS :::::AAAAAAAAHHHHHHH::::::: hee hee...

Headbangers and Chicken Bones or "God bless the ipod"

black nails
Originally uploaded by Alta Marie

This morning I was running a *tad* late. Juggling a full-time "day job" with several other part time jobs just gets in the way of a well-timed commute some times. Actually, whether or not I depart in a timely fashion in the morning has everything to do with whether or not I have to wash and style my hair. Let's be honest. This is a mighty undertaking, and I prefer to take care of it at night, but there are times that this doesn't occur, and then *this* happens:

I forced myself onto a too-crowded L train this morning, when I saw a little spot of room just inside and to the right of the closing doors. How lucky I thought I was. I got in there and had the usual sensory assault of smells and sounds. The Russian woman directly to my left must have just bathed in cheap cologne (yes cologne, not perfume.) It, was of course, impossible not to notice the headbanger directly to my right since he was, well, headbanging. Also (like many others on the train every morning) his i pod was blasting loudly enough for most to hear. I figured he was the reason that the spot was open. No one wanted to risk it.

As it turns out, the reason that the spot was empty probably had more to do with the pile of chicken bones that were at the feet of the person sitting directly in front of me. (I was standing.) The train was almost too crowded for me to even look down, but once I finally could, I noticed the small pile of bones and tracked it back to a sleeping man (? I couldn't tell because the person was all covered up with a giant coat.)

I have become a bit compulsive in the examination of people's hands/fingernails on the subway. This is a new development and I have tried to stop myself, but I can't look away. It started when someone who was holding on to the same pole as I was sneezed into his hand and then grabbed the pole again. I just stared at his hand imagining all the germs that he was transmitting, and wondering if they would run down the pole onto my hands. It never stops. I look at everyones hands now on the subway and imagine all of the terrible (and germy) places they've been.

Today's subject of obsessive scrutiny was in a bad way all around, but the fingers were particularly bad, of course dirty (particularly under the fingernails) still greasy from the chicken, and twitching a bit from sleep. I had just long enough to fixate on them when the person woke up and resumed eating the chicken. A few minutes later he/she dropped a greasy chicken bone on my foot. That was when I no longer appreciated the humor in the situation .

There's nothing like a greasy chicken bone on your boot first thing in the morning to completely ruin the charm of psychotic compulsions, cologne-bathed Russians and head-bangers.

"They sing choruses in public--That's mad enough, I think"

Catherine Ferguson as Mad Margaret (1920-21)
Originally uploaded by Alta Marie

I am memorizing a scene from Ruddigore by Gilbert and Sullivan (my favorites!) I don't know how many G&S fans there are out there (holla!) but I LOVE it. I seriously do. There is nothing funnier to me. I die a little each time I read the libretto to Ruddigore. It kills me with hilarity that Mad Margaret's secret word to recall her sanity is Basingstoke. Can I explain it? no. I cannot.

The only thing that may be funnier than the Chorus of Professional Bridesmaids in Ruddigore may be the Sausage Roll Chorus in the Grand Duke. (you must eat a sausage roll, a sausage roll)

If ever one day I go a-missing, you will find me somewhere in a coastal town in Maine rallying townsfolk for a Gilbert & Sullivan Society. We will be in a town hall throwing buckets of water and dancing a horn-pipe. Here's the dialogue:

ROSE. A maiden, and in tears? Can I do aught to soften thy sorrow? This apple – (offering apple).

MAR. (Examines it and rejects it.) No! (mysteriously) Tell me, are you mad?

ROSE. I? No! That is, I think not.

MAR. That’s well! Then you don’t love Sir Despard Murgatroyd? All mad girls love him. I love him. I’m poor Mad Margaret – Crazy Meg – Poor Peg! He! he! he! he! (chuckling).

ROSE. Thou lovest the bad Baronet of Ruddigore? Oh, horrible – too horrible!

MAR. You pity me? Then be my mother! The squirrel had a mother; but she drank and the squirrel fled! Hush! They sing a brave song in our parts – it runs somewhat thus: (sings)
“The cat and the dog and the little puppee
Sat down in a – down in a – in a –”
I forget what they sat down in, but so the song goes! Listen – I’ve come to pinch her!

ROSE. Mercy, whom?

MAR. You mean “who”.

ROSE. Nay! it is the accusative after the verb.

MAR. True. (Whispers melodramatically.) I have come to pinch Rose Maybud!

ROSE. (Aside, alarmed.) Rose Maybud!

MAR. Aye! I love him – he loved me once. But that’s all gone. Fisht! He gave me an Italian glance – thus (business) – and made me his. He will give her an Italian glance, and make her his. But it shall not be, for I’ll stamp on her – stamp on her – stamp on her! Did you ever kill anybody? No? Why not? Listen – I killed a fly this morning! It buzzed, and I wouldn’t have it. So it died – pop! So shall she!

ROSE. But, behold, I am Rose Maybud, and I would fain not die “pop.”

MAR. You are Rose Maybud?

ROSE. Yes, sweet Rose Maybud!

MAR. Strange! They told me she was beautiful! And he loves you! No, no! If I thought that, I would treat you as the auctioneer and land-agent treated the lady-bird – I would rend you asunder!

ROSE. Nay, be pacified, for behold I am pledged to another, and lo, we are to be wedded this very day!

MAR. Swear me that! Come to a Commissioner and let me have it on affidavit! I once made an affidavit – but it died – it died – it died! But see, they come – Sir Despard and his evil crew! Hide, hide – they are all mad – quite mad!

ROSE. What makes you think that?

MAR. Hush! They sing choruses in public. That’s mad enough, I think! Go – hide away, or they will seize you! Hush! Quite softly – quite, quite softly!

I will not buy anti-embollism stockings for my birthday

Vintage Birthday Card
Originally uploaded by sunset flame

I have a gimpy right foot. My mom says that it's because of soda (or at least that's why hers is/was gimpy.) I very seriously considered this as a possibility, imagining that the bubbles from my Diet Coke are somehow inflating my foot. I don't know if there's any science at all behind this, but I can see it. I must be growing up a bit, since I will now actually consider that my mom may say one or two things that are true. It sounds like I'm a terrible kid. I'm not terrible. Just cautious after being told that:
1. Chocolate was actually dog poop
2. I was actually born a monkey in a traveling circus, but she adopted me, shaved me off and raised me as her own.

There are many many more of these lovely tales, as well as additions from my brothers (who only recently found out that yes, there are eggs in egg noodles.) I feel they are best told in person, though if I'm ever low on material, I will try to flesh them out here. (If mom says it's OK. She says that I tell lies about my childhood. I say that liver with ketchup does NOT taste just like steak.)

Anyway. back to the anti-embolism stocking. I went to the Duane Reade after work on Wednesday to buy what my podiatrist referred to as a "support sock" since the last time I flew my foot nearly tripled in size. I decided against buying it because
A. it was called an "anti-embolism stocking." I categorically refuse to buy an anti-embolism stocking for my 30th birthday.
B. it was $37!! Let me say that I would gladly buy it if, god forbid, it was deemed medically necessary. but darned if I will use my tiny weekly budget to buy a medical stocking on my birthday.

Instead, Ashley took me out to fabulous dinner at Tamarind and we went to Sephora and to Forever 21, where the irony of shopping at Forever 21 for my 30th birthday did not escape me. After a slight twinge, I decided that it was far preferable to the anti-embolism stocking.
ALSO not to gush, but Ashley surprised me with a wonderful eye-shadow palatte and I felt the unsurpassed glee of a little girl. If I look particularly happy and sparkly eyed these days, we can thank her.

I also went to sunny Florida to visit Drake, where several wonderful things happened!
1. Alissa baked me a delicious cake
2. I saw a birthday dolphin and exclaimed (even though I was by myself) "Look! A dolphin!! It's my dolphin! It's my birthday dolphin!!"
3. I met a lovely toothless spa-owner in a wine shop who wanted to "use" Drake at his spa (presumably as a hair model?) He told us about his new space which used to be infested by rats but is now gorgeous and kind of broke my heart when he said that he knew "it was going to work out this time." He begged us to stop by before we returned to NYC "You know, just for a little arm massage or something."

You know. Just a little arm massage. in a lovely space that was heretofore infested by rats.

The tagline on his card was "Let us create art on the canvas which is you."

I will have no art created on me, thanks. And I will have no anti-embolism stocking either. And no liver, thanks.

No amount of mental-rehearsal could have prepared me for this

What you can't see is that I'm also knitting a tea cozy....
Originally uploaded by Alta Marie

So as I mentioned, I had the second half of a root canal yesterday. I thought that the worst part was over from my last visit and that they were just going to put in the permanent filling and I would be on my way. no no no. but I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me start a bit earlier in the day...

... when I called Drake in a terrible panic and asked him to distract me with his plans for my birthday cake. He said he had no plans yet and I panicked further and said, DRAKE! it's in two days!! and he says that he *didn't* snap back "I'll take care of it!" he just said it. But I interpreted snapping and that was the first time I cried that day. poor poor Drake....

When I got to the Dentist's office I promptly asked the nurse if I could listen to my ipod, and she asked the dentist and he said yes (YES!!) Life was much much better with the ipod, I'll say that right now.
I had "mentally rehearsed" this appointment, and rehearsal included my bravery/distraction during the novacaine shot, my tolerance of the new filling, and my miserable self-pity at home lounging on the couch later. If only.....

Have you had a root canal? I think that he built a tiny campfire in my mouth... that's all I can think of. I refuse to do any "actual research" about what comprises the "actual process" of a root canal for fear that I see "actual pictures." At one point, when I was left to "process chemicals" I realized how absurd I must look-- sitting upright with the mouth protector (which felt more like the mouth-invader or the mouth-stretcher or the mouth-violator) and knitting a tea cozy. I have never felt more absurd. There I was, listening to "I wish I had an evil twin" by The Magnetic Fields and knitting a tea cozy. No big whoop. Nothing unusual here....

So the tiny campfire. I opened my eyes a couple times (why??? why did I do it!?) and saw a series of what looked like tiny match sticks going into my mouth/tooth. There were probably 20 of them. Did he take them out? are they still in there? Did he burn them and actually make a campfire in my mouth protector? There was definitely smoke. I saw it several times. I didn't panic outwardly. I was afraid that if I did the fire might spread.

I will not go into any further detail, but I encourage you, if you have not had a root canal before and are suddenly surprised with one, to ask someone to tell you about it so that you can mentally rehearse. Cause I sure didn't see this coming. It's probably for the best, because my pre-performance panic would have been something fierce and wrathful.

I don't expect however, that yours will end as summarily perfectly as mine did. After the Mouth Protector was removed, I couldn't close my mouth on my own anymore-- (I think it's like when your arm falls asleep and you have to pick it up with your other arm, and you can play the whole "why are you hitting yourself?" game.) He closed my mouth, and I must have looked totally traumatized, because he said "I know that's uncomfortable, but I have to do it that way and here's why"

And I'm not joking when I tell you that he picked up a very large syringe and held it centimeters from my nose. I'm not sure what effect he was trying to provoke, I think he wanted me to smell it. He said it smelled like bleach. I couldn't smell anything because I was starting to lose my hearing and my heart was trying to escape the room. I managed to say "Um, why are you poking my greatest fear in my face?" and he must have thought I was joking, because he DID IT AGAIN! and said "what, you don't smell that?" And to my credit, I think because of the absurdity of the situation, I didn't faint. Instead I said, "look, we've done so well thus far, you need to put that back on the table before I faint and knock out all your hard work."
Know thyself.