March 11th, 2006

The Singing Panamanian

(no subject)

These were a good couple of days for my singing.

(1) A couple of days ago, I received my evaluations from the Song & Aria competition. Although I didn't make the finals, the comments were encouraging to read. The areas where I was critized can mostly be attributed directly to lack of preparation, which I knew was an issue going in. The other comments … not so bad.

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(2) While practicing yesterday, I vocalized up to a B-natural. That's half a step down from high C, folks! Maybe all these predictions that I'm maturing into a dramatic tenor or heldentenor aren't so far off. It looks like maybe the Siegfrieds, Parsifals, and Otellos (i.e., a lot of Wagner and Verdi) are in my future. I'd miss out on a lot of juicy baritone roles, but my earning potential would be higher. This is the path that Plácido Domingo took, developing from a high baritone to a heavy tenor — not that I have anywhere near the calibre of voice of a Domingo, but I find it interesting that he is the one opera singer I idolized growing up.

(3) And, of course, I heard back from David Pollard, who confirms that he is still happy to teach me and is looking forward to my arrival in London.

It's nice to have something I can still get excited about.
Relax!  Grab a Book!

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  1. Anonymous — Go Ask Alice
  2. Cooper, Susan — The Grey King
  3. Martin, Steve — Shopgirl

It's amazing how less productive a reader I am when I'm heartbroken and depressed. It's not that I read the words more slowly; I just have trouble focusing and processing. I realize sometimes that I'm just skimming past ink on paper as my mind wanders off elsewhere, so I have to re-read entire passages. Or I'll re-read a sentence or a word three or four times before meaning penetrates the dense fog around my mind and takes shape.

Given my recent state, I wonder if I should have been reading a book about a clinically-depressed young woman who seeks identity and love but settles for physical intimacy, blurring them to the point that they become indistinguishable to her, until she is forced out of her non-existence. One line resonated strongly for me throughout. It is first casually overheard in the phone conversation of a woman at an adjoining table. It stood out then — only because it applied to my own situation, I thought. Then it was repeated in the final paragraph by the story's protagonist, changed slightly and made her own, and that's when I realized this is the theme of the story: "it is pain that changes our lives."

Do you want your book back, journeystar, or should I find another home for it?