The Banal Chew

My Blue Shoes

I was troubled by two headlines in the New York Times this weekend.  One article profiled a number of organizations that reportedly assist gays and lesbians to find "freedom" from homosexuality, brought to sudden awareness by Ted Haggard's claim of such liberation.  [Sidebar: does anyone else find the acronyms for these predominantly right-wing "Christian" conservative organizations vaguely annoying, I mean once you get past the idiocy of their mission anyway?  There's one called LIFE (Living in Freedom Eternally).  Should be Living in Fear of Everyone.  And there's JONAH (Jews Offering New Alternatives to Homosexuality).  But what about ZONAS (Zebras Offering New Alternatives to Stripes)?  Or JACSHT (Jews Aching for Closeted Sex with Hot Tuchises)?]

The other headline discussed the attendance of the U.S. Episcopal Church's relatively new presiding bishop, Katharine Jefferts Schori, at a meeting of Anglican primates in Dar es Salaam this week.  Undoubtedly, she will face a great deal of adversity from the plethora of conservative bishops who feel the Episcopal Church has committed heresy by ordaining a gay bishop, Gene Robinson, in 2003.  [Sidebar: Jeez, that issue is SO yesterday!]  So, not only do they have a bishop from the land of black sheep coming to sit, snack and supplicate with them at the table, but this bishop's a woman!  Rumor has it many of them might simply walk out on her.  I say the only good side of a bigot is their backside, seen as they strut away.

Why is it that so many people, Americans and otherwise, feel it necessary to tread on others?  During my life thus far, I have been very fortunate to surround myself with people for whom my sexuality is not a burning issue. Somehow I managed to escape the bigoted lunacy that formed my environment when I was a child and young adult. I came out, to myself at least, in the 80s...in Arkansas!  Perhaps the linear distance from the painful melee of dying young men in greater cities far, far away was beneficial in a way.  It was, however, also problematic, in that AIDS increased the irrational fear of "The Other" that plagues so many small-town folk.  Speaking of distance, moving away from my family to Europe and Canada as a young adult allowed me to come to terms with my sexuality on my own and with the support of friends and newly made family.  It may be true that my parents would have, eventually, come to terms with it as well, had I stayed in the household.  But then I had been bold enough to come out first to my only sister, a year and half my elder. Was that ever a mistake.  I was so wrapped in my own false sense of comfort that I actually thought she would find easier acceptance, so I told her.  Then came the periodic drunken phone calls in the wee hours of the morning, begging me to recant my big ol' blue-eyed blunder. 

"Oh, my dear brother, [sniffle] I don't know how you can do this to us.  This is just horrible!" 
"Horrible?  Why can't you just accept me for who I am?  I'm a good person.  I swept the Best Citizenship awards in elementary school, was runner-up for Outstanding Youth of America, and I was drum major in high school, for Christ's sake!  I'm not a bad person, and I don't need to change!"
"Pleeeease, Sandy," she gurgled, "can't you [hiccup] just give girls a try...for [burp] me?"
"No, I can't.  This is not something I can change.  It's not like I can wake up one morning and decide to wear brown instead of blue shoes that day.  Any anyway, my shoes are just fine."

And then came the ultimate conversation ender.

"Well, you can never, ever tell Dad.  It would KILL him!"
"Fine.  I have to go now."  Click.

So, instead of killing my father, I decided to save him from a certain torpid, agonizing decay by distancing myself from him and the rest of my family for nearly 20 years.  Dad and I have reconnected now, and I am fully out to him.  Heck, he has survived heart disease and near-fatal car accidents.  I think he'll be okay.  He loves Mark and Zane.  And I, finally, have come to believe he loves me.

Some Statistics

As an American living abroad, I find it interesting to draw comparisons between my home country and my home-away-from-home country.

                                                           

	USA	Australia
Land mass	3,794,083 sq mi	2,967,909 sq mi
Population	just under 300 million	just over 20 million
No. of mobile phones	219 million	18 million
No. of airports	14,858	455
Population growth	0.91%	0.85%
Unemployment rate	4.60%	4.90%
HIV/AIDS-related deaths	approx. 14,000	approx. 200
% of population  living in the 10 largest cities	less than 10%	more than 60%
Indigenous   peoples as percentage of population	1.20%	2.40%

CIA World Factbook
Wikipedia

Goal Tending

Zane's homework du jour, which had to do with the setting of his goals and objectives for the new schoolyear, was to be done in collaboration with his parents.* So, after dinner, Zane, Mark and I gathered at the table and began the project. Once we got past the don't-just-write-down-what-you-think-your-teacher-or-we-want-to-hear mode of operation, things worked a bit more smoothly.  Forty-five grueling minutes later, Zane had answers written to all of the questions, and Mark and I gleefully wished him a good night's sleep and dug out the martini shaker.

Goals. What is it about this word that strikes fear in the core of even the most work-hardy and challenge-oriented among us? I have to admit it had been a while since I had thought intently about my own. Zane's project, however, allowed me to embrace the task of hammering out my own goals and objectives in written form. Oh yeah, I had made a couple of New Year's resolutions, but taking a pencil and creating a honest-to-God list that enumerates my personal objectives and pipedreams is something different. Okay, maybe pipedreams is a little harsh. After all, at 44, I know myself pretty well, so I'm not terribly afraid of overreaching.

Here are my goals for 2007, in no particular order of importance.  What are yours?

• Keep in better touch with family and friends
• Pursue further research projects on early musico-dramatic genres
• Reconnect with singing (I miss it...badly)
• Smile more
• Find a conducting gig in Sydney
• Read more books
• Practice clarinet and recorder more
• Continue with my gym efforts to achieve a younger fitness age
• Take Zane to his first opera
• Re-establish "date night" with Mark
• Give more than I take

Here's to good luck for all of us!

*In Australia the schoolyear runs from early-February to mid-December.

News from the Wildside

Welcome to Wednesday's News from the Wildside!

• Bobbie Sue, do you really wanna be an astronaut man-hungry lunatic when you grow up, you purty li'l thang you?
• Renegade kangaroos in LA?  No way.  I mean really, no way.  It's a wallaby!
• Someone's got their Snickers in a twist.*

*Go here to see more of the 2007 Super Bowl television commercials.  Which is your favorite?

• Mmm hmm. Then tell us why you need that trenchcoat, Risky Business sunglasses and Old Navy ballcap.
    (bettybowers.com)

And now for the wildest.  Okay, probably not the wildest, but certainly the most worrying...and just plain wrong:

• Republicans f&ck it up again.

Cogitation Tuesday

Musicus Interruptus

A recent article in the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette discusses the issue of premature clapping during classical music concerts. Even those of us for whom classical music is a way of life have fallen prey to the temptation of early applause. (Usually it only takes once, for the embarrassment caused by the cold sneers of neighboring audience members is punishment in itself.) The tide, however, seems to be turning. Some conductors and performers, Leonard Slatkin for example, are happy to forgive audiences for the once unforgiven.

I have a couple of thoughts on this issue.

First, why can't audiences clap after what must have been a moving and possibly exhilarating moment that predisposed them to such a physical expression of emotion? Go to any nonclassical concert these days, and chances are you'll find cheering and applause exuberantly and intermittently throughout the show. When attending last night's Scissor Sisters concert here in Sydney, I can't begin to imagine having to sit quietly during and between numbers. No way. And during my doctoral lecture-recital performance of Adriano Banchieri's madrigal comedy, Saviezza giovenile, I was thrilled to hear the occasional bit of applause during the exit of a character who had so thoroughly entertained her/his spectators. Yes, you could argue it's selfish in a way, but it is also gratifying in another.

Secondly, however, I have to admit that when I program works for concerts I am conducting, I usually build the program in sets of related pieces. The program's thematic construction often dictates where applause is deemed "appropriate." In order to maintain both the flow of the program and, more importantly, the mood I endeavor to evoke from sets of pieces, I often make sure that the written program groups the works into sets, placing a symbol (eg, asterisk, flourish, etc) between the sets. A statement is included at at the bottom of the program page requesting the audience to hold applause until after the program sets, as indicated by the symbol. It doesn't always work, however, and in that case I don't sweat it. If people clap in the middle of sets, I usually turn around and give a brief nod to acknowledge the applause. After all, I'd MUCH rather they clap than not.  Furthermore, we performers should be delighted that folks want to show us their support and appreciation.

It's not easy having yourself a good time...

...unless you're at a Scissor Sisters concert. 

What a fantastic show! They've been one of my favorite bands now for a few years, and this was my first time hearing them live. It was all I'd hoped it would be.

Sneaky Soundsystem opened the concert with a groovy set that had everyone movin', pumped and ready. Sneaky S is a Sydney-based band. I definitely plan to check them out in a full concert at the next opportunity.

Set that example

“Look, my diction isn’t all that good. I have been accused of occasionally mangling the English language...."  Thus quoth our fearful fearless leader in his address to the Democratic legislators at their Annual Issues Conference.  (I love that! Lots of sibilance, please. I think Mark and I are going to start having one of those each year.)

Anyway, mmm, mangled.  Oh, hey! Let's have a brief run-down!*

"A tax cut is really one of the anecdotes to coming out of an economic illness."  (2000)

"I don't think we need to be subliminable about the differences between our views on prescription drugs."  (2000)

"Families is where we find hope, where wings take dream."  (2000)

"Too many OB-GYNs aren't able to practice their love with women all across the country."  (2004)

"Because of your work, children who once wanted to die are now preparing to live." (2006)

And now, the finale:

"I want it to be said that the Bush administration was a results-oriented administration because I believe the results of focusing our attention and energy on teaching children to read and having an education system that's responsive to the child and to the parents, as opposed to mired in a system that refuses to change, will make America what we want it to be -- a more literate and hopefuller country."  (2001)

* Thanks to Slate and J. Weisberg

In a completely different vein, I have a question:  how do you get rid of love-handles?  Mine are just getting annoying, and Mardi Gras is only around the corner.  I go the gym 3 to 4 times a week, but obviously I am not targeting the right area. (And please don't reference the middle-age spread, especially you 20-somethings out there. I mean, it's not like I don't already know it's spreading.)

Dreamgirls and Leg Curls

What a week.  Let's see:

• Watched/helped Zane start his first day of Year 4.
• Came down with a cold.
• Broke a plate.
• Paid bills.
• Held Mark's sister's baby, Kye, just after he was born.
• De-flea'd the critters.
• Saw Dreamgirls.
• Strayed from the Body for Life diet.
• Skipped the gym a couple of times.
• Had a few good workouts at the gym.

Anyway, some great excitement in an otherwise humdrum course of seven days.

The Big News:
The arrival of Kye. What a beautiful thing to be present for the arrival of a newborn. I wasn't in the delivery room, mind you, but we all got to see (and hold!) Kye only about 1.5 hours after his emergence from the womb. Until then, I had never seen a newly born baby. [Sidebar: I come from a rather small family. My sister has had two children, but at the time of their birth I was estranged from her, both physically and mentally.]

Congratulations, Faye and Anthony!

            Kye in his father's arms

Dreamgirls

Despite my undying passion for the musical that opened on Broadway just over 25 years ago, the hype surrounding this film scared me. I feared that something that had helped mold me as a young, aspiring musical theatre wanna-be would be tampered with in a dreadful Hollywood way, leaving something gaudy, bawdy and misunderstood. I was also skeptical of anyone who dared remake Jennifer Holliday's role as Effie, especially someone with American Idol celebrity status. In the end,  however, Ms Hudson won my heart. Actually, she stole it. While I have some problems with the way Effie's tragic exposition (And I am telling you) was filmed, her portrayal of Effie White was convincing in a way I hadn't expected. The girl's got pipes, there's no doubt about it. I admire the strength and tender severity she brought to Effie, as well as the complexity of character that both she and Condon achieved. Another wonderful surprise: Eddie Murphy. No, I'll never forgive him for his shameful tirade against gays that formed part of his comedy routines during the mid-80s, but he did a bang-up job as Jimmy Early. Overall, the movie contains some great moments in film. That said, anyone who sees it owes it to themselves to visit/revisit the original Broadway cast recording. You can hear Ms Holliday's life-changing rendition of And I am telling you at the tail-end of her interview with Joe Salmonese on HRC's The Agenda radio program.

Oh, guess what else happened this past week?  I saw my first kangaroo! (Okay, technically it was just over a week ago, but I have to share the excitement.)  It hopped up to the South Coast holiday home Mark and I were sharing with some friends for the Australia Day weekend.

Freet Neek

Earlier today I was well-intentioned to sit down this evening and write a post that would reveal some trivial tidbits about me, eg, who I am, why I moved to Sydney, what I do, where I come from, what I eat.  Not that it would be compelling reading, and at any rate, it certainly wouldn't be my life story.  But something tells me that one's initial blog posts should provide some degree of the author's background.  And for the hapless souls who find themselves, serendipitously or otherwise, reading this blog, it only seems fair. 

However...

after spending nearly five hours, yes FIVE!, cleaning my step-son's room, I'm pooped.  As my granddad in Arkansas would say, "My tired's a hangin' out."  Indeed it is.  This was no ordinary cleaning.  You see, he started the new school year yesterday.  This morning, when his father and I asked him if he had located certain, necessary items (goggles for swim class, library bag, etc), he flashed us his legendary deer-in-the-headlights look and slowly delivered that ubiquitous line that so successfully induces lip-pursing and jaw-clenching, "Oh, I was just going to go look for those."  We suffered the usual two minutes that it takes for him to run upstairs, tumble contents out of a few boxes and bins, open and close the sliding closet doors, stand in awkward silence for a few seconds while readying himself for the revelation, and then clamber down the stairs with a shy, "I can't find them." 

Even though I still maintain I am fairly new to parenting, this scenario has repeated itself enough times, in nearly perfect replay, that I feel I am afflicted with a strange, highly unwanted deja vu.  Sensing the closeness of my frustration's threshold, I decided to vent not by getting cross, but by doing something that might help this poor, little fella in a more efficient manner.  I waited for him and his father to leave for school/work, and I marched upstairs to do a quick scan of his room for the undiscovered items.  After immediately finding the swimming goggles on the floor of his closet, I decided it was time for action.  Something was keeping him from finding things, even when they were completely unhidden and unobscured.  I stepped back and had a good look at his room.  What a nightmare.  The summer school holiday had seen his room creep into a slow state of disrepair at which even Oscar the Grouch would marvel.  Well, no longer.  Four and a half hours later, all of which were filled with an intense frenzy of cleaning, rearranging, sorting, tossing, packing and storing, and his room is now in a state of tidiness and organization never before seen.  Yes, I realize I cannot expect it to stay that way.  Bins will be emptied, the floor again covered, the desk littered and the closet shuffled.  But that's quite okay.  The neat freak in me, his estivation called to an abrupt end, is purring with tired contentment.