Wednesday, January 26, 2011


Stuck on the first half of Shakespeare's Sonnet 29.

"When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes
I all alone beweep my outcast state
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possess'd,
Desiring this man's art and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
as for the rest of it, who knows when and if that might apply again?

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

I am a shadow of my former self,

a brain-dead, graceless shell.

Friday, January 21, 2011

Funny, that I should come across this article today.


Last week I attended the Dallas Symphony's Russian Romance program. It was my first time at the symphony, and an incredible experience for me.

I grew up watching Disney movies, and particularly loved the musical ones: The Jungle Book, Little Mermaid, Beauty and the Beast. I also relished musical movies, animated or not: Annie, The Rescuers, The Wizard of Oz. As i grew older I found that artists who recorded the songs I loved most sang pop opera, classical crossover and Broadway: Charlotte Church, Josh Groban, Sarah Brightman.

I found myself exploring opera recordings. I love Maria Callas and Renee Fleming. I have yet to attend a live performance, but I've watched many DVDs.

And yet, through it all, the orchestra was always just, I'm embarrassed to say, background noise. Sure, I might tune in to the local classical radio station when the mood hits me. But classical music on film and radio had always been a complement, never center-stage. Until now.

That night I was awash in a sea of pure, unadulterated emotion, wave after wave crashing against me, breaking me apart, breaking me open to beauty and splendor. It's one thing to listen to a recording, and quite another to be in a concert hall with the artists performing right in front of you, in a room full of people hanging on to each note. Each breath, each handstroke a new note, an intricate tapestry weaving itself before you of thin air, magically teasing and transporting you.

I was completely lost, and it was utterly glorious. I could barely tell who was playing what and when: i couldn't see the flutes from my seat, and can barely identify instrument tones anyway. There was one part that was kind of a cello and harp duet, a conversation even, one i found beautiful and romantic.

I feel utterly ignorant, not knowing who or what i was listening to, or whether or not they were any good. I know that the conductor was Hans Graf from Houston, it was 25-year veteran Dallas concertmaster Emmanuel Borok's last performance, and Milwaukee's Frank Almond was guest concertmaster that evening, playing the Lipinski Stradivari. As first nights go, I think I was incredibly lucky.

I hope to further explore this strange new world, and educate myself to appreciate it more and more.

Wednesday, January 05, 2011

I need friends.

I know I do.

But I feel like a fucking trainwreck. And so I leave stupid, vague status messages on FaceBook, and cry helplessly at the outpouring of concern, but as I try to respond I find I can't, not to the smiling faces looking out from holiday pictures with the loving hubby or smiling kids. I can't. I won't.

I will be okay, I tell myself. I will be okay.