The dog and my shoes

We got a new dog a few weeks ago. I thought the dog was cute. Little pointy ears, spots, playing in the hall. Slipper thieving was one thing and could have been construed as cute and puppyish. But the dog has gone too far now, and this is war.

The dog, ate the heels of my brown Nine West pumps. Then the dog ate the heel of one of my favorite black ankle strap black pumps. A pair of black shoes, so beloved and comfortable that I could walk endlessly in their 3" loveliness.

This is war dammit. No one messes with my shoes.

I sorted all the shoes and mated them carefully, taking inventory of their leathery goodness. I went and collected my favorites into shoe boxes, putting them on the highest shelves and writing their classification on the outside of the box for ease in sorting. Now I am going to have to buy some sort of shoe organizing thing to make sure they are safe.

The point about this I find so bothersome, is that I am not sure who is training whom? Are we taking the dog to obedience classes to teach her, or are we training me to inventory and safely stow my footwear?

On being female

As I was playing a game of scrabble today, I sent my opponent a smiley. :) They replied with, "Pins and needles, needles and pins, it's a happy man who grins." I said, "All very well and good, but I am not a man, so where does this leave me since men say you cannot make a woman happy?" My opponent commented, "True, I am one and I am not happy unless I am making myself miserable." Why do we do this?

When I ask this question, it encompasses a lot of different things.

We like to compare ourselves to other women, and maybe like is not the right word. Because we don't like it really and no matter how we look, we only see the flaws in ourselves. Never in the subject of the comparison. I once saw a woman at the spa who was utterly gorgeous, wafer thin and weighing herself before and after she came out of every sauna and steam room. She did this for hours and she would look at the scales disapprovingly, and sigh. My friend and I sat munching on our spa rabbit food salad, so we asked her what the problem was. She told us she had a date and wanted to lose two more pounds to fit into the dress she wanted to wear. Suddenly I felt guilty for eating a spoonful of goat cheese.

Imagine our shock, both of us being overweight and not concerned with the scale at all, and here was a Kate Moss clone worrying about two pounds! To our eyes, she should have happily paraded around the women's spa, totally naked, never giving a thought about how her body looked. Suddenly I realized that it is not what you have, but rather what you think you don't have that is important to women.

I am as guilty as other women of this, but I always felt like I had a really good reason to be. Years of battling my weight and trying to tan (which may I add, will never happen...), freaking out over imagined blemishes on my face. I am not particularly pretty, or outstanding in any way, but now I see that it does not matter how pretty or thin you are, there is always going to be someone prettier and thinner than you are. Add to that younger, as I am 44. Why do we do this to ourselves?

Men do not seem to this to the same degree women do or maybe it is just not that apparent. They keep it to themselves. If I had a nickel for every middle aged, beer bellied guy I saw in his truck with a "no fat chicks" bumpersticker, I could buy a truck that rivals theirs. I listen to men who are not particularly attractive or hygienic, criticizing women for two ounces of extra post pregnancy fat.

I am wondering if men feel free to do this, because we do it to ourselves? Because if you think men are bad, try listening to women talk about other women. They make men look nice by comparison. Oddly, I rarely hear a man saying he does not find a woman attractive because she is stupid. Wonder what that means?

The other way women make themselves miserable, is by wanting men who are not deserving of them. We women will sit around and mope about some guy who liked us enough to have sex with us once for a while, but not enough to want to make any sort of effort on our behalf. The solution for this is clear, but we can't seem to get the other women to get on the bandwagon. Stop putting out. Period. They have no right to ask or expect something so personal and intimate, with no sort of commitment. If all of us worked together, and stopped the round heeled madness, men might just shape up and act like mammals. But as long as there are women who do not posses the self esteem and respect to say no more than once, men will continue to think this is their world and they can take what they want to, when they want to.

I can't see where the women's movement helped in any way besides job equality. Women are not respected equally as men, take for example Condoleezza Rice. Whether you agree with her politics or not, she is a brilliant scholar, accomplished musician, a formidable intellect, a polyglot, not to mention gracious. I hear men who disagree with her politics, saying things like, "What is with the space between her teeth?" Or, "She is just a puppet of the administration," as if she is totally unable to think for herself. You've come a long way baby!

Hell, I think Teddy Kennedy is ugly, but I am far more offended by the things he says than by how he looks. How far does a woman have to go in the world that she can be immune from having her looks judged by not just men, but other women? Are we listening to what the men say, or just competing with the other women for the men?

The Devil Goes Down to Denver, or close...

A story on the AP wire today... BENNETT, Colo. - Some parents in this prairie town are angry with an elementary school music teacher for showing pupils a video about the opera "Faust," whose title character sells his soul to the devil in exchange for being young again. Any adult with common sense would not think that video was appropriate for a young person to see. I'm not sure it's appropriate for a high school student," Robby Warner said after two of her children saw the video.

Another parent, Casey Goodwin, said, "I think it glorifies Satan in some way."

Tresa Waggoner showed approximately 250 first-, second- and third-graders at Bennett Elementary portions of a 33-year-old series titled "Who's Afraid of Opera" a few weeks ago.

The video features the soprano Dame Joan Sutherland and three puppet friends discussing Gounod's "Faust." Waggoner thought it would be a good introduction to opera.

Her critics questioned the decision to show children a portrayal of the devil, Mephistopheles, along with a scene showing a man being killed by a sword and a reference to suicide.

School Superintendent George Sauter said the teacher should not have shown the video to children below the fourth grade but will not lose her job. She has sent letter of apology to all elementary school parents in Bennett, population 2,400 and about 25 miles east of Denver on Colorado's eastern plains.

"I was definitely not sensitive to the conservative nature of the community, and I've learned that," Waggoner said in Sunday's editions of The Denver Post. "However, from what has been said about me, that I'm a Satan worshipper, my character, I can't believe all of this. My intention was just to expose the kids to opera."

Waggoner, who is in her first year teaching vocal music in Bennett, said she doesn't expect to stay in town.

"I know I'm not accepted here, that I'm not welcome here by the parents," she said. "It's a very uncomfortable position."
__________

Faust is an enduring German Myth, used many times in literature, by the likes of Marlowe, Goethe, Gertrude Stein, and Carre, and made into several operas, by Boito, Busoni, DeHerve, and poor maligned Gounod.

The thing about the story of Faust, whatever name it is under, Mefistofele, Faust, Faustus, The Devil to Pay, is that it is, in essence a moralistic tale. It's not like the devil wins Margerite in the end of the opera. She goes with the choir of angels.

This is the same icky fundamentalist reasoning, that I cannot bear. Harry Potter is from Satan, Fairy Tales are from Satan, any toil or trouble we have is an attack from the devil. Yeesh.

In "The Screwtape Letters" by CS Lewis, Screwtape informs his nephew Wormwood, that there are two ways to give the devil power, one is to not believe he exists, but the far more effective way is to see him everywhere in everything.

Read it. Great book.

The incredible, shark jumping Madame Butterfly!

From the world of television, an expression was fed into our pop culture, and now has become much more over reaching. "Jumping the Shark."

During the last season of the show "Happy Days" when the ratings were flagging after Richie left, they concocted a plot line, that involved Fonzie, the epitome of cool, using his motorcycle to jump a shark tank. It did not work, the series soon ended.

This was a case of shark jumping if there ever was one.

Butterfly, not being a favorite of mine, I have sort of limited my exposure to, but I can always appreciate the classic Puccini moments, what a shame there were not any in this performance!

Upon doing a bit of research, I discovered Wilson was trying to achieve a representation of Japanese "No Drama," assisted by Suzushi Hanayagi, one of Japan's leading classical dancers. According to his web site, he sought to avoid the traditional sets and costumes, focusing on the movements of the singers. "I have conceived a decor of extreme simplicity, because the music is rich and moving enough. It is a way to rediscover the Japanese atmosphere of the libretto in the simplicity, the frugality of means. One could play the opera in a kitschy setting, and I am sure Puccini had that in mind. But I just want to offer a space in which the music can unfold. It is a kind of music that provokes in me an emotion that is almost unbearable."

Well, he succeeded, there was indeed no drama involved, and I agree, it was unbearable. He should have chosen the Kabuki style instead, it would seem far more appropriate.

The sets were far too deep, but oh so very zen, swallowing the voices of the singers. The conductor, well, he did not pay any more attention to the sensitivities of the singers, than they paid attention to each other, drowning them out regularly. So much for letting the music and singers take precedence. I think playing over the fortissimo in "Un Bel Di" is a crime against humanity. I am planning on filing a complaint with the Hague.

The staging was not completely true to Wilson's vision. The beginning deviated. "There is a chair on which Madame Butterfly is waiting. Further away, there is a bridge, stones that form a path, and in the distance, the sky." Instead, we got Sharpless and Pinkerton in bathrobes, with a goofy little Goro.

I was pretty sure the singers were combining their performance with demented Tai Chi. I felt the unnatural movements required, were very hard on the singers, and affected the tension level in their shoulders making it more difficult to sing. The positioning of Kate Pinkerton, for no less than 20 minutes in the "garden" doing her impression of "Winged Victory" this time with arms, gave me cramps in my shoulders, just watching her.

I guess I am just not smart or artsy fartsy enough to understand this style, in which the movements act as a prison for the singers, controlling there every attempt to act competently, or really at all. I
got the general impression here, that no one really cared about anyone else in the cast, since they avoided even the slightest glance at each other. There was no indication of Butterfly's great obsessive love for Pinkerton, since she hardly noticed he was there. Overall it painted a picture, not of a woman in love scorned, and victimized by her culture and prejudice, but rather, of a lunatic, holding on to something she had no idea was returned, or if she even wanted it to begin with.

I was under the impression, that overblown drama, love, passion, vengeance, suicide, and death were the reason we went to see the opera in the first place. This might as well have been a concert version, or, I could have just stayed home and listened to the recording. At least I could have heard the singers, and I would have been spared the extensive, badly performed, Martha Graham on crack dance interlude of the exceedingly overage Trouble, he had to have been close to 30, OK12, but no toddler. In his dance, he was bending, while often time losing his balance, to pick up things off the ground and put them in his mouth. I found myself wondering if they were poison berries, and hoping he would share them with me to end both of our misery. In one dramatic climax of this dance marathon from hell, he paused at the top of the stage rake, center stage, and performed the worst looking arabesque I have ever seen. The Stooges possessed more grace and refinement. I will never be sure why he laid face down on the ground and pretended to swim for ten minutes while the grown ups were singing. His mother actually managed to touch him a few times when he was on stage, but never looked at him, so why she cared if he was taken away was beyond my comprehension. I would be stunned if anyone noticed he was gone, with the exception of myself,
and after seeing him "dance" I would have been grateful. Hell, I would have payed for his transportation.

It is my opinion that often, when people who work in opera day in and day out, begin to get bored with the pieces, they seek out wilder and wilder adaptations. Much like a heroin addict shooting up progressively more and more, until he is found dead in the park with a needle in his arm. Or like a pornography addict, who needs more and more extreme imagery to be satiated. Someone needs to call the coroner, to come take this away, and don't be sharing that needle. I would hate to think this is contagious.

Butterfly's death scene, since there were no props, had me wondering if she were dying of embarrassment, at being seen in this vehicle, and don't think her weird fluttering movements escaped my notice. I am pretty damn sure they were trying to make her look like a dying butterfly, and by that time, I was ready to pin her to the card myself.

I found this quote from Wilson telling... "I like to work in the Opera Bastille because it has a very diverse audience: young people, tourists, the high society. That is very different from the Munich Opera or the Metropolitan Opera, where the audience is more uniform. France does a lot to make culture accessible to everyone, and it is a privileged place for artists, which one cannot say about many countries, certainly not the United States."

In this case, God Bless America.