Tuesday, December 27, 2005
Got back from Cali on Sunday. It was nice to see the parents, but I’m extremely glad to be home. . . It seemed like a non-stop long weekend of simply eating and drinking and I could use a break. (Sometime in the near future, I have to get to a point where I DON’T go home for the holidays.)
Yesterday headed up to Westchester and go out to dinner with Rob at his local watering hole, The Bayou. After four cosmos at the bar, I nearly fell off the seat getting to the table where we ate a meal (so I’m told, the night became a little foggy after). Somehow, I made the train back to the city and uptown to my apartment (I don’t know how. The night became a little foggy). I then crawled into bed and slept like the dead until today, where I was awakened to that loathsome sound –the alarm clock –reminding me the vacation that I have to work for a living.
But the holidays are not yet over, and I’ve got a party to throw this weekend for the New Year. Eric will be in from Atlanta, Neena from Chicago, and also the usual NY folks and some people from Jersey.
I’ve already planned the menu, did some shopping for it and got some decorations. All I need now is some drinks, and we’re set. I’m actually pretty excited.
Yesterday headed up to Westchester and go out to dinner with Rob at his local watering hole, The Bayou. After four cosmos at the bar, I nearly fell off the seat getting to the table where we ate a meal (so I’m told, the night became a little foggy after). Somehow, I made the train back to the city and uptown to my apartment (I don’t know how. The night became a little foggy). I then crawled into bed and slept like the dead until today, where I was awakened to that loathsome sound –the alarm clock –reminding me the vacation that I have to work for a living.
But the holidays are not yet over, and I’ve got a party to throw this weekend for the New Year. Eric will be in from Atlanta, Neena from Chicago, and also the usual NY folks and some people from Jersey.
I’ve already planned the menu, did some shopping for it and got some decorations. All I need now is some drinks, and we’re set. I’m actually pretty excited.
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
A Charlie Brown Christmas
Having missed going to Chicago, and the family, for Thanksgiving, I went back the week before Christmas for a visit. The reason was primarily to see my grandparents who are, admittedly, slowing up – my grandfather especially. And Grandma is taking care of my capricious, and sometimes acutely grumpy Grandfather.
My brother who lives in Chicago is wrapped up in his own world –a closeted gay relationship (to them at least). My sense is that they little understand each other. My aunt, though in her 50s, lives there, but is somewhat socially retarded and herself a bit tired of coping. Besides, she’s still the frail baby of the family in their eyes (she was very sick in her youth). My parents are in California and are extremely helpful by helping them tend to chores when they visit. But it’s me who engages them – particularly grandma – in a social way.
I love talking to them. . . these are people who immigrated from Japan to find the world at war, and interned like enemies, loosing everything they built (we whine about the Patriot Act). Yet there exists not a jaded bone in their body. “If it wasn’t for the war and being interned, I would never have met your grandfather and never know you.”
They needed help putting up the Christmas tree. It’s artificial and older than I am (I’m now 30). I remember going to their house during Christmas Eve and being so excited about the food, gifts, and company. I also remember that tree. It seemed so large. . . I’m taller than it now. I remember it’s blinking strands of lights, tons of gold garland, the 1950s ornaments, and ones Grandma made out of sequins and pins. It was totally different than the ones my parents put up.
Pulling it out of the box, it seemed in bad shape. The branches had flattened over time. I put it up, nonetheless, branch by pathetic branch. Wouldn’t you know, after several strands of lights, garland, and all those same old home-made and old ceramic ornaments, it brought me back to the tree my gifts were under when I was five. It was actually really nice.
My brother who lives in Chicago is wrapped up in his own world –a closeted gay relationship (to them at least). My sense is that they little understand each other. My aunt, though in her 50s, lives there, but is somewhat socially retarded and herself a bit tired of coping. Besides, she’s still the frail baby of the family in their eyes (she was very sick in her youth). My parents are in California and are extremely helpful by helping them tend to chores when they visit. But it’s me who engages them – particularly grandma – in a social way.
I love talking to them. . . these are people who immigrated from Japan to find the world at war, and interned like enemies, loosing everything they built (we whine about the Patriot Act). Yet there exists not a jaded bone in their body. “If it wasn’t for the war and being interned, I would never have met your grandfather and never know you.”
They needed help putting up the Christmas tree. It’s artificial and older than I am (I’m now 30). I remember going to their house during Christmas Eve and being so excited about the food, gifts, and company. I also remember that tree. It seemed so large. . . I’m taller than it now. I remember it’s blinking strands of lights, tons of gold garland, the 1950s ornaments, and ones Grandma made out of sequins and pins. It was totally different than the ones my parents put up.
Pulling it out of the box, it seemed in bad shape. The branches had flattened over time. I put it up, nonetheless, branch by pathetic branch. Wouldn’t you know, after several strands of lights, garland, and all those same old home-made and old ceramic ornaments, it brought me back to the tree my gifts were under when I was five. It was actually really nice.
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
Society
Another spectacle was experienced recently. I was invited to our CEO’s place for his annual holiday party, which was themed “Wines of the disco era”. So I took a car from work to his grand building on the Upper West Side, I get into the elevator, go to his apartment, and find he owns the whole floor.
I walk inside to an apartment that looks like something out of a 1920’s society page: Huge rooms, intricate woodwork, waitstaff, and a vast view of Central Park and Midtown through the Victorian rooms. I went around to these tables staffed with wine experts pouring and explaining the wines. I honestly thought much of the wine was not entirely to my liking, until I was told they were $500 a bottle – no exaggeration – at which point they suddenly tasted “exquisite”. So I rubbed elbows with our investors and other of his direct reports. I was also pleased to discover a professor friend of mine was there and we were able to have a relaxed conversation while downing hundreds of dollars of wine, port and some food.
Honestly, the whole experience was something out of a movie, surreal. And I was in it. It was really something to have the CEO introduce me as “this Matt, he has a background in labor economics and is in charge of all our non-exempt workforce compensation”. I guess I’m growing up.
I walk inside to an apartment that looks like something out of a 1920’s society page: Huge rooms, intricate woodwork, waitstaff, and a vast view of Central Park and Midtown through the Victorian rooms. I went around to these tables staffed with wine experts pouring and explaining the wines. I honestly thought much of the wine was not entirely to my liking, until I was told they were $500 a bottle – no exaggeration – at which point they suddenly tasted “exquisite”. So I rubbed elbows with our investors and other of his direct reports. I was also pleased to discover a professor friend of mine was there and we were able to have a relaxed conversation while downing hundreds of dollars of wine, port and some food.
Honestly, the whole experience was something out of a movie, surreal. And I was in it. It was really something to have the CEO introduce me as “this Matt, he has a background in labor economics and is in charge of all our non-exempt workforce compensation”. I guess I’m growing up.
Bravo
Friday night I went to see the Puccini’s classic, La Boheme, one of my great pleasures in life. I’m admittedly obsessed with the tragic story of a tubercular Mimi, who falls in love with a poor poet that later breaks up with her because his poverty, he fears, is precipitating her death. She later returns to him, near death, for her final farewell, before slipping away. Boheme is a great story about youth and how it deals with tragedy.
I’ve seen La Boheme live at least a dozen times in four houses, have 5 different recordings that span the last 40 years of great vocal talent, and probably know almost every note. So when I say the performance I caught on Friday was incredible, it was.
During the first act, the cast portrayed youth with an energy I’d not seen in a while. Capping out the end of the first act are two famous arias during when our two lovers introduce themselves (“What a frozen little hand” and “They call me Mimi”). Our tenor, Roberto Aronica , tore it up soaring into the high notes and filling every corner of the house with sound. And my favorite performing Mimi, Hei-Kyung Hong, was in rare form as she delicately crafted every word of her aria. They then fell in love --and, oh my, did they ever. The end of this act features an off-stage high C –“Lamore!” Rarely does a tenor, after all that singing, hit it. He simply takes it octaves lower to harmonize while the Soprano hits the note (the only time I heard it live was on a Pavoratti DVD). But not last night: He nailed the high C along with Mimi and held the note for so long that the curtain was actually coming down as they were still on the note!
The place went wild. We were all totally energized for the remainder of the performance. Act II opens with the street scene in the Latin Quarter, Paris. The Met shamelessly casts what seemed to be thousands in it. Energized by Act I, as the curtain opened, the audience, upon seeing this spectical, burst into applause (some even were pounding on their seats).
And by the end of the opera, we were all under the Met's spell and a performance, in my opinion, of a lifetime. When the opera ended with Mimi’s tragic death, I could see many teary eyes –including mine – around. And when the curtain finally closed on the tragic scene, not a single person moved: rather, there started a standing ovation. On Broadway, this has become rather commonplace and meaningless, but opera fans know it’s a performer's highest honor, and I’ve not seen too many at the Met. Last night a deserving cast received theirs. I will probably bore my grandchildren with the story of this great performance of one of my favorites.
“Governments come and go, and men die. But the songs of La Boheme live forever.” So writes Thomas Edison.
I’ve seen La Boheme live at least a dozen times in four houses, have 5 different recordings that span the last 40 years of great vocal talent, and probably know almost every note. So when I say the performance I caught on Friday was incredible, it was.
During the first act, the cast portrayed youth with an energy I’d not seen in a while. Capping out the end of the first act are two famous arias during when our two lovers introduce themselves (“What a frozen little hand” and “They call me Mimi”). Our tenor, Roberto Aronica , tore it up soaring into the high notes and filling every corner of the house with sound. And my favorite performing Mimi, Hei-Kyung Hong, was in rare form as she delicately crafted every word of her aria. They then fell in love --and, oh my, did they ever. The end of this act features an off-stage high C –“Lamore!” Rarely does a tenor, after all that singing, hit it. He simply takes it octaves lower to harmonize while the Soprano hits the note (the only time I heard it live was on a Pavoratti DVD). But not last night: He nailed the high C along with Mimi and held the note for so long that the curtain was actually coming down as they were still on the note!
The place went wild. We were all totally energized for the remainder of the performance. Act II opens with the street scene in the Latin Quarter, Paris. The Met shamelessly casts what seemed to be thousands in it. Energized by Act I, as the curtain opened, the audience, upon seeing this spectical, burst into applause (some even were pounding on their seats).
And by the end of the opera, we were all under the Met's spell and a performance, in my opinion, of a lifetime. When the opera ended with Mimi’s tragic death, I could see many teary eyes –including mine – around. And when the curtain finally closed on the tragic scene, not a single person moved: rather, there started a standing ovation. On Broadway, this has become rather commonplace and meaningless, but opera fans know it’s a performer's highest honor, and I’ve not seen too many at the Met. Last night a deserving cast received theirs. I will probably bore my grandchildren with the story of this great performance of one of my favorites.
“Governments come and go, and men die. But the songs of La Boheme live forever.” So writes Thomas Edison.
Friday, December 09, 2005
An American Tragedy
The Metropolitan Opera, for all is vast financial resources, rarely commissions any new operas. It is a “singers house”, i.e. a house whose business is getting the world’s best singers in operas that showcase their talent, not a purveyor of new opera. (Some consider this a shame.) In fact, over the last 35 years the Met has only commissioned 4 new operas. So you can imagine the hype around its world premiere of the new opera “An American Tragedy” last week.
I went to see it last night. I was excited. It starred a dream team cast of the dashing Nathan Gunn, Susan Grahm, and Doloras Zajac, among others. The composer, Tobias Picker, has written only three other operas and worked with the conductor for the last 9 years to compose and stage this work. It was an opera in two acts (each an hour and a half long).
It was not good. Perhaps I’m more of a fan of the Romantic style of opera: this was an atonal piece. Wagner began to explore atonal music in his brilliant Tistan und Isolde, but I would argue that even he would object to that devise being used for an entire opera.
Atonality can work, but –at least to me – it gives you a sense of evil, of portent, and when used throughout an entire opera, it casts a ominous feel about every second. And with a story such as An American Tragedy, it didn’t work. You are not taken on a ride from beginning to end, rather, you are left with the conclusion from the second a note is stuck: this man is going to fall.
It was also apparent that Picker has not written many operas, or for that matter is used to writing for the operatic voice. It seemed like every time he wanted to show emotion, a screeching high C was written in. And after the fifth of sixth one, they loose their dramatic appeal. For example, at the end of act 1, when Rebecca is pregnant and begs her reluctant lover to marry her, there were a couple of high notes shoved into the dialogue to convey the anxiety. But can you really convey that with a couple of high notes? Absolutely not! Think of the emotion: fear, sorrow, anxiety, loss of innocence, and these are conveyed with a couple of high notes? Ridiculous. This was an opportunity to write some really sophisticated music, to bring us into her mind and explore these emotions and her reaction to this shady guy who seduced her. He should have stopped the action of the opera right there and written a brilliant aria and duet.
Despite the shit score, the talent was outstanding, as I implied. I can hardly think of a more vocally strong and believable cast. And the production was incredible and portrayed the complicated scene changes, moods, and overall tone of the story with an elegant simplicity.
But, alas, this is opera: Music is the form and foundation. And no performer or producer can compensate for what is, in my naïve opinion, a bad adaptation of a great story to the operatic stage.
I went to see it last night. I was excited. It starred a dream team cast of the dashing Nathan Gunn, Susan Grahm, and Doloras Zajac, among others. The composer, Tobias Picker, has written only three other operas and worked with the conductor for the last 9 years to compose and stage this work. It was an opera in two acts (each an hour and a half long).
It was not good. Perhaps I’m more of a fan of the Romantic style of opera: this was an atonal piece. Wagner began to explore atonal music in his brilliant Tistan und Isolde, but I would argue that even he would object to that devise being used for an entire opera.
Atonality can work, but –at least to me – it gives you a sense of evil, of portent, and when used throughout an entire opera, it casts a ominous feel about every second. And with a story such as An American Tragedy, it didn’t work. You are not taken on a ride from beginning to end, rather, you are left with the conclusion from the second a note is stuck: this man is going to fall.
It was also apparent that Picker has not written many operas, or for that matter is used to writing for the operatic voice. It seemed like every time he wanted to show emotion, a screeching high C was written in. And after the fifth of sixth one, they loose their dramatic appeal. For example, at the end of act 1, when Rebecca is pregnant and begs her reluctant lover to marry her, there were a couple of high notes shoved into the dialogue to convey the anxiety. But can you really convey that with a couple of high notes? Absolutely not! Think of the emotion: fear, sorrow, anxiety, loss of innocence, and these are conveyed with a couple of high notes? Ridiculous. This was an opportunity to write some really sophisticated music, to bring us into her mind and explore these emotions and her reaction to this shady guy who seduced her. He should have stopped the action of the opera right there and written a brilliant aria and duet.
Despite the shit score, the talent was outstanding, as I implied. I can hardly think of a more vocally strong and believable cast. And the production was incredible and portrayed the complicated scene changes, moods, and overall tone of the story with an elegant simplicity.
But, alas, this is opera: Music is the form and foundation. And no performer or producer can compensate for what is, in my naïve opinion, a bad adaptation of a great story to the operatic stage.
This is, arguably, the weirdest I’ve ever had. I work with the CEO, am a director, and am perhaps the youngest person in an office here. I’m also doing analytical HR work, which is about as commonplace as a one-legged cat burying its shit in a parking lot. Where does this leave me?
Technically, my boss is the head of HR. But he really has no clue what I do so he leaves me alone. I have a weekly (and several impromptu) meetings with the CEO in which I get directions and feedback on my work. I have no peers. Actually I do have one peer, whose job I am taking over (along with additional responsibilities) and whose position will soon be eliminated; So you can imagine how awkward it is to work with him and get him to transfer things to me.
So, on a day-to-day basis, I’ve really got no boss. It’s good, as you may expect, but it’s also somewhat risky, you see. I’ve get no direction and have to rely on my intuition (of which I have none), asking questions (which I’m afraid to do), and sniffing around for issues for me to address (which I am too lazy to do).
Technically, my boss is the head of HR. But he really has no clue what I do so he leaves me alone. I have a weekly (and several impromptu) meetings with the CEO in which I get directions and feedback on my work. I have no peers. Actually I do have one peer, whose job I am taking over (along with additional responsibilities) and whose position will soon be eliminated; So you can imagine how awkward it is to work with him and get him to transfer things to me.
So, on a day-to-day basis, I’ve really got no boss. It’s good, as you may expect, but it’s also somewhat risky, you see. I’ve get no direction and have to rely on my intuition (of which I have none), asking questions (which I’m afraid to do), and sniffing around for issues for me to address (which I am too lazy to do).
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
It’s been a pretty intense week at work so far, and I doubt it’s going to get any better. Meetings upon meetings, I’ve been trying to get 3 major things done at the same time along with helping out a colleague use word and power point. (It just blows my mind that a VP who makes nearly $200k cannot cut and paste something. )
So along with this work explosion, I’ve been renting classic movies. This week alone I rented War and Peace, A Raisin in the Sun and The Grapes of Wrath. The Grapes of Wrath, admittedly, lost a LOT in the translation from great literature to Hollywood. Even more awkward was the cast for War and Peace –I mean, this is supposed to take place in Russia or Connecticut. A Raisin in the Sun was fantastic. It’s been years since I’ve seen it and forgot what a great film it is.
And that’s about it. I’ve crawled into a hole since my last blog. I’m just trying to relax and lay low before the Christmas craziness.
So along with this work explosion, I’ve been renting classic movies. This week alone I rented War and Peace, A Raisin in the Sun and The Grapes of Wrath. The Grapes of Wrath, admittedly, lost a LOT in the translation from great literature to Hollywood. Even more awkward was the cast for War and Peace –I mean, this is supposed to take place in Russia or Connecticut. A Raisin in the Sun was fantastic. It’s been years since I’ve seen it and forgot what a great film it is.
And that’s about it. I’ve crawled into a hole since my last blog. I’m just trying to relax and lay low before the Christmas craziness.
Friday, December 02, 2005
I have to say that I’m working on the whole love life thing. It’s sort of like being stuck in a snow drift, giving the car some gas, but only to dig myself deeper in the hole.
I’ve recently discovered that going out on a date with someone is worse than a one night stand. Here in lies the problems:
1) They already have you phone number, and possibly you e-mail address
2) Eventually, they may find out where you live if they offer to drive you home
3) You are to talk to them for quite some time. Being nice during the data spins those wheels faster – the more you are nice, the more they expect
4) They think you’re the special one, you’re the one that doesn’t sleep around; When, in fact, you probably scheduled the date because you initially didn’t want to sleep with them.
The one night stand, fueled by drink, is far superior. You can see if you like the goods THEN decide if you want to give out your number and you never have to see them again if you don’t want to.
I’ve recently discovered that going out on a date with someone is worse than a one night stand. Here in lies the problems:
1) They already have you phone number, and possibly you e-mail address
2) Eventually, they may find out where you live if they offer to drive you home
3) You are to talk to them for quite some time. Being nice during the data spins those wheels faster – the more you are nice, the more they expect
4) They think you’re the special one, you’re the one that doesn’t sleep around; When, in fact, you probably scheduled the date because you initially didn’t want to sleep with them.
The one night stand, fueled by drink, is far superior. You can see if you like the goods THEN decide if you want to give out your number and you never have to see them again if you don’t want to.
