OTAS, you found it

In my adult years I’ve not been that close to relatives on my Mother’s side of the family. The family is big: My mother was one of nine children and I have dozens of cousins. That side of the family also mostly lives relatively far away in remote areas of Indiana. So these are my excuses for not knowing them.

I had extremely close relationships with two of the cousins in my youth (Christine and Fred, who is now in Iraq). Growing up however, we had little in common and drifted apart. So it was a pleasant surprise to me that in my adult years I’ve become relatively close to my cousin Bobby.

It happens that he moved out to Florida a year or so back. It should require relatively little convincing to leave the frigid winter of New York for a trip to where it is in the high 70s, I finally made it down there to visit him.

And it was like old times. We hung out and talked incessively about the family, told jokes, and debated the bounties of New York life, where he once lived with me for a little while (helping me to get past the long-term relationship that brought me there).

I had a ball. We toured Naples, went to the beach, checked out the nightlife, and dined in their restaurants. Though the weather and people are wonderful, I see where he would compare Florida with New York and be somewhat disappointed. The people have a comparative advantage in kindness, but not so much so in style/sophistication. Seeing, eating, and breathing that style and sophistication with little underneath, the trip was actually a breath of fresh air (to someone working in high-end retail).

I’m back, though, with a vengeance. The weekend did me good – seeing family, friendly people, and living the lifestyle with my cousin was a welcome diversion from my hard-core NYC days. And I think it was good for him, too. Moving away is no trivial matter and having familiar people around helps, as does having a couple vodka martinis.

If one could classify the great classical world, there are the current divas, great conductors/composers, and then there are the operatic legends. Last week, though a friend of mine, I was able to go to opera’s only award ceremonies, the Opera Awards, where they are honored, not with a cheesy “nominees” vs. the “winners”, but with simply a ceremony that takes a long view of the art and hands out five awards to those presently singing, and those having sung. It was black tie, at the majestic Pierre hotel on the Upper East Side.

This years’ awards honored the current great singers: Olga Borodina, the mezzo that sung to great dramatic acclaim, then to the great comedies of Rossini; Stephanie Blithe, who sang the great roles of Verdi, to Puccini’s triptych, Il Trittico (one of my personal greatest moments at the Met); Then there was Thomas Hampson, the ham of the baritone repertory. More seriously, there was the vocal conductor Julias Rudel, who conducted more singers and world premiers than I can count. But, honestly, the reason we were all there was to see Leontyne Price, the ledgenary soprano, be honored.

On an operatic level, she was the one of the greatest sopranos in recorded history. She’d sung the great Verdian and Puccini operas to perfection. On a personal level, she was an American inspiration. Wikipedia recalls: Once, when discussing whether she would sing in Atlanta, the Met's general manager Rudolf Bing warned her she wouldn't be able to stay in the same segregated hotel with the company. She looked at him and said, "Don't worry, Mr. Bing, I'm sure you can find a place for me and the horse."

You see, see she made her fame during the early 60s, a time of racial turmoil. No doubt, Marian Anderson opened the door for black artists when she was denied her performance in Washington with the Daughters of the Revolution, then invited to sing by Ms Roosevelt to sing at the Lincoln Memorial. Then there was Leontyne Price, with her flawless technique, smoky voice, and technical perfection, that completely ripped that door off its fucking hinges.

In her Met debut she was afraid to take her curtain call for fear of the audience’s reaction to a “colored” Leonora. She was shoved onto the stage by friends. The ovation set the Met’s record for its longest – 41 minutes – and still stands today. (You can find her sounds in the Met's archives with her perfect trills and rich sound - 1961.) She would later become the standard in the soprano-crushing operas. Just last month, PBS had a voted “the greatest moments at the Met” where Price won over Pavarotti, Callas, Domingo, Sutherland, Felmming, etc.

Second only to Callas, in my mind, was this great Verdian soprano. You can imagine when I was standing at the door at the ceremony, and saw her at 72, thin, (fragile) and elegant. I’m not sure how, but I escorted her to the reception. “You are an inspiration.” I told her. In her own dignified way, she said in her Southern accent: “Thank you.” “It is the honor of my life to meet you.” I said. “Thank you.” And that was the beginning and end of my interactions with Price.

When she came out to receive her award, after a tear-jerking recording of “O Patria Mia.” she said a few brief words. Then she simply sang a few lines with those glorious Price tones (at 72!). I heard Price sing!

I was honored to hear her. We all were.

Those that came to honor her were none other than the GM of the Met, current great singers (that I met such) Voigt, DiDonato, Grahm; Broadway ledgends like Barbara Cook; conductors (Rudel); generals of the Army (I forget their names); great singers of the Met’s past such as Roberta Peters and Robert Merrill; and New York’s social elite.

Her portrait hangs in the Met with but a few dozens of others (among them, Caruso, Callas, Toscaninni, Verdi, Strauss, etc.) like King’s bust in the Capital. OK, i'm being a little dramatic here.

There are certain types of people that, when they visit, you know it’s going to be a wild weekend. They come in with expectations of what New York can deliver, and you plan the events accordingly, namely that there will be great food, Broadway, and fun little places to hang out.

My childhood friend decided to pay me a visit. With him living in the area where I grew up (and me not) his visits, even here in New York, are something of a homecoming. Separately, one of the problems of having recently dropped out of a PhD program is that I have made friends with people still in grad school, with all their graduate school mentality. So when Josh decided to come up with his girlfriend (my former macro TA) I knew I was in for a wild time. AND they would both be here at the same time.

It is, honestly, a miracle that I survived this time together. When I picked diggerblue up at the airport we went back to my digs in Brooklyn where Josh and Olena were waiting for us. We went out for Asian fusion in the neighborhood for a great meal and drinks. Though Josh and Olena went home after, diggerblue and I had a chance to really hang out (until four in the morning).

The following day meant more fun in the city and we got tickets to see “The Homecoming,” a bizarre play by Pinter, followed by a themed afternoon of drinking in Times Square, Rockafeller Center, Grand Central and South Street Seaport (give me a break, we wanted to go to The Strand). That night we ended up at a piano bar in the village and sang and drank into the night. Sunday was rough. And with football on everyone’s mind we watched it with the good folks of Brooklyn before heading out to Sushi Samba for more drinks and dinner.

It was a fun weekend. I get used to hanging out at home and sometimes it takes guests to come in and remind me that there something better than THAT routine. But, dear God, I cannot afford such extravaganzas all the time.

It was fun while it lasted.

The holidays are finally totally behind me. Thank God. Family has come and gone, coordinating obligations among friends and family is complete (for better or worse) and I rang in the new year with virtually complete strangers. It all ended up without too much drama.

So 2008 brings me many things under my control, and hope to change:

1) Doing more with my closest friends and family. Recall my shunning Naomi for Thanksgiving, not visiting everyone for Christmas when I was in town, not going to Cali except for Christmas, and being, well, a little too aloof.
2) Learning a new language. This is perhaps less noble. I want to learn Italian. So I’m going to be taking some courses. (This is motivated by the opera, of course.)
3) Saving more money. Moving out to Brooklyn has its financial advantages, which I wish I could realize more of.
4) Embracing Brooklyn socially. Manhattan has continued to be a social hub. I need to start growing some new roots here.

None are trivial; I’m certain to fail at most. But if I can down one, I’m happy. Keep the hopes high and expectations low (that’s the ticket).

Above all, most friends I have know parts of me. I love going to the opera, I love academics (economics) as well as having a good time. I’ve made opera and classical music friends, grad school friends and going out/child hood friends. The worlds seldom collide. I want to change that (I would throw in my romantic interests, but I may as well have set world peace as my resolution). Honestly, my non-classical/operatic friends are my closest, and I will never jeopardize them. Most of this is going to mean a sort-of house-cleaning: Separating the wheat from the chafe among the people in my life.

In 2008 I’m gonna get greedy.