Thursday, October 30, 2008
The New York opera season starts with a bang
For some reason this summer, while on my job search, I had the foresight to realize that I may have a new job that required a lot of travel and changed my season ticket from a Tuesday to a Friday night.
The season got started last month with Mary and me going to opening night. It seemed like we were planning it for ages. (I was hyping up the event for quite some time, to be honest.)
Despite some work drama, I made it over to the Metropolitan Opera to meet Mary. She was looking divine in her black dress and we had a glass of wine and walked over to the Met. The evening was a Renee Fleming gorge. She sang an act of Manon, La Traviata and the final scene from Capriccio. She was, as usually, fantastic, and decked out in dresses the Met commissioned for her.
The opera season continued with the soprano, Kraita Mattila reprising her performance of Salome. If opening night was glamorous and fun, Salome was electrifying, intense and an artistic triumph. Walking into the auditorium, we were taken by the painting on the curtain of angels sitting on blood-tinged clouds looked down from the heaven in horror. We knew we were in for something intense.
Matilla turned to score into a mix of twisted emotions which came to a sordid climax during the final scene, after being delivered the head of John the Baptist. She sang a hurricane of music, emotion, twisted sexuality, and even pathos. Kissing the head, she sings “you may have loved me.” So deranged was this scene that her stepfather turns to the executioner and says “kill that woman” after which point a hysterical Salome inched toward the orchestra pit while the executioner draws his machete. Then the curtain closed. It was one of the most enthusiastic ovations I’d ever heard at the Met.
In the spring, Michael and I met Deborah Voigt, the world’s leading dramatic soprano, at Carnegie Hall after she sang the final scene there and I asked when she would bring it to the Met. Apparently they said “no.” After this performance I can see why.
Then it was off to Mozart’s “Don Giovanni” which was marvelous. At the end of the day, there is Mozart and everyone else. The Met had a great cast. Next on the hit parade was the vocal perfection of "Luci di Lammernor" with Damaru as Lucia, another crazed woman, singing the role to no end.
After that it’s time for the Met’s georgous production of Madama Butterfly. As the reader(s?) of this blog know, seeing this is production was one of my great moments at the Met. I can’t wait to see it again.
So the opera season in New York has started with a BANG. I would doubt there is better theater in the Western Hemisphere than what’s going on at the Met these days. If you’re not in New York, you should see these performances in theaters. Watch the Met’s HD broadcasts live.
The season got started last month with Mary and me going to opening night. It seemed like we were planning it for ages. (I was hyping up the event for quite some time, to be honest.)
Despite some work drama, I made it over to the Metropolitan Opera to meet Mary. She was looking divine in her black dress and we had a glass of wine and walked over to the Met. The evening was a Renee Fleming gorge. She sang an act of Manon, La Traviata and the final scene from Capriccio. She was, as usually, fantastic, and decked out in dresses the Met commissioned for her.
The opera season continued with the soprano, Kraita Mattila reprising her performance of Salome. If opening night was glamorous and fun, Salome was electrifying, intense and an artistic triumph. Walking into the auditorium, we were taken by the painting on the curtain of angels sitting on blood-tinged clouds looked down from the heaven in horror. We knew we were in for something intense.
Matilla turned to score into a mix of twisted emotions which came to a sordid climax during the final scene, after being delivered the head of John the Baptist. She sang a hurricane of music, emotion, twisted sexuality, and even pathos. Kissing the head, she sings “you may have loved me.” So deranged was this scene that her stepfather turns to the executioner and says “kill that woman” after which point a hysterical Salome inched toward the orchestra pit while the executioner draws his machete. Then the curtain closed. It was one of the most enthusiastic ovations I’d ever heard at the Met.
In the spring, Michael and I met Deborah Voigt, the world’s leading dramatic soprano, at Carnegie Hall after she sang the final scene there and I asked when she would bring it to the Met. Apparently they said “no.” After this performance I can see why.
Then it was off to Mozart’s “Don Giovanni” which was marvelous. At the end of the day, there is Mozart and everyone else. The Met had a great cast. Next on the hit parade was the vocal perfection of "Luci di Lammernor" with Damaru as Lucia, another crazed woman, singing the role to no end.
After that it’s time for the Met’s georgous production of Madama Butterfly. As the reader(s?) of this blog know, seeing this is production was one of my great moments at the Met. I can’t wait to see it again.
So the opera season in New York has started with a BANG. I would doubt there is better theater in the Western Hemisphere than what’s going on at the Met these days. If you’re not in New York, you should see these performances in theaters. Watch the Met’s HD broadcasts live.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Salome
If you haven't already seen it, you HAVE to see Salome with Matilla at the Metropolitan Opera. One of the most intense evenings of opera I've seen.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=875izVSHLKo
Also check out part 2.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VG00tbrMZW8&feature=related
It's so twisted. This production is a TRIUMPH.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=875izVSHLKo
Also check out part 2.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VG00tbrMZW8&feature=related
It's so twisted. This production is a TRIUMPH.
Salome
If you haven't already seen it, you HAVE to see Salome with Matilla at the Metropolitan Opera. One of the most intense evenings of opera I've seen.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=875izVSHLKo
Also check out part 2.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VG00tbrMZW8&feature=related
It's so twisted. This production is a TRIUMPH.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=875izVSHLKo
Also check out part 2.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VG00tbrMZW8&feature=related
It's so twisted. This production is a TRIUMPH.
Thursday, October 09, 2008
Can't you feel the shame?
In spite of its obvious inadequacies, one of the reasons for living out in Bay Ridge is that the area is so beautiful. I love to go for long jogs listening to music and mulling over things in my life and the world. So today when I got home, though at dusk, I went for a lovely sunset jog on the 11-mile promenade along New York harbor.
Listening to Rigoletto, I found myself thinking about my parents' visit (I know, I know, enough about the family already) and what a whirlwind weekend it was. I was thinking about their arrival on Friday, the meal I prepared, and how a couple of drinks turned conversation into debate, a few more drinks turned debate into rancor, and how a few more turned rancor into tears.
As the sun set, I was thinking about the debate phase, particularly with my father. I reflected on my youth and how anything he said was taken in as though a burning bush were beside him and his stone tablets. Gloating, I though about how I was able to turn his arguments against him and got him to admit he was an anarchist (which is was not, which made it even sweeter). “My, how the mighty have fallen” I thought.
An hour passed and the iPod turned to Sour Angelica as I thought about my mother. How different we were and how we could have such different views on things. They seemed so, well, numb to the social niceties I’ve become accustomed to in New York (does she even know of the iPod that I’m listening to?). And as I neared the end of my jog, I vaulted up the many steps that bring me from the promenade back to Shore Road. After what I thought was the last step, I lunged into my next stride when suddenly it felt as though someone grabbed on to my feet then threw my body to the ground.
As I skidded across the sidewalk I knew I’d been injured. I picked myself up and examined my wounds. My hand hurt and even in the dark I could see the blood dripping from my fingers. The haughty music and iPod were about 7 feet in front of me, destroyed. My thoughts, again, turned to my parents. “What if I need stitches? What if my hand is broken?” I thought “If these injuries are bad enough I know my mother would fly back and take care of me. I KNOW she would.” There isn’t a doubt in my mind my parents would do anything for me.
I walked back home, opened the door, and dressed my own wounds wondering if I should go to a hospital, then thinking "My mother would love this recording of Sour Angelica with De Los Angeles."
Listening to Rigoletto, I found myself thinking about my parents' visit (I know, I know, enough about the family already) and what a whirlwind weekend it was. I was thinking about their arrival on Friday, the meal I prepared, and how a couple of drinks turned conversation into debate, a few more drinks turned debate into rancor, and how a few more turned rancor into tears.
As the sun set, I was thinking about the debate phase, particularly with my father. I reflected on my youth and how anything he said was taken in as though a burning bush were beside him and his stone tablets. Gloating, I though about how I was able to turn his arguments against him and got him to admit he was an anarchist (which is was not, which made it even sweeter). “My, how the mighty have fallen” I thought.
An hour passed and the iPod turned to Sour Angelica as I thought about my mother. How different we were and how we could have such different views on things. They seemed so, well, numb to the social niceties I’ve become accustomed to in New York (does she even know of the iPod that I’m listening to?). And as I neared the end of my jog, I vaulted up the many steps that bring me from the promenade back to Shore Road. After what I thought was the last step, I lunged into my next stride when suddenly it felt as though someone grabbed on to my feet then threw my body to the ground.
As I skidded across the sidewalk I knew I’d been injured. I picked myself up and examined my wounds. My hand hurt and even in the dark I could see the blood dripping from my fingers. The haughty music and iPod were about 7 feet in front of me, destroyed. My thoughts, again, turned to my parents. “What if I need stitches? What if my hand is broken?” I thought “If these injuries are bad enough I know my mother would fly back and take care of me. I KNOW she would.” There isn’t a doubt in my mind my parents would do anything for me.
I walked back home, opened the door, and dressed my own wounds wondering if I should go to a hospital, then thinking "My mother would love this recording of Sour Angelica with De Los Angeles."
Can't your feel the shame?
In spite of its obvious inadequacies, one of the reasons for living out in Bay Ridge is that the area is so beautiful. I love to go for long jogs listening to music and mulling over things in my life and the world. So today when I got home, though at dusk, I went for a lovely sunset jog on the 11-mile promenade along New York harbor.
Listening to Rigoletto, I found myself thinking about my parents' visit (I know, I know, enough about the family already) and what a whirlwind weekend it was. I was thinking about their arrival on Friday, the meal I prepared, and how a couple of drinks turned conversation into debate, a few more drinks turned debate into rancor, and how a few more turned rancor into tears.
As the sun set, I was thinking about the debate phase, particularly with my father. I reflected on my youth and how anything he said was taken in as though a burning bush were beside him and his stone tablets. Gloating, I though about how I was able to turn his arguments against him and got him to admit he was an anarchist (which is was not, which made it even sweeter). “My, how the mighty have fallen” I thought.
An hour passed and the iPod turned to Sour Angelica as I thought about my mother. How different we were and how we could have such different views on things. They seemed so, well, numb to the social niceties I’ve become accustomed to in New York (does she even know of the iPod that I’m listening to?). And as I neared the end of my jog, I vaulted up the many steps that bring me from the promenade back to Shore Road. After what I thought was the last step, I lunged into my next stride when suddenly it felt as though someone grabbed on to my feet then threw my body to the ground.
As I skidded across the sidewalk I knew I’d been injured. I picked myself up and examined my wounds. My hand hurt and even in the dark I could see the blood dripping from my fingers. The haughty music and iPod were about 7 feet in front of me, destroyed. My thoughts, again, turned to my parents. “What if I need stitches? What if my hand is broken?” I thought “If these injuries are bad enough I know my mother would fly back and take care of me. I KNOW she would.” There isn’t a doubt in my mind my parents would do anything for me.
I walked back home, opened the door, and dressed my own wounds wondering if I should go to a hospital, then thinking "My mother would love this recording of Sour Angelica with De Los Angeles."
Listening to Rigoletto, I found myself thinking about my parents' visit (I know, I know, enough about the family already) and what a whirlwind weekend it was. I was thinking about their arrival on Friday, the meal I prepared, and how a couple of drinks turned conversation into debate, a few more drinks turned debate into rancor, and how a few more turned rancor into tears.
As the sun set, I was thinking about the debate phase, particularly with my father. I reflected on my youth and how anything he said was taken in as though a burning bush were beside him and his stone tablets. Gloating, I though about how I was able to turn his arguments against him and got him to admit he was an anarchist (which is was not, which made it even sweeter). “My, how the mighty have fallen” I thought.
An hour passed and the iPod turned to Sour Angelica as I thought about my mother. How different we were and how we could have such different views on things. They seemed so, well, numb to the social niceties I’ve become accustomed to in New York (does she even know of the iPod that I’m listening to?). And as I neared the end of my jog, I vaulted up the many steps that bring me from the promenade back to Shore Road. After what I thought was the last step, I lunged into my next stride when suddenly it felt as though someone grabbed on to my feet then threw my body to the ground.
As I skidded across the sidewalk I knew I’d been injured. I picked myself up and examined my wounds. My hand hurt and even in the dark I could see the blood dripping from my fingers. The haughty music and iPod were about 7 feet in front of me, destroyed. My thoughts, again, turned to my parents. “What if I need stitches? What if my hand is broken?” I thought “If these injuries are bad enough I know my mother would fly back and take care of me. I KNOW she would.” There isn’t a doubt in my mind my parents would do anything for me.
I walked back home, opened the door, and dressed my own wounds wondering if I should go to a hospital, then thinking "My mother would love this recording of Sour Angelica with De Los Angeles."
Wednesday, October 01, 2008
The Trains run on time
As you all know I’ve started a new job at a consulting firm. It’s not a trivial place. It was formerly Anderson Consulting before its partners broke away from Arthur Anderson in a disagreement over sharing revenue. It seemed like a foolish thing to do as “Anderson” was associated with tremendous “name equity” in the business world. (Arthur Anderson was an elite finance, accounting, and consulting firm.) But when the Enron scandal broke that brought down Arthur Anderson, it couldn’t have been more fortuitous.
Then comes me. I basically began my career in derivatives at the Chicago Board of Trade, went to grad school for a masters, before starting my real career at Mercer, another consulting firm. I was working on primarily labor-related work as an analyst/senior analyst for quite some time. I left Mercer for a PhD program that I dropped out of. I found myself recruited by marketing folks and head hunters to apply those skills to the marketing arena.
Since then I’ve held more senior-level positions in rank-and-file corporate America: MMA, iQor and Saks Fifth Avenue. For me, these places were boring. The thrill-of-the-hunt of getting clients, pressure to have successful projects, and doing great work with high-caliber people work were simply not there. I longed to get back to the consulting area.
About a year ago along comes Accenture wanting me to join them as a manager (two steps away from partner). I’m finally hired and start there three weeks ago. Thought I was told that the “trains run on time at Accenture” I naively took the job.
I was immediately staffed on my first project with an Accenture team that geographically spanned San Francisco, New York, Atlanta, India, and Athens (yes, Greece) and with a top client. A little coy, I tended towards my analyst roots by looking at data, etc. One week into it (opening night at the Met) the situation was made painfully clear to me that I needed to step it up. The entire project was now my responsibility: Coordinating people, directing consultants and Senior Managers internationally was my problem. “I think I need to pump the primer here!” the partner on the project said to me “Your job is to make this happen – it’s been a week.” OK. . . I didn’t realize that was all on me.
So the last couple of weeks I’ve found myself in a very different place from where I was during my Mercer days. 70% of my 11 hour day is spent getting my arms around the big picture by shoehorning myself into clients’ minds, directing colleagues and in the details of data collection and empirical analysis with Greece, the US and India. My analytical and economic skills are of little service to me now. It is my job to coordinate everyone and ensure things are delivered on-time and on-budget.
I think I’ve got a hold on it now, but for the first two weeks I’ve been beside myself figuring out how all this will work will get done. I’m feeling a bit better but can’t help but be concerned about what the partner on this project is thinking of me. Certainly, it hasn’t been graceful, but I’ve managed to keep things on-schedule while getting up to speed on everything else.
“The trains run on time at Accenture” and that, for me, means little sympathy for being a rookie.
Then comes me. I basically began my career in derivatives at the Chicago Board of Trade, went to grad school for a masters, before starting my real career at Mercer, another consulting firm. I was working on primarily labor-related work as an analyst/senior analyst for quite some time. I left Mercer for a PhD program that I dropped out of. I found myself recruited by marketing folks and head hunters to apply those skills to the marketing arena.
Since then I’ve held more senior-level positions in rank-and-file corporate America: MMA, iQor and Saks Fifth Avenue. For me, these places were boring. The thrill-of-the-hunt of getting clients, pressure to have successful projects, and doing great work with high-caliber people work were simply not there. I longed to get back to the consulting area.
About a year ago along comes Accenture wanting me to join them as a manager (two steps away from partner). I’m finally hired and start there three weeks ago. Thought I was told that the “trains run on time at Accenture” I naively took the job.
I was immediately staffed on my first project with an Accenture team that geographically spanned San Francisco, New York, Atlanta, India, and Athens (yes, Greece) and with a top client. A little coy, I tended towards my analyst roots by looking at data, etc. One week into it (opening night at the Met) the situation was made painfully clear to me that I needed to step it up. The entire project was now my responsibility: Coordinating people, directing consultants and Senior Managers internationally was my problem. “I think I need to pump the primer here!” the partner on the project said to me “Your job is to make this happen – it’s been a week.” OK. . . I didn’t realize that was all on me.
So the last couple of weeks I’ve found myself in a very different place from where I was during my Mercer days. 70% of my 11 hour day is spent getting my arms around the big picture by shoehorning myself into clients’ minds, directing colleagues and in the details of data collection and empirical analysis with Greece, the US and India. My analytical and economic skills are of little service to me now. It is my job to coordinate everyone and ensure things are delivered on-time and on-budget.
I think I’ve got a hold on it now, but for the first two weeks I’ve been beside myself figuring out how all this will work will get done. I’m feeling a bit better but can’t help but be concerned about what the partner on this project is thinking of me. Certainly, it hasn’t been graceful, but I’ve managed to keep things on-schedule while getting up to speed on everything else.
“The trains run on time at Accenture” and that, for me, means little sympathy for being a rookie.
The trains run on time
As you all know I’ve started a new job at a consulting firm. It’s not a trivial place. It was formerly Anderson Consulting before its partners broke away from Arthur Anderson in a disagreement over sharing revenue. It seemed like a foolish thing to do as “Anderson” was associated with tremendous “name equity” in the business world. (Arthur Anderson was an elite finance, accounting, and consulting firm.) But when the Enron scandal broke that brought down Arthur Anderson, it couldn’t have been more fortuitous.
Then comes me. I basically began my career in derivatives at the Chicago Board of Trade, went to grad school for a masters, before starting my real career at Mercer, another consulting firm. I was working on primarily labor-related work as an analyst/senior analyst for quite some time. I left Mercer for a PhD program that I dropped out of. I found myself recruited by marketing folks and head hunters to apply those skills to the marketing arena.
Since then I’ve held more senior-level positions in rank-and-file corporate America: MMA, iQor and Saks Fifth Avenue. For me, these places were boring. The thrill-of-the-hunt of getting clients, pressure to have successful projects, and doing great work with high-caliber people work were simply not there. I longed to get back to the consulting area.
About a year ago along comes Accenture wanting me to join them as a manager (two steps away from partner). I’m finally hired and start there three weeks ago. Thought I was told that the “trains run on time at Accenture” I naively took the job.
I was immediately staffed on my first project with an Accenture team that geographically spanned San Francisco, New York, Atlanta, India, and Athens (yes, Greece) and with a top client. A little coy, I tended towards my analyst roots by looking at data, etc. One week into it (opening night at the Met) the situation was made painfully clear to me that I needed to step it up. The entire project was now my responsibility: Coordinating people, directing consultants and Senior Managers internationally was my problem. “I think I need to pump the primer here!” the partner on the project said to me “Your job is to make this happen – it’s been a week.” OK. . . I didn’t realize that was all on me.
So the last couple of weeks I’ve found myself in a very different place from where I was during my Mercer days. 70% of my 11 hour day is spent getting my arms around the big picture by shoehorning myself into clients’ minds, directing colleagues and in the details of data collection and empirical analysis with Greece, the US and India. My analytical and economic skills are of little service to me now. It is my job to coordinate everyone and ensure things are delivered on-time and on-budget.
I think I’ve got a hold on it now, but for the first two weeks I’ve been beside myself figuring out how all this will work will get done. I’m feeling a bit better but can’t help but be concerned about what the partner on this project is thinking of me. Certainly, it hasn’t been graceful, but I’ve managed to keep things on-schedule while getting up to speed on everything else.
“The trains run on time at Accenture” and that, for me, means little sympathy for being a rookie.
Then comes me. I basically began my career in derivatives at the Chicago Board of Trade, went to grad school for a masters, before starting my real career at Mercer, another consulting firm. I was working on primarily labor-related work as an analyst/senior analyst for quite some time. I left Mercer for a PhD program that I dropped out of. I found myself recruited by marketing folks and head hunters to apply those skills to the marketing arena.
Since then I’ve held more senior-level positions in rank-and-file corporate America: MMA, iQor and Saks Fifth Avenue. For me, these places were boring. The thrill-of-the-hunt of getting clients, pressure to have successful projects, and doing great work with high-caliber people work were simply not there. I longed to get back to the consulting area.
About a year ago along comes Accenture wanting me to join them as a manager (two steps away from partner). I’m finally hired and start there three weeks ago. Thought I was told that the “trains run on time at Accenture” I naively took the job.
I was immediately staffed on my first project with an Accenture team that geographically spanned San Francisco, New York, Atlanta, India, and Athens (yes, Greece) and with a top client. A little coy, I tended towards my analyst roots by looking at data, etc. One week into it (opening night at the Met) the situation was made painfully clear to me that I needed to step it up. The entire project was now my responsibility: Coordinating people, directing consultants and Senior Managers internationally was my problem. “I think I need to pump the primer here!” the partner on the project said to me “Your job is to make this happen – it’s been a week.” OK. . . I didn’t realize that was all on me.
So the last couple of weeks I’ve found myself in a very different place from where I was during my Mercer days. 70% of my 11 hour day is spent getting my arms around the big picture by shoehorning myself into clients’ minds, directing colleagues and in the details of data collection and empirical analysis with Greece, the US and India. My analytical and economic skills are of little service to me now. It is my job to coordinate everyone and ensure things are delivered on-time and on-budget.
I think I’ve got a hold on it now, but for the first two weeks I’ve been beside myself figuring out how all this will work will get done. I’m feeling a bit better but can’t help but be concerned about what the partner on this project is thinking of me. Certainly, it hasn’t been graceful, but I’ve managed to keep things on-schedule while getting up to speed on everything else.
“The trains run on time at Accenture” and that, for me, means little sympathy for being a rookie.
