Thrift is the New Terrorism: A Cheapskate’s Guide to Airport Security

Not so long ago on a continent far far away….

The train schedule in Zurich was different from the train schedule in Geneva, so I missed my train and tried to stay in the train station overnight instead of finding a hostel last minute. Four ass-hole harassers later and with the promise of no sleep at all in my near future, my plan got thwarted when they closed the train station in the wee morning hours, so I was stuck with 1) renting an ungodly priced room for half the night assuming I could find one on a holiday weekend, 2) getting on a train (any train) asap or 3) staying on the street. Too expensive, maybe, out of the question, respectively–so, I opted for the latter, and the train ended up making one measly connection in a country that wasn’t on my Eurail pass, so I had to pay out the nose for the penalty fair. 

THEN! When I finally made it to Duesseldorf for the my plane to England, security wouldn’t let me through, because I accidentally left a very dull, kitchen knife in my purse from my packed lunch. I’m sure it didn’t help that it fell through the ripped lining of my purse either… or the fact that the hole was very small, and I had to rip the lining of my purse further to get it out. Something about carrying a concealed weapon?!?!? And sewing it into the lining of a purse!??!! Dunno. ::looks innocent:: So much for saving money by making my food.

Brussels sprouted and all I got was this lousy…. Eggplant?

To commemorate my recent trip to Brussels, Belgium, I am compelled to tell you a moving story of love and devotion among friends…. 

Once upon a time there were three persons with three different interpretations of queerness in three very different, very jaded cities. They were the best of friends, and they showed their mutual affections by brushing each other’s hair, sending scarring YouTube videos under false pretext, making friendship bracelets and burning each other’s initials into woodchips surrounded by little hearts during shop class.

 On one particular evening, A and J had a slumber party while C was in a city far, far away. They all three desperately wanted to be together, and instant messenger just wasn’t doing justice to their close connection. Since brushing each other’s hair wasn’t really a possibility, and nothing really suits bosom buddies quite as well, J and C decided that it was time they told A just how much she meant to them….

The postman never rings twice!

If you can’t tell already, I love Lana Turner.

I also like to send postcards. So, who wants one????

Leave a note in the comments or email me directly at ceceiliainmunich@gmail.com.

If opera repertoire were a candy store, this would be Belgian chocolate laced with speed in a spotlight with a theme song and superhero tights

Friday, July 11th

Bayerisches Staatsoper

Muenchner Sommer Opernfestspiel

Edita Gruberova

Yes, she’s singing IT…

In Gouda Waits My Guru

This just in… the voice teacher I wanted to study with in the Netherlands agreed to teach me this summer! Yahooooooooo!

Jetzt gehe ich nach Holland.

Details: Every two weeks I’ll take a ten hour overnight train ride to Holland, where I will spend two days in Gouda eating cheese and throwing red wax around like confetti. Oh to dream! Want to join me?

This teacher is intense, and I’m going to get some serious teaching. Here’s what I mean…

She doesn’t give one hour lessons. Instead, she spends a HALF DAY on one lesson, working technique, working repertoire, working Alexander Technique, and then working the voice some more. There are lots of breaks, but I gather that it’s all very body/singing oriented. Then, she wrote that she believes she can (Huzzah!) help me with my middle voice, as long as I don’t try to avoid it anymore.

First item on the agenda… Una Voce Poco Fa. Gulp. And then Oscar, Tytania and the Schumann set.

So. No making nice and no fear of the middle voice. 

I’m told Persephone hails from the Edith Bers and James McDonald school of singing.

You ask, what exactly do they teach?

Balls. To. The. Wall. Singing.  

I’m in for a trip.

Errands

I have to go to five different stores to get the following:

 

Toilet Paper

Handsoap

Eyeliner

Notebook

Yogurt

 

That is all.

 

Jetzt fang ich an!

Ich werde morgen in Deutschland sein… whee!

Today is Friday the thirteenth. Around which planet was I orbiting when I decided that today would be the perfect day for a transatlantic flight?

Kein Angst. Ich bin nicht aberglaeubisch…err, vielleicht ein bisschen. Wirklich, nur ein bisschen!

Pass auf Deutschland!

Drei…

Zwei…

Eins… 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

I will be in Germany tomorrow… whee!

Today is Friday the thirteenth. Around which planet was I orbiting when I decided that today would be the perfect day for a transatlantic flight?

No worries. I’m not superstitious…err, maybe a little. Really, only a little!

Watch out Germany!

Three…

Two…

One…

 

Senior Moments, brought to you by Clara Schumann’s lover

The first, very rough itinerary page is posted! Woohoo! ::victory dance::

Now down to business.

In my last post I decided to compare performances of specific pieces. Umm, what was I thinking?!?!? No artistic director in their right mind duplicates another ensemble’s repertoire. Fortunately for me, there are a select few instances where Brahms Symphony No. 2 will be played by different ensembles, but my enthusiasm wanes drastically for Brahms… even though I’ll be attending. Ach.

Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate Brahms. There’s no doubt that he was a master. Take two seconds to look at the way he plays with form and counterpoint in the string quartets and piano trios. The guy was a genius, and it’s no surprise that he paved the way for the likes of Schoenberg and Berg (swoon!). Still, I don’t enjoy listening to his music. All those sappy, sequenced 7-6 suspensions in the piano sonatas slay me. every. time. Blegh. Enough already! But I diverge…

In order to fix my lapse in common sense regarding repertoire, I’m left with no choice but to widen the parameters! Darn. Instead of comparing performances of specific pieces, I’ll be comparing composers and their respective musical styles/periods. Christine Schaefer (mein Lieblings Saengerin) will be singing sacred baroque music by Vivaldi and Pergolesi at Rheingau which will contrast nicely with the Bach performed at the Leipzig Bach Festival earlier in the summer. Performances of Mahler (Alma AND Gustav) songs will also contrast well with Victor Ullman’s songs salvaged from Teresienstadt and Wagner’s Die Meistersinger. To boot, BBC Proms Folk Nights provide a selection of composers that integrated “folk” into their music in vastly different ways, such as Vaughn Williams, Bartok, Grainger and Berio.

But, who ever thought Vaughn Williams and Berio would be on the same program???? Talk about culture shock. BBC Proms might just have topped La Scala’s awkward performance of La Boheme. Of course, it is prom, and we all know how awkward that can get… 

Foiled!

Plan A:  Attend famous German music festivals.

No such luck. They are ALL sold out, in some cases years in advance. Fortunately, Salzberg Festival broadcasts on TV, and I might have a snowball’s chance at going to the Aldeburgh Festival to see a recital of Britten’s Quatre Chansons Francaises. All the other festivals?? Nein! No Mahler in the German sunset. No relaxing with a beer after the Four Last Songs. No pantomimes to live performances of Heldenleben. I’m seriously crushed…  ich bin der Welt abhanden gekommen! (heh)

Bayreuth’s box office amuses me the most. Hopeful attendees must send a written, formal request in German to their offices no later than September of the prior year. Further digging suggests that requests should be submitted TWO years in advance, assuming they have tickets on which lifetime attendees didn’t already call dibs. Then, and only then, will they give you a ticket… maybe. Agh. Evidently, I am not a lucky enough lil’ snowflake to get a ticket.

Plan B: You give me tickets? I give you kidney.

Plan C: Visit the festivals anyways, attempt to get tickets from a street hawker, scower the city for less famous concerts, and/or stake out a spot on a fence where I can (almost) hear the outdoor concerts. I just hate to see resonance go to waste.

Plan D: Screw Bayreuth. I’m going to Milan. If that doesn’t work, I’m going to Paris. If that doesn’t work, I’m going to pout, succumb to retail therapy, buy opera DVDs on Amazon, eat copious amounts of pasta and host a Ring cycle sing-a-long.

Plan E: Practice. Bis. Ewigkeit. I won’t need to submit ticket requests for ten, err… twenty years down the road if I’m on stage. Take that!

Plan F: Start my own festival. Yeah. At my festival everyone in the best seats would have one kidney, and it would never be sold out. There would also be a competition to write a piece for soprano and 8 track cartridge.

Plan G: All the above.