Introducing Andy

I remember Andy setting a lot of fires backstage.

Let's see, I must have met Andy during our high school theater production of "The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole, aged 13 3/4".  It was my first play, there were a lot of small parts (Andy's and mine included), so there was time for plenty of hijinks backstage.  Andy was more into the backstage crew experience, anyway.  I recall some experiments with hairspray and a lighter.  By the time we were seniors, Andy had actually burned his eyebrows off doing some crazy pyrotechnics stunt.  He also dated this gal who sang in choir with me, so we always ran in the same circles.  He was always funny.  Always nice. 

During a summer break from college, I stayed with my mom and worked at her juice shop.  This was 6 or 7 years after high school, and I really wanted to keep a low profile.  I felt like a loser for not having graduated yet, and I was siphoning off of my mom because I couldn't get a real job.  The location of the juice shop worked for me, because it was light years away from my old stomping ground.  Very slim chance of running into old faces. 

Well, during my last couple of weeks, In walks a familiar person.  It was Andy.  He was different.  Darker, tougher.  We talked a little, and he invited me to see the brewery he worked at down the road.  *Deep breath*.  I prayed he would not ask too many questions about my life.  I had no good news to tell, and I just wanted to get it over with.  I told him I would come by later that day.  Time to assess my situation.  I liked what I was wearing.  I liked my hair at the time.  Hopefully no one else would be at the brewery.  And then during the course of the day, I sliced some chicken and got all kinds of yucky juice de pollo all down the front of my blouse.  *Deep breath*.  I didn't have enough time to go home and change.  I would have to go as is.  I walked into that brewery and Andy welcomed me.  He told me all about the machinery, and where he was at in life.  It wasn't like he was made of money, but he looked happy and successful.  He didn't even seem to notice the disgusting shirt I was wearing.  He was just his old nice self.  And he didn't ask me a lot of questions.  *Exhale*.   

Introducing Amber

It took moving to Chicago to meet a bunch of Texans.  Never have I felt more like a Texan, either.  I usually consider myself a New Mexican, but I may have to change that, at the very least, to New Texican, for the sake of the Bob Schneider concerts. 

I met Amber through Ashlee.  They went to Roosevelt together (am I getting this right, ladies?) to get their degrees in Theater.  When I think of Amber, I think of rosy cheeks, giggles, and la langue Française.  Amber appears to be a sweet, fragile flower, but she can be a bulldog when challenged.  She also has a cat named Chocolate who does a mean imitation of a trotting pony.  She also has a wonderful husband, Michiel, who has the most fascinating silver hair I have ever seen. 

Amber is classy.  She worked at a high-falutin' internation hotel for the longest time, conducting business in French, and gracefully dealing with her stressful position.  She can also throw on a pair of jeans, slug down a Shiner Bock, and sing along with "Assknocker" at a Bob concert. 

I recently read the book The Time Traveler's Wife and I could not get Amber and Michiel out of my mind.  I see a lot of couples that have one dominant partner and one who just rides along for the money, image, whatever.  Amber and Michiel are one of the few couples I know who really respect and understand each other.  Through any struggle, at the end of the day, they love one another.  It takes two to make a good marriage, and Amber is a strong woman who holds up her end of the bargain. 

Introducing Mary

I think I could listen to Mary sing "Steal Me, Sweet Thief" every day.  Now that I say that, I guess I could.  I have a recording of it.  That's it, it's my mid-year resolution!

Of course, many of my memories of Mary are musical.  She was a voice major with me at NMSU, but she also played the hell out of the French horn.  Her mom and dad are both musicians.  So are her sisters, if memory serves.  Mary sang pieces from a song set called "Mommy, Gimme A Drinka Water" by Danny Kaye.  It's a collection of poems that are written from a five-year-old's perspective and set to beautiful music.  The one I remember the best is about the colors of kisses.  I was going to just give you highlights, but you need the whole poem:

Did you know that kisses have all kinds of colors

Some pink, some brown, some summertime green

And some just as orange as you've ever seen

Sometimes they're gold and bright as the sun

And sometimes they're bluish, when evening's begun

Oh my Nanny's are silver like old wedding rings

And Grandpa's are spreckled like butterfly wings

Daddy's kisses are mostly tan 

But maybe that's because he's a man

Auntie Melinda's are watery pale 

And old Uncle Todd's are white

But Mommy's are like a rainbow 

When she kisses me goodnight

It is the sweetest song.  I cried every time I heard her sing it.  Same thing with Sweet Thief.  I did a show with Mary called "The Old Maid and the Thief" by Menotti.  It only employs four singers, and although we had access to an entire orchestra, the director decided to just have a piano accompany us.  Menotti actually wrote the one-act opera for the NBC radio show in 1939.  Ostensibly Menotti was required to write in a little homage to the station, because if you listen to it carefully, you will hear the NBC theme (you know, bing-bing-BONG) at least three times.  We staged it as a radio show, in 30's gear and with an old-timey announcer.  We didn't do much in the way of blocking, just stepping up to imaginary microphones and sitting down when we were done singing.  It was a short show, but we never left the stage.  I was a little new to opera, and it was, and still is, the hardest piece of music I ever learned.  I remember walking up to Mary in rehearsal and she looked at me like she knew what I was about to say.  I just broke down crying, and she hugged me and reassured me that it would just happen, I would learn it somehow.  And that's exactly what happened.  We had so much fun in that cast.  We got to give each other nice presents on opening night, because it was such a small crew, and we called the composer "Naughty Menotti" when the music was difficult. 

Back to my original train of thought, I would absolutely have to tune out when Mary sang her big aria.  The story is about an old maid (me), her spinster neighbor (Mary), and her housekeeper (another gal, Juliet), and Bob (James, who I should befriend on MySpace--he's cool, too).  Life is pretty boring for these women until Bob comes into town and inadvertently shakes things up.  These are the kind of women you love to make fun of, but Sweet Thief is a painful, heartfelt cry for love.  This is the pinnacle of the opera, and it creates intense sympathy for the character.  The words and music are lovely, but the emotion Mary poured into it every single time was phenominal.  And I can hardly recommend anyone try to listen to the whole show--you probably won't like it.  It is one of those shows that you fall in love with because you performed in it. 

Mary also brought me Nina Simone.  When I was playing "Rent" and Jonny Lang in my VW, Mary cranked up "Ne Me Quitte Pas" in her Toyota.  I didn't like it.  It was jazz.  And then I got used to it, because that was all she played in her car.  And now when I hear Nina Simone, I practically have to stop breathing so that I can hear her completely.  Thank you for Nina, Mary. 

Introducing Tim

Tim is a friend from high school.  He was a year older than me, and we were both in choir.  He and Aaron (to be exposed later) were good buddies, and they would gang up on me to make me laugh.  Tim had this  booming voice and lumbering physique that made all of his comedy all the funnier.  All he had to say was "SHOOOOSH!" and I would double over with hysterical laughter.  The more I laughed, the more he would SHOOSH me.  Tim was just a big old sweetheart who could also handle talking to parents.  My mom asked about him often and always looked forward to giving him a hug after choral concerts.  As the year came to an end, we fell out of touch, and then he was out of the picture.

About 6 months later, my mom and I were in the food court at Coronado, and there was Tim.  I barely recognized him.  The doughy high school dude had been replaced by a lean energetic soldier.  Tim had been in boot camp.  When he started running in the morning, he lost all kinds of weight and got kinda buff.

 

That is the last time I saw Tim, but he found me on MySpace about a year ago, and we keep in touch now and then. He is still running like there is no tomorrow, and the military has obviously been good to him.

I feel like I am repeating myself when I say that I didn't really know Tim that well in high school.  And he is one of those low-maintenance friends who just checks in now and then to make sure there haven't been any earthquakes since we talked last.  I can't say that I know all the details of the life he is living.  However, there is always room for one more prayer, and I know that Tim is in my corner.  I am there for him too.

Introducing Ashlee

As a new Chicagoan, I forced myself to be social.  I have no family here, and I needed to develop a support system from the ground up.  I joined a band.  The guitarists girlfriend took a liking to me and took me to karaoke at Goose Island in Wrigleyville.  Michael J, the KJ, ran a really classy show called Karaoke Cult.  He encouraged positive reinforcement, took pictures, and stated often, "It's all about the Love."  When my birthday rolled around in December, I asked a couple of my new coworkers to accompany me to the next Thursday night Karaoke Cult event.   I saw a lot of the same people as the last time.  Including a group of outgoing musical theater majors.  This group included a girl with short hair who knew how to two-step. 

Throughout the next few months, my friend Todd and I spied on this girl at Karaoke cult.  I felt connected to her.  I wanted to talk to her.  Todd called her my straight-girl crush.  We had to find a way to meet her.  Todd's birthday came up.  Instead of making him a cake at home, I made mushroom meringues.  That sounds gross, I know, but they are quite delicious.  They are simply plain meringues, shaped like mushroom caps and stems, attached with chocolate, and sprinkled with cocoa dust.  They taste like candy, but they really look like mushrooms!!  Anyway, we brought a big Tupperware dish of the mushrooms to Karaoke Cult, and tried to share them with the crowd. 

As we offered my confections, people questioned them and for the most part, wouldn't even try them.  "What are they?" "What does it taste like?"  "What's in that?"  People would sniff, poke, and leer, but few would take so much as a nibble.  After slaving over these little cookies for two hours, I was a little offended, but happy that there would be plenty for me and Todd to share.  We had almost run out of people to offer cookies to.  And there she was.  Todd told me to take one to the short-haired-two-step girl.  I nervously walked up to her, worried that she would break my heart by refusing my meringue.  I set a mushroom on my palm, outstretched my arm to her, and CHOMP!  She grabbed it and ate it whole with no questions!  Todd erupted with laughter.  We finally introduced ourselves.  Her name is Ashlee.  And she is a hell of a two stepper. 

Introducing Kelly

To begin, I would like to admit that this blog has become really all about me.  But how else would I know these people unless I, myself, had had some experiences with them?  Onward.

Who is this girl who keeps listening to the same Bob Schneider album over and over again?  And how are they getting away with calling her sister "Little Brain"?  Why are we laughing at Connie's pain--do we know her?  Being a newbie in the key department is like watching a comedic movie in a foreign language.  The theater is filled with people who get the joke, but can't explain it to you because they are asphyxiating with laughter.  

The original lineup was Kelly, Mark, Sheppy, and Ashlee.  I joined the team in April 2004.  I watched and listened carefully for a month or so.  Then the ice started to break.  Kelly has seemingly endless patience and kindness.  Other than work, she is a music fan.  She likes to listen to CD's, go to concerts, and share her favorites with friends.  It is difficult to describe in black and white how passionate she is about music.  She's PASSIONATE.  And loyal as the day is long.  Jimmy Newquist will always be her future husband.  Sorry Moe.  Kelly also supports every one of her friends' musical endeavors.  I would like to think she is surrounded by Chicago's finest, but I think if we all sucked, she would still shake her tailfeather at our shitty concerts.

She is also a consumer of literature, comedy, and combinations of the two.  Early on in my employment, Kelly hipped me to the fact that Eddie Izzard would be signing his new DVD at Tower Records.  I expressed more than a passing interest.  And we were off.  We didn't know each other well yet, but we had Eddie in common.  And how long could this possibly last?  I'd probably be home by 9:30.  

Kelly and I arrived to see a line spilling down the stairway and wrapping around the back of Tower Records in Lincoln Park.  And almost instantly, we all got into the building.  I was feeling very confident that we would be in and out in an instant.  Kelly had a concert to go to by 8, and this was going to work out just fine.  Hundreds of us poured into the large conference room, where we listened to Eddie's voice, but couldn't see anything but a shred of his jeans and white shirt through the armpits of the throng.  After a 15 minute speech, his assistant told us it was time to assemble for the signing.  We would all be put into groups and released from the room in an organized fashion.  People began rushing to the exit end of the room.  Kelly and I, ever polite, did not try to push or shove to the front, assuming that everyone would have a fair shot at getting to the front of the line.  We were the last group to get into the line.  Hmpf.  

Kelly and I got to the task of comparing college stories, romances, and family.  We really hadn't gotten to talk for more than a few sentences at a time at the office, and this was our first date as friends.  Sharing a space in an endless line with a virtual stranger can go either way, but Kelly proved to be an excellent line partner.  We both clutched our three DVD's to be signed by Eddie, and looked forward to getting a glimpse at the comedic genius we both adored.  The night was wearing on, though, and Kelly needed to get to her concert.  We weren't making much headway in the line, and after almost two hours in line, Kelly handed me her DVD's and reluctantly exited Tower Records.  I promised her I would get her signatures and pictures of Eddie.  

I stood through the Scissor Sisters album, having to deal with drunken college students putting on fake English accents, and sore feet, for three more hours.  By the time I reached two people from the end of the line, I felt more sorry for Eddie than anyone else.  I resolved to run up to him, rattle off the names he should dedicate the DVD's to, ask the assistant to snap our picture during the exchange, and get the hell out of his way.  It went a little differently than I planned.  

I handed my camera to the guy, walked up to Eddie and blurted, "Hi, these are for Ben, Megan, Kelly, Mo, Chris, and Bree."

"I can only sign three of these, that is the limit," Eddie said.  

"Oh, ok." And I quickly, sadly, re-prioritized.  

Expecting him to rush me along, Eddie surprised me when he said, "And what is your name," which I almost forgot.  "Bree, so you're a cheese name, hmmm?"  Having heard this a million times, I grunted.  He started again.  "I once knew a girl named Bree who only wore real diamonds bought for her by her sugar daddy," and I almost passed out.  "Here you go," he handed me the DVD's, "let's smile for the camera." Click.  And I was on my way.

The next day, Kelly was breathless with anticipation.  Although I didn't get all the signatures she wanted, she put her disappointment aside and was truly excited for my adventure.  I wish she could have seen it though with me.  We did both make a new friend that night, and we both learned something.  

Push and shove. 

Introducing Elena

And now we meet the talented, the lovely, the selfless, the hardest working lady in opera....  Elena!!

During college, I worked as the choral librarian/student recruiter for NMSU choirs.  I answered letters, emails, made phone calls to kids/parents who had expressed interest in the program, etc.  Now, NMSU was no Juilliard.  I'm not saying I didn't learn anything there, it's just a state school in New Mexico where average kids go.  The most we got from these high school kids was "I play a little piano," or "I started singing in 6th grade."  Largely, I had no idea who was on the other end of the telephone line.  I would review all of the potential students on a weekly basis with my boss/choir director, and she would make decisions about kids who were eligible for scholarships, what choirs they could be in, and the like. 

One day, the boss lady called me into her office to show me a potential student.  This student had sent in a resume.  Not just a cardstock sheet, either.  This was a bound folder with a full color glossy headshot, repertoire, concerts, acheivements, and perfect grades.  This girl's name was Elena, and I was instantly jealous of her.  I saw her befriend instrumentalists and sing jazz as well as classical.  She got into a great studio and choir much faster than I did.  I really didn't bother to get to know her until a couple years later. 

After a late hiatus from school, I had one semester left.  I joined the a cappella jazz group that Elena was involved in.  I struggled to sight read this weird music that came to her so naturally.  We got a gig in Albuquerque.  We stayed at this hotel, and five of us shared 2 rooms.  I knew I would have to get to know her since we were sharing a room, but I was nervous to reveal myself to this girl who seemed to have it all figured out at such a young age.  But the morning after the gig, we sat in bed in our pajamas watching VH-1.  And she was super nice.  I had to give in and like her. 

Elena is realistic, sensible, and  disciplined.  She chips away at big projects in little, regular steps.  And she just keeps going.  She rarely lets her emotions get the better of her, like so many of her musician colleagues.  Upon her college graduation, she had budgeted enough money to fly all over the country to audition for her next music program.  She researched professors, facilities, and she ran her white-gloved index finger over each keyboard.  OK, I just imagined her doing the white glove thing, but she was thorough.  She found the right program, sang her ass off, and she is where she wants to be today.  The great thing is, she would probably tell you she is far from perfect.  So, I will rephrase.  Elena is right where I want her to be.  I am beyond proud of her. 

Elena was part of the group who sang at my wedding.  I begged them not to, because after a million wedding gigs for friends, I didn't want anyone to feel obligated.  She insisted, and it was one of the highlights of my life.  The night before the wedding, at the bridal shower, she also insisted that we go out as bachelorettes.  She told me she was going to stay with me all night and do whatever I wanted to do.  We, of course, went to karaoke.  I made her sing, against her will, and she was terrific.  She is much more comfortable singing backup for me on "Chain of Fools," but Elena is nobody's backup singer.