Being a Heel

You may or may not have noticed that I sing. I sing with an excellent chorale who routinely performs with a superb symphony. You'll have to take my word for it, but I have always been willing to admit when groups I sing with lack skill or professionalism, and while I can't vouch for every singer in my choir, by the time our conductor is done with us, we're kind of awesome. This year, because we're kind of awesome, another choir has asked us to help them augment their numbers for a large and fabulous choral work which we will be collaboratively performing in two weeks.

We don't regularly collaborate with other choirs. Collaborations require a lot of coordination, and so they're generally undertaken with a lot of forethought, planning, and compromise. They're rare beasts, but not unheard of. Today I was reminded of the primary reason I dislike collaborations. 

Today we received a seemingly innocuous email, and I'm sure you'll think I'm being oversensitive and extreme to be offended by it. You might even be right. But there is this small dress code section that has me A. planning not to comply with the dress code and B. already losing respect for the person making the request, the other choir's director. I am glad that it will be a symphony's maestro who will be conducting the whole ordeal, because I have, in full Elizabeth Bennet style, already decided not to like the collaborating choir's director.

"For concert dress, we're planning on black dresses for the women (with black stockings, black close-toed heels; [our] singers have a uniform, but any simple black dress will do) and tuxes for the men. Hair pulled back, no fragrances."

Simple enough. Our choir wears black from the collarbone down. Long sleeves and dress pants or skirts for women, black socks, black shoes, and the men wear a dark suit, white shirt, and conservative tie. The dress code isn't actually that different, but it has me thoroughly agitated.  

Can you see why I'm going to be the woman who shows up to the performance without having followed the dress code? 

Sure, women being required to wear a dress is kind of sexist, but I'm good with it. It's fairly reasonable to presume that most women who perform in a choir will have some sort of black dress, and they're fairly ubiquitous if one needs to purchase one, granted, I don't have a black-dress budgeted for this season, I am sure I can make do with something I already own. That's not my problem, though I understand entirely if it is a problem for someone else.

It's the close-toed black heels.

Heels? Really?

Did a man just tell me to wear heels? A man who has likely never had to wear heels himself? 

How is it 2013 and women are still being TOLD to wear heels?

About years ago I was wearing my favorite pair of low-heeled Dr. Scholl's sandals, the wooden ones with about a 1.5" heel that they stopped making shortly after I fell in love with them and I was chatting with a rheumatologist. He said a funny thing to me. "I know you're very young, but you really shouldn't wear heels. You're doing a lot of damage to your feet." He went on to talk about a vast swath of patients he sees because of their debilitating foot pain brought on by wearing heels, and stressed it wasn't just women who wore them regularly, that it was also women who frequently donned them for special occasions, and that the damage was directly related to the wearing of heels. 

Of course, I thought he was a nutball. After a debilitating bout of plantar fascilitis at the nearly geriatric age of 32, I started researching shoes with some seriousness. I'd heard, in college, of a woman who had shortened her Achilles Tendon substantially by overwearing heels too much. I thought it was a myth to get us girls to look like hippies in Berkenstocks. It turns out, no one was trying to frighten me. They were just being honest.

Even the short term wearing of high heels can cause lasting foot damage. 

Experts on foot pain warn against wearing high heels. 

So, aside from purely feminist issues with being told to wear heels (all the better to admire your calves, my dear), asking people to do something that can be damaging to their health is unethical and inappropriate.

Yes, many women love high heels: the look of them, the feel of them. They have the right to love them, to wear them, to enjoy them. That's their business. And if on very rare occasions I want to wear high heels, it's my business, but do not tell me to.

Actors are often asked to wear or do things that aren't the healthiest things in the world because it's part of the character, and if they're unwilling to do them, then the director finds someone who is willing. Of course, that's the answer isn't it? If, after months of preparation you don't want to wear high heels, don't show up. Right? 

I don't know. 

I suppose I've gotten all of the scathing invective my husband overheard upon my first reading the message out of my system. I'm secure that I'm not going to call the person who rudely suggested that health and comfort are secondary to style for a collaborative community endeavor an arrogant misogynist to his face, but I'm surely going to arrive in flats, because I'm certainly not risking reverting to last year when walking was so painful it brought tears to my eyes. 

So yes, maybe I am too sensitive, but maybe just maybe men need to think before they instruct women to self harm for the visual effect.

Heroes

As a kid in school, we were often asked to pick our "hero" and give a report on him or her. In March, it was always her. I always struggled with this. Sure, there were the Susan B. Anthonys of the world, and the Queen Victorias about whom to give our reports. We could talk about Rosa Parks and Mother Theresa, and a few kids decided to talk about their mothers or a doctor who they knew. Once every year or two, some brown-noser would talk about the teacher who assigned the report in the first year. I always hoped that they got downgraded for that. I, however, always found the assignment particularly daunting. Was there even a female role model that meant anything particularly important to me? Not really.

One year I put together a report on Madonna, because she was a successful musician. Another year I reported on Ginger Rogers, because she was an inspiring dancer. Once I even presented on Princess Diana because it was a name the other kids would recognize. Yes, I could have talked about her humanitarian efforts, but instead, because I was very young, I focused on things like her upbringing and adapting to life Royal.I came to the conclusion that it wasn't nearly as much fun as it sounded like it would have been. 

Yes, I always finished my presentation, complete with visual aids, but I didn't really feel very strongly about any of them. It wasn't until I was fifteen that I had a female hero who wasn't Wonder Woman, but a tangible person who inspired me to do better and changed my idea about the role of women in the world at large, who wasn't my teacher.

When I was fifteen, my choir director came to a few of us with an opportunity to audition for an operetta with the local music club. They were doing The Merry Widow and needed Grisettes. As a vocalist who imagined herself a serious musician in training, I jumped at the opportunity. It was a serious audition process, but in retrospect, I probably made a bigger thing out of it. After all, only a few high schoolers were invited to audition, and even fewer probably bothered to show up. Nonetheless, I was over the moon to get to work with a group of music professionals and talented hobbyists on the operetta, and threw myself into the rehearsals with all of the enthusiasm a fifteen year old can muster.

That's when I found, or perhaps developed is a better word, my first female role model. My first real "childhood hero." Not my school's choir director, but the woman who conducted us and bossed us around for The Merry Widow.  

She was young. Younger than my parents. She was short. She was energetic. She was pretty enough, but not gorgeous, and although she had ample femininity, she didn't wield it like a weapon. She was just herself, seemingly comfortable in her skin, and she wore the mantle of authority both gracefully and securely. 

Within the cast of the operetta were myriad performers from varied backgrounds: music professionals, male and female, layers, doctors, educators and a lot of people who were accustomed to being in charge. If anything, it was a cast of chiefs, and not so many indians. Performers also tend to be very independent. After all, it is their art, and while they're willing to take direction, if you've spent any time in a green room, you know how hard it can be to fit all of the ego into the room.

But here was this small woman correcting people older than she was, more wealthy than she was, and whose recent performing credentials may have carried more weight than her own, and most importantly men. Why should that be important? Why does it matter that she was directing men? Don't all conductors direct men? Of course many of them do, but many of them are also men, and as a musician, I've seen the way that males in a group tend to cede deference to conductors, male and female, and although we'd like to pretend there isn't a difference there is. 

Although it may be subtle, most of the time the male conductor receives greater respect, less back-talk, more immediate compliance, and all around increased professionalism. This is, of course, the fault of those directed, but nonetheless, I've seen it too many times to ignore it. But this was different. When she called a rehearsal to order, everyone, male or female gave her their (nearly) undivided attention. Let's face it, adults aren't the best at focusing. But everyone, even the men who are used to telling other people what to do and to being the king of their own little mountain, treated her, invariably, with a level of respect and professional courtesy that I had never seen before. 

I had grown up with more female principals than male ones, more female teachers than male teachers, and yet this was an entirely new experience. There she was, a woman, a small unassuming woman who wasn't using any feminine wiles to regain the balance so direly lacking back then, and she was unquestionably the authority in the room.

It changed my life. For the first time I believed in the possible eventual scenario where I could grow up and have just as much professional credibility as any one else through mastery of my field, regardless of the organs with which I was born. This was new. This was a hero who wasn't a nurse or a nun, or famous because of how and who she married, or for being an anomaly like Amelia Earhart who stood out specifically because she was a woman in a man's field, or a Queen Elizabeth who was who she was because of how she was born. This was a hero because she commanded respect simply because she had earned it and seemed to expect no less.

Finally, a real world hero. Of course, she terrified me. At the close of that project, she asked me to sing  a different work with another group she was conducting. Of course! Then she invited me to join a choir which did a couple performances a year. Of course! It was possibly the most important part of keeping me involved in music, because for the first time I found there were many outlets which didn't involve school or music lessons. There was a whole new world of groups with whom to sing and places to perform. 

Later I moved away for college. Sadly, at the collegiate level, I did not see as much respect given to the other women under whom I sang as my childhood hero had demanded, and I began to wonder if perhaps my perception was colored too strongly by my extreme youth.  I was, therefore, pleasantly surprised when, as an adult, returning to the area in which I had grown up, I had, again, the opportunity to sing for my childhood hero again. Of course, my later observations and impressions were a little different. She's still short, pretty, and less young than a lot of her professional peers, but she's not perfect. I never really thought she was, but as an adult, everyone loses a touch of their shiny- though really, being a flawed human makes it all a little more meaningful, doesn't it?

It was interesting. She still intimidates me a little. As a man in my choir recently said, she "has this way of telling the basses that they made an error that makes you feel like it was your fault, even though you sing a different part, and then you're more determined not to be the one making the mistake." But, every time we rehearse or perform, I'm again impressed and once more inspired for the better by the fact that my youthful perceptions were pretty spot on. There she is, remarkably consistently well respected.

With the respect of one's peers, also comes a certain amount of derision. I've, on occasion, heard a derogatory comment from someone who didn't appreciate being corrected. What's interesting to me, now that my anger at hearing anyone speak against my childhood hero has somewhat dissipated, is that the most rude thing I've ever heard, in the last eighteen years, about this woman, basically equated to another man saying "how dare she command us as though she were a man." There's always a throwback in every group, no? I won't bother to repeat his actual crass statement, he doesn't deserve direct quotation. In retrospect, I should have responded by saying "she's the one with the presence, command, and experience." 

However, I didn't. So I'm saying it now. She is the one with the presence, command, and experience- and she isn't the only one. Knowing her has led me to expect, seek out, and find the other women like her. The ones who command their field irrespective of sex or gender. They're out there, and you know what? We need more of them. More real world heroines for the young women to set their expectations of treatment on. More mothers who learn to stop saying "just a housewife," and start saying "I'm a mother."

So it's not March, and I haven't been asked to present on my hero, but this week, when trying to wrap my head around the concept of heroes, I realized that I had one, and maybe, just maybe, sharing the story of how I found a hero as a young lady might help someone else who doesn't realize that sometimes the best heroes are the relatable  people with whom we interact every day.

If you have a human hero, please feel free to share below. I'd like to read about more of them.

Wordless Wednesday on Thursday: Little Drummer Boy

Wordless Wednesday: Can Haz Plays?

Wordless Wednesday

A Very Doctor Christmas Carol- Abagail's Song.

So, um, if you know where I can get sheet music for this.... I'd be much obliged.

And for those of you who want the lyrics, the lyrics to the whole thing, and not just this bit, are (the first two lines are cut from everything I can find on youtube, probably because the Doctor is talking over them.):

When you’re alone, silence is all you know.
When you’re alone, silence is all you know.

When you’re alone, silence is all you see,
When you’re alone, silent is all you’ll be.
Give me your heart, come to me.
When you are here, music is all around.
When you are near, music is all around.
Open your eyes, don’t make a sound.
Meet in the shadow, meet in the shadow.
Meet in the light of your bright shadow….

Doctor Who Christmas Carol - The 12 days of Christmas

This year Mongoosine parodied her favorite Christmas songs in honor of a very merry Who-mas.

The 12 Days of Christmas

On the first day of Christmas the Doctor gave to me, a brand new TARDIS key.

On the second day of Christmas the Doctor gave to me, two Cybermen, and a brand new TARDIS key.

On the third day of Christmas the Doctor gave to me three Daleks, two Cybermen, and a brand new TARDIS key.

On the fourth day of Christmas the Doctor gave to me four adipose, three Daleks, two Cybermen, and a brand new TARDIS key.

On the fifth day of Christmas the Doctor gave to me FIVE SONIC SCREWDRIVERS- four adipose, three Daleks, two Cybermen, and a brand new TARDIS key.

On the sixth day of Christmas the Doctor gave to me six Weeping Angels, FIVE SONIC SCREWDRIVERS, four adipose, three Daleks, two Cybermen, and a brand new TARDIS key.

On the seventh day of Christmas the Doctor gave to me seven trips to Midnight, six Weeping Angels, FIVE SONIC SCREWDRIVERS- four adipose, three Daleks, two Cybermen, and a brand new TARDIS key.

On the eighth day of Christmas the Doctor gave to me eight fish custards, seven trips to Midnight, six Weeping Angels, FIVE SONIC SCREWDRIVERS- four adipose, three Daleks, two Cybermen, and a brand new TARDIS key.

On the ninth day of Christmas the Doctor gave to me nine red bowties, eight fish custards, seven trips to Midnight, six Weeping Angels, FIVE SONIC SCREWDRIVERS- four adipose, three Daleks, two Cybermen, and a brand new TARDIS key.

On the tenth day of Christmas the Doctor gave to me ten cool fezzes, nine red bowties, eight fish custards, seven trips to Midnight, six Weeping Angels, FIVE SONIC SCREWDRIVERS- four adipose, three Daleks, two Cybermen, and a brand new TARDIS key.

On the eleventh day of Christmas the Doctor gave to me eleven time vortexes, ten cool fezzes, nine red bowties, eight fish custards, seven trips to Midnight, six Weeping Angels, FIVE SONIC SCREWDRIVERS- four adipose, three Daleks, two Cybermen, and a brand new TARDIS key.

On the twelfth day of Christmas, the Doctor gave to me, twelve Bad Wolves, eleven time vortexes, ten cool fezzes, nine red bowties, eight fish custards, seven trips to Midnight, six Weeping Angels, FIVE SONIC SCREWDRIVERS- four adipose, three Daleks, two Cybermen, and a brand new TARDIS key.



Copyright 2010 Slee & Mongoosine, all rights reserved.  Have fun singing it, but you know, don't be evil.

Wordless Wednesday: My Musician

Wordless Wednesday

Limerick

Because today is a HUGE day around here- my tween and I are both singing in Carmina Burana with the local symphony with a snazzy international conductor, after a full day of rehearsals, plus she has a morning set of rehearsals and a mid-day performance for a local music festival (can you say someone needs ice cream before bed?) I want to quickly share with you a limerick we collaborated on.
It was for a school project she was doing, and I think by now her teacher will have finished googleing to see if the kids plagiarized their limericks off the interwebz, so it should be safe to post it.

**Background info- we're Doctor Who fans around here, big time Doctor Who fans, and I'm so proud of her wit, her singing talent, and her enthusiasm, I feel the need to share this.**

Gallifrey - "The Sound of the Drums" - Doctor Who, BBC

A long time ago, far away,
Was a planet they called Gallifrey.
Lost in the Time War,
You can go there no more,
Lousy for tourism, eh?

:-)

She's awesome, isn't she?

Mix Tapes and Love Songs

So there's this fabric out there that's a total blast from my past- a bright take on pastels and cluttered with Mix Tapes. 
'80s much? 

Well, I love it.
I love it on diapers. 

Love it on diaper bags.

Love it on blankets.

Love it.

Currently am planning to make a blankie out of it for Jabber Walky for Christmas.  Love it love it love it.

I love it because it reminds me of being a kid and sitting by the radio to record my favorite songs and singing them into the clunky microphone, then erasing them in embarassment. That, and all the mix tapes boys with crushes gave me. ♥

I repeat, I love mix tapes.  I love listening to carefully picked songs designed to tell someone something.

I think, if I had to pick just five love songs to put on a mix tape, they'd be these ones.

Moondance- Michael Buble

Love Song - Tori Amos

Everything I do - Brian Adams

Ich Liebe Dich-  Schubert

Year Without Rain - Selena Gomez (yeah, I've got kids and an ear worm)

What would you pick?

Rockin' Out Geek Style

Alright, short and sweet today.
I need your help.
I am looking for music recommendations for the growing geekling child.
We already love rocking out to They Might Be Giants and the fun sciency song "The Sun," but we need more!
So please, what are your favorite nerdy music suggestions?

"That Interval Every Woman Loves"

While working on Beethoven's Ninth at rehearsal last night, the Alto section was having a tiny bit of trouble with a spot in the double fugue. Don't worry, you don't have to be a music nerd to read this.
They were having difficulty getting the right note, so the conductor stops us and they go over the section a few times, then she says, "it's not that hard, it's the interval every woman loves."  A major fourth.  For the non music theory nerds out there, a major fourth is the same interval you're accustomed to hearing at a wedding at the "Here Comes the Bride" moment.  That's a major fourth.

I kind of wanted to laugh because I've never been a fan of the traditional Wedding March, and a lot of people I know have walked down the aisle to something else.  Last May, my best friend walked down the aisle to the final movement from Beethoven's Ninth, ironically.  That's "Ode to Joy," for the non-nerds. Another good friend entered to the ever popular Canon in D. I walked down the aisle to a remix of Sarah Brightman's cover of A Whiter Shade Of Pale.

Seriously.  It's awesome. Not quite the Smashing Pumpkins introit I wanted, but good enough for a wedding without live music. I *did* play some Smashing Pumpkins during the reception line though.  I figured, if I had to stand there that long meeting spouse's extended family and friends, I'd "Stand Inside Your Love."  But I wanted something with a little bit of a symphonic edge without going overblown classical.  One of these days I'll sit down with the entire play list from my wedding and give you guys a good laugh.

Did you walk down the aisle to something fantastic or have otherwise unconventional music choices in your wedding?