Embarrassing Confession #11: Operatic Hippy

I have a problem.

Okay, so that might be the biggest understatement of the year.  I, in fact, have multiple problems…like my obsession with hair flowers…or my personal vendetta against Saran Wrap…or my consumption of what might be considered to be disturbing amounts of tea….

Yes.  I’ve got issues.  I’m pretty sure everyone is aware of that by now.  I’ve made peace with it.  I really have.  I used to look in the mirror and think, “Wow…that girl is a frizzy-haired, freakishly pale basket case.  Like, I mean, a whole stinkin’ case of baskets.” 

The world of motivational posters and mid-afternoon Public Service Announcements gave me messages like, “Believe in yourself,” or some other nonsense that was supposed to make me actually think that I was not, in fact, a whole case of baskets.  But they didn’t work.  I never had one of those moments where I looked in the mirror and said, “Wow…that girl is awesome because she’s no longer a frizzy-haired, freakishly pale basket case.”  I’ve never been able to really believe in myself, and I’m okay with that, because I do believe in God.  And I figure that God made me to be a frizzy-haired, freakishly pale basket case, and He probably made me this way for a reason.  So now, I look in the mirror and still see the same person, only I kinda think she’s neato-mosquito, because God did (and is still doing) a good job with her.

I also use phrases like “neato-mosquito,” which is also problem, but it’s not the problem I want to discuss at this particular moment in time.

The problem I have has plagued me for most of my adolescence and all of my adult life.  I’ve been singing in church choirs and such since I was probably about three years old, but it wasn’t until I got to high school that I realized I had a problem.  Now, while I love to sing and often randomly burst into song in public…and in private…and pretty much all the time, the love of singing isn’t the problem.  Not at all.  People seem to like hearing me sing (I'm convinced that God gave me a decent singing voice because my constant singing would be even more annoying if I couldn't carry a tune), even when I’m singing at what others might consider to be inappropriate times (What? You don’t sing while you’re doing laundry?).  But…well…okay, so here it is.

Since I passed puberty and got my big girl singing voice, there has come a time in every choral or vocal experience when I’ve had “The Talk.”  “The Talk” always goes something like this:

Musical Person of Some Sort (or MPOSS—that sounds like a really cool rapper name, but I’m getting off track): Hey, Ruth, could you come here?

Me: (nervously…because I feel like I’m being called to the musical equivalent of the principal’s office) Um…okay.

MPOSS: I wanted to talk to you about your singing.  First off, you have a beautiful voice.

Me: Thanks you.

MPOSS: But…

Me: *GULP* (Here it comes…)

MPOSS: About your vibrato…

Me: *SIGH* (Oh noes! Not again!)

MPOSS: It doesn’t always suit the style of song we’re singing.

Me: I know, I know, I….

MPOSS: And there’s been some concern that your outrageous vibrato is causing earthquakes in Siberia.

Me: Harsh.

MPOSS: I realize you were probably trained to sing that way in voice lessons, but….

Me: I never had voice lessons.

MPOSS: (Pause) Oh.  Then you just like the way it sounds?? 

Me: No.  Look, I’m not TRYING to sing with vibrato.  I’m really, really not.

MPOSS: (Another pause) Really?  Well, I guess that’s a relief.  I thought you were doing it on purpose.  I thought maybe you were trying to take “Blessed Be Your Name” to a-whole-nother level or something.

Me: No, no.  It’s just the way I sing.

MPOSS: Well, can you sing...a little differently?  Without the vibrato?

Me:  I’ll try, but…I can’t make any promises.  I can’t seem to control the vibrato.

MPOSS: You can’t?

Me: I guess you could say that the vibrato controls me.

MPOSS: (Yet another pause) Well, keep trying.  Last week one of the deacon’s glasses lenses shattered during the offertory, right when you hit a wavering high note.

(Just for the record, it’s really not possible for glass to shatter just because someone sings a wavering high note.  They proved it to be impossible on Myth Busters.  Now you know.)

I’ve had more than one of these conversations.  I’ve also gotten random comments on my vibrato, ranging from, “Not so much vibrato, Ruth” to “Gee, Ruth, everything isn’t an opera.”  I can’t help it.  Ever since I got my big girl singing voice, I’ve had a big fat trembling vibrato that’s gone with it, astounding and perplexing spectators and fellow musicians, alike. 

A few years ago, I was playing a game called “Karaoke Revolution” with some friends.  The point of the game is to match pitch on all the notes at all the right times.  I confused the video game because it didn’t know how to process a vibrato of my caliber.  And I lost.

I lost hard.

Stupid vibrato!  Why must you torment me?!?  Why are you an ever-present thorn in my side…or in my vocal chords???

My friends were right.  Everything is not an opera.  Unless I sing it.  Because with all my years of singing, there are only two vocal styles I have mastered.  The first, of course, is opera.  Which is pretty much only useful if I’m pretending to be Christine Daae…which actually happens more than one might think…

The other vocal style I’ve mastered?  Well…I can’t bust out any contemporary styles, but give me a guitar, and I can break away from the opera curse for a while.  I can strum that guitar and start singing stuff that would make the Partridge Family jealous.  I can sing like a hippy, yo.  A bad hippy, of course, but a hippy none-the-less.  I’m sure the vibrato is still there, lurking in the shadows, waiting to come out, but I think it sulks and remains dormant for a while because it is offended by my horrendous guitar playing.  Also, I kind of think it gets annoyed when I sing about sunshine, flowers, puppy dogs, and rainbows.

So, there you have it. 

I’m an operatic hippy.

In fact, I’m a frizzy-haired, freakishly pale, operatic hippy. 

And also a whole case of baskets.

And I still think God did a pretty good job.

Neato-mosquito.

And, oh, what the hey…

Awesome possum, too.

SAA: Ep. #61: Real Life Musical

I once had a dream of being in musical theater. 

Unfortunately, this dream had little chance of success.  For one thing, I can't dance.  One time in college, I was part of this Gershwin show that the directors didn't really want me to be a part of (but, for whatever reason, they wouldn't tell me to go away).  I practiced this dance to "I Got Rhythm" about a gazbillion times before getting it down right.  I still don't got rhythm, but thanks to that show and my hours of practicing in front of the mirror, I can do a jazz square like nobody's business.  Sometimes I can even pair it with believable jazz hands.

Another reason why I wouldn't make it in musical theater is because while I once believed had decent acting skills and I still believe I have a good singing voice, I never did well in auditions.  And that's pretty important to getting roles in musical theater.  ...or so I hear....

And the way I see it, I really wouldn't like being in musical theater.  When I was thirteen, I really wanted to be Belle from "Beauty and the Beast."  I wanted to be her.  The movie had only been out about a year, and I wanted to be Belle.  I wanted to go from poor provincial life to prisoner in an enchanted castle to girlfriend of big hairy guy.  I was realistic enough to know that I could never actually be her, so I wanted the next best thing.  I used to pray, yes pray, that the Lord would make Disney make a theatrical version of "Beauty and the Beast" so that I could get the starring role and finally, finally BE BELLE. 

Well...God answered half that prayer.  Yes, there is a Broadway musical.  No, I've never performed in it.  So if you're a fan of Disney's theatrical version of "Beauty and the Beast," you can thank me--or better yet, thank God for answering half my prayer.

The older I got, though, I realized that performing Belle on the stage wouldn't be as great as I thought.  Acting is a lot of hard work, and I don't think I'd like to portray Belle (or anyone else) night after night after night.  Besides, just pretending to be Belle on stage wouldn't actually make me Belle.  I'd leave the stage and go home to an overpriced apartment, living nothing more than a provincial life...in the heart of New York City...or somewhere like that.  Which...I wouldn't be cut out for at all...

And eventually, I discovered that I don't really want to be Belle anyway.  It would be nice, but see, when I talk to teapots, I don't like it when they talk back.  My life is adventurous enough as it is.  But one problem that I see with my life, and basically, life in general, is that it's not like those awesome musicals.  I truly believe that one of the reasons I haven't gotten married is because I really expect true love to happen in some grandiose musical duet.  I'm thinking of "Beauty and the Beast" where they dance in the ballroom.  I'm thinking of that moment in "Tangled" with the lanterns, when Flynn/Eugene and Rapunzel gaze into one another's eyes.  I'm thinking of "Enchanted" where Prince Edward and Gizelle sing about "True Love's Kiss."

...and now I'm thinking about James Marsden...looking outrageously attractive even in outrageously puffy sleeves...acting cute...and singing...

...where was I?

Oh, yes.  The problem with life is, no one just goes around singing like they do in musicals.  Well, some people do.  In fact, I do.  In fact, I believe that the main reason God gave me a good singing voice is because I sing ALL the time, and if I couldn't carry a tune, it would be even more annoying than it already is.  But the thing is, no one likes to sing with me when I start singing, so I've had to tone it down a little.  It's really a shame, too, because I think my life--that everyone's lives, would make a pretty awesome musical.

I'm not just talking love songs here.  I think people should sing about getting ready in the morning:

"I have to be at work in half an hour.
I don't have time to take a shower!
But my boss is going to be a jerk.
If I arrive too stinky to work!"

...or people should sing about going to the grocery:

"I forgot all my manufacturer's coupons.
I can't remember what I was supposed to get.
Do I need another gallon of milk?
I should have made a shopping list!"

...or people should sing about standing in line at the post office:

"My lunch hour is almost gone.
But I'm stuck in line singing this song.
I'll go crazy if I hear it one more time:
'Is there anything liquid, fragile, perishable, or potentially hazardous inside?!'

Going postal.  I'm going postal.
I've got to mail this package.  I've gotta buy a book of stamps!
Going postal.  I'm going postal!
The lady in line in front of me smells like ham."

...or people should sing while driving (and not just to the radio, like I almost always do):

"I honk my horn at you, you bad driver, there.
You cut me off without using your blinker.
I'm shouting, though you can't hear me, you stinker.
I honk my horn at you, and you don't care!"

...or people should sing while eating at a fine dining establishment:

"My waiter is getting an awesome tip tonight.
My waiter brought me water; he brought it just right.
Just listen to my water's ice cubes jingle.
Oh, I wonder if that waiter's single.
My waiter is really out of siiii-iiight!"


Yeah, I don't know why it's not considered socially acceptable (and even socially awesome) to randomly burst out in song in public.  I'm glad I work with kids, because working with kids gives me lots of opportunities to sing.  I made up a song about roses the other day, and I performed it for a kid I was torturing watching :

"Roses can be lots of colors.
Roses can be pink.
Roses can be blue or red.
And their stems are green!
Roses can be orange.
Roses can be purple.
Roses can be yellow.
Nothing rhymes with purple."

The kid just looked at me and said, "You're weird."

But he was smiling, because music, even weird music, makes people happy.

So I'm going to keep singing in my real life musical, and maybe one day I'll end up with a big hairy boyfriend.  Aww.

Can he look/sing like James Marsden??