25 Random Things That Go a Long Way Toward Explaining Me

For the 0.01% of you not hep to the recent Facebook phenom, a survey is currently going around like herpes asking users to list 25 random facts about themselves and then tagging one person for each fact so that they, in turn, post two dozen-plus factoids about themselves.  It’s the sort of viral communications that curls my toes.  But writer buddy Ayun Halliday took it to the next level: being a memoirist, most of us know more about Ayun than we probably care to admit, so she gave a list of 25 films, performances, books, and the like that shaped who she is in some way.

I’m drinking Ayun’s Kool-Aid.  Not only do the following 25 things explain who I am, they explain how I view the world, particularly the arts world.  And if every Gen X and Gen Y-er did one of these, we would strike arts management gold.

1.  “Who’s Afraid of Opera” (Joan Sutherland and Co., first watched ca. 1987)
I still get uncontrollably excited/giddy when meet someone else who remembers seeing these cheeseball operas, done in budget TV glory and condensed to 30 minutes.  My grandparents owned three of the four series on laser-disc, and I had the fourth and final installation on VHS, rendering all my copies unwatchable in this day and age.  But I remember nights where, as my mother completed her med residency, I would watch Joan and her puppet friends break down Rossini, Gounod, Donizetti, Verdi, Offenbach, and Thomas.  This is what gave me the opera bug, and what led to a four-year old me trick-or-treating in suburban Rhode Island as Mephistophele–not the devil (I corrected people).

2.  Title Unremembered–Series of Chagall Etudes (Moscow, 2004 January)
I may not be able to remember the title (in my defense, it was the coldest theater in the world, I had no clue how to handle jet-lag, and it was my first time out of the country which left me totally zonked), but I remember how maddeningly dedicated these Muscovite thesps were to their art.  I was studying at the Moscow Art Theatre School over winter break from my first semester at college, and etudes were the bread-and-butter of MXAT students.  While I’m also fuzzy on all of the production details and minutae–burning a film screen with a projection of Chagall himself dancing, children dressed as Jewish elders, little to no dialogue–I remember the transformative feeling I felt while leaving the theater.  Less than a year later, I converted to Judaism.

3.  War and Peace (Leo Tolstoy, 2006 Summer-Fall)
“Should I read War and Peace?” I asked my older friend while gabbing on the phone in Barnes and Noble.
“Absolutely,” she said, “I read it while living in Europe.  You can skip the 40-page descriptions of the horses in battle, though.”
I actually didn’t skip any of it and lugged around a 1200+ page, gradually disintegrating, Modern Library classic edition around in my purse for a good five months.  People looked at me funny.  But actually, it wasn’t that hard to read.  It was amazing escapism while feeding into my Russophilia, and it totally got my mind off summer in New York with no air conditioner.  It’s unironically one of my top 5 favorite books.  The BBC miniseries with Anthony Hopkins is pretty stellar, too, and the theme song still reverberates in my head.

4.  Hannah and Her Sisters (Woody Allen, 2008 November)
At the risk of going full Russophile, I’ll table Love and Death (my all-time Woody Allen fave) and offer up Hannah and Her Sisters, a close second.  If it had Diane Keaton, it may have gone to the top, but some of the moments here are so gob-smackingly nuanced, complex, and satisfying that I could probably watch it over and over and still find something new each time.  Double points for his use of Bach.  This was one of the few Allen films I hadn’t seen, but a week after becoming a victim of Bushonomics, I Netflixed it and, like Woody’s character with Duck Soup, felt instantly better and saw the world in rational perspective.

4.  Kremerata Baltica  (Mostly Mozart Festival, 2006 August)
A marathon two-evening performance featuring all of Mozart’s violin concerti and some other gems and crazy pieces.  The KB “get” something about Mozart that allows them to completely turn music on its ear, whether it’s in the traditional Violin Concerto No. 5 or a combo of Eine Kleine Nachtmusik and Scotland the Brave/Auld Lang Syne (true story).  I’ve never been so riveted at an orchestral concert.  Required listening and watching for any classical musician/singer today.

5.  Slice to Sharp  (Jorma Elo / New York City Ballet, 2006 June)
During college, I ushered at the New York State Theatre (before it was the Koch Theatre), covering both New York City Opera and New York City Ballet (plus the Lincoln Center/Mostly Mozart Festivals).  It took me a while to get fully into both ballet and Vivaldi, but this neatly covered both in one fell swoop.  Elo’s manipulation of the dancers’ bodies–movements that complemented and contrasted the pretty structured Vivaldi–was a rush.  Simply watching it gave you a runner’s high.   And on the night of its premiere, the audience went wild.  I want to see opera with that same verve and energy and connective disjointedness.

6.  La Clemenza di Tito (The Estates Theater, Prague, 2007 May)
I have a fascination with trouser roles for mezzo-sopranos in opera, to the point where I wrote a play about one during my brief stint as a Fordham University playwriting major.  There’s a forced physicality in those roles that you don’t neccessarily see in sopranos singing heroines.  There’s a visual that automatically goes with the description–Ace-bandaged breasts, short hair, britches–but in the latter part of the 20th/early 21st Century, the pants role has also been played with visually.  Rather than wigs, hair is cut or put in a ponytail.  The 5 o’clock shadow is left in the makeup kit.  It automatically lends a sexuality to the opera that has disappeared with our progressive social mores.
Also shifting is operatic sets.  Mozart almost automatically generates baroque structures for miles, but this production of Clemenza in Prague was (presumably modeled after the set for a Paris production), white.  White-as-crack-on-Christmas-morning, white.  It was all about the singers, all about the music, all about the performers.  And it was one of the first Mozart operas I’d seen live that made it all work, like a Tim Gunn-mentored dress on the runway.  And Kate Aldrich was hot stuff to boot.
This video isn’t part of the Prague production, nor does it have Aldrich, but Vesselina Kasarova was also one of the first mezzos to get me on my trouser role kick.  The chemistry here is also pretty great.

7.  Goodbye, Lenin! (2004, Summer)
The scene where the mother first steps outside after the fall of the Berlin Wall.  And Yann Tiersen’s score.  Four years later I went to Berlin.

8.  Special Topics in Calamity Physics (Marisha Pessl, 2007 April)
Because I am Blue Van Meer.  It took me a while to buy the book–I’m unconscionably oblivious to bestsellers until months, if not years after the fact–but after reading Pessl’s New York Diet on Grub Street, I found her oddly compelling and figured it’d be a good read for the bus/subway.  I wound up devouring the thing during every waking moment–commute, slyly at work, an entire precious Saturday afternoon.  It made being smart and cultured (and slightly outcast as a result) feel okay.

9.  Amadeus (Milos Forman, first watched ca. 1990, first re-watched 2003 January)
All I remember from the first period that I watched this movie was the scene where Tom Hulce chases Elizabeth Berridge around under the table.  In fact, for a period of time, I watched it specifically for that scene.  The tape got lost somewhere around my eighth birthday.  I saw it again in 2003 when I received the Director’s Cut on DVD and it was like rekindling a romance.  That movie, to this day, has not aged a bit.  Shaffer’s descriptions of Mozart’s music are some of the most beautiful descriptions of music.  More than that, the film made Mozart a pop-culture icon in the late 80s.
My newest obsession with the film, however, is the making-of featurette on Disc 2.  One of the best making-ofs ever, it balances anecdotes (like F. Murray Abraham and a chandelier in communist Prague) with real insight into the artistic process.  I wish I could delve into the heads of the designers, directors, actors, and writers for everything on this list.

10.  Desk Set (Katharine Hepburn/Spencer Tracy, 2002 Winter)
I wanted to be Katharine Hepburn’s character in this film when I was a kid.  One of the earliest examples of geek chic.

11. God The Band (1999 Winter)
Long before Kristen Schaal and Flight of the Conchords, there was me, growing up in Rhode Island, obsessed with God The Band.  Though I wasn’t nearly as bad as Mel, GTB was still one of the first bands I really truly liked (rather than liking because everyone else in my school liked ‘em), discovered on my own, and still listen to ten years later.  They played fun music AND wore ruffled tuxedo shirts the likes of which I haven’t seen since my parent’s wedding photos in the early 80s.  It’s also highly probable that I still have a schoolgirl crush on Mugwump Jizm.

12.  Werther (Metropolitan Opera, January 2004)
I love putting this story right below something involving God The Band.  It was one of the coldest nights of the year, I had just woken up from a 23 hour nap thanks to my first jet lag, and Roberto Alagna got a hard-on while singing “Pourquoi Me Reveiller?”  That’s the kind of thing that sticks with you like oatmeal to ribs.

13.  Geoff Dyer (2002, 2004, and 2005, Various Months)
Geoff made me the traveler I am today.  Out of Sheer Rage was recommended to me after I read some stuff by Alain de Botton and expressed an interest in DH Lawrence.  I started reading it in high school, put it down for a few years, and picked it up on a flight to Paris.  The day I got back from Paris, I bought his collection of essays, Yoga for People Who Can’t Be Bothered to Do It, and then the next year read Paris Trance (A Romance), which sealed the trifecta for me.  Though I have read and enjoyed several of his other books, his eye for detail in Trance, quirky humour in Rage, and sentences in Yoga like: “I was happy to be here in this chair-intensive café in the autumn of my drug-taking years, with my soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend, Dazed, who a few weeks later would succumb to one of her periodic bouts of severe depression” (interrupting an otherwise breezy-ish essay) make me wish I’d written them.  I’d written before reading Dyer, but I don’t think I’d still be writing today if it weren’t for his works.

14.  Rose Rage (Duke Theater/Chicago Shakespeare Theater, 2004 September)
Seeing Henry IV parts I, II, and III in one marathon production (with a dinner break that my gal-pal and I spent eating sweet and sour chicken and egg rolls at Ollie’s Noodle Shop) is like seeing all four parts of the Ring Cycle at once.  We came out wired.  For three of the Bard’s lesser-known but just-as-violent-as-Macbeth plays, the company used cabbages and offal as the outlets for beheadings, stabbings, and other murders and set the whole of the performance in a Victorian butcher shop.  Never have I reacted so sharply to a vegetable being chopped.  I still talk about it.

15.  Batsheva Dance Company – Telophaza (Lincoln Center Festival, 2006 July)
The audience interaction, use of “I’m on Fire,” and crazy Israeli music was one thing.  But when they got to the end blow-out with nightclub lighting, bagpipe dance music, and a post-coital chick crawling towards a camera projected onto the stage, it was something else altogether.  Also, the way they contorted their bodies while still making it look like dance rather than epilepsy and when they show a symphony of movement in standing still.

16.  Orlando (New York City Opera, 2005 April)
The first time Handel REALLY clicked for me.  I was ushering for this performance and first saw a Sunday matinee under the haze of a few bellinis at Cafe Lalo brunch from 45 minutes earlier.  Maybe that helped, but Matthew White singing “Verdi allori” certainly sealed the deal.  And coming in from the misty rain to a warm and lush green set was sort of delicious.

17.  Faust (The Metropolitan Opera, 2005 May-ish)
Went for Alagna and because I’d never seen this (a favorite) live, but stayed for Dmitri Hvorostovsky.  He had this brilliant white hair and dark navy soldier’s uniform which you completely forgot about the moment he opened his mouth.  When he finished “Avant de quitter ces lieux,” there was first silence.  Then a roar of bravos.  THEN came the applause.  Some of the production was cheeseball and had plenty of WTF moments, but I was still in my own little world by the end and was apparently told by an usher that I had to clear out of the theatre 5 minutes after everyone else had left.  I still have a photo/article from Vanity Fair featuring Dmitri, Rene, and Roberto called “The Three Tens.”

18.  New York Magazine (First read summer 2003-ish)
Specifically, these articles (in no particular order):
Up With Grups
Change Your Life (not fair, I know)
Vanishing Act (Spalding’s suicide helped me cope with my father’s death)
The Education of Alexandra Polier
Blogs to Riches
The Fast Supper
Can’t Get No Satisfaction
Say Everything
Alone Together
And Grub Street’s New York Diet.  It appeals to the foodie voyeur in me.  What people eat is so telling of whether or not I’d like them in real life.  New York got me through so many temp jobs and thankfully shaped my consciousness for the better while I was dying of boredom, phone logs, and fluorescent lights.

19.  Anthony Bourdain’s Live From Beirut Special (2008 August)
Being Syrian, it was hard to watch a country that my grandmother left and a country I felt proud to be a part of wreak such havoc.  Somehow, seeing it all through the food refraction made it the most palpable.  One day after watching this on my iPod (while going through Germany and Austria), Russia invaded Georgia.

20.  Hilary Hahn and Chris Thile in Concert (Housing Works Bookstore, 2006 October)
Hilary was the first classical recording artist that I began to actively follow (as opposed to following a composer) as a teen.  She was about my age and one of the things that made me want to travel most was reading her online journal and poring over her photos.  I think, somewhat as a result, we probably share similar worldviews.
But first seeing her live sitting on the floor of the Housing Works Bookstore on the LES–sitting two feet away from her spiffy boots, I may add–made her less of a classical icon and more of just a really cool musician.  A really cool musician who played a Bach duet with mandolin jamming folk artist Chris Thile (who looked like he was making country love to his instrument) and a solo version of Erlkoening–all parts at once.  And afterwards my boyfriend and I browsed dusty old books and ate at 30s Tokyo sexpot restaurant Kenka.
We saw her recently with the LA Phil.  While she was genius, it just wasn’t the same.

21.  Moonstruck (First watched 1988-ish)
This is my family’s movie–or more specifially, mine and my mother’s movie.  She has the exact same La Boheme poster that hangs in Nic Cage’s apartment.  When we run out of things to talk about at lunch, I’ll lean in and say “And then, there’s copper…which is the only pipe I use.”  It’s silly, but it’s so how I feel about my family sometimes that I probably wouldn’t be who I am today if i didn’t cook up a big plate of spaghetti and meatballs and watch this every now and then.

22.  Pink Martini (2002 Summer)
I had their first CD for about a year before I first listened to it–after spending a summer in New York at Barnard College–and it blew my small-town mind.  No one had ever told me you could make a CD that represented about 20 different cultures.

23.  I Was Told There’d Be Cake (Sloane Crosley, 2008 Summer)
There’s a pattern here, like STiCP, I was reluctant to pick this up because it seemed like one of those books that everyone was reading.  But I read the entire thing cover-to-cover on a plane ride and was howling while doing window-seat yoga to keep the circulation going.  There are some things that Crosley talks about that I am honestly not sure I’d ever share–but I was thinking them all the same.  It’s really refreshing to read an essayist whose pop culture references speak to my generation without making Oregon Trail or summer camp seem embarassingly lame.

24.  AngloMania (The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2006 Summer)
I wanted to live in this exhibition.  The perfect mix of punk rock and high culture.

25.  Lucia di Lammermoor (Donizetti, Too Many Times to Recall)
I’ve actually only seen this live once, but it’s my grandfather’s favorite opera, one of my mother’s favorite operas, and, through cultural/familial osmosis, mine as well.  If I could only listen to one opera for the rest of my life, I think I could go with this one.  And if I could only pick two pieces, they’d be Edgardo’s death scene (at the end of the opera) and the Sextet (from Act II).  Every time I listen to them I find something new in the music.