Archive for February, 2010

Alright, you can accuse this blog of being a bit egocentric (hey, it’s about me again!). Lets count how many times the word “I” shows up in the following…

I admit, it seems somewhat of a cop-out to re-post something, but oh well. I think it is fascinating; a blog I wrote over a year ago, where I considered my impending transfer to TCU. I ran across it in the archives, as it were. It appears unfinished; somewhat indicative of the moment, as I was in the middle: things had just begun, and were not yet complete. Somewhat like life overall.

This was originally posted on December 9, 2008, which was, I believe, during finals week. About to leave Southwestern, where I had been for a semester, I would soon return home, and begin at TCU. There are a few points which, looking back, are very poignant. And, I notice, my writing style hasn’t changed much; it’s still verbose and has way too many commas and semicolons; it’s still hyperbolic and, yes, still has way too many movie/book/TV/music references.

So, in one episode of The Office, Jim looks at his high school yearbook photo, and says “Oh, young Jim, there are so many things I wish I could warn you about!” Looking back at myself at this time, I put my arm around young Tonia and say “Oh, young Tonia, it’s going to be alright!”

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Listening to (for about the fiftieth time): Love Story by Taylor Swift. (From the playlist I made for the Admin of this site, my mother, who requests popular music from me for the listening pleasure of herself when she sits at her desk in the dark, wee hours pouring ink onto pages)

I write this on the brink of a move, a transfer, and a holiday; in the midst of finals, pre-Christmas preparations, and the winding down of the semester. Upon leaving work, the circulation department of the campus library, today, I was greeted by a phone call, whereupon I was called upon to produce a blog “by midnight, preferably three hundred to five hundred words.”

“I’ll get right to it” – despite the fact that I spent almost every hour from noon to eight today translating Horace (Latin poetry).

The truth is, I don’t mind. I am tired, but I have just returned from adoration and am ahead of schedule for studying – a rarity, at best.

So, I shall speak about my impending transfer to TCU, which has enabled me to write for this blog as Fort Worth College Girl. I attended Southwestern University this fall, a small (twelve hundred students) liberal arts school in Georgetown, TX, which is about thirty miles north of Austin. I could go into the reasons for leaving for a while, but it boils down to a desire to be on a larger campus, and one that is closer to home.

So, I made the decision last week, quite late into the semester. It has been weird telling people about it – as one can imagine, it is a bit awkward to admit that one is rejecting the school that was previously shared by both the members of the conversation. However, I have rummaged up the courage, and, surprisingly to me, have been greeted with a fair amount of understanding, and sadness – being somewhat of a fiercely independent, loner sort much of the time, I didn’t realize I had many friends. It is a pleasant realization and one I will take with me as I go on, in regard to both the friends here and the ones I will make.

I have received kind letters, notes on the dry-erase board outside my room by all my hall-mates (organized by my roommate). Groups want to see me before we all leave. It is all quite bewildering – and a little sad. But, that is the story of life.

One realization I have made is that this is one of the first choices I have made as an adult, one largely on my own, an idea of my own making and a process maneuvered by myself. These are the decisions that make differences. In Memoirs of a Geisha, Chiyo is described as having a personality full of “water” which “flows from place to place quickly and always finds a crack the spill through.” I am not sure if my character is such – my eyes are blue, like Chiyo’s – but whether or not, I am flowing along the current of life, and though the decisions are my own, I feel I am floating on the life force of the world, sometimes gliding on a shimmering lake, sometimes playing atop a gurgling creek, and, sometimes, rushing along atop a cascading river.

This week we have been talking about cancer in my cell biology class. My interest was piqued; we had a bar graph in one of our powerpoint slides that showed some cancers and their relative incidence/death rates (that is, how many are diagnosed yearly compared to deaths that year). I decided to do a google search for a more comprehensive chart, and what did I find..

Well, most interestingly, a 72 page report by the American Cancer Society, giving cancer statistics for 2009 – relative rates of recovery based on the last year, new cases, etc. “Ooooh” says College Girl. “Now all I need is to find a way to print out that many pages without running out of ink/paper…”

The other thing I found was a link to the CDCs – specifically, the National Center for Injury Prevention and Control’s – data from 1999 forward detailing leading causes of death by age. So, I pulled up a chart: top ten causes of death by age group. It sounds morbid, I know, but that didn’t occur to me until just now. Anyways, the obvious thing to do was pore over this information and make an Excel sheet, thereby wasting a large chunk of my afternoon – I did take a break to listen to a conversation by some of my peers, who were discussing possible reasons for our Chemistry professors’ marital statuses – lol.

So, here it is. I made two charts; one so the information for the lower ages is clear, and the higher ages aren’t skewing the data, and one that shows data all through age 65 and up.

Causes of Death from ages less than 1 to 54.

I know, it looks pretty confusing. But let me clear some things up. First, an explanation of the causes.

Congenital abnormalities are going to be genetic disorders – defined at the website as “Congenital malformations, deformations, and chromosomal abnormalities.” A wide array of things fall under this category, from major defects that cause neonatal death all the way to disorders such as Down Syndrome (caused by an extra Chromosome 21) which one can live with far into adulthood.

Malignant Neoplasm is a fancy way of saying cancer. “Neoplasm” means “new growth” and malignant means that it is spreading, as compared to a benign tumor which is growing has not metastasized to other parts of the body. Tumors become much more dangerous when they begin to spread.

Influenza and Pneumonia include different types of the flu; I am guessing most of these, especially in older people, are a result of a hospital stay or are only dangerous because of an underlying condition, such as cancer or heart disease.

Septicemia is, roughly said, blood poisoning; it refers to an infection that has spread throughout the body through the blood. This is, again, a result of other conditions, and not something that will likely occur unless the person has other trauma going on.

Finally, Diabetes Mellitus is just a fancy way of saying Diabetes.

So, interesting things to note. Cancer and heart disease incidence is closely correlated with age. Homicide, however, is not; those in middle age are most affected by this. Suicide, however, not so much – this takes a gentle rise over time, though it is not an issue very much before young adulthood. Note also that deaths by diabetes appear past middle age. This is a condition associated with lifestyle, like heart disease.

Note that after the first year, causes of death in children stay low and constant; its once we get to be adults that issues arise. Note the huge increase in death by accidents in the 20-year group.

Causes of death, all ages

Here is the chart, including the 55-64 and 65+ groups. The colors have changed, sorry. I don’t know how to fix that yet.

Note that cancer and heart disease shoot up after 65. Most other causes rise, but not nearly to the same extent. These are two areas of medicine in which great strides are likely to take place in the next few decades, especially due to the greater expanse of information we now have about preventing those diseases.

I find this fascinating. Morbid, I guess, but fascinating. Besides, it was something to do instead of copying my history notes and making a million more flashcards. I guess I’ll go do that now.

Thanks for reading.

These are some recent things that I found particularly fascinating and relevant/good/hilarious (in that order). The first two articles relate directly to subjects we have been talking about in my Cell Bio class.

- An article about a new anti-cancer drug that is tailored to a particular genetic mutation – perhaps one of the first in a new generation of chemotherapy techniques that are specific to the genotype of the patient.

- An article about a new therapy for children with acute liver failure that exploits both the regeneration of the liver and the foreign-body rejection mechanism of the immune system.

- An article about the effective communication power of subtle touches.

-A song an old and very good friend sent me, which I have listened to about a dozen times already.

-And, an xkcd comic about strip games. It, erm, relates to my statistics class? (Strip-”Magic: The Gathering”…LMAO)

It is snowing today; flurries then actual snowfall, none of which has stuck. It is February 23rd, and I am quite ready for March to arrive. February is such a bleak month; it has none of the charm of December with its holidays, nor the collective sign of relief come January that they are over. November has my birthday, and is only the beginning of winter. By February, I am quite done with this winter business.

I seem to remember reading somewhere that people are more likely to die in the late-winter than the rest of the year. Looking out at the sky today, I’m not surprised. If the cold doesn’t suck your bones dry, the gray doldrums certainly will take a toll on the ol’ soul. Doldrums – that’s what it is. Often that means a period of dull inactivity, but this month my frantic activity has become so regimented that it feels quite dull, despite the fact that I am generally busy from early morning to late at night.

I said to my friend Charles today that I have been experiencing a lot of deja vu recently- probably, I laughed, because I do the same thing every day – or follow the same routine every week. The monotony  of constant excitement,of a planner full of things to do, every day. Work, never ending work, work for every pair of hands…it’s during these middle-times when the cogs of organization run smoothest, and the routine… up, dressed, et, in the car, off to school, stuff stuff stuff, sludge grudge mudge fudge then this then that a little bit more keep on task, back in the car, errands – dog food! The car is out of gas! Wait, I’m forgetting something…, then home, et, undressed, to sleep, and hopefully sharpish because I am tired and I got stuff to do tomorrow….keys, wallet, phone…keys, wallet, phone…and back up, the sky is gray and so am I, socks, shoes, backpack – keys, wallet, phone, planner, recorder, chem notes, bio notes, stats notes, lab book, IR report, cook children’s badge, keys, wallet, phone. And out again, into the cold! Singing loudly in the car, walking up the stairs, into the library, past the turnstile, in, sit down, check email, read, lecture, walk, lecture, walk, lecture…keys, wallet, phone…plug in the earphones, download the lecture, rename the lecture, place into iTunes, get notebook – keys, wallet, phone – listen. Listen. Then up, stretch, and down. Listen. Up, dressed, et, work work work, Hi! How are you, oh not much, there are lines on your forehead, oh yes I was in lab, goggles, you know, better edit this essay now, send an email, get an email, eat some animal crackers, test in a week? Yes, yes…did you get your first unknown yet? No, no, not yet…where is my lab book?back in the car, back home, back to microwaving my dinner, back to my PJs, back to my bath, back to my toothbrush, back to bed, then up, et, dressed, backpack, lunch sack…keys, wallet, phone…

Methinks someone needs a vacation.

Margot and Bill Winspear Opera House, Dallas, February 19 21, 24, 27, March 5 and 7, 2010

Review by Dean Cassella

TDO’s mid-season offering is a delightful production of Don Pasquale, Donizetti’s most perennially favorite foray into opera buffa.  The work offers a relatively light breathing space between the comic but musically heavy Così Fan Tutte and what is sure to be heavy melodrama in Jake Heggie’s Moby Dick in April.

Chronologically speaking, Donizetti is the last of the great maestri in the line of Italian opera composers who worked firmly in the opera buffa tradition (Mozart’s comedies are, by contrast, among the earliest canonized examples).  This genre tends to focus on ridiculous, often scurrilous plots in contemporary settings that are full of stock characters, mistaken identities, etc.  Music wise, they tend toward florid vocal acrobatics which goes by the moniker coloratura singing.

The title character in Don Pasquale is a seventy-year old man who decides he is going to marry and produce heirs, in order to disinherit his nephew, Ernesto.  Ernesto, who is in love with a feisty young widow named Norina, plots with her and Pasquale’s physician, Dr. Malatesta, to convince the Don that she is a perfectly demure virginal bride, only to turn into an obnoxious and demanding spendthrift the moment the Don signs a mock marriage contract.  I’m sure my readers can see where this is all heading. . .  In a way, the role of Norina is really a refashioning of Rosina, the cunning, conniving belle of Rossini’s Il Barbiere di Siviglia¸ who also shares with Norina the obstacle of an old man who wishes to marry her for all the wrong reasons.

Donato DiStefano in the Title Role of Don Pasquale

Veteran basso Donato DiStefano takes the title role, and his performance is brilliant.  DiStefano is an absolute master of buffa roles, and has graced the TDO stage twice in recent memory: as Don Magnifico in 2004’s La Cenerentola (Cinderella), and in 2006 as Doctor Bartolo in Il Barbiere di Siviglia. He possesses masterful control over a rich, sonorous voice, and is unsurpassed as an actor.  In one of the earlier of his aria’s he performs a ‘strip tease’, as hilarious as it is ridiculous, as he contemplates the first meeting with his prospective bride.

Adriana Kucerova as the Scheming Young Widow Norina

Don Pasquale is a work that has only four heavy singing roles, and only one for a woman.  This makes the role of Norina doubly demanding.  In all honesty, Slovak soprano Adriana Kucerova,  a first-timer to TDO, is one of the most compelling singers I have seen live.  Her voice is at once delicate and powerful, and resonates with a hypnotic vibrato, over which she has absolute control.  She is also a fabulous comic actress and strikingly beautiful, to boot.  We can only hope that she will be returning to the Metroplex soon.

Indianan baritone Nathan Gunn did a fine job in the role of scheming troublemaker, Dr. Malatesta.  In addition to a solid voice, he acted the role with finesse.  Virginian tenor Norman Shankle was solid as the smitten young nephew, Ernesto.  His voice at times seemed thin, though; in his final duet with Kucerova, his voice was sometimes overpowered by the latter’s.

Guest conductor Stefano Ranzani’s conducting was very precise and lively, and the maestro handled the score throughout with grace.    Direction by TDO veteran Candace Evans was solid and sometimes even brilliant; at times, though, the visual pacing seemed to drag and occasionally one got the impression that the singers should have done something more than simply standing while facing the audience and sing.  This was in contrast to the lively direction she has given to TDO in recent years (e.g. The Merry Widow and Ariadne auf Naxos).

The sets, designed by the long deceased Jean-Pierre Ponnelle, are lovely, and just what one could expect: elegant, multi-storied affairs that adhere closely to the librettist’s intentions.  One can hardly ask for more.

To conclude, the production was a lot of fun.  The plot and music is highly accessible and thus Don Pasquale would be an ideal way to introduce someone to opera.  I attended the premiere with a thirteen year old boy, who loved it.  He was especially impressed with DiStefano’s take on the Don.  And as for his impression of the Winspear Opera House: “What a cool building!!!”

[T]here’s another kind of love: the cruelest kind. The one that almost kills its victims. Its called unrequited love. Of that I am an expert. Most love stories are about people who fall in love with each other. But what about the rest of us? What about our stories, those of us who fall in love alone? We are the victims of the one sided affair. We are the cursed of the loved ones. We are the unloved ones, the walking wounded. The handicapped without the advantage of a great parking space!

-Kate Winslet as Iris in The Holiday

Before I begin this tirade of bitterness, and before you sigh, as College Girl goes off on another rant about being single, let me tell you that this post is not my idea; it is the editor’s. I begrudgingly said I would do it, but only because 1) I have no other ideas for a post at the moment and 2) the nagging of small children for parents to do things is only surmounted by the nagging of parents for older children to do things.

Many of you are familiar with my earlier post, “Why Girls Put Guys in the Friends Zone.” It is quite popular; you’d be surprised how many people Google that exact term. You might also be familiar with my not-so-positive recollection of the movie He’s Just Not That Into You, which I despised. Call it salt in a wound, call it too close to home, call it the anger of an irate single person, whatever. I hated it. And I will fill the following with as much shaking-of-fist at the heavens and asking-why, as sardonic wit poured into the above-mentioned post. That was cynical; this is acerbic.

So, the issue, quite succinctly, is as the editor posed in “Submit Your Questions for God.” Looking up to the heavens, raised hands, pleading, one says “is it really fair that those we love are free not to care about us in the least?”

Because they can. Apathy. That’s right, worse than hate, the opposite of caring; their eyes, scanning the room, can pass over you like water over wax; all the flurries in your stomach and hopes and interest can go as unnoticed as any single grain of sand lying in amongst billions of others on a beach. Speaking of a beach, those thoughts of the two of you walking down one, flicking that same sand up with your feet and laughing without a care in the world are apparently not going to be fulfilled anytime soon: the person you are watching so keenly has many cares in the world; unfortunately you aren’t one of them.

Of all the cruelties in the world, this is one of the harshest. How, God, how, can we care so much, so ardently, and yet – nothing?

This experience occurs in nearly every chick movie I have ever seen – the archetypal besotted girl, desperately tries to get him to notice her, day after day or year after year. All’s well that ends well, though, as the guy of her dreams sneaks into her life while she is pining for someone else, or the original object of affection has a total change of heart, and, just in time, resolution occurs – “happily ever after.”

But those are movies. Not real life. As much as they create a great diversion, they are a chimera. Furthermore, even if they are based in fact, they aren’t your life. After all, one may have many colleagues who have finally succeeded to find someone to share their days and weeks with; still doesn’t change the fact that your love life as about as interesting and appealing as a wilted cabbage.

So, are we doomed to wander the planet alone – forever? Is there hope? The outcomes of those movies and books and stories from your best friend – could they all elude you? Patience obtains all things, right? I’m sure if we can all live long enough, we can beat the odds; we can beat the total lack of eligible partners, or the total lack of proper communication and the right coincidences conducive to budding relationships. Too bad that, as Inigo says in The Princess Bride, “I hate waiting.”

Being single isn’t the worst thing that could happen to you, though. And, it is one aspect of your life that could take a turn at any moment; who knows who will come around the corner? Be strong, be patient; “after all,” as Scarlett O’Hara said, “tomorrow is another day!”

Don McLean sang, in American Pie,

A long, long time ago…

I can still remember how the music used to make me smile

and I knew, if I had my chance

That I could make those people dance

and maybe they’d be happy, for awhile

I won’t put all the lyrics here, though they are definitely worth it. Ah, lost innocence, the end of an age – we all get there, a day when the ideas of childhood are not lost, but put behind, perhaps even buried – like in the song The Long Ride Home:

Someone dug a hole six long feet in the ground

I said goodbye to you and I threw my roses down

That song is about burying one’s spouse, but the sentiment is similar: sometimes we lose things while still trying to cling to them, sometimes they fly off on their own, and sometimes one makes the calculated and often bitter decision to leave them behind.

I love the words “a long long time ago, I can still remember.” We all have memories that seem like yesterday, yet a million miles away. What comes to mind when I think of “a long, long time ago?”

Well, lunchtimes around the table in Toronto, eating tomato soup, cheese, and apple slices while my mom read Garrison Keillor’s poems to  us. We had finished much of our schoolwork, likely – a Saxon math lesson, a journal entry, likely some grammar and handwriting. Soon, we would go outside to play – perhaps digging a huge hole that we planned would turn into an underground home, or trotting Playmobil guys around, giving them names like Iguanadon Poster, Mr. and Mrs Rich, Indiana Jones, TTC Man (and family). If it was warm, we might pedal around the yard on our three wheelers, playing a ridiculous game called “street sweepers.” Or, we might play “King” or “Recruit,” both based on the premise of one child being in charge and ordering everyone else around (the former involving appropriation of  various goods, the latter mostly just marching around the yard).

In a while, we would go inside for an hour of reading, then maybe practice our instruments. At 4pm, when the schools were letting out, our little homeschool would similary let out for the day, and I might go out into the neighborhood to see a friend – perhaps the one with the carpenter father and a crazy Jack Rusell named, of course, ‘Jack.’ I might take a trip down to the convenience store, known for its large “Special K” sign. Some weeks, my sister and I would walk down to St. Claire West, get on the streetcar, and go to swimming lessons at the local rec center – once, coming back, I realized my hair was freezing, breaking off if I touched it, and I ran home and sat my head down in front of one of the heater vents for a long time.

There is music, too, a “long long time ago;” songs like American Pie, or the Beatles. Operas, occasionally. The Rolling Stones. Movies, also – we used to watch one a week, Saturday night. Old Japanese Godzilla films were a favorite. We made pizza on Saturdays, too, just like today. Some Saturday mornings we would get on bikes, ride across town to the best bagel shop, and bring home a baker’s dozen for “big breakfast.” Tall glasses of orange juice, scrambled eggs cooked slow by my stepfather. Some Saturdays we would go even farther, taking our bikes on the streetcar to the subway to a bus and out into the country, where we would ride out to the stable. I rode Penny, a impetuous and quite green pony. The house at the stable was the one Anne of Green Gables was filmed at; it was very pretty.

Sundays saw us again on the streetcar to the subway, going downtown to church. There is a picture, somewhere, after a snow of several feet: all of us, in a row, making a path down the street on the way to church. I had a long pink coat in the picture – I have a vague memory of sneaking a guinea pig onto the subway while wearing that coat. I also used to carry one of my pets in a fleece jacket.

Speaking of pets, this was the time when Achilles showed up, a skinny little puppy from a breeder in the suburbs, who grew up with me; I would walk him (not often enough). We took him camping, and even trained him to sit still in a canoe.

These things are gone; I didn’t even have a chance to say goodbye. But, I still have the music, and the memory. In Gone with the Wind, Ashley says he thought over his favorite memories so many times, they became threadbare – perhaps as we get further away, the images do get blurry. Glossing over the bad parts, and feeling bittersweet as the the visceral feeling of being younger, and knowing nothing of so much we now know; living in a different world, though in the same body?…well, that will always be.

The Dallas Opera: February 12, 14, 18, 20, 26, & 28, 2010

Winspear Opera House

Review by Dean Cassella

This second production in the Dallas Opera’s first season in its new home was just what the doctor ordered, especially after the sumptuous and heavy fare served up with Verdi’s Otello at the season premiere.  Although one could certainly could not label Mozart’s last opera buffa collaboration with librettist Lorenzo da Ponte musically light, it does deliver laughs in some of the most sumptuous and delightful music that Mozart composed.

Originally set in eighteenth-century Naples, the plot centers around a case of deliberate mistaken identity between two pairs of lovers.  Two young men, Ferrando and Guglielmo are in the throes of young love with Fiordiligi and Dorabella.  A cynical old man, Don Alfonso, taunts them that it is impossible for women to remain faithful, should the men leave the scene for a while.  The resulting argument ends with a wager: Ferrando and Guglielmo will pretend to be called off for military duty, only to return in the guise of two Albanians and each actively try to court the other’s belle.

Jeffry Jones as Austrian Emperor Joseph II in the famous 1984 movie "Amadeus."

The opera was commissioned by none other than the Austrian Emperor Joseph II, best known in popular culture from the play/movie Amadeus.

This was Mozart’s third and last collaboration with Lorenzo da Ponte, a Venetian Jew who, as a child, converted to Christianity, took holy orders, and was eventually ran out of town for taking . . .liberties . . .with certain lady friends.  He then led a semi nomadic life, cutting a swath across Europe to London, and eventually settling in New York City as a greengrocer, and as the first professor of Italian at Columbia University (he also established the first Italian opera company in New York).  His collaborations with Mozart occurred early in his wanderings, when he was living in Vienna and trying to make his inroads in the Imperial court as a poet and librettist.  The story of Così was a allegedly based on a real incident that was making the rounds in Vienna at the time.

Last time around, the Winspear Opera House demonstrated marvelous acoustics with a full-sized late Romantic era orchestra.  The current production makes use of a comparatively tiny chamber orchestra, which poses a different set of resonance challenges.  I am delighted to report that the new opera house was able to handle these to remarkable effect.  Graeme Jenkin’s stately phrasing was carried with both a volume and a warmth that I have rarely heard in a full-size opera house.

Così is unusual in that there are only six roles which are very carefully balanced.  Soprano Elza van den Heever and mezzo-soprano Jennifer Holloway, as Fiordiligi and Dorabella respectively, have beautifully matched voices.  Miss van den Heever also displays considerable skills as an actress, and Miss Holloway, who graced the TDO stage last season with her interpretation of the love-sick Cherubino in La Nozze di Figaro, treated us to her wonderfully lilting vibrato.  Italian soprano Nuccia Focile sang a beautiful rendition of Despina, the cynical, deadpan maid who serves as a female counterpart to Don Alfonso, and who often reminds me of Alice Kramden on the Honeymooners.  Her petite stature helped to enrich the comic potential when she dresses up as a quack doctor and a notary during Act II.

The real star of this performance, though was the illustrious bass-baritone Sir Thomas Allen who, after almost 40 years on the boards of the worlds major opera houses, boasts a rich, powerful voice and a magisterial presence whenever he is on stage.  Tenor Brian Anderson as Ferrando, and baritone Michael Todd Simpson also did commendable jobs in their roles.

Robert Perdziola’s sets recast the time to around 1910.  The main set resembles an Egyptian-style casino, or hotel, lends itself to the time period it seeks to evoke.  I generally prefer sticking to the librettist’s original intentions, but the change in question does not seriously interfere with the work’s enjoyment in any way.

All in all, this is a fine production and one definitely worth seeing.

Next up: Donizetti’s Don Pasquale!

My little brother, or rather, one of them, starred in his school’s production of “Sessical: The Musical,” performed this past weekend. It was a great performance – quite professionally done, considering everyone in the cast was a 7th or 8th grader.

One theme evident in Seussical was alienation in one’s world; indeed, one of the songs, sung twice and echoed back to many other time, was “Alone in the Universe” -

I’m alone in the universe.
So alone in the universe.
I’ve found magic but they don’t see it

Horton sings this after being mocked for believing a person is living on the dust speck he found, referring back to the story Horton Hears a Who.

It’ quite poignant, really. Horton had good reason to feel that way; he was being emotionally and physically cut off from his social group (the other creatures in the Jungle Of Nool). But one can feel that way even if they aren’t being publically derided and excluded.

I was considering this idea, being so alone. I believe everyone feels this way sometimes; perhaps some more than others, but I believe it is shared unanimously; after all, how else could it be so common a theme, found in literature, art, and yes, Broadway musicals.(PS: Is this a theme that is universal in human existence or has appeared and increased in the modern era?)

This is quite complicated, I discovered. Humans are super-social beings; we don’t do so well in isolation, and you notice we aggregate in the same places and buildings, tending to cluster together rather then spread apart (which goes against nature as it increases the entropy of the system, but oh well there goes Tonia on a nerdy tangent).

Yet, we are all unique – thanks to random gamete selection, crossing over, and mutation, most of us have different genomes; even twins, who share the same genetic material, express it differently as they interact with their environment. We all look different, have our own thoughts, and our own unique little characteristics. In The Incredibles, the young super-hero child complains that when everyone is “super”, then “no one is.” So, we are all uniform in our unique-ness. Yet we feel alone.

—So, funny story. I began this draft early this morning. Just an hour later, in Cell Bio, our professor explained to us that the genetic differences between people are so small they are statistically negligible. How about that! It boggles my mind. Basically what that means is that a tiny, tiny, fraction of our genetic material dictates differences between us, and those differences are magnified or smoothed over by our relative experiences – and I don’t just mean experiences that you are aware of and become memory. For example, the chemical composition of your surroundings in utero can have a big effect on you later – I believe this fact explains to a certain extent the differences between identical twins.

So, anyways, we are these members of a species who are pretty much identical at a molecular level, yet each rather unique in our feelings and activities, roving around in big packs, and feeling alienated all the while. Phew. There’s some pretty deep psychology and philosophy that goes into that one, which I do not understand (yet)/won’t go into now. Just revel in the facts, without asking why.

Speaking of reveling in the facts, consider, as I said before, that some people feel more “alone” than others – and this doesn’t necessarily mean they are a social outcast or are that different. Hmmm… meaning the first-person experience can be in quite independent of third-person reality.

So, ponder that.

And thus concludes today’s rambling about human nature.

Outside the Winspear

Last Thursday evening, my stepfather serenely asked me “Do you want to see a Mozart opera?” My answer was a very enthusiastic “Yes!” This would not be my first opera; I have seen about half a dozen, mostly performed by the Dallas Opera. Going to the opera is one of my favorite things; it is a bit odd, however, as opera enthusiasm is rare in one my age (well, it’s uncommon overall but trust me, I was one of the youngest members of the audience last night).

So, why do I enjoy the opera? First off, it’s a chance to dress very elegantly (in other words, pull out the fancy dress that has been languishing in the back of the closet since one’s prom/homecoming/graduation night). If that “one” is myself, this is a rare treat, and it’s pretty hard to overdress for this type of venue. One can revel in, as my mother would say, being young and beautiful. This feeling is facilitated even more if one is on a date, but accompanying one’s stepfather as he reviews the show is fine too.

I also happen to enjoy the music very much. The overture is my favorite part, usually; listening to the overture of Die Zauberflote at the Dallas Opera a few years back was one of the finest moments of my life. The singing is exquisite, the plots…well, usually overblown and far too emotional, but oh well.

Another reason is the visual treat that the opera can offer. The Dallas Opera especially has sets and costumes that are like ambrosia for the eyes; “good enough to eat” is a great way of putting it. Seen in an attractive venue such as the new Margot and Bill Winspear Opera House in Dallas complements this very nicely.

Speaking of which, the new Winspear opera house, which opened with its debut opera last fall, is very beautiful. The outside – glowing red panels, huge glass windows, the name blazing above the door, is quite ostentatious; the inside, with a great view of the surrounding cultural district and downtown, is equally compelling. The hall itself has very good acoustics; the curved shape gives one the feeling of being surrounded by the music. It is not as breathtaking as Bass Hall; it goes for more muted tones (after all, it doesn’t have larger-than-life angels with trumpets). My stepfather noted that the inside of the Bass is white, and has a fresco of daytime; the Winspear is dark inside, and has a more night-like ceiling (large curved metal panels above surround the retracting chandeliers; they look like a massive snail-shell and are quite neat). Overall, the experience of the hall is quite nice.

The actual opera I saw, Cosi fan tutte (“All Women are Like That”) was very nice. The singers were excellent, and the relatively small orchestra capable. The plot – two men are sure of the fidelity of their fiances; an older friend challenges this and has them fake “going off to war” and then come back in disguise, switch places, and try to woo each other’s girl – is a “comedy,” but feels less and less so towards the end. The theme appears to be the fickle nature of love, on the side of both genders. One does not leave with overarching faith in the hearts of humanity. However, the aesthetics of the sets and the beauty of the singers voices made up for this in part.

I grew up listening to opera; right now I have La Boheme, composed by Puccini, on; I have been listening to it since I was in pre-school. I suppose the things one grows up with always have special significance; a soft spot, if you will, for each of us. I do suggest the experience of the opera, though, even if one has not always been familiar with it. My personal favorites are The Magic Flute, by Mozart, La Boheme, and Das Reingold, the first part of Wagner’s four-part ring cycle.