Barnyard Serenade

How many sopranos does it take to screw in a light bulb?

None at all, because the soprano doesn't need the light bulb; she is the light bulb, powered by breath, high pitches, white teeth, creamy skin and bright bright energy!

Today, I went to rehearse with some opera types I used to know in school. They are nice people and my enjoyment in just seeing them was compounded by the greater understanding it gave me of why I felt like such a weirdo around them before. Please don't take this the wrong way- I think it's important to spend time in the company of one's own flock, but singers tend to be obtuse and overpowering in groups, and I have not spent much time with my own species for quite a few years now. So the loud laughing and general clamor was a sweet and amusing reminder of the way things used to be. I could almost see myself of ten years ago, shrinking in the fringes and thinking there was something odd about me.

In other news: the mountains! How did I ever get used to them before? They are wildly beautiful, so exotic and near. I had an audition last Thursday after work, and I rewarded myself with some chocolate soft serve, even though it was cold outside. The sky was this aching peach bruise, blooming across the whole sky, bursting the capillaries of the clouds and eliciting voluptuous agreement from the snow-covered mountains. My ice cream somehow made the coldness of the air itself delicious, and I relished breathing.