Hello everyone! Do you remember me? I’m that pesky Soprano who used to write much more often than I have been lately.
Did you know, dear reader, that college tends to swallow one’s life? Especially if that person is a musician. Take me, for example. I’m taking 17 credits this semester, and it seems that every class I’m enrolled in requires copious amounts of reading, listening, practicing, or some hideous combination of the three. Add to that participation in various and sundry musical groups, recitals, and work, and I must admit to being absolutely swamped. Can you then blame me, friends, if I tend to allocate my temporal resources in the most profitable ways I can find?
All that to say, I’m sorry I’ve neglected you all. I’ll try not to be so remiss in the future. Hope you have a wonderful day!!
I am currently enrolled in an economics course in my college. Now don’t get me wrong, supply and demand are good things, but it’s just not at the top of the list of my favourite classes. Right now I should be doing my homework. But the reading is long and very dry. Recently we talked about something called “opportunity cost.” Basically, opportunity cost of doing something is what else you could be doing instead. So right now I’m writing this blog post. The opportunity cost of connecting with my loving and faithful readers is doing my homework. Ehh, I think it’s worth it.
“Oh, Cordelia [names changed to protect the not-so-innocent], you’re so dramatic!” This, accompanied by a sigh and rolling of the eyes, is a typical response from one or another of my friends regarding my humorizing antics. But it is my not-so-secret opinion that most “normal” people lead incredibly boring lives, so why am I blamed for trying to spice things up a little? You see, I am a Soprano. And we all know that no Soprano can lead a boring life. I mean, for goodness sake, we are the dramatic impetus for almost the whole of opera! We live solely for love, make foolish choices for the man we’re currently in love with (who, of course, we’ve known for maybe 24 hours max), try to make the world a better place, and when none of our plans work out, find some way to die, preferably by suicide.
Now led me educate you, dear reader, a bit about Soprani (I’m sorry, I’m in school and in the learning mode). Soprano is the most common voice type in women, and there are 3 main categories of us: Dramatic, Lyric, and Coloratura. Dramatics are just what they sound like: dramatic. They come in all shapes and sizes, but have a uniting factor in the huge size and weight of their voices (think Wagner, Verdi, and heavy Puccini). Lyric Soprano is a pretty run-of-the-mill designation, being the typical woman’s voice. Composers are generally more kind to these ladies than their Dramatic and Coloratura counterparts, and the foremost factor that gets a Lyric a job is her ability to carry a beautiful legato line. Coloraturas, on the other hand, are the lucky ones of us. They are the ones who get to perform the true fireworks, executing runs, trills, and all other sorts of things that make the rest of us drop our jaws in pure awe. And they get the high notes (I’m not jealous, no, not at all).
In short, I am a Lyric Soprano who wants to be a Coloratura, but tends more toward the Dramatic. My friends simply call me a Dramatic Lyric.
When I was 3 I met the girl who would become my best friend. We did everything together from dress-up, to play-dough and crafts, to culinary experiments, to watching a good movie and dreaming of our own respective Prince Charmings (we were going to marry handsome twin brothers who existed only in our imaginations). Over the years we grew closer and closer together. Our names were always linked and we were always seen together.
But then when high school came looming around the corner things changed. No longer were we able to be together for everything. We acquired new friends and spent less time together. And that made me sad. The separation became more acute when I went to college while she still had to finish high school.
College was a new and wonderful experience for me, as for many young people around the world. I made many new friends, some merely acquaintances, and some becoming new rocks and mainstays for me to build my life around. And now my best friend is here at college with me. We are going to have an awesome time.
To all my friends out there, new and old, I love you!!
“Awwwwwwwwwwwww! Your pink hippo is soooooooooo cute!!! “It’s so fluffy I’m gonna die!!” What’s its name?”
“It’s a girl.” My poor roommate had been stung by a bee and had been given said hippo as a get well present.
“I know it’s a girl. That’s pretty obvious – I mean, it’s pink! But what’s her name?”
“It’s a girl.” This time with a little more force.
Giselle (names changed to protect the not-so-innocent) was by now thoroughly stumped. “You mean, like, first name ‘It’s’, second name ‘A,’ and last name ‘Girl?’
“It’s a girl.”
My roommates and I laugh to this day over this conversation. Giselle and I are still not quite sure what led our dear roommate to the name of “It’s A Girl.” Maybe the fact that the name is inscribed on the animal?