xinjinmeng | (no subject)

:
At the risk of stereotyping, I have finally confirmed that I will be executive producer of yet another Wagnerian -- Die Miestersinger von Nurnberg. The response has been the complete opposite of my ill-conceived zarzuela revival; instead of closed doors, now I find so many open that I have my pick of the sponsors.

The past two weeks have been a busy affair of confirming performers, selecting space, and hiring publicists. Caruso considers my heldentenor voice to be "passable", which I believe is the highest praise I can hope for. (Or more accurately, that is the highest praise that he is programmed to give.) Despite my vanity, I am loathe to assume the role of von Stolzing -- there must be someone else bolder than I! Gracious, auditions haven't even started yet, and already I find myself wringing my tail in consternation.

Society has settled from the storm and into a placid, if dull ocean. F___, in his legion, varies from occupied to insufferable; I try to comfort him when I can, and I deflect any grevious aspects. D___, for better or worse, is still D___; I, however, am no longer Camilla but now Xinjinmeng, and I have the will to say things that the former could not. J___ continues his self-imposed exile; I believe he is quite lonely, but I have nothing for him and I make no efforts to get something more. K___ is remote, but friendly; I envy her commitment to science. There has been little gossip about N_M_, and I feel my own distasteful regret that I even consider her affairs.

With so many of my circle so occupied, I descend from my aleph and wander down darkened corridors. I have had much cause in recent days to consider if my manner is over-refined; my demeanor often feels as a rampart to keep the joys of life outside, and I can hear their giddy laughs, drunken vomiting, and excited cavorting beyond my walls, reminding me of my timidity, my disgust, and my green, green envy.

I had recently worked up the wherewithal to visit a den of inquity and engaged in conversation with a comely linsang, only to be interrupted by G___, who I confess I had not thought about in some time. I believe the vulgar term for G___'s action is "cock-blocking"; I can think of no other word that better describes what happened. Inwardly, I was enraged; outwardly, as is the nature of the chameleon, I believe I remained collected. I was not eager to spar, not when the intimates I numbered earlier are worth more scars than any person I had just met an hour ago.

In other news, there was a spectacular performance of Les Chants Magnétiques at the Orpheum. I was unable to secure tickets for opening night (which reveals how low my station has fallen), but the Dimarche matinee was simply wonderful. It was just the thing to lift my spirits.

Samhain is almost upon us. Reverend M___ asked if I would lead the Hypodulian Philharmonic this year. I declined, not without regret. I could not dismiss the notion that his selection was driven not by appreciation for my skill, but because all others had turned him down for the role. Perhaps this Wagnerian comedy is what is needed to elevate me from these second-strings.