Progress

I would like to take this opportunity to apologize for not writing. You see, over the last few weeks I have been trying to radically change my life. I am trying to eat better, think better, be better, do better….but not in the context of a comparative framework which would destroy the fragile self esteem I have acquired by nurturing my inner child – that sensitive creature neglected by a perceived lack of parental support during times of trauma during adolescence whose dysfunction is compounded by feelings of shame and inadequacy due to an overly competitive nature and destructive perfectionist tendencies which engender feelings of worthlessness.

Can you tell I bought a self-help book? I have also eliminated (since yesterday) refined sugar, dairy, chocolate, alcohol and worrying. I now eat my organic porridge in blissful silence and ponder the complex flavors and textures of a banana - chewing each mouthful precisely 20 times so as not to cause the malnourishment resulting from an inadequate absorption of minerals, and thus having to endure the anxiety and irritability which would accompany such rapid fluctuations in blood sugar. But have you ever tried to chew a mouthful of porridge 20 times? It is like waiting for death!

Despite my new regime of health, fitness and intense self care, I still manage to make time for recreation. Why only yesterday I decided to submit myself to the ministrations of a Turkish barber and I can safely tell you that heaven on earth is having your eyebrows threaded by a 250 pound Middle Eastern hunk. It is just the right mixture of pleasure and pain, with the exciting frisson of the forbidden. I also had him trim my beard, but I don’t think he understood what I was saying because he fashioned my facial hair into narrow sideburns and a Lothario's moustache. I now look like some sort of pimp - which is appropriate as my street is known for its “nocturnal activities”. I should mention at this point that I grew a beard because my teacher told me I am no longer a character tenor but rather a Spinto which is an Italian tenor that gets to sing all the lovely emotional music that critics love to hate, but which makes ladies of a certain age (myself included) swoon. Having a butch voice means you have to embrace your masculine side, but if you have no masculine side then facial hair will have to do… so maybe it is not such a bad thing that I look like some sort of shady swindler rather than the anxious cherub I really am.

However, the transition is not quite complete… I may have facial hair, but my wardrobe needs a little work. Last night I wore a bright red sweater and a fetching ascot to a concert at the Philharmonie. I thought red was appropriate, since the work performed was a setting of the Communist Manifesto by the German-Jewish composer Erwin Shulhoff. Apparently, this piece has never before been performed in Germany. After hearing it, I can tell you that there are several good reasons why. My friend, who is actually a bona fide Communist and quite knowledgeable about music but too kind to say anything mean, exclaimed “oh, but what a wonderful text!”

I think the school’s out on that one.

Ok – now I’m off to visualize my life goals which today seem to be grounded in images of chocolate.