The End of the World as We Know It

R.E.M., my favorite band, is calling it quits after 31 years. It’s funny, because I’ve been thinking about the band a lot lately – they were mentioned in two of my last four blogs.

In the past few years, I haven’t been listening to much music that didn’t come attached to a Broadway musical, so I haven’t been hearing R.E.M. as much as I used to. But they were like an old friend who you didn’t see often, but you always knew they were there if you needed them.

I first discovered R.E.M in 1991 when their Out of Time album came out. "Losing My Religion" was a single playing on the radio during my final semester at California University of Pennsylvania, when I was writing “Rip Wakes Up,” my first column, for the campus newspaper.

Writing the column allowed me to express myself in a very public forum, and I was exposing myself (in a purely figurative sense, of course) for the first time in a very long time. Of course, readers reacted to what I wrote, especially those columns that addressed the current situation on campus, and sometimes it wasn’t all favorable. It was liberating, scary and exhilarating, all at the same time.  "Losing My Religion" really captured the experience for me:

That’s me in the corner,
That’s me in the spotlight,
Losing my religion
Trying to keep up with you
And I don’t know if I can do it
Oh, no, I’ve said too much
I haven’t said enough.


That’s how it was with R.E.M. and me. Their lyrics were poetry set to haunting music, and always seemed to reflect some of my experience back to me. The genius of their work is that the lyrics were usually not terribly literal- because they were so poetic, they were up for interpretation. What they meant to me might not be what they may have meant to you, or want the band meant when they wrote them.

So R.E.M has provided a soundtrack for my life. They were among my traveling companions when I was driving from place to place throughout the western part of the state as a part of my job, getting me through many a boring stretch of road, or literally helping me make it through the storm.

They helped me through a few emotional storms, too. I’ve never been one to shun change, but there have been a few times in my life when sudden, dramatic and unwelcome change was thrust upon me, through no fault of my own. These were times when my life and my world were altered forever, because of the decisions and actions of other people. At these times R.E.M’s uncharacteristically literal "Everybody Hurts" from their 1992 Automatic for the People album would just come to my mind:

Sometimes everything is wrong. Now it's time to sing along
When your day is night alone, (hold on, hold on)
If you feel like letting go, (hold on)
When you think you've had too much of this life, well hang on


'Cause everybody hurts. Take comfort in your friends
Everybody hurts. Don't throw your hand. Oh, no. Don't throw your hand
If you feel like you're alone, no, no, no, you are not alone….

So hold on, hold on

That song was like a musical lifesaver to me. It was a lot less expensive than therapy, and probably equally effective.

A funny thing always happens to me during the life-changing bad times. I always come out the other end not just okay, but better - in a better place. I become stronger and surer, and more loved and supported than I was before. Again, R.E.M. says it better than I can-

It’s the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine.

So now the band is calling it a day, which can’t help but make me feel just a little melancholy. But I hope they feel fine.

I Don't Like to Complain, But...

Lots of people say they don’t like to complain but do it anyway. Complaining comes very naturally and it’s an art that anyone can master. It is a great American pastime, like barbecuing or baseball.


Complaining can also be therapeutic. Sometimes you just need to vent – to get something off your chest. People actually form clubs so that they can complain together about something that affects everyone in the group. They’re called “support groups.”

I’ll be the first to admit that I love to complain, in a non-offensive, constructive and humorous fashion, of course. Heck, I have devoted entire blogs to complaining about one thing or another. Like most people, I have some special little favorite complaints aka “pet peeves” that I hold close to my heart,  If you will indulge me for a moment:

1) Receiving the wrong order in a restaurant.  My husband and I routinely receive food that is wildly different than what we ordered, like Pork Medallions instead Barbecued Chicken Wings, or Beef Tortellini in place of Shrimp Primavera. It is hard to imagine how they could even make these magnificent errors, but sometimes it actually works out. I once received a Pomegranate Cosmopolitan in place of the Peach Daiquiri that I ordered that was absolutely delicious.

2) Hot Flashes- This perfectly natural part of life and the aging process feels like someone lit a bonfire inside your body every time it happens.

3) Snow – I loathe everything about snow, but especially trying to drive in it. I am filled with bitterness every time there is any significant snowfall. I rarely complain about any other kind of weather though because I figure that, well, at least it’s not snowing.

4) Newscasters who commentate - I flinch every time a reporter announces “Get this,” at the beginning of a news story. In my mind, good journalism requires impartiality. There should be no commentary in a news story – just the facts.

5) Plus Size Upcharges - First, manufacturers of wedding fashions cut their dresses smaller than other fashions. There seems to be no logical reason for this, other than to make brides-to-be and their wedding party members feel badly about themselves, but then you realize that these same manufacturers will charge you extra for a larger size. Gee, if they cut the dresses smaller, then they will be able to charge more people the discriminatory upcharge. Coincidence? I don’t think so.

6) Overly Familiar Store Clerks – I am a friendly and outgoing person, but unless I ask, I really don’t care whether the supermarket cashier likes the brand of pantyhose I use. It’s none of the bank teller’s business why I didn’t cash that check sooner. And, certainly, I am not interested in engaging in a long conversation with the teenaged bagger over his astonishment that the R.E.M. concert t-shirt I am wearing is actually mine because he just can’t believe that I am young or “with it” it enough to listen to R.E.M., despite the fact that the band members are my chronological contemporaries.

7) Pretentious Job Titles – There are no more secretaries in the workplace anymore, just “administrative assistants.” And the stewardesses who assisted us when we flew the friendly skies have been replaced by “flight attendants” (and, sadly, the skies are no longer so friendly). But things definitely got out-of-hand when the young man waiting on us in Max and Erma’s informed me, haughtily, that he was NOT a “server”- he preferred the term “facilitator.”

8) Diet Saboteurs – It’s hard enough to stay on a diet plan, without waitresses who cannot wrap their heads around the fact that you don’t want any potatoes with your omelet (“But, ma’am, it COMES with potatoes”), or a friend saying “Oh, you have to cheat sometimes.” while waving a piece of cake in your face.

9) “Stop and Chatters” These people will stop in the middle of the road and shout to each other from their cars, or they will stop in the middle of their work out and sit on the exercise machine at the gym to talk to a friend. They will do this even if you are sitting in your car behind them on the road, or waiting for the machine.

10) The Way Other People Drive Oh, I could write a whole blog about stupid drivers…wait. I already did, didn’t I?

How Can I Keep from Singing?

Everywhere I go I will keep a song in my heart
and usually there will be one on my lips as well…
I will sing loud and soft, high and low, for the rest of my life.
                                                   - Sharon “Rip” Ciraulo, age 16

When I was moving, I found a poem I had written when I was 16 called Dreams. It was about all the things I thought, as a child, that I might want to do or be when I grew up. At the end of the poem I wrote about how I planned to pursue each childhood dream in my lifetime.

One of my things-I-wanted-to-be-when-I-grew up was a singer. I wrote a stanza about each of my other aspirations, but I devoted two and half pages to singing.

It’s hard to put into words the joy I get from singing. I cannot remember a time that I didn’t love to sing. Singing is more than something I like to do. It is something I do automatically, like breathing. My time as a member of the Glee Club and the Folk Mass Group were some of my happiest high school memories.

After graduation, I stopped singing publicly, saving my performances for the listening pleasure of those who lived, socialized or worked with me. Let me tell you that some of them were happier about this than others, although “At the Gates of Heaven” (a great lullaby I learned in 5th grade) was always a pretty big crowd pleaser among babies and children I knew. I sang in the shower and I sang in my car, always preferring to listen to music with lyrics, so I could sing along. Bette Midler is one of my favorite singers, in part, because she and I sing in exactly the same key.

In 1998, I decided to audition for a production of The Music Man. I suddenly discovered that I was absolutely terrified to sing in public, especially in front of a director who was going to judge my ability and then decide whether or not I could be in the show. I discovered that I needed to work on a song with the accompaniment before being able to perform it, and that timing does not come easily to me. While I always did and probably always will get very nervous before an audition, I actually went through a period where I would literally choke when I auditioned – I would open my mouth and the song would get stuck in my throat.

As you can imagine, this led some people to believe that I wasn’t really much of a singer. I couldn’t accept that, so I worked at it. I was fortunate to take voice lessons with some exceptional teachers, and with some experience singing in the ensemble and with lots of practice, I improved. A few years ago, I auditioned for the Pittsburgh Concert Chorale, did NOT choke, and was accepted into the group. Singing with the choir has taught me even more about singing.

When I auditioned for our new choir director, she told me that I really was appropriately placed as a Second Soprano. Beyond just being able to comfortably sing the notes in that range, that is where my voice was at its richest and fullest. I had some higher notes and some lower notes, she explained, but my voice was best in the middle.

That’s all very true, but that hasn’t stopped me from singing First Soprano or Alto, because I never turn down an opportunity to sing. I have sung First Soprano in some shows when the musical director was desperate, but can only hit the highest notes when I am thoroughly warmed up and when the moon and the stars are aligned correctly.

I channeled my inner Alto to play my dream role of Mama Rose in Gypsy, singing eight songs that never went above a middle C, thanks to Ethel Merman. I discovered that I could belt if I had to, and that when I sing low it feels like a reverse falsetto – there is nothing natural about it.

So, it seems that my sixteen-year-old self was onto something. How can I keep from singing? The simple answer is- I can’t.

I Hope You Dance

There was an avalanche of negative reaction at the announcement of Chaz Bono as a contestant on the upcoming Dancing with the Stars. It seems there are a number of folks out there who actually believe that allowing a transgendered individual to dance on a television show will somehow threaten their idea of what America is.

Oh, I shouldn’t have been surprised. There are plenty of small minded and mindlessly mean people in this world. I’ve known more than a few. It’s just that I figured out as a preteen that all people are equal and have the right to believe what they like and live how they choose. What can I tell you? It makes it hard for me to accept such ignorance.

It especially irks me that many of these people take this stance in the name of Christianity. Before I officially became a non-denominational spiritualist, I was Catholic, which IS a form of Christianity. I seem to remember being taught that Christians were supposed to love and not judge their fellow man. Furthermore, I know plenty of real Christians who do just that. So people who use Christianity to defend their hatred of and discrimination against anyone who lives or believes differently than they do not only aren’t really Christians themselves, they are giving a bad name to the good, decent, authentic Christians out there.

People may accuse me of being open-minded to the extreme. Guilty as charged, I’m afraid. Despite this, I never fully understood why people would actually go to the extreme of physically changing their gender. Maybe it is just because the idea of elective surgery is a foreign concept to me. I pretty much limit my surgical procedures to those that are absolutely necessary. Transgendered surgery always seemed such an extreme measure and so very final.

Because of Chaz Bono, I finally get it. He was of course born as a girl named Chastity to Sonny and Cher. As an adult, Chastity came out as a lesbian and was an active gay rights activist. I never had a problem with Chastity Bono but never felt a particular affinity for her either. Then she decided to undergo transgender surgery and became Chaz.

I have not seen the documentary or read Chaz’ book about his journey, but I have seen him on several talk shows. I like Chaz VERY much. He is warm, engaging, intelligent and articulate. It struck me that as Chastity he LITERALLY was uncomfortable in his own skin. I admire that he is making his process so public, and I believe that he is sincerely doing so in an effort to help others, to increase awareness and understanding of transgendered individuals. I appreciate his wit, his candor and his bravery.

Of course, every action has an equal and opposite reaction (and people think I don’t know anything about physics). There were lots of people, including his professional dance partner Lacey Schwimmer, who spoke up supporting Chaz and his right to participate in a televised ballroom dancing competition.

And his mama Cher also took to the internet, mouse ablazing, to defend her offspring. Cher basically said that what Chaz was doing took guts and these haters should give him a chance. She said that no matter how old you or they get, you still don’t stand by and let people mess with your children. Although I’m pretty sure she didn’t originally use the word “mess.” Ah, it was good to hear from Cher again. Chaz thanked his mom and everyone else for their support, and just said that all negative response had made him determined to work harder on his dancing.

So if Chaz Bono wants to dance on DWTS, I say he should go for it. I hope he dances presentably, has some fun and wins some people over with that great personality of his. I’m rooting for him, and am looking forward to seeing Cher cheering him on in the audience.

Rip's Excellent Rock and Roll Adventure

My husband has an entire wall of sheet music surrounding his piano in our music room, a massive collection of classical, opera, standards, and show tunes. None of it, however, is rock and roll.

The closest my husband has gotten to a rock concert since we’ve been together was when he agreed to attend a ballet set to Bruce Springsteen music with me, and Joe Grushecky played during intermission. On the other hand, I VERY much like (that old time) rock and roll, particularly American rockers with folk influences, like Springsteen, John Mellencamp, and R.E.M.  I have been to a few –maybe 50 or so – rock concerts in my day.

When we went to Cleveland on vacation, we had to see the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. My husband would a first-time visitor, but I had been there before. I knew it was a magical fun place, like Disney World, so I was optimistic that he would enjoy it. After all, I once attended a performance of Ariadne auf Naxos, an obscure and painful German opera for him, and I….. well, okay, “enjoy” would be a strong word, but I survived.

The first thing I did when we got there was make my husband pose for a picture in front of the building so I could prove to people that he was actually there. He panicked for a moment in line when he realized that he left his earplugs back at the bed and breakfast, but I assured him that he wouldn’t really need them – it wasn’t like an actual rock concert inside.

We started with the introductory History of Rock and Roll film and had a fine time exploring all the exhibits and paraphernalia from the featured musicians. Rock fan or not, you just have to appreciate some of this stuff – like the jacket Michael Jackson wore in his Thriller video. I mean, how cool is that? And I learned new things while I was there. I found out that country singer and American Idol winner Carrie Underwood is actually a rock artist when we visited the brand-new “Women Who Rock” exhibit.

I realized that my husband was getting into it when we entered a theater where they were showing clips of performances from the telecasts of Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction ceremonies. When we entered, Aretha Franklin and Annie Lennox (two of my favorites) were just finishing up a duet of Chain of Fools.  Annie was writhing and gyrating all over the stage while Aretha was looking at her like she was some kind of damn fool. I imagined that Aretha was thinking, “Child, I don’t have to work that hard, not with my voice.”

Then Metallica came on. Heavy metal is not my thing. I got up to leave. “Where are you going?” asked my husband.

“Do you really want to listen to heavy metal?” I asked.

“Right now, it’s less painful than my feet,” he said.

When the first song was done, I was again ready to leave, but then Lou Reed joined the band onstage. “Do you mind if we stay for this?” I asked.

“Why would I mind?” he asked.

“Well, because it’s Megadeath,” I explained.

“It’s Metallica,” he corrected.

“Whatever, they’re all the same,” I muttered.

“Oh, listen to you, being dismissive,” he said, with a smile.

When Ozzy Osbourne joined Metallica, or whoever they were, we were both ready to go.

We continued on our merry way. Suddenly my husband was talking like a convert. He didn’t want to miss anything in the place. It wasn’t the music itself he didn’t like, you see, it was just the volume and the crowds that put him off. He was pretty excited about the gift shop, where he passed on the t-shirt that read, “If it’s too loud, you’re too old,” opting instead for a (pardon the pun) rockin’ Rock and Roll Hall of Fame mug.

I’m glad he liked it, but I sure hope he doesn’t want to see Metallica the next time they come to Pittsburgh.

Nothing Wrong in Cleveland

My Friends are taking all kinds of exciting vacations this year. Disney World, the Outer Banks, and TWO went to or are headed for France.


We were actually all set on the idea of international travel ourselves this year. We were considering either a New England-Canada cruise or a trip to Toronto (a four-hour drive from our house). Unfortunately, because of some bizarre government plot to keep us from leaving the country (they now require birth certificates with parents’ names on them to issue passports) we were unable to get our passports in time for those glamorous trips. So, we settled on Cleveland as our vacation spot.

When you tell people from Pittsburgh that you are going to Cleveland for vacation, you might as well be telling them you are going to some far-off unfriendly foreign land, like Baghdad, for the reaction you get. This is all about –you guessed it- football. The Pittsburgh Steelers and the Cleveland Browns are bitter natural rivals, like lions and buffalo.

Look, it was an easy drive, okay? We wanted something close by and affordable. We have been VERY busy this summer and we didn’t want to work very hard just traveling to and from our vacation destination. Besides, Cleveland has a couple of non-sports-related world class attractions to recommend it.
One of those, the Cleveland Museum of Art, provided to be an ideal start to our vacation. My husband and I are perfect companions in an art museum, just as we are everywhere else. It is a serene and happy place for us. We like the same exhibits, spend the same amount of time with each piece of artwork, and walk quickly through the same exhibits. I was elated to discover an unfamiliar Monet painting that thoroughly captured my imagination. I left with a bookmark, magnet, key chain and 8 x 10 print of my new find, all of which cost me $17.49. This is MY version of “art collecting.”

We stayed at J. Palen House, a lovely and affordable bed and breakfast located in Cleveland’s historic Ohio City neighborhood. Our room boasted a comfortable King-sized bed (covered with more pillows than we knew what to do with), a roomy Jacuzzi, a rain forest shower head, and our own balcony so surrounded by foliage that you could almost forget you were on a city street. You can keep the beach – hanging out in a room like this is my idea of relaxing on vacation. Our hostess was gracious, and the breakfast freshly made and delicious.

Clevelanders are almost excessively friendly and cheerful, yet polite and savvy enough to say only nice things when we said we were from Pittsburgh, without as much as a grimace or sideways glance. If they weren’t sincere, you never would have known it. Only once did anyone mention the Steelers.

A two-hour Trolley Tour taught us many interesting facts about Cleveland, and you doubters should know that we learned that Cleveland is actually THE most awesome city in the whole world! We also learned that trolley seats are pretty uncomfortable after two hours, and that our tour guide had been an art teacher and a flight attendant before taking on this latest gig, and that she was not in the least bit happy about the way “The Avengers” filming in the city was affecting her tour route. I thought the most interesting factoid we learned was that city founder Moses Cleveland left the city about 90 days after landing there and NEVER CAME BACK. Maybe he was a Steelers fan.

I think my husband summed it up the best about a day into the vacation when he said, emphatically, “Oh, there’s nothing wrong with Cleveland.” I will go a step further and say that Cleveland was actually an excellent vacation destination.

In retrospect, we probably should have just said that we were going to see the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame (the second world-class Cleveland  attraction) for vacation. Pittsburghers get that, and many think it’s the only reason that one would voluntarily go to Cleveland. And we DID visit the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, but that visit warrants its own blog. Tune in next week.

"Rip's Carousel" (Reinventing the Wheel)

Director Diane Paulus is reinterpreting Porgy and Bess, the 1945 Gershwin opera, in an upcoming Broadway theater production of the work that she plans to call The Gershwins' Porgy and Bess.  If I understand it correctly, she is keeping most of the music but is shortening the piece and adapting it to make the characters more multi-dimensional and accessible to today’s audiences (in her opinion).  She is doing so with the full blessings of the estates of George Gershwin, Ira Gershwin, and DuBose Heyward, who co-wrote the lyrics with Ira and was the author of the novel Porgy upon which the original opera was based. http://www.nytimes.com/2011/08/07/theater/porgy-and-bess-with-audra-mcdonald.html?pagewanted=3&_r=1
No big deal, right? Not only is it the prerogative of a director to interpret a work, isn’t updating and reinterpreting classic works (even sometimes opera) all the rage on Broadway? One has to imagine that when writing “Rent” that Jonathan Larsen veered much further from Puccini’s La Boheme than Paulus is straying from the original Porgy and Bess.

Ah, but the “purists,” including no less than Stephen Sondheim himself, have risen up to condemn Paulus, her interpretation, and her viewpoints. http://artsbeat.blogs.nytimes.com/2011/08/10/stephen-sondheim-takes-issue-with-plan-for-revamped-porgy-and-bess/?hpw  My first thought was "What does Sondheim care?" He has allowed several drastic reinterpretations of his own works (e.g. Sweeney Todd, Company) in recent years. Of course, he is entitled to his opinion, just as Paulus is entitled to hers.

I pretty much love everything the Gershwins ever wrote, and I am not familiar enough with Porgy and Bess in its entirety to have a personal opinion about whether the work needs to be reinterpreted. I can tell you that there are musicals that I would re-write in a heartbeat, given the chance.

Let’s examine Carousel by Rodgers and Hammerstein for just a second, shall we? I loathe the book of this show, and let me tell you why. (SPOILER ALERT- the rest of this blog reveals most of the plot of “Carousel.”)

Okay, so Carousel is about Billy Bigelow, a carnival worker, who takes up with sweet-young-thing Julie Jordan. He marries her, loses his job, beats her because he is frustrated that he is unemployed, gets her pregnant, and then dies while committing a burglary so that he can feed the family. A series of bad choices, if you ask me. Inexplicably, Billy is not sent straight to Hell when he dies, but instead spends 15 years in purgatory.

Then an angel sends him down to earth to redeem himself by helping his troubled 15-year-old daughter, Louise. He talks to her for a while, and THEN smacks her. Julie tells her daughter, and this is a quote: "Sometimes a hit is just like a kiss." This somehow turns Louise around, and Billy gets into heaven. It glorifies domestic violence, and that was never acceptable, even in the 40's when it was written. It literally makes my skin crawl.

It’s a shame really, because it has a nice subplot about Carrie, Julie’s quirky best friend, and Mr. Snow, the decent (if less glamorous) fisherman she marries, and some exceptionally beautiful songs by Rodgers and Hammerstein, whose work I admire as much as I do the Gershwins. You’ll Never Walk Alone is a song I can sing by a character I could play (cousin Nettie), but I could never live with myself if I appeared in a production of Carousel as written.

This is why I would love to get my hands on Carousel. We could call it Rip’s Carousel. It wouldn’t take much to fix it. First things first, I would cut This Was a Real Nice Clambake, one of the most inane songs in all of musical theater history. “The vittles we et [sic] were good you bet.” Boy, they don’t write lyrics like that anymore. Thank goodness.

Then all I would have to change is the ending. Billy would return to earth and explain to his daughter that it is never okay for a man to hit a woman under any circumstances. He might even apologize for making her life so difficult. Julie would tell her that while she loved her father, his violent temper and abusive nature ruined her life and caused his early death, and that is why she, Louise, should never accept that kind of behavior in a man or in herself. Louise would have the guidance that would give her a fighting chance for a happy life, and Billy would go to heaven.

Then I…um, I mean Cousin Nettie…would return to the stage to lead the entire company in a rousing encore of You’ll Never Walk Alone.