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Good news! I will almost definitely be singing Barbarina and covering Susanna in Le Nozze di Figaro this August in Dijon. (I say “almost” because I’m still waiting on the results of my audition in Vienna, which could yield similar results.) It’s part of what’s called a stage–an intensive week-long program culminating in performances (sometimes they only last a weekend; I’m actually going to do one on Gregorian chant and Hildegard von Bingen in St. Sauveur d’Aunis during my February break). I’m thrilled, and Madame agrees with me that even though it’s something I have to pay for, it’s worth it to get those two roles learned and onto my resume. As I might have mentioned, there are no opera roles on my resume, and these two are particularly useful–especially the Barbarina. It’s a very short role.

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(The purple is Barbarina. You do the math.)

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My beloved score, open to one of my favorite parts of the opera.

Yesterday I went to the mall at La Defense with my friend Blythe. Getting there was a hideous mess–my RER A train stopped between Châtelet and Auber for nearly half an hour, with no announcement over the PA system (not that I ever understand those anyway) until we had been stuck for fifteen minutes. But I finally got there, and was comforted to find that the mall at La Defense is in fact a mall like all other malls, nothing particularly French about it, except that the stores are French instead of American. I bought a sweater, and we laughed about this, in front of a Quick burger restaurant:

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This morning I trekked out to the 19th and got my hair cut. It was an emergency. The curl specialists at Lydie Coiffure on Rue Corentin Cariou worked their magic, and off I went to the library. By the time I got there I couldn’t feel my feet (NB: never wear tights and flats in 20 degree weather!), but I did stop on the way for a picture of the Eiffel Tower, just to see if it looked different.

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It doesn’t. I read a book in high school called Omon Ra, in which one of the characters pointed out that it doesn’t matter where you look out from, what matters is what you see. But I can tell you that it very much matters where you’re looking out from when you still have cold-burn on your knuckles eight hours later from taking your gloves off to take a picture of the Eiffel Tower in the dead of winter. So. Moving on.

I finally remembered to take my camera to the American Library. I’m probably not supposed to take pictures there, so I snapped a couple, furtively, without flash.

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That’s the second floor. I like the second floor fiction section because that’s where they put all the weird stuff that nobody but me wants to read.

Finally got home after what felt like hours on the bus/train, and made lunch.

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I’d been thinking about how good smoked salmon would be with that fromage blanc–and it was. It really was.

And in closing, I’ll leave you with this gem of a line from the Act IV Finale of Le Nozze di Figaro. I’ve actually sung this finale, but not in Italian, and when I read that line today, I put the score down, did an image search on Google and went to Photoshop to have some fun. Voilà!

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Bisous,
Anne

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