The Hairy Truth

Since my years have morphed from the low-thirtysomethings to the high-thirtysomethings I have discovered a hygienic secret closely guarded by all males who have made this rite of passage. A tedious ritual grooming chore one must perform daily lest we be outcast from civilized society and banished to the Island of Unsightly Men. WHAT’S WITH ALL THE NOSE AND EAR HAIR, PEOPLE!? Why was I not informed or prepared for this additional required routine maintenance? Eh? Why was this such a secret? I swear every other morning I find a shrub growing inside my nostrils. And where one day my ears are perfectly squeaky clean and wax-free, the next I’ll find a three inch long hair that somehow sprung overnight? This debilitation has struck me like I remember being stricken by puberty. I thought I was the only one afflicted with a sudden onslaught of hair. Like a junior high boy in the locker room, I have only discovered that all my buddies the same age are having the identical issue. It’s funny to watch the older men of the opera chorus snicker and chuckle at the thirty-somethings swapping accounts of trimming the hedges and sharing plucking techniques. THAT’S why they didn’t tell us to be ready for the new hair growth. It’s all a big joke to them, like we’ve been initiated into the brotherhood of older hairy men. Well, I’m not one to break tradition! The secret’s safe with me! You twenty-somethings don’t know what’s in store for you in about a decade. And I’m not gonna tell ya! Ha! HA HA! Muahahahahahahaha!!!!!

STOMP! - the Opera

This Evil Baritone just flipped another calendar year, celebrating my 29th birthday for the 8th straight year. (You do the math) But EB is jumping, stomping, and creating general mayhem on the rehearsal stage like he’s a sprightly 24 yr old. “What does he think he’s doing!? Certainly no Earthly good will come of his false pretense of athletic ability! I shall smite him for his reckless behavior!” ~ EB’s knees The above is a direct quote from my knees and ankles overheard in our most recent rehearsal of Flying Dutchman. I am renaming this Wagnarian masterpiece, STOMP! ~ The Opera. Those of you who may be privy to that entertaining piece of theatre whereby a dozen or so 20-somethings show their athletic prowess by “stomping” rhythmical tunes using anything from tin garbage cans (and the garbage inside them) to brooms and sinks full of water, will understand. The avant-garde stage director for our Flying Dutchman has decided it would be keen if all 30 of the chorus sailor men, during the Steuerman Chorus vs. the Ghost Chorus scene, would all jump, stomp, hit, thrash, smash, and cause widespread chaos onstage for this little 5 minute interval. I (foolishly) volunteered to leap from atop tables, bounding over chairs, and stomp the set like I’m waking the devil. I’m sure you can imagine that this sort of chaotic scene does not get blocked once and forgotten until final dress. The first few scene rehearsals were great! I felt a healthy glow of perspiration and a sense that I was in much better shape than my fellow, uh, ahem, “more experienced” chorus men. Besides, I am a professional on stage. I give 110% in rehearsal and performance. By the end of the 6th time through the scene my perspiration had gushed into a flood of hot, salty sweat, drenching my rehearsal gear and making me wish I had volunteered to sing in the Ghost Chorus offstage. (Jo ho ho hoe!) Well, I managed to stumble through the end of rehearsal, and I’ve been on a steady diet of Ibuprofen and regular intervals of ice packs ever since. I encourage you if you’re in the Portland area to catch this production. The principals are fabulous, especially our Dutchman, Richard Paul Fink, a mighty fine dramatic baritone. This ain’t your grandmother’s “Park & Bark” opera…it’s intense!