Maybe it's not too late to go into accounting....

....that's been a running joke with me for years; anytime I was commiserating with a colleague about the lack of work, or respect, or job security, I'd shrug and say..."maybe it's not too late to go into accounting..."

But you know what? It's not all that funny anymore. Nearly a month ago I went through a scary near work-stoppage in the Symphony Chorus where, during contract negotiations, it came out that for every dollar SF Symphony offered its orchestra members in their new contract, management was willing to offer the professional members of the chorus....wait for it, wait for it...SEVEN CENTS.
Really? REALLY? The lowest-paid substitute walk-on first-year orchestra member gets a six-figure salary. (Please do not construe this rant, by the way, to imply that I don't believe that they earn every cent of that salary.) The financial improvements that WE were asking for, for the entire professional chorus, all thirty of us, would have cost them in the neighborhood of twenty-five thousand a year--a quarter of the annual salary of ONE orchestra member. That's all. In a multi-million dollar budget. And yet, it came down to a few hours of opening night before management agreed to even give us PART of what we were asking for.

Let me state here that this is an IMPROVEMENT over past negotiations, where Symphony management refused to negotiate and simply said "no" to all our proposals. Were it not for the fact that we are a union shop we likely wouldn't be paid at all, and I'm sure the bean-counters at SFS would be happier that way. Because we LOVE what we do so fucking much, we're willing to give it away....right? Never mind that we went to college just like our orchestral colleagues....paid for lessons just like our orchestral colleagues...rehearsed for hours on end just like our orchestral colleagues....and work every bit as hard as our orchestral colleagues. We are the ugly red-headed stepchildren, make no mistake. Last week, the fundraising arm of the symphony sent out an email praising the contributions of each arm of the symphony, especially mentioning the three Grammy awards the symphony won last year....and conspicuously left out the chorus. Despite the fact that the chorus was a major part of the recording that WON them the Grammys.

I hope you'll forgive a wee (OK, more than WEE) bit of bitterness about the financial remuneration of choristers; I just came home from a meeting with a mortgage broker. I was hoping to refinance my existing mortgage to take advantage of the lower interest rates and to help make my monthly expenses a little more manageable. She was kind, helpful, wonderful--but told me outright that she couldn't get me a re-fi. Why? Because my income from the symphony is less than $15,000. Most of my non-symphony income is from pick-up gigs, for which I am issued 1099s at the end of the year for tax purposes. Because I am NOT making a six-figure salary, I write off many of my business expenses (voice lessons, mileage to/from gigs, sheet music, coachings). Well, in my discussion with the mortgage broker, it turns out this actually bites me in the butt, because bankers don't LIKE people with multiple income sources, and consider only the NET income from 1099 (after business deductions), not gross...which means my pitiful income becomes even MORE pitiful in the eyes of the banks.

The mortgage broker, trying to be helpful, said the line I hate the most; "Well....at least you get to do what you LOVE for a living...."

I mostly credit my upbringing, meditation, and, mainly, the fact that she refused to charge me for her time, for not treating her like the gorilla in the Samsonite commercial did the luggage.

As it was, I waved a wry hand in the direction of the pay stubs, tax returns, stock statements, and other now-useless information, arched an eyebrow and said....."LIVING?"

It got awfully quiet in the conference room for a moment.

Fortunately, right next door to the mortgage company's offices, there was a wine store (I do wonder, considering the current difficulty MOST people have in getting mortgages, if this wasn't a bit of brilliant business planning). I spent the seventeen dollars I was going to put down for a credit report on a nice bottle of cabernet. Fifteen and a quarter of that seventeen dollars is already gone. Money well spent, I reckon.

RM

The Universe Has A Sense Of Humor, part 368

It's been a long week--all God, all the time: on Tuesday afternoon, singing at the ordination of a new bishop up at St. Mary's (AKA St. Mary Maytag our Holy Agitator) up on Holy Hill; Tuesday evening singing Copland's "In The Beginning" for the Symphony's opening Gala, Wednesday evening Erev Rosh Hashanah and Thursday morning Rosh Hashanah services, Thursday evening church rehearsal at St. Dominic's. I could really go for something a little different (too bad the Buddhists never got around to writing hymns......).

So, I'm singing the Jewish High Holy Days again this year at Sherith Israel. Unfortunately, they're at a point in the renovation of the temple where they cannot accommodate the congregation in the building itself right now, so we're doing all the services at Calvary Presbyterian, a few blocks away on Fillmore Street.

As it happens, I realized as I sat there for his morning's services....
1. My mother's side of the family was Presbyterian.
2. My father's side of the family was Jewish (as a matter of fact, my great-grandparents worshiped at the very same temple that I, three generations later, am now singing in).
3. None of that mattered in my upbringing, as both sides had lapsed long before my parents ever met, and so when they married, they decided to celebrate the Christian holidays--Christmas and Easter--but in a purely secular manner, or, as I like to describe it, "all of the chocolate, none of the guilt!"

And yet, there I was.....sitting in a Presbyterian church....celebrating a Jewish holiday.
Go figure.
RM

YOU KIDS GET OFFA MY LAWN!

Sometimes I feel like I was born in the wrong time....and the wrong place....on a very strange planet...

....or maybe these cranky pants are a little too tight right now....

I was in a conversation with a younger colleague earlier this week who happened to compliment me on my skin and its youthful appearance. I shot back the stock response, "Yeah, but there's a portrait in the attic that looks like shit right about now...." and waited for the laugh.

There was a loooooonng, uncomfortable pause while she cocked her head like the RCA dog and looked at me quizzically.

"...you know, 'The Portrait of Dorian Gray'....?" I prompted.

"Oh. Who's she?"

Sweet Jeebus.

If anyone wants me, I'll be in my study, mourning the American intellect.

RM