In an effort to marry my inner cultural snob to the practicalities of living in the middle of Nowhere, Suburbia, I undertook a midday trip to the opera. At the movie theater. (Because I'm still waiting for Ryan Gosling to buy me a ticket to New York and take me to the Met).
I enjoyed the 11am presentation of "The Magic Flute" alongside about twenty others, none of whom were any younger than 70. Apparently the opera isn't a hot ticket in my town. Go figure.
In any case, I enjoyed it tremendously, despite the fact that it was rather an unorthodox setting. When a German opera is translated to English and then set in Asia, with some Egyptian-Scientology acts thrown in, well, you've got one cultural-identity crisis coming on.
And when you've got a prince on a quest, a princess who falls in love with him without ever seeing him (love at first sight is so last year), a lustful pot-bellied evil bird-man who flashes people (chest hair is making a comeback, people), a mysterious Queen-mother (as in, it's a mystery - is she evil? is she not? evil? not?) and a bird-catcher who quite honestly steals the show by being as epic as Adam Sandler, Owen Wilson and Ben Stiller combined, well - you've got a fun time on your hands!
And, inspired by the wonderful singing, I went home and practiced singing myself. I thought it was going well, but apparently my musical stylings sent my cat into heat. I'm not kidding - I couldn't make this shit up.
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