One evening back in October, I filed out of the orchestra section of the Kennedy Center Opera House into the foyer. Bizet’s The Pearl Fishers had just come to a happy (for the young lovers)/unhappy (for the dead king) ending. As I walked past a small group, I heard an older woman get right down to the heart of opera. “Wasn’t that a great ending!?” she asked. “You know, it’s not a good opera unless there’s a (dead) body.”
Although I’ve seen good operas not featuring a corpse, I can’t fault this lady for being near accurate. Her little observation got me thinking, “I wonder how many people have died in all the operas I’ve seen.” The answer is quite a lot and the causes range from poison to consumption and from grief to gunfire, all with great drama and great music in tow.
So with my newfound fascination with operatic morbidity, I have now decided to give a death count with my report of the operas I’ve seen.
Quick example, Verdi’s Otello
Desdemona (R. Fleming) – strangled by Otello
Roderigo (R. Naldi) – killed in a sword fight by Cassio
Otello (J. Botha) – stabbed, suicide
Death count – 3
Otello was awesome!
*End example*
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
A Mouse Tail (this one's for you Dad)
Once upon a time there was a girl, and one frigid day in January, she moved to a magical place full of power and mystique. Although this place was beautiful and magnificent in its grandeur, the city contained a dirty secret behind its walls and bellow its streets – MICE and lots of ’em!
If you’ll recall, I had been dealing with ONE mouse (I was in constant denial that there was ever more than one) that I affectionately called Peebs. The cunning little dude successfully ate all the peanut butter clean off the traps without so much as splitting a single hair, let alone getting his head chopped off. This was no ordinary mouse. He was smart, tricky, and elusive. For several months I put a lot of faith in wives tales and dryer sheets and hoped against hope that Peebs would just leave. But he didn’t. And I dealt with it for a while, but he became more daring with each passing day. The little vermin showed himself on many occasions even when guests were over and pooped where he pleased. We rearranged our kitchen, but that didn’t deter him.
The last straw finally came. Peebs ate my birthday cake. MY BIRTHDAY CAKE! Not any of the other roommates, but mine. Me who lived off of the kitchen, me who had sleepless nights wondering what that noise was and if the mouse would climb up my bed and eat my eyes. A line had been crossed. It was him or me. I was paying rent so Peebs had to go.
Peebs put up a good fight. He brought in the troops for reinforcement and they were cunning little guys. But we were smarter and more resilient. Before the traps were set, Tara and I noticed three mice (Peebs, Hammy, and Swiss) were in our empty recycle bin trying to jump into our trash can. We did the first thing that popped into our minds and trapped them in the can with a lid. We decided the best way to dispose of them was to put a peanut butter-covered poison cube in the trash can and place them outside in the freezing cold. So we did. Tara duct taped the lid shut for good measure and put the can in the backyard where it remained until two days ago when Tara and I finally disposed of it (if you’re wondering the 3 mice were still in there – I checked).
Although we had a small victory with the conquest at Recycle Bin, there was no time to rest on our laurels. Peebs had been defeated, yes, but his troops were as persistent as ever to conquer our kitchen. So out came the D-Con – grade A, top notch, inescapable traps.
At final count, we entrapped and disposed of fourteen little rodents within about twelve days. Some traps remain as a precaution, but it seems that if any mice survived Operation Annihilation, then they quickly retreated and set up camp elsewhere.
And the girl lived (and slept) happily ever after.
And at no point in time were they ever rats, Dad!
If you’ll recall, I had been dealing with ONE mouse (I was in constant denial that there was ever more than one) that I affectionately called Peebs. The cunning little dude successfully ate all the peanut butter clean off the traps without so much as splitting a single hair, let alone getting his head chopped off. This was no ordinary mouse. He was smart, tricky, and elusive. For several months I put a lot of faith in wives tales and dryer sheets and hoped against hope that Peebs would just leave. But he didn’t. And I dealt with it for a while, but he became more daring with each passing day. The little vermin showed himself on many occasions even when guests were over and pooped where he pleased. We rearranged our kitchen, but that didn’t deter him.
The last straw finally came. Peebs ate my birthday cake. MY BIRTHDAY CAKE! Not any of the other roommates, but mine. Me who lived off of the kitchen, me who had sleepless nights wondering what that noise was and if the mouse would climb up my bed and eat my eyes. A line had been crossed. It was him or me. I was paying rent so Peebs had to go.
Peebs put up a good fight. He brought in the troops for reinforcement and they were cunning little guys. But we were smarter and more resilient. Before the traps were set, Tara and I noticed three mice (Peebs, Hammy, and Swiss) were in our empty recycle bin trying to jump into our trash can. We did the first thing that popped into our minds and trapped them in the can with a lid. We decided the best way to dispose of them was to put a peanut butter-covered poison cube in the trash can and place them outside in the freezing cold. So we did. Tara duct taped the lid shut for good measure and put the can in the backyard where it remained until two days ago when Tara and I finally disposed of it (if you’re wondering the 3 mice were still in there – I checked).
Although we had a small victory with the conquest at Recycle Bin, there was no time to rest on our laurels. Peebs had been defeated, yes, but his troops were as persistent as ever to conquer our kitchen. So out came the D-Con – grade A, top notch, inescapable traps.
At final count, we entrapped and disposed of fourteen little rodents within about twelve days. Some traps remain as a precaution, but it seems that if any mice survived Operation Annihilation, then they quickly retreated and set up camp elsewhere.
And the girl lived (and slept) happily ever after.
And at no point in time were they ever rats, Dad!
Time to get Serial
It’s been almost a year since I’ve posted to this blog on a consistent basis. I think it’s about time I get serial about this thing. And I really hope I mean it this time. Here’s the plan: try and do a month by month overview of 2008 since April and then fill in the blank for 2009. I’ll tell the stories that are interesting, pertinent, etc.
But first a story that has a happy ending (depending on who you were rooting for)…
But first a story that has a happy ending (depending on who you were rooting for)…
Hurry on over to Puerto Rico
“What’s the hurry? You’re in Vieques.” That was their motto and I didn’t question it. Why should I? I was on a small island hundreds of miles away from DC – away from the inauguration, away from the crowds, away from the cold, and away from the hustle and bustle of life. With the sun overhead, a book in my hand, and the sand between my toes I hadn’t a care in the world.
Torrey didn’t want to stick around DC during the chaos of the inauguration. Who could blame him? I’d been there and done that two other times, and for a guy I voted for. A crowd of millions in freezing temperatures was not appealing to me. When Dad put the kibosh on a ski trip, I jumped on board Torrey’s Puerto Rico trip. We left Monday for the island territory. The following morning we were on a ten-seater prop plane headed for the tiny island of Vieques, known for its bioluminescence bay and a one time weapons testing site for the US Navy (they left in 2003). Vieques was the perfect island getaway. We stayed at a cute little island guesthouse on the Atlantic side – Casa de Amistad. Using el Publico, we made our way to the Carribean side of the island where the beaches are said to be unmatched in beauty. Tor and I grabbed a quick bite to eat coincidentally enough at one of the few establishments that had American cable and the very thing we were trying to escape – the inauguration.
After a quick bite to eat, we strolled along the beach until we reached an adequately sandy area. What joy to be away from it all! What relief!!!
I wish I could tell you something exciting, but I did nothing. Soaked up the sun, swam in the water, and decompressed, that’s what I did. Torrey did swim out far while snorkeling and I’m pretty sure I saw a fin of sorts. Whether it was friend or foe, we’ll never know.
We met a nice couple at our hotel and pal’d around with them the rest of the trip. We went to a local bar and chatted with the islanders- mostly about life on Vieques and why so many people throw in the proverbial towel regarding life in the states to retreat to the island life. What an enticing idea…
The next day was much of the same. Sandy beaches, clear blue water, and a tropical storm thrown in for good measure. I’m sure it’s the island god’s way to force lazy beach bums to actually get up and find/explore a new beach, which is what we did.
Our stint on the island came quickly to an end. Before I knew it, I was on a ferry headed for the main island followed by a plane ride back to the states, back to reality. The reality of a cold winter and a presidential term just beginning. Back to being in a hurry.
Torrey didn’t want to stick around DC during the chaos of the inauguration. Who could blame him? I’d been there and done that two other times, and for a guy I voted for. A crowd of millions in freezing temperatures was not appealing to me. When Dad put the kibosh on a ski trip, I jumped on board Torrey’s Puerto Rico trip. We left Monday for the island territory. The following morning we were on a ten-seater prop plane headed for the tiny island of Vieques, known for its bioluminescence bay and a one time weapons testing site for the US Navy (they left in 2003). Vieques was the perfect island getaway. We stayed at a cute little island guesthouse on the Atlantic side – Casa de Amistad. Using el Publico, we made our way to the Carribean side of the island where the beaches are said to be unmatched in beauty. Tor and I grabbed a quick bite to eat coincidentally enough at one of the few establishments that had American cable and the very thing we were trying to escape – the inauguration.
After a quick bite to eat, we strolled along the beach until we reached an adequately sandy area. What joy to be away from it all! What relief!!!
I wish I could tell you something exciting, but I did nothing. Soaked up the sun, swam in the water, and decompressed, that’s what I did. Torrey did swim out far while snorkeling and I’m pretty sure I saw a fin of sorts. Whether it was friend or foe, we’ll never know.
We met a nice couple at our hotel and pal’d around with them the rest of the trip. We went to a local bar and chatted with the islanders- mostly about life on Vieques and why so many people throw in the proverbial towel regarding life in the states to retreat to the island life. What an enticing idea…
The next day was much of the same. Sandy beaches, clear blue water, and a tropical storm thrown in for good measure. I’m sure it’s the island god’s way to force lazy beach bums to actually get up and find/explore a new beach, which is what we did.
Our stint on the island came quickly to an end. Before I knew it, I was on a ferry headed for the main island followed by a plane ride back to the states, back to reality. The reality of a cold winter and a presidential term just beginning. Back to being in a hurry.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
"You're the life blood of me"
I can't add any words. It's all there in the lyrics - the warmth you give at sunrise, your sunsets put music in a soul, the smell of the rain on your skin
So on this day of love, I confess it all. I LOVE YOU ARIZONA! Your mountains, your deserts, your streams. Happy Statehood day Arizona!
Oh, and Happy Birthday to my favorite opera singer Renee Fleming!!!
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Economic turmoil affects actors
I had a dream last night. Definitely not as profound as Dr. King's. I must be craving Wendy's or something because in my dream my friends and I specifically sought out a Wendy's. Now this must be a sign of how bad the economy is doing because working back in the kitchen was Christine Lahti (Chicago Hope) and John Heard (Home Alone). Why those two people, I haven't the foggiest. But there they were, and not even doing that well. I think they were about to get fired when we came in for burgers and fries.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Interesting...
HEADLINES 4 YEARS AGO:
"Republicans spending $42 million on inauguration while troops die in unarmored Humvees."
"Bush extravaganza exceeds any reason during tough economic times."
"Fat cats get their $42 million inauguration party while ordinary Americans get the shaft."
HEADLINES THIS MONTH:
"Historic Obama inauguration will cost only $150 million."
"Obama Spends $150 million on inauguration; America Needs a Big Party."
"Everyman Obama shows America how to celebrate."
"Citibank executives contribute $8 million to Obama inauguration."
"Republicans spending $42 million on inauguration while troops die in unarmored Humvees."
"Bush extravaganza exceeds any reason during tough economic times."
"Fat cats get their $42 million inauguration party while ordinary Americans get the shaft."
HEADLINES THIS MONTH:
"Historic Obama inauguration will cost only $150 million."
"Obama Spends $150 million on inauguration; America Needs a Big Party."
"Everyman Obama shows America how to celebrate."
"Citibank executives contribute $8 million to Obama inauguration."
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