Highs and Lows

B had an extra ticket to La Traviata at City Opera Friday night. We were way up in the vertiginous gods with the other children of paradise while Violetta proved once again that a working girl just can’t win. I don’t know squat about Puccini, but the opera was quite impressive. During the second intermission, I took a little euphemism and when I returned B was fending off a Russian Gentleman who wondered if she thought the performance was speeded-up, because he remembered much longer performances in the days of yore. Hurrying towards the inevitable destiny of Bolshevism? He asked me as well. We’d already been there for two plus hours and our heroine hadn’t kicked it yet, so we didn’t think so. But what did we know? "This is most famous opera," he insisted, disdaining our ignorance in that special Slavic way. That B, always finding new friends. As Violetta took the whole third act to die, B whispered, “and this is the quick version.”

At the beginning of the acts, short documentaries, skillfully done, were shown, incorporating singers, musicians, and backstage people. The mezzo-soprano Heather Johnson was particularly down to earth and saucy. They seemed to be making a great effort to attract a younger audience.

Afterwards, we had a drink. On an empty stomach: the thing about Your Blogger is that he doesn’t have much of a bladder, so I had to pee TWICE on the way back home. That makes it a long trip from Lincoln Center. Now, normally, I try not to answer the call of the wild in the wild, but when you gotta go, you gotta go, in a town notably lacking in facilities. Especially after midnight.

Saturday was perfect weather for the Sea of People (I’m typing this under Sunday's monsoon). I got to shake Reverend Billy’s hand. I am blessed! There were legions of cute activist women. The “youth,” as they say, was also present, so the jailbait quotient was high. Turnout was not overwhelming, and things were as confused as I thought they would be, but I had my walkie-talkie on the corner of Rector and Greenwich (hell, I hadn’t peed there in years, but I was happy to see that the wonderfully named “Thunder Lingerie” was still around) and it all seemed to work. I ran into J from my Discussion Group, the man gets everywhere by bicycle. He also knew J2, who is from the Co-op, and who I hailed. And S from the Co-op was there. I got her attention by touching her with my antenna.... She hugged me, o my -- but who was that big lug with her? Also met a possible work connection. And I ran again into one of the people from the volunteer orientation last week; her name’s Scheherazade. That is too cool. Tell me a story, please.

Hippie that I am, I had a fish painted on my cheek.

Dinner with M in a hole-in-the-wall Korean on 18th Street. Spicy pork. Very spicy.