It’s the end of the world, more or less, at least it’s the end of the cycle.
The opera is over, and I keep lamenting the fact that so many of my opera jokes go unnoticed and certainly unappreciated by the larger number of folks I know. Or opera weirdo folks don’t get some of the outside jokes, like, how the orchestra really rocks, “Dude, this orchestra goes to eleven!”
Prior to seeing and hearing this cycle, my favorite “Ring” t-shirt was a “Gotterdammrung” shirt with the name of the opera spelled in a letter form that looked just like heavy metal/goth/speed punk/hair metal band’s name. I don’t know if it was intentional on the part of the t-shirt designer, as I doubt there’s much crossover between the metal crowd and the opera crowd.
“I’ll tell you what that opera is all about, it’s about ‘don’t mess with heavy soprano women,’ that’s what it’s all about.”
And as Valhalla goes up in flames? “It’s better to burn out than fade away…”
This year’s favorite shirt, thus far? “Much Ado About Nothung.”
Funny, and it tickles me several ways. Nothung is the sword passed from god to son in opera II, then reassembled for dragon-slaying in opera III. Pronounced “Note-hung,” near as I can tell. Not like I’m good with spitting out Germanic pronunciation, in the first place, by name notwithstanding.
In one coffee shop, in the Seattle area, some young lady was asking me if I saw “Much Ado About Nothing,” like, at the park, the free Shakespeare. No, this year the only one I saw was Richard III.
Heavy mental:
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[/style>I’ve been observing people, just what I like to do. There are two parts, really, one is running into an old high school buddy. The other side is watching the young people working in the coffee shops. In Texas, at least, in Austin, there would be a strict health code “thingy” that would require “closed-toe footwear.” I’m not sure about the wording, or what it all means, but I’m pretty sure it’s a local requirement, if not state-wide.
I first noticed it in one coffee shop in Seattle, while my brain was flying with the a fresh shot of caffeine. Girls behind the counter were all wearing flip-flops. For real. Then I noticed that flip flops and jeans, or leggings, or even shorts on the nicer afternoons was considered “appropriate.”
So as I shuffled around in my sandals, I realized I wasn’t that out of place, and, in fact, it makes more sense in such a wet environment, the flip-flops. Too bad the folks back home aren’t as enlightened. Just means I won’t be working in a coffee shop anytime too soon, other than as an office space.
The coffee shops I frequented in Seattle feel remarkably homey to me. Compared with that one place in Dallas, where the coffee was good, but it still felt like “Dallas,” at times. Austin and Seattle? Much closer to reality, at least, as I understand it. And Seattle? Coffee’s way good. Even better.
