Step 1: Identify what has made you peeved. Decide whether or not this issue is a big deal:
a.) If no, move on with your life;
b.) If yes, see Step 2
Step 2: Let yourself brood. At this stage in the process, you'll be angry at everything, allowing unrequented violent rage to build up inside of you. But as all with all things, these emotions will pass and then you can move on to Step 3.
Step 3: Once anger subsides, you'll enter into a state of depression becoming either weepy and/or disillusioned. Go ahead let yourself feel.
Step 4: To get on with your life, run to the nearest coffee shop and order the biggest, most decadent item on the menu. Sit and allow the chill atmosphere calm you nerves.
Step 5: Walk out of the coffee shop well-caffeinated and ready to take on the world.
:-)
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Thursday, September 16, 2010
New Blog
I will still be updating this blog; however, I've also began a blog dedicated to coffee-talk.
If you're interested I suggest you check it out!
The Confessions of the Coffee Contessa
If you're interested I suggest you check it out!
The Confessions of the Coffee Contessa
Monday, September 6, 2010
The Article I Submitted to The New York Times Last Spring- Unpublished
As a college student engrossed in my studies, I often feel as though I am caught in a protective bubble which disconnects me from the events that occur outside of my academic realm. However, the controversies and debates surrounding the passage of the new health care bill have recently burst this bubble and have caused me to take a few moments to reflect about the outside world.
I am ashamed to admit that before the last few weeks my knowledge of this national debate has been very limited and, still I believe, inadequate. But due to the recent rhetoric and buzz words which have been thrown around, I have begun to listen and do research on the topic.
In my research, I have observed a constant, frenetic circus surrounding the entire debate on both sides. From posters, to political pep rallies, to the recent use of incendiary rhetoric, I have realized that the majority of the talking is just noise containing little evidence of fact, substance, or logic. Those in opposition to the health care bill appear to claim that the bill will lead to an apocalyptic massacre of babies and the utter and total extinction of our rights and freedoms as Americans. When claims such as these are thrown around, I believe it is necessary to take a step back, remove the tea kettle from the flames, and think about the reality of the situation before the water boils over.
My first thoughts went to the socialization of the health care system. I am a business student and therefore I am also a supporter of a free market system. I believe that privatized health care would probably be more efficient than a large national health care system, because traditionally large government institutions tend to be inefficient and cumbersome. However, in my research, I found that the health care bill does not eliminate private health care, but opens up new opportunities for those who cannot afford private health care. Yes, people will be required by penalty of a fine to have health care insurance by 2014; but they will not be required to accept the government health care. This doctrine felt familiar to me, where had I heard it previously?
After some thought, I had an answer to my question. Public health care is like public education. All children in the United States are required by law to have a certain amount of education. In this country, parents or guardians can choose to send their children to either the government funded public schools, or they can elect to pay tuition and send their children to a more expensive private school. Naturally, not everyone can afford to send their children to private school; therefore, they have to option for public. The public health care system which will be installed seems to enact the same principle.
Personally, I have had a private school education my entire life, yet my parents still pay taxes to support public schools as every other tax-paying American has done. Therefore, your “free” public schooling is not really “free” at all. The same would hold true for health care. Basic economics teaches that there is no such thing as a free lunch. Someone always has to pay. Conservatives may not like the fact that taxes may increase in order to support the new system, although I hear that taxes will not be used to fund health care. But think of it this way: at least all people will have to pay some form of a premium, rather than hospitals and tax payers having to eat the entire cost of uninsured patients who are given treatment.
Therefore, insinuating that even now tax-payers do not pay for health care is false; and in reality, it is not a strong basis for which to form an oppositional argument, because the bill does not call for an increase in taxes to fund the new system.
Additionally, the hyperbolic speeches and fear tactics used by conservatives primarily hurt their cause rather than aide it. Although I have always been a moderate, prior to the 2008 election I felt as though my political ideologies aligned more closely with conservatives than liberals. But now the illogical, unfounded, and radical claims asserted by the conservative party have turned me away from their cause. For example, the outburst of “baby killer” claiming that the health care bill supports abortions is completely false. In fact, I personally searched the 1,018 page bill for the offending clause which would support abortion. Nowhere in contents does the bill even mention abortions or birth control. Where the conservatives got this idea, I haven’t a clue. It would appear as though this thought was thrown into the fire to fuel the flames of hysteria of the already agitated masses.
Furthermore, for a party who claims to be in touch with the common man via the usage plain speech, I have been hearing a plethora of complicated metaphors pertaining to the resistance to this bill. These metaphors show violent imagery employing words and phrases such as “kill” and “take out.” Although these metaphors are blatantly figurative to the Congressmen who use them, their followers appear to be taking the metaphors quite literally.
Therefore, I would like to implore the conservative members of Congress to take care of how they address their displeasure. I think it is good that they wish to challenge and argue the bill. Our country’s constitution is beautiful because it allows citizens to voice their opinions and challenge the government. Since this is allowed in our country, I feel there is no need for violent protest and salacious claims. I believe oppositional protest should elevate the conversation rather than degrade it. If they want change, then work positively to engender it. By all means, petition the Supreme Court to decide on the constitutionality of the bill. Defend your position by logic and law rather than by fear. If conservatives follow this advice, they will find they have a stronger and more stable base from which they can launch their campaign, and they will win the future support of those who are turned off by their fantastic allegations which have been found to be mostly false or exaggerated.
I cannot say for certain whether or not this new government-run health care program will be for the betterment of the nation, but I am extremely interested to see how the events of the next few years unfold. What I do know is that almost every other fully-developed country has some form of socialized health care. Like the United State, many of these countries are world leaders. Their citizens do not seem to be laden down with the yolk of tyranny. Besides, the United States has never operated as a pure free market system. There have always been certain elements which have been government-run, from the Federal Reserve to the U.S. Postal Service. Additionally, to say that America will not be able to thrive with this new health care system severely underestimates the adaptability and tenacity of the American people. We have survived events and legislation exponentially more radical than the socialization of health care. Furthermore, we have passed through these gauntlets and trials by fire with grace, ingenuity, and the can-do spirit upon which America was built.
I believe in this country and its greatness. I believe in its citizen. I believe that they are reasonable, good, and hard-working. I trust that they will conduct themselves with the dignity and reason which I know they all possess. And it is with this reason that I hope they will continue to explore both sides of the health care debate to come to the most suitable conclusion for the welfare of the entire nation.
Thank you for your open ear and consideration of the thoughts that have been plaguing me for the past few weeks. I hope that this letter has sparked some thought or perhaps given insight into a different perspective about this national debate.
I am ashamed to admit that before the last few weeks my knowledge of this national debate has been very limited and, still I believe, inadequate. But due to the recent rhetoric and buzz words which have been thrown around, I have begun to listen and do research on the topic.
In my research, I have observed a constant, frenetic circus surrounding the entire debate on both sides. From posters, to political pep rallies, to the recent use of incendiary rhetoric, I have realized that the majority of the talking is just noise containing little evidence of fact, substance, or logic. Those in opposition to the health care bill appear to claim that the bill will lead to an apocalyptic massacre of babies and the utter and total extinction of our rights and freedoms as Americans. When claims such as these are thrown around, I believe it is necessary to take a step back, remove the tea kettle from the flames, and think about the reality of the situation before the water boils over.
My first thoughts went to the socialization of the health care system. I am a business student and therefore I am also a supporter of a free market system. I believe that privatized health care would probably be more efficient than a large national health care system, because traditionally large government institutions tend to be inefficient and cumbersome. However, in my research, I found that the health care bill does not eliminate private health care, but opens up new opportunities for those who cannot afford private health care. Yes, people will be required by penalty of a fine to have health care insurance by 2014; but they will not be required to accept the government health care. This doctrine felt familiar to me, where had I heard it previously?
After some thought, I had an answer to my question. Public health care is like public education. All children in the United States are required by law to have a certain amount of education. In this country, parents or guardians can choose to send their children to either the government funded public schools, or they can elect to pay tuition and send their children to a more expensive private school. Naturally, not everyone can afford to send their children to private school; therefore, they have to option for public. The public health care system which will be installed seems to enact the same principle.
Personally, I have had a private school education my entire life, yet my parents still pay taxes to support public schools as every other tax-paying American has done. Therefore, your “free” public schooling is not really “free” at all. The same would hold true for health care. Basic economics teaches that there is no such thing as a free lunch. Someone always has to pay. Conservatives may not like the fact that taxes may increase in order to support the new system, although I hear that taxes will not be used to fund health care. But think of it this way: at least all people will have to pay some form of a premium, rather than hospitals and tax payers having to eat the entire cost of uninsured patients who are given treatment.
Therefore, insinuating that even now tax-payers do not pay for health care is false; and in reality, it is not a strong basis for which to form an oppositional argument, because the bill does not call for an increase in taxes to fund the new system.
Additionally, the hyperbolic speeches and fear tactics used by conservatives primarily hurt their cause rather than aide it. Although I have always been a moderate, prior to the 2008 election I felt as though my political ideologies aligned more closely with conservatives than liberals. But now the illogical, unfounded, and radical claims asserted by the conservative party have turned me away from their cause. For example, the outburst of “baby killer” claiming that the health care bill supports abortions is completely false. In fact, I personally searched the 1,018 page bill for the offending clause which would support abortion. Nowhere in contents does the bill even mention abortions or birth control. Where the conservatives got this idea, I haven’t a clue. It would appear as though this thought was thrown into the fire to fuel the flames of hysteria of the already agitated masses.
Furthermore, for a party who claims to be in touch with the common man via the usage plain speech, I have been hearing a plethora of complicated metaphors pertaining to the resistance to this bill. These metaphors show violent imagery employing words and phrases such as “kill” and “take out.” Although these metaphors are blatantly figurative to the Congressmen who use them, their followers appear to be taking the metaphors quite literally.
Therefore, I would like to implore the conservative members of Congress to take care of how they address their displeasure. I think it is good that they wish to challenge and argue the bill. Our country’s constitution is beautiful because it allows citizens to voice their opinions and challenge the government. Since this is allowed in our country, I feel there is no need for violent protest and salacious claims. I believe oppositional protest should elevate the conversation rather than degrade it. If they want change, then work positively to engender it. By all means, petition the Supreme Court to decide on the constitutionality of the bill. Defend your position by logic and law rather than by fear. If conservatives follow this advice, they will find they have a stronger and more stable base from which they can launch their campaign, and they will win the future support of those who are turned off by their fantastic allegations which have been found to be mostly false or exaggerated.
I cannot say for certain whether or not this new government-run health care program will be for the betterment of the nation, but I am extremely interested to see how the events of the next few years unfold. What I do know is that almost every other fully-developed country has some form of socialized health care. Like the United State, many of these countries are world leaders. Their citizens do not seem to be laden down with the yolk of tyranny. Besides, the United States has never operated as a pure free market system. There have always been certain elements which have been government-run, from the Federal Reserve to the U.S. Postal Service. Additionally, to say that America will not be able to thrive with this new health care system severely underestimates the adaptability and tenacity of the American people. We have survived events and legislation exponentially more radical than the socialization of health care. Furthermore, we have passed through these gauntlets and trials by fire with grace, ingenuity, and the can-do spirit upon which America was built.
I believe in this country and its greatness. I believe in its citizen. I believe that they are reasonable, good, and hard-working. I trust that they will conduct themselves with the dignity and reason which I know they all possess. And it is with this reason that I hope they will continue to explore both sides of the health care debate to come to the most suitable conclusion for the welfare of the entire nation.
Thank you for your open ear and consideration of the thoughts that have been plaguing me for the past few weeks. I hope that this letter has sparked some thought or perhaps given insight into a different perspective about this national debate.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Love Never Dies: Can Lightening Strike Twice?
When I first heard that Sir Andrew Lloyd Weber planned on making a sequel to his hit musical, The Phantom of the Opera, I was ecstatic. Phantom might possibly be my favorite Broadway show of all time. However, when I learned that the sequel, Love Never Dies, was to be set in Coney Island and included Christine, Raoul, and their young, musically talented son, Gustave, I feared they had ruined the sequel with an unrealistic plot line for this follow-up. I could see the Phantom fleeing France and heading for Coney Island, because Coney Island was known for freak shows during the turn of the Twentieth Century. However, some other points did not seem to make sense, like why would Christine, the new Viscountess of Chaney, travel to Coney Island? When was this “musically, talented son,” which I could safely assume to be love child of Christine and the Phantom, conceived, because the last installment did not allow for such an occurrence?
In April, Love Never Dies premiered in London’s West End to mixed-reviews. Because the critics provided no help at all, I decided that I would have to get the sound track and decide for myself. Last weekend I listened to the entire soundtrack from start to finish with the intent to figure out the plot and see how I liked the overall sound of the play.
Musically, Love Never Dies was generally enjoyable. The score was beautiful with subtle connections to the first Phantom and only one direct connection. Going into it, I had no doubt that the score would be lovely, because after all, it was written by Weber, the man who gave the world the first Phantom, Cats, and Evita, just to name a few. The only songs that I was not thrilled about were the very American vaudeville sounding songs. They made sense for the setting, but they were a bit too “Broadway.” Nevertheless, the songs were good; however, none left me with chills like the songs from the first Phantom.
Like the first Phantom, the play opens with a retrospective prologue between Madame Giry and a freak show performer named Fleck. A past tragedy is alluded to and then the first act begins. In Act I, we are reintroduced to Meg Giry, Christine’s blonde friend, who now stars in one of the shows as the “Oo La La Girl.” She is now in love with the Phantom and tries to get him to notice her, but of course he’s still obsessed with Christine. Naturally, Madame Giry is not happy with the Phantom for ignoring her daughter after they smuggled him out of Europe and helped him begin his theater group on Coney Island. However, still pining over Christine, he develops a plan to have her come to Coney Island and sing in his show.
Enter Christine, Raoul, and Gustave, who have just arrived to New York, so Christine can accept the offer to sing in a performance at Coney Island. Why Coney and not the Met, is the question on the reporters’ lips as well as the audiences’. But never fear, Sir Andrew has thought of a good answer. Apparently, Raoul has developed quite a nasty taste for gambling and liquor. Therefore, Christine has to sing at Coney to get money to pay off the massive amount of debts that Raoul has amassed, typical and believable.
Once at Coney Island, Christine realizes the Phantom sent for her and she is not too happy, in fact neither are Raoul and both of the Girys. Then something predictable happens, Gustave, Christine’s son, meets the Phantom. They sing a song about music, “The Beauty Underneath,” which I believe most closely parallels “The Phantom of the Opera” in its rock and roll style only it’s less entrancing. In the song, the Phantom realizes how similar he and the boy are in tastes and their love of music. In the subsequent “Ah Ha” moment of the play, the Phantom realizes that Gustave is his son. The moment is bitter-sweet because the boy is afraid of the Phantom and yet the Phantom is glad that he has fathered such a beautiful child.
The Phantom confronts Christine about the boy and they sing one of the most beautiful songs in the play which recounts that one fateful night when their love was consummated. Apparently, after Christine went away with Raoul at the end of the last play, she must have had second thoughts because she sought the Phantom out and they spent a passion-filled night together. But alas, the Phantom left before morning because he did not want to see Christine leave, but at that time he did not know that he had also left her with child. So they both agree that they still love each other and they both seem happy.
Flash over to a bar, where Raoul is drinking himself blind and wondering why Christine loves him. The Phantom appears and they make a wager for Christine: if she sings, Raoul has to leave; if she does not sing, the Phantom will pay Raoul’s debt and they all leave.
Act II begins with each man attempting to convince Christine of what she should do. Once again she is torn between two men, but eventually ends up singing the title song, “Love Never Dies,” which almost has the sound of “Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again.” After the performance, Raoul is gone, as is Gustave. A frantic Christine and Phantom search Coney Island until someone tells them that the boy was seen with Meg Giry. Meg has taken the boy to get the Phantom’s attention. The Phantom manages to talk Meg into releasing the boy, but in a fit of fury, Meg shoots Christine. Christine then dies, and the Phantom appears to take her death much better than I thought he would. In the end, the Phantom takes Gustave.
And there you have it. The plot turned out to be better than I expected with a bit of a surprise at the end that fits with the ending of the first Phantom. Overall Love Never Dies was good, but I think I will need to see it as well as listen to draw my final conclusion.
In April, Love Never Dies premiered in London’s West End to mixed-reviews. Because the critics provided no help at all, I decided that I would have to get the sound track and decide for myself. Last weekend I listened to the entire soundtrack from start to finish with the intent to figure out the plot and see how I liked the overall sound of the play.
Musically, Love Never Dies was generally enjoyable. The score was beautiful with subtle connections to the first Phantom and only one direct connection. Going into it, I had no doubt that the score would be lovely, because after all, it was written by Weber, the man who gave the world the first Phantom, Cats, and Evita, just to name a few. The only songs that I was not thrilled about were the very American vaudeville sounding songs. They made sense for the setting, but they were a bit too “Broadway.” Nevertheless, the songs were good; however, none left me with chills like the songs from the first Phantom.
Like the first Phantom, the play opens with a retrospective prologue between Madame Giry and a freak show performer named Fleck. A past tragedy is alluded to and then the first act begins. In Act I, we are reintroduced to Meg Giry, Christine’s blonde friend, who now stars in one of the shows as the “Oo La La Girl.” She is now in love with the Phantom and tries to get him to notice her, but of course he’s still obsessed with Christine. Naturally, Madame Giry is not happy with the Phantom for ignoring her daughter after they smuggled him out of Europe and helped him begin his theater group on Coney Island. However, still pining over Christine, he develops a plan to have her come to Coney Island and sing in his show.
Enter Christine, Raoul, and Gustave, who have just arrived to New York, so Christine can accept the offer to sing in a performance at Coney Island. Why Coney and not the Met, is the question on the reporters’ lips as well as the audiences’. But never fear, Sir Andrew has thought of a good answer. Apparently, Raoul has developed quite a nasty taste for gambling and liquor. Therefore, Christine has to sing at Coney to get money to pay off the massive amount of debts that Raoul has amassed, typical and believable.
Once at Coney Island, Christine realizes the Phantom sent for her and she is not too happy, in fact neither are Raoul and both of the Girys. Then something predictable happens, Gustave, Christine’s son, meets the Phantom. They sing a song about music, “The Beauty Underneath,” which I believe most closely parallels “The Phantom of the Opera” in its rock and roll style only it’s less entrancing. In the song, the Phantom realizes how similar he and the boy are in tastes and their love of music. In the subsequent “Ah Ha” moment of the play, the Phantom realizes that Gustave is his son. The moment is bitter-sweet because the boy is afraid of the Phantom and yet the Phantom is glad that he has fathered such a beautiful child.
The Phantom confronts Christine about the boy and they sing one of the most beautiful songs in the play which recounts that one fateful night when their love was consummated. Apparently, after Christine went away with Raoul at the end of the last play, she must have had second thoughts because she sought the Phantom out and they spent a passion-filled night together. But alas, the Phantom left before morning because he did not want to see Christine leave, but at that time he did not know that he had also left her with child. So they both agree that they still love each other and they both seem happy.
Flash over to a bar, where Raoul is drinking himself blind and wondering why Christine loves him. The Phantom appears and they make a wager for Christine: if she sings, Raoul has to leave; if she does not sing, the Phantom will pay Raoul’s debt and they all leave.
Act II begins with each man attempting to convince Christine of what she should do. Once again she is torn between two men, but eventually ends up singing the title song, “Love Never Dies,” which almost has the sound of “Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again.” After the performance, Raoul is gone, as is Gustave. A frantic Christine and Phantom search Coney Island until someone tells them that the boy was seen with Meg Giry. Meg has taken the boy to get the Phantom’s attention. The Phantom manages to talk Meg into releasing the boy, but in a fit of fury, Meg shoots Christine. Christine then dies, and the Phantom appears to take her death much better than I thought he would. In the end, the Phantom takes Gustave.
And there you have it. The plot turned out to be better than I expected with a bit of a surprise at the end that fits with the ending of the first Phantom. Overall Love Never Dies was good, but I think I will need to see it as well as listen to draw my final conclusion.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Guidelines for Finding the Right Guy
Every woman has her own opinion about what’s desirable for a man. For me, I like a classy, sophisticated type. I’ve decided to share some of my guidelines. Some rules are humorous. Some might be shallow. But all are 100% certifiably true.
1. If a man says “fuck” like a Valley Girl says “like,” he is not classy, but trashy. WALK AWAY.
2. If a man brags to you about how much alcohol he can consume, nod and then LEAVE.
3. If a man starts to talk to you about his gun rack on the back of his truck, RUN.
4. If a man mentions a mattress in the bed of his truck, notify the authorities, he’s probably on a police watch list.
5. Always choose a man with a foreign sports car.
6. Never date a man who’s “finding himself,” because he probably never will.
7. Never date a man who’s a proclaimed “student of life.”
8. Never date a man who buys cheap alcohol, aka. no boxed wines or other alcohol that doesn't come in a glass bottle.
9. Always act as though you’re high maintenance, even if you’re not. It's serves the same purpose as high taxes: keep away the riff-raff.
10. Check for good teeth and fresh breathe.
11. If he has a beer belly at 20, it’s only going to get worse.
12. Never date a man with bigger boobs than yourself.
13. Never date a guy with a chin strap.
14. Good hygiene is not an option, it’s a requirement.
15. Avoid men with mullets.
16. If a man has Stars and Bars on any of his belongings and refers to the Civil War as “The War of Northern Aggression,” run before you get lynched.
17. Never date a guy whose ambition in life is to be a guitarist in a band and/or a rock star. Chances are he won't be successful and will end up costing you money to support his career.
18. Fiscal responsibility: you might not care about it when you’re young, but it’s going to be very sexy in the future.
19. Bad boys are good in theory, but a terrible and unrealistic life choice.
Unless, of course, you enjoy drama and heartache.
20. If he’s cheated on past girlfriends, remember the mathematical axiom: If a=b and b=c, then a=c.
1. If a man says “fuck” like a Valley Girl says “like,” he is not classy, but trashy. WALK AWAY.
2. If a man brags to you about how much alcohol he can consume, nod and then LEAVE.
3. If a man starts to talk to you about his gun rack on the back of his truck, RUN.
4. If a man mentions a mattress in the bed of his truck, notify the authorities, he’s probably on a police watch list.
5. Always choose a man with a foreign sports car.
6. Never date a man who’s “finding himself,” because he probably never will.
7. Never date a man who’s a proclaimed “student of life.”
8. Never date a man who buys cheap alcohol, aka. no boxed wines or other alcohol that doesn't come in a glass bottle.
9. Always act as though you’re high maintenance, even if you’re not. It's serves the same purpose as high taxes: keep away the riff-raff.
10. Check for good teeth and fresh breathe.
11. If he has a beer belly at 20, it’s only going to get worse.
12. Never date a man with bigger boobs than yourself.
13. Never date a guy with a chin strap.
14. Good hygiene is not an option, it’s a requirement.
15. Avoid men with mullets.
16. If a man has Stars and Bars on any of his belongings and refers to the Civil War as “The War of Northern Aggression,” run before you get lynched.
17. Never date a guy whose ambition in life is to be a guitarist in a band and/or a rock star. Chances are he won't be successful and will end up costing you money to support his career.
18. Fiscal responsibility: you might not care about it when you’re young, but it’s going to be very sexy in the future.
19. Bad boys are good in theory, but a terrible and unrealistic life choice.
Unless, of course, you enjoy drama and heartache.
20. If he’s cheated on past girlfriends, remember the mathematical axiom: If a=b and b=c, then a=c.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Night At the Opera
A chill hung in the air as I stepped out of the taxi and onto the curb at Lincoln Center. After a forty-five minute cab ride from my cousin’s apartment on Wall Street to Uptown Manhattan, I was glad for the air. Normally, I would have preferred to walk, but due to the cold and my open-toed stilettos, I decided a cab would be a more comfortable choice. Nevertheless, the ride felt as if it would go on forever.
I loathe the stop-and-go traffic which is normal for a city like New York. Tonight the generally spasmodic traffic was worsened tenfold because it was New Year’s Eve.
That meant that people were everywhere and getting through Midtown was a nigh impossible nightmare. I’m glad I left the apartment with plenty of time. The opera did not start for another half an hour, so I had time to get situated.
I quickly crossed Lincoln Center checking my clutch to make sure I had my ticket. The line was short, thank God. Stepping into the warm lobby of the Met, I was surrounded by the rich opulence which most grand opera houses are known for around the world. After showing my ticket to the usher, I spied the Opera Shop.
I had time so I thought that I should invest in a pair of opera glasses. I knew that they would probably cost a fortune, but I believe that, to a point, I can splurge. Thank you, Grandma, for the Christmas money. Entering the shop, I was distracted by the various items from scarves to posters to DVDs. Eventually, I managed to make my way over to the glasses. There were a few different types. The really pretty ones were behind glass. There was one for sixty dollars. To buy or not to buy? I bet Hamlet never had this difficult a decision. I threw caution to the winds and bought them, knowing that if I didn’t I would regret it later.
Leaving the Opera Shop, I checked my ticket once again to see where my seat was. I went up one level to my appropriate tier and found my box. I was pretty excited when I booked one of the boxes, very Phantom of the Opera, no? The price was reduced compared to the other box seats thanks to my Guild membership.
I settled into my seat looking up at the famed crystal chandelier shaped like snowflakes. My eyes wandered around the theater, taking in the splendor and people. I noticed that I was basically the youngest person there. Perhaps there were a few yuppies and international types in their late twenties or early thirties, but no one was in his or her early twenties like me. Correction: there was a little boy squirming in his seat. He obviously did not want to be there and was most likely forced to sit through the opera by the austere, artsy-looking academic, Middle-aged woman sitting next to him. The only thing that would probably entertain him was the Star Wars action figure that I spied with my new opera glasses.
Yes, I am a bit odd for a twenty-one year old. Here I am on New Year’s Eve by myself at the opera. No, I don’t have a boyfriend, nor did my family want to come with me. It’s not that they don’t love me, opera, or the city. It’s just that they did not want to spend the beginning of 2011 this way. My brother would rather go to a bar, club, or party with friends, and my parents do not like the crowded chaos of the city during New Year’s Eve. In fact, they did not want me to go either, but I said I was going and I had to do this for me. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, that is how I rebel: I go to the opera.
Thankfully, my cousin who lives in the city was bringing in the New Year in Long Beach and said I could crash at his place. I took a bus into Port Authority yesterday, spent the day buzzing around the city, and stayed at my cousin’s apartment. I could get used to this life. All I have to do now is get a job in mergers and acquisitions next year that pays well enough to support my newly experienced yuppie lifestyle.
I sighed, filling my lungs with air and an exhilarating feeling. Electricity was in the air as members of the orchestra began to warm-up their instruments. I was so excited; this was my first opera at the Met. Sure, I had seen a ballet or two, but this was my first live opera here. La Traviata. I had not heard this Verdi work in its entirety, but tonight I would. I settled back into my chair and tore my eyes away from my people watching and directed them toward my program.
As I perused the Rolex ads and plot synopsis of the opera, I sensed movement out of the corner of my right eye. I figured it must be my fellow box mates taking their seats, so I did not pay the movement any further attention. But then I heard a deep, rich, rough tone of a Scottish brogue which caused my ears to perk up and pulse to quicken. I have had a particular attraction to Scottish accents since I developed a celebrity crush on Gerard Butler during my freshmen year of high school. Sadly pathetic, but undeniably true. My mind was suddenly active, wondering if this extremely masculine voice had the visage to match. Therefore, I casually let my head rise from my program and pretended to nonchalantly gaze about the room as though I was taking in the general splendor: a commonly used ploy utilized my many women when trying to sneak an unassuming peek at an object.
When my gaze fell upon the Brogue next to me, my heart almost stopped. I hate to sound like a boy crazed teeny bopper, but he was gorgeous. The right amount of Adonis and Russell Crowe in Gladiator. I nearly laughed out loud at myself. I was starting to become ridiculous with my romance novel-esque description and thoughts of our future marriage. There I went again, classifying men into Yes, Maybe, and No categories as future mates. This one looked, and sounded, like a “Yes.” Calm down and pull yourself together, I told myself. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath which helped a bit. I was getting carried away with my imagination and I knew I was being silly.
The orchestra was warmed up by now and I could tell the opera would begin shortly. Nevertheless, in the minutes that preceded the prelude, I scouted out both ring fingers to see if he was married. I checked both because Europeans have the funny habit of wearing their wedding bands on their right hand. But this guy was clean. Next, I convinced myself that he probably had a girlfriend, or more likely the case, multiple girlfriends. However, it appeared as though none of them had accompanied him tonight… Enough, I thought. I was not going to dwell him anymore and ruin my opera viewing experience. I was being ridiculous.
The overture began after the snowflake chandeliers ascended to the ceiling and the house lights dimmed. During the opera, I let myself forget about the outside world and its distractions. My soul rose and fell with the crescendos and decrescendos.
I was awoken from the surreal spell one falls into during live theater productions as the curtain closed for intermission and the house lights came on again. I blinked, slowly coming back to the real world, smiling like an idiot. But what can I say, I was truly happy to be there and completely at ease; that was until I remembered that my incredibly dashing box partner was sitting next to me. That’s right, he probably saw my artless smile, naïve and blissful. Drat! I did not want to be perceived as some sort of bumpkin by this fine specimen of a man which can only be described as a living, breathing Michelangelan statue.
Attempting to recover, I tried to fix my posture and expression to be one of a much older, sophisticated, femme fatale-like creature that I had seen in movies; or in the words of my favorite author, Jane Austin, I tried to exude the mien of a poised, well-bred, young lady of discerning tastes. As I sat, I felt the need to stretch my legs, because I had been sitting for over an hour. So, I got up, stretched---discretely--- and looked around. The elderly couple, also sitting in the box went out to get champagne. That sounded like a positively brilliant suggestion, wine at the opera. I was about to leave as the elderly couple returned and addressed me.
The normal conversation unfolded in the style where the cute elderly couple spots a “youngster” at the theater feels compelled to remark about the presence of the latter. I do not mind these conversations. I enjoy forging commonalities between complete strangers. Besides I find such occasions wonderful for both demonstrating my understanding and passion for the art and to add information and memoirs to my repertoire.
I became so involved in the conversation that the ten minutes lights flashed. That indicated that it was probably too late to get my champagne. Disappointment clouded my spirits a bit. It would have been really posh to be sipping wine while watching an opera. Sighing, I told myself that there would be more opportunities in the future and not to make a big deal out of nothing.
Returning to my seat, I took up my program to see what the second half of the opera had in store. I was so deeply entrenched in my reading that I nearly jumped out of my seat and onto the chandelier when I was addressed by the man sitting next to me. Staring like a deer in headlights, I stuttered for him to please repeat what he had just said. I was taken off guard, partially because I was in deep concentration when reading the program and did not expect the following conversation, and because of the full view of his handsome face and dark, emerald green eyes.
I loathe the stop-and-go traffic which is normal for a city like New York. Tonight the generally spasmodic traffic was worsened tenfold because it was New Year’s Eve.
That meant that people were everywhere and getting through Midtown was a nigh impossible nightmare. I’m glad I left the apartment with plenty of time. The opera did not start for another half an hour, so I had time to get situated.
I quickly crossed Lincoln Center checking my clutch to make sure I had my ticket. The line was short, thank God. Stepping into the warm lobby of the Met, I was surrounded by the rich opulence which most grand opera houses are known for around the world. After showing my ticket to the usher, I spied the Opera Shop.
I had time so I thought that I should invest in a pair of opera glasses. I knew that they would probably cost a fortune, but I believe that, to a point, I can splurge. Thank you, Grandma, for the Christmas money. Entering the shop, I was distracted by the various items from scarves to posters to DVDs. Eventually, I managed to make my way over to the glasses. There were a few different types. The really pretty ones were behind glass. There was one for sixty dollars. To buy or not to buy? I bet Hamlet never had this difficult a decision. I threw caution to the winds and bought them, knowing that if I didn’t I would regret it later.
Leaving the Opera Shop, I checked my ticket once again to see where my seat was. I went up one level to my appropriate tier and found my box. I was pretty excited when I booked one of the boxes, very Phantom of the Opera, no? The price was reduced compared to the other box seats thanks to my Guild membership.
I settled into my seat looking up at the famed crystal chandelier shaped like snowflakes. My eyes wandered around the theater, taking in the splendor and people. I noticed that I was basically the youngest person there. Perhaps there were a few yuppies and international types in their late twenties or early thirties, but no one was in his or her early twenties like me. Correction: there was a little boy squirming in his seat. He obviously did not want to be there and was most likely forced to sit through the opera by the austere, artsy-looking academic, Middle-aged woman sitting next to him. The only thing that would probably entertain him was the Star Wars action figure that I spied with my new opera glasses.
Yes, I am a bit odd for a twenty-one year old. Here I am on New Year’s Eve by myself at the opera. No, I don’t have a boyfriend, nor did my family want to come with me. It’s not that they don’t love me, opera, or the city. It’s just that they did not want to spend the beginning of 2011 this way. My brother would rather go to a bar, club, or party with friends, and my parents do not like the crowded chaos of the city during New Year’s Eve. In fact, they did not want me to go either, but I said I was going and I had to do this for me. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, that is how I rebel: I go to the opera.
Thankfully, my cousin who lives in the city was bringing in the New Year in Long Beach and said I could crash at his place. I took a bus into Port Authority yesterday, spent the day buzzing around the city, and stayed at my cousin’s apartment. I could get used to this life. All I have to do now is get a job in mergers and acquisitions next year that pays well enough to support my newly experienced yuppie lifestyle.
I sighed, filling my lungs with air and an exhilarating feeling. Electricity was in the air as members of the orchestra began to warm-up their instruments. I was so excited; this was my first opera at the Met. Sure, I had seen a ballet or two, but this was my first live opera here. La Traviata. I had not heard this Verdi work in its entirety, but tonight I would. I settled back into my chair and tore my eyes away from my people watching and directed them toward my program.
As I perused the Rolex ads and plot synopsis of the opera, I sensed movement out of the corner of my right eye. I figured it must be my fellow box mates taking their seats, so I did not pay the movement any further attention. But then I heard a deep, rich, rough tone of a Scottish brogue which caused my ears to perk up and pulse to quicken. I have had a particular attraction to Scottish accents since I developed a celebrity crush on Gerard Butler during my freshmen year of high school. Sadly pathetic, but undeniably true. My mind was suddenly active, wondering if this extremely masculine voice had the visage to match. Therefore, I casually let my head rise from my program and pretended to nonchalantly gaze about the room as though I was taking in the general splendor: a commonly used ploy utilized my many women when trying to sneak an unassuming peek at an object.
When my gaze fell upon the Brogue next to me, my heart almost stopped. I hate to sound like a boy crazed teeny bopper, but he was gorgeous. The right amount of Adonis and Russell Crowe in Gladiator. I nearly laughed out loud at myself. I was starting to become ridiculous with my romance novel-esque description and thoughts of our future marriage. There I went again, classifying men into Yes, Maybe, and No categories as future mates. This one looked, and sounded, like a “Yes.” Calm down and pull yourself together, I told myself. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath which helped a bit. I was getting carried away with my imagination and I knew I was being silly.
The orchestra was warmed up by now and I could tell the opera would begin shortly. Nevertheless, in the minutes that preceded the prelude, I scouted out both ring fingers to see if he was married. I checked both because Europeans have the funny habit of wearing their wedding bands on their right hand. But this guy was clean. Next, I convinced myself that he probably had a girlfriend, or more likely the case, multiple girlfriends. However, it appeared as though none of them had accompanied him tonight… Enough, I thought. I was not going to dwell him anymore and ruin my opera viewing experience. I was being ridiculous.
The overture began after the snowflake chandeliers ascended to the ceiling and the house lights dimmed. During the opera, I let myself forget about the outside world and its distractions. My soul rose and fell with the crescendos and decrescendos.
I was awoken from the surreal spell one falls into during live theater productions as the curtain closed for intermission and the house lights came on again. I blinked, slowly coming back to the real world, smiling like an idiot. But what can I say, I was truly happy to be there and completely at ease; that was until I remembered that my incredibly dashing box partner was sitting next to me. That’s right, he probably saw my artless smile, naïve and blissful. Drat! I did not want to be perceived as some sort of bumpkin by this fine specimen of a man which can only be described as a living, breathing Michelangelan statue.
Attempting to recover, I tried to fix my posture and expression to be one of a much older, sophisticated, femme fatale-like creature that I had seen in movies; or in the words of my favorite author, Jane Austin, I tried to exude the mien of a poised, well-bred, young lady of discerning tastes. As I sat, I felt the need to stretch my legs, because I had been sitting for over an hour. So, I got up, stretched---discretely--- and looked around. The elderly couple, also sitting in the box went out to get champagne. That sounded like a positively brilliant suggestion, wine at the opera. I was about to leave as the elderly couple returned and addressed me.
The normal conversation unfolded in the style where the cute elderly couple spots a “youngster” at the theater feels compelled to remark about the presence of the latter. I do not mind these conversations. I enjoy forging commonalities between complete strangers. Besides I find such occasions wonderful for both demonstrating my understanding and passion for the art and to add information and memoirs to my repertoire.
I became so involved in the conversation that the ten minutes lights flashed. That indicated that it was probably too late to get my champagne. Disappointment clouded my spirits a bit. It would have been really posh to be sipping wine while watching an opera. Sighing, I told myself that there would be more opportunities in the future and not to make a big deal out of nothing.
Returning to my seat, I took up my program to see what the second half of the opera had in store. I was so deeply entrenched in my reading that I nearly jumped out of my seat and onto the chandelier when I was addressed by the man sitting next to me. Staring like a deer in headlights, I stuttered for him to please repeat what he had just said. I was taken off guard, partially because I was in deep concentration when reading the program and did not expect the following conversation, and because of the full view of his handsome face and dark, emerald green eyes.
Strange and Dark Corners of My Subconscious
Last night right before I awoke, I had the strangest dream I can only classify as a mellow nightmare. The following is what I can remember of it.
I was on a train to my new summer internship. I was somewhere in Kansas and a train only traveled there twice a day: drop-offs in the morning and pick-ups at night. On my train ride, I was doing some last minute research on my position. I really couldn't find much information but the information I did find was ambiguous and suspicious.
Eventually, I was being shown around by an old seedy looking woman. I was in this old house walking down a long hallway. At the end of the hallway there was chamber which was done in a incongruous futuristic style, a la Stars Wars. In side the cold, metallic chamber, all of the villains from various fairy tales and comic books were assembled. For some reason, Homer Simpson was also in attendance. He was surrounded by other Springfieldites and he was crying. Apparently, he had eaten too much pizza and there was still another pie and a half he had to complete. Homer was crying because his stomach hurt. However, this was somehow resolved and he was able to complete the remainding pies. I was then escorted to a seat next to a hag and served a white vegetable pizza.
Then my boss came in to tell everyone there, the villains of the world, the mission of our work this summer. I don't know how I came to my next conclusion, but somehow I did: my boss was the Devil. He didn't look like normal depictions of the Devil with a pitchfork and red horns. Instead he was a tall, soft-spoken, well-dressed gentleman in a black suit with burgundy trim. He had a neat goatee, small mustache, and dark beady eyes. Our mission for the summer was to collect as many souls as possible. The nearest town with a church was twenty minutes away and we'd be working everyday.
Instantly, I felt dread. How did I get into this mess? This was definitely not where I saw my life going. I knew I couldn't even sneak out to church to pray. I didn't know how I'd get out of this. Since the next train out of this town wouldn't come until tomorrow morning. I didn't want to be a quitter...but then I was like STOP!!! What are you saying? This internship is not that important. For some reason I decided that I wanted to be honest and non-secretive with everyone and decided to express my dissatisfaction and give my 12 hour notice to the Devil. I walked up to him and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned to me with a smile and said, "Yes, my dear?"
"Well, sir," I said, "I don't think I'm cut out for this work. You see, I've always been on God's side and this job conflicts with my comfort zone and my beliefs. So I have come to tell you that I'm leaving tomorrow and will no longer be working for you"
He replied with the two most terrifying words I could have ever expected, "Very well."
For some reason I knew that this conversation wasn't the end of it. Somehow I knew that there would be some sort of loop hole tomorrow as I tried to leave. But at that moment, the Devil opened up a linen closet that was filled with Christmas decorations. This shocked me. I almost asked why he had them, but thought the better of it. Then I was helping him hang two shower curtains which would be used as backdrops for old film projectors. My opinion was then asked if I thought the black or white shower curtain would be better for movie clarity. I didn't understand, but apparently it had something to do with psychology.
Then I jumped to a tailgating behind a red barn in the country with my parents (I don't know how I or they got there) where I was trying to keep my inner turmoil about quitting my internship to myself. Eventually, I broke down and told them. At first they were confused as to why I was planning to quit, but after further explanation they agreed that I should leave tomorrow...
And then I woke up.
I have no idea what that all means. I know I was probably influenced by my upcoming internship, and the recent movies I've just watched, namely The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnasus, Superhero Movie, and Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith. I'm sure there's a lesson and lots of symbolism in this dream which is why I have decided to write it down.
If you can think of anything, let me know if you want. Until next time.
I was on a train to my new summer internship. I was somewhere in Kansas and a train only traveled there twice a day: drop-offs in the morning and pick-ups at night. On my train ride, I was doing some last minute research on my position. I really couldn't find much information but the information I did find was ambiguous and suspicious.
Eventually, I was being shown around by an old seedy looking woman. I was in this old house walking down a long hallway. At the end of the hallway there was chamber which was done in a incongruous futuristic style, a la Stars Wars. In side the cold, metallic chamber, all of the villains from various fairy tales and comic books were assembled. For some reason, Homer Simpson was also in attendance. He was surrounded by other Springfieldites and he was crying. Apparently, he had eaten too much pizza and there was still another pie and a half he had to complete. Homer was crying because his stomach hurt. However, this was somehow resolved and he was able to complete the remainding pies. I was then escorted to a seat next to a hag and served a white vegetable pizza.
Then my boss came in to tell everyone there, the villains of the world, the mission of our work this summer. I don't know how I came to my next conclusion, but somehow I did: my boss was the Devil. He didn't look like normal depictions of the Devil with a pitchfork and red horns. Instead he was a tall, soft-spoken, well-dressed gentleman in a black suit with burgundy trim. He had a neat goatee, small mustache, and dark beady eyes. Our mission for the summer was to collect as many souls as possible. The nearest town with a church was twenty minutes away and we'd be working everyday.
Instantly, I felt dread. How did I get into this mess? This was definitely not where I saw my life going. I knew I couldn't even sneak out to church to pray. I didn't know how I'd get out of this. Since the next train out of this town wouldn't come until tomorrow morning. I didn't want to be a quitter...but then I was like STOP!!! What are you saying? This internship is not that important. For some reason I decided that I wanted to be honest and non-secretive with everyone and decided to express my dissatisfaction and give my 12 hour notice to the Devil. I walked up to him and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned to me with a smile and said, "Yes, my dear?"
"Well, sir," I said, "I don't think I'm cut out for this work. You see, I've always been on God's side and this job conflicts with my comfort zone and my beliefs. So I have come to tell you that I'm leaving tomorrow and will no longer be working for you"
He replied with the two most terrifying words I could have ever expected, "Very well."
For some reason I knew that this conversation wasn't the end of it. Somehow I knew that there would be some sort of loop hole tomorrow as I tried to leave. But at that moment, the Devil opened up a linen closet that was filled with Christmas decorations. This shocked me. I almost asked why he had them, but thought the better of it. Then I was helping him hang two shower curtains which would be used as backdrops for old film projectors. My opinion was then asked if I thought the black or white shower curtain would be better for movie clarity. I didn't understand, but apparently it had something to do with psychology.
Then I jumped to a tailgating behind a red barn in the country with my parents (I don't know how I or they got there) where I was trying to keep my inner turmoil about quitting my internship to myself. Eventually, I broke down and told them. At first they were confused as to why I was planning to quit, but after further explanation they agreed that I should leave tomorrow...
And then I woke up.
I have no idea what that all means. I know I was probably influenced by my upcoming internship, and the recent movies I've just watched, namely The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnasus, Superhero Movie, and Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith. I'm sure there's a lesson and lots of symbolism in this dream which is why I have decided to write it down.
If you can think of anything, let me know if you want. Until next time.
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