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.

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.

Another Year Down...And Now SUMMER!!

Another year of college is DONE!!! Thank God, I almost thought that I wouldn't make it through. Nineteen credits weren't so bad in the beginning of the semester, but they were hell during the last three weeks!

Also, I have great news for you: I HAVE AN INTERNSHIP!!! At last...after 8 interviews, one finally came back postive. I found out Wednesday, even though it wasn't official until yesterday.

That added to the excellence that was Wednesday when I also had my TA stint renewed for next semester and was hit on by two random guys. Being hit on is kind of awkward, but sort of flattering all the same. From one of the instances, I've heard just about the worst pick-up line EVER: "Are you normally shy, or are you just being shy because I think you're beautiful?" I had to fight the urge to laugh in his face and run away very quickly.

Anyhoo...I have a few things I'd like to get done this summer:

1.) Survive my internship and have them miss me when I have to leave.
2.) Get a gorgeous tan, which has been quite elusive during the last few summers.
3.) Get to the beach on the weekends.
4.) Buy absolutley fabulous clothes with my hard-earned paycheck.
5.) Save and invest part of said paycheck so it lasts throughout the year.
6.) Frequent chique bistros, cafes, and tea rooms, thereby beginning to live the sophisticated yuppie life of my dreams.
7.) Network, network, NETWORK
8.) Read summer books (You know the carefree, breezy genre).

Notice I haven't mentioned anything about improving my single status. My reasons for that are:

A.) I'm probably going to be too busy to deal with that this summer.
B.) I've come to realization that guys my age still have a whole lot of growing up to do before they can compete at my level and suit my tastes.
C.) I know that if I'm not thinking about finding a relationship, one will probably side tackle me from out of the blue, ergo being blissfully oblivious, confident, and most of all not desperate will increase my chances of finding a match.

SO there you have it, chicitas, the preliminary prospects of Summer 2010. I'll probably have a follow-up post in late August/ ealry September analyzing whether or not summer met expectations.

Additionally, I'll try to be a bit more religious with my posts. Not all will be personal updates. There will probably be short stories and observations that will hopefully entertain you.

Tata For NOW!!