A night at the opera...

Oh my god. Really. That and awesome. I can't think of any other short forms of describing my evening.

Allow me first to explain that the one gift I really wish I had was that of singing. I mean, anyone can learn almost anything, within reason. I myself have learned to draw and dance, within reason. I'll never win awards. I - in a different life time - taught myself basic piano and guitar playing. Within reason. I even have managed to delude myself into thinking that I can write quite convincingly, and while my drawings are only reasonable, my painting skills are pretty decent (I can colour inside or outside the lines, based on what's needed). Basic, but decent. I learned French from my cousins and Sesame Street. The one thing I've always wanted to do, and have never been able to teach myself, is to sing.

That's right. Unlike the American/Canadian/World Idol hopefuls, I've never been able to convince myself that my singing is anything more than blah. And I love to sing. It's a cruel paradox I've been forced to live with for nigh on 25 years. It's tragic, really.

So there we are, at the Hummingbird Centre (Which I really want to visit more often, although I'm at a current annual record of 3 times since February) and these men are singing. Really well. I mean, really well. And I'm enjoying it, I really am, especially since I get to watch Mr. Russell Braun as his diaphragm expands to phenomenal levels. I mean, people work out to get muscles like this guy has in his belly.

Anyway, this beautiful, Bottecelliesque woman with flaming red hair comes onto the stage and proceeds to storm around, pouting, pining, and making me hate her. Marina Mescheriakova is the name of the new woman at the top of my hit list. This woman not only has the nerve to be gorgeous and have flaming red hair, but I could actually feel myself turning green while I listened to her.

The Hummingbird site says "Torn between youthful desire and family honour, her broken heart and fractured mind are expressed in the most famous mad scene in all of opera." And, let me tell you, with reason. I don't think I've ever seen anything so stark and chilling in my life. And it was all set to music, with this woman, this woman just wailing her soul out at decibels that would deafen anyone in the first forty seven rows. (Luckily we were in row 48)

And did we ever luck out. Checking the website, I've just noticed that this is an extremely limited engagement with only six shows. Many cheers go to my grandmother for scoring us those wonderful tickets. I will have to eventually have a talk with her, though. The Opera Co. is also putting on a production of Margaret Atwood's The Handmaid's Tale.

While this book is undeniably and indescribably creepy and haunting, it's definitely a good read. And I don't doubt that it'll make a weird opera, but no more strange than the book. And my wonderful, charming and brilliant grandmother had tickets, but she let them go. Let them go! Turns out there are some pornographic scenes that she decided Cos and I wouldn't be willing to sit through.

Now, I've read the book, so I guess I know what to expect, and there's not a lot of pornographic scenes. Nothing that could be taken as sexy, anyhow, so I just consider that nudity. And, come on, it's the Canadian Opera Company, it's not going to be tasteless. And really, who wouldn't love to see those people in their knickers singing at the top of their lungs while Fred and his wife try to impregnate them? She should have given me those tickets just so I wouldn't imagine it over and over.

And finally, I've discovered something new and exciting to bring me back to The Hummingbird. R.E.M. are playing there in November. By many cruel twists of fate, I've never had a chance to see them live despite having tickets in my sweaty little palm on more than one occasion. And, I mean, Michael Stipe is such a prince. I worship at the alter of Stipe, I'll admit it.

So in all, today was good. Before the opera, we got to have lunch on yet another patio with Simon. I'm really into sucking up all the good weather I can get before I land myself a day job and winter comes. Then to my grandmother's for a visit which entailed a good hour and a half viewing of the finer points of Canadian Idol. But 'tis a story for another day, since My So-Called Life is coming on in a few minutes and I really must take my shower before Angela starts whining. Revisiting my dismal teen years and enjoying it!