So, I have decided that it is time to start my own social organization. The Curry and Ale club. This due to the fact that I have an infatuation with Indian Fodd (me loves) and a deep love for good beer. This also pertains to my AngloPhile self, wanting to be in a Football firm, and connected to the world of Football.
Bad News, Ashlyn was brought in to the Hospital yesterday after having a couple of Fainting Spells. She is now in the Pediatric ICU at Fairview. They are not completely sure what is going on yet, but no doubt it is her heart.
Last night I squeezed my behind into a suit and headed to the Ordway Center for MN Opera's production of The Grapes of Wrath. I have severely mixed feelings, on the singers, the story, the production, and not so mixed views on the music.
The music was bad, moving between upbeat, chirpy muscial theater moments, to stodgy, tonally ambiguous hours. I just didn't get it. IT was dramatic enough, and I thought there were some nice moments (Especially between Rosasharn and Connie), but then they would sing somehting together and the writing would be complete shit. Complete shit! Most dissapointing was Tom Joads I will be there scene. I have to say there were 2 scenes that I really enjoyed and that I thought were well done.
1. When Noah Joad, drowns himself. Maybe it is just because in someway I have a connection to Andy who played Noah, but it was good.
2. By far the best musically dramatic, and probably best performed (will bad vocal technique that was perfect) was the burying of Baby Moses by Uncle John.
Well, I don't know what to say. There were moments when some people were great, and other moments that ought not be mentioned. As a stand out - Andy Wilkouske, and the man who played Casy. I did't think anything good about the man who played Uncle John, until the burrying scene- I was impressed. Rosasharn, had the bright clear voice that I love to hear in that hall, unlike most others who have full but not pointed sound that is difficult to hear.
Most of the music seemed to be sung as written-difficult to make a line, difficult to comeplete a thought.
Sets- Minimal, but generally better than most MnOp productions.
Chorus. For a group that size, there just should have been more sound. period. Why can't they watch also. Wankers.
Orchestra- It was fair. For the most part, they stayed together, and followed the conductor.
Would I go again? Probably not. It is a long, depressing story. You also miss many of the political commentaries and hidden Gems found in the book.
And on another note- The Libretto was Awful. Just Awful, he should be ashamed of himself.
On a positive note, days are getting longer, Dunn Bros. has moved in, and I am my own person.
Democrats have control of the senate, I am going to New York, and I think I finally know who my friends are.
Chocolate is no longer comforting, so I feel no need to eat it, and soon fresh produce will be around.
I know that I am a good singer, and my musical thoughts are my own.
I am strong, I am invincible, I am Bill. Listen to me go.
I need to find a better place to blog, and figure out how to post pictures.
So, I haven't blogged in a long time, which is fine because nobody reads me, Thank God. Why is it that sensitive souls think about war and music and love and hate, and food. Always Food.
Oh that I could justify getting cable so I could sit mindlessly in front of the food network ; Alton Brown explaning the mechanics of Meringue, while Giada orgasms over another bean and tomato salad.
Could we have more vietnamese restaurants in St Paul? Have I frequented any of them yet? Could Boca Chica move to the Burbs, or India Palace next door?
Simply hearing the word "Curry" makes me crave a warm bitter in a pub, and a spicy vindaloo, that I miss. Jacket potatoes and beans have replaced grilled cheese, and Branston Pickle is nowhere to be found.
There are not enough hours in the day to accomplish all that needs to be done. Taxes will be due in a couple months and some of us owe the government a lot of money. The need to buy new shiney mac products hang over our heads, and what can we do about it. Nothing.
Extremely profound thoughts enter my mind and finally, marathonning and die Schone Mullerin make sense. Coffee has replaced the blood flowing through my veins and trying to understand what the cat is actually thinking is becoming possible. Lent is looming while brooding thoughts of recent Advent soul searching is fresh in my mind. Can I explain this?
Mangos are on sale, but trying to decide if cutting around the stoney pit is worth the juicy flesh is a struggle. I eat apples because they are less work than their juicey citrus friends, and leftovers in the fridge are eaten until they are gone, for moral and financial reasons.
Music is now a career, not an art. The Love is taken out for financial gain, while artistry is pushed aside for the good of the group. Doesn't anybody understand a musical phrase? Schubert's legato berceuse echoes in my cavernous throat grasping for air to float effortlessly to the inevitable conclusion.
May is around the corner, so are days of warmth, nightly running, and Iced Tea.