OTAS, you found it

I had a chance to listen to the Met’s production of Don Carlo recently and have to say that it was enlightening. Having seen it once with my mother, and now this second time, I now realize its musical value and how difficult it is to pull off. I’ve listened to arias from it by Callas --but it's not a diva opera, but a compilation of diva and divo roles –5 prime characters. The Met’s production was a once in a century performance (The New York Times said it was the greatest performance since 1981, with Domingo and Freni).

The music in act 4 is wonderful. Verdi came at the dawn of Bel Canto -- a technical stype of singing -- but nonetheless expected his singers to be trained in it. So this cast, conducted by James Levine himself was something special: "Dramatico Coloratura" among all the three principals, conveying a an evil among the most benign and a benign among the most evil.

Callas taught me how to listen to opera. Opera is not just a few great tunes, but rather dramatic moments that move the story along in every moment. In “O Don Fatale” where Eboli curses her beauty for having gotten her into a love affair with the king was unnerving. (She is forced to admit this to the queen, Elisabeth, of her sins.) And the final aria, sung by Elisabeth, where she awaits her tortured love, sings “Tu che le vanità” was, as my mother put it, “worth the continental trip from California to New York alone”.

Dear God, even I didn’t appreciate it the first time. I’ve always recognize the opera as an art form that requires the most introduction. But to know opera is not enough, you must know the opera in performance.

While most of the world grapples with the war in Iraq, civil rights, gay marriage, genocide and Africa, and international trading rules, another debate rages in the operatic world: booing.

In the span of one week, Placido Domingo was booed for his conducting of La Boheme at the Metropolitan Opera and – more dramatically – Alagna at La Scala in Milan for his performance as Radames in “Aida”. In the latter, Alagno was promptly booed by the upper balconies after singing his first aria, Celeste Aida. Perhaps in a bad mood, having a bad day, he defiantly waved to the audience before walking off-stage mid-performance.

Take a moment to let that sink in. On one occasion, an operatic icon was booed at the Met, and at La Scala, one of the world’s top tenors walks off stage after only about 20 minutes since curtain. Certainly, Domingo fucked up the conducting – I was there – during a high-profile performance (Netrebko and Villazon during a one-performance-only, dream-team cast, broadcast internationally). And in Milan, La Scala’s new production of Aida was certainly the stuff of Italian pomp and circumstance, yet the tenor sang a weak first aria (one of the most difficult in all opera).

In opera booing is a tradition. Even the great Maria Callas was booed during her early years at La Scala. She recalls vegetables being thrown on the stage during a curtain call: Gracefully, she simply picked up the radishes by their greens, dangled them in front of the audience, then took an elegant bow before an otherwise adoring public. The audience went crazy.

Many in the opera world regard booing as an embodiment of their high standards: It’s a tough crowd at the Met and La Scala. . . you’d better have your shit together. But this indignant display of displeasure was the practice of groundlings centuries ago, and something I’d hoped we’ve since evolved from: Better to save this stuff for the judges of American Idol then in temples of high art. Few people in the world can sing even fathom singing Celeste Aida in the shower, let alone in front of thousands of people at the birthplace of Western theatre. But yet, even Callas knew how to gracefully boo back.

Last weekend I went to my hometown, Chicago. Sweet ole’ Chicago.

It was, as usual, a great trip with the only regret being that I should have stayed longer. Nonetheless, I was able to spend a day with my grandparents helping them with decorating the Christmas tree, go out on the town and see new friends, then going to lunch the following day to catch up with old friends.

I got in a little late Friday night and basically ate dinner and hung out with Anthony and his roommate Dave. Then Saturday I went to the grandparents’ place for a visit. Saturay night was another thing. Met up with people – Jean included – and nearly drank myself to death at Cocktail with my old neighbor Val (another opera fanatic) and friends. Sunday was rough. Nonetheless I was able to make it out to a lingering lunch with my old fried Gregg and the rest of the UIC gang (Kira, Melody, Neena, as well as Gregg, Dave, David, and Manny).

Before I knew it I had to go back to the Big Apple with all its allure. But I don’t forget my Chicago friends who know me more than anyone and have seen me through thick and thin. Old friends, old friends!

Work has somewhat settled down: I’m getting home before midnight; have had 8 hours of sleep; am actually able to sit and chat with people from time and time and, God willing, have lunch with someone other than my computer.

As if you couldn’t tell from my last blog, the situation there has not been that great. I work with very difficult people in a thuggish industry. I worked my ass off, regardless, and the CEO even said “you pulled off nothing short of a miracle”. Thank God, some recognition for staying at work so late I actually caught the morning rush-hour traffic ON MY WAY HOME.

Why? I do it all so I have some money to do the things I want in life. I don't know.

Speaking of which, my mother came in last weekend. It was nice. We went shopping, eating, drinking and to the opera all weekend.

First night out was to see La Boheme. The Met’s marvelous production was graced with a new face: Angela Marambio as this season’s Mimi, and her Met debut. She was marvelous. She had a huge and resonating voice that spilled out drama, sadness, and love.

And Saturday we went out to see Mozart’s Idomineo. Problem is that the opera is somewhat dull. Though the singing was top notch, and I caught myself drifting in and out of sleep. I just couldn’t get into it.

Sunday we walked down to see the 5th avenue extravagance (tree, Sachs, etc.). For all the years I’ve been living here, I never actually got out and walked down 5th during the Christmas season. It was really something.

Then Monday was yet another opera, Don Carlo. OMFG it was a dream team cast -- Levine conducted – and everything about it was great. I guess you can’t go wrong with Verdi composing music about a doomed romance with the backdrop of the Spanish Inquisition.

Well, I guess I’m in a better mood, now.

Tree at Rockafeller Center

Mom from the Grand Tier at the Metropolitan Opera, Lincoln Center, to see Don Carlo.

It's after 1am and I'm still at this God-forsaken office working for this God-forsaken company. I'm at a point where I completely hate my job, the people who I work with, and the people I work for. People's expectations are totally unrealistic, people's personalities are toxic, and I've become jaded.

At the end of the day, I find this place totally despicable and the people vile and horrible. The CEO is a wack job, others at the top are grossly incompetent and the rest of us pick up the slack.

And I fucking have to go to Florida for this meeting, and don't know when I'm going to have time to pack between now and when my flight leaves at fucking 4pm tomorrow afternoon.

So that, as they say, is that. Why didn't I keep my nice cushy Government job?!