When I bought the opera tickets for last Saturday, I hadn’t remembered it was McLean Day. McLean Day is like Viva Vienna, except almost everything is free, including many concessions.
The kids all seeeemed past the fever virus enough to handle it, but a couple hours in the sun wiped them out. They went to bed at 5pm. Now that’s the life!
Kent and I, on the other hand, had to sleep at the Kennedy Center during Werther. In addition to literally nodding off in the first act, I had the worst time telling Albert and Werther apart. Even though we were in the 7th row. And they sounded totally different. And Werther had a good 30 lbs and three inches on Albert. During the final death bed scene, I kept thinking, “How many last gasps can this guy have? A fourth final shriek of horror and despair? Hey, Charlotte, pick up his gun and shoot him again. In the face this time. Die, die, die, already!! ”
Now, maybe I’ve seen too many 22-minute, triple-plotted sitcoms, and maybe this makes me an opera traitor, but I will admit that even without McLean Day, most operas are too long. They need either a slash and burn edit or an infusion of plot! I find myself in an opera thinking, “Could something please happen? Anything?” I love Wagner, too, but deep into the FOURTH HOUR of a Wagner opera, I have to start doing double digit multiplication tables in my head to keep from going totally insane!
|Yay! Mclean Day! This is the most fun I’ve had in my life! Thank you for taking me, Mommy. Woohoo!!|
|Milestone: First Forehand Ever. Next Stop Wimbledon.|
|Be still my heart.|
|He looks like someone took him to a full-length opera. Somebody make this end!|