Wooo, Pig, Sooie!!

This was my "culture hog" weekend (you know, when you go from one art trough to another, soaking in, slopping up, and stuffing yourself on the high culture, low culture, folk culture, or popular culture). Saturday, I saw the Metropolitan Opera perform "La Damnation De Faust" by Berlioz via HD theater. Definitely a blued-hair crowd at the Regal Hollywood 18 in Huntsville but that's okay. The music was classic Berlioz with a set similar to the multilevel jail set from the movie, "Chicago," with acrobatics and infrared-controlled video projection a la Cirque de Soleil (during one of the intermission interviews, I found out the opera's director, Robert Lepage, also directed the set of a Cirque de Soleil show). Glad that opera has been modernized for us young folks. LOL

The only negative about the opera was the lead female singer, Susan Graham, who looked a decade (or two) older than the character she was portraying, Marguerite. John Relyea as Mephistopheles clearly upstaged and out-acted Marcello Giordani, a decent-acting Faust with a bland face but an even better singer with a good French accent.

Sunday morning I attended a local Methodist Church in Huntsville, built in the style of wood-and-brick European cathedrals, to enjoy singing the old-time harmonious church hymns, hear a halfway decent choir and hope for a good organ solo (and a bonus! -- the boring annual "time to pledge your money and services" sermon by a newly ordained minister).

Last night, I watched the swingin' performance of the Miss Tess Trio (a smaller version of Miss Tess and the Bon Ton Parade) at the Flying Monkey Arts Center in Huntsville. Wow! They had three to six couples toe-tapping and dancing on the floor at any one time. I felt like I was back in the Jazz Age, what with the brown-baggin' going on and moonshine jug sitting on the table nearby. The opening act, Helen Keller's Ukulele was more interesting, as far as music style goes (imagine a mix of circus music and Tiny Tim) but not something to dance to -- that music was more appropriate for a soundtrack, in my opinion -- the lead singer wearing what I call grandma glasses, shoulder-length hair and a green scarf, sang with a soft voice. I drank a bottle of old-fashioned ginger ale from the Buffalo Rock company -- great fizzing sensation!

Anyway, the band inspired me to sketch them in action. The band members autographed the sketch after the show and asked me to scan and email it to them because they thought it was cool (so do I, knowing I drew it in dim light from the stage!). I forwarded the sketch to the band this morning.

Helen Keller's Ukulele inspired me to rewrite my novel and retitle it from "Passing The Time" to one of the following:

· Rational Exuberance
· A Period Not Yet Justified
· A Space Not Justified
· Capitalized and Justified
· No Photos Outside Tourist Areas
· A City Goes Silent
· A Space, A Period and A Capital

The novel is a prequel to the next one which will star the illustrious Kay (a/k/a Belle) and Phyllis (a/k/a Sofia).

Here's a sample from the novel:

A few weeks later I found myself at home alone, with my wife gone on a business trip and my cats just wanting to be left alone sunning in the dining room. Bored, I drove over to Fredirique's house so I could once again heave open the ancient garage door and face the daunting task of solving the mystery of Japanese rice burners. I knew Fredirique wasn't home so I could work on the bike in meditative peace, sort of like Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, only I haven't read the book so I know about as much about it as I did fixing the bike.

Sitting on the concrete floor in the suffocating heat of that day was bad enough but here I was trying to be a backyard mechanic, skillfully whacking at a stubborn bolt with a broken pair of pliers. After two hours of banging and cursing, I leaned backed, letting my neck rest on the cool vinyl of the weight bench. I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep, but only momentarily.

In my half-awake state, I heard the sound of an approaching vehicle whose engine noise reminded me of an old Volvo. Didn’t Fredirique own a Volvo, I wondered. The engine stopped and a door opened. With my eyes closed, I couldn't see the person coming but I imagined someone getting closer.

"Lee, are you all right?" a concerned voice said into my left ear. I looked up to see Fredirique leaning down over me. Caught as I was half-asleep, my mind raced through a multitude of personalities like a cat in a room full of catnip. In the same moment, panic swept through my mind, then relief when I realized I was not under attack by an invisible voice. At first, my platonic self looked at her sisterly eyes but then my caveman self took over and I glanced down at her shirt hanging open, exposing her white bra which, of course, led down to her hips shrink-wrapped in a pair of tight shorts. My eyes continued to slide down her thin white thighs until my self-conscience self took over (pretty well stereotyped by the psychiatrist-obsessed Woody Allen) and I found myself looking down at my hands stained with grease and engine oil.

"Uh, yeah, I just can't seem to get the engine case open," I managed to say out of my dried-out throat.

"Why don't you come inside for a minute and cool off? I can turn the air conditioner on for a little while."

"Okay," I mumbled.

"I've got some juice leftover in the fridge, if you want some," Fredirique yelled from her bedroom as she unpacked her suitcase. "There may be a beer or two in there, too."

"No thanks," I managed to say, sprawled out on the couch.

"Are you sure?"

I lay there in the cool silence.

"I'll get it for you, for a price," she said as she walked up to the couch from behind.

I leaned forward, craning my neck and cocking my eyebrows. "Like what?"

"Well, considering that I've let you keep your bike here for over a month and...well, you can see that the air conditioner doesn't do that good a job."

"It feels fine to me."

"Lee-e-e-e," she said in a nasally, whining voice, "I mean it. When you stop sweating like a pig on my couch, you'll see what I mean. You won't feel cold anymore."

"So, uh, you want me to fix your air conditioner."

"No, I had something else in mind," she said in a quiet voice, while beckoning me to the bedroom hallway with her finger.

I sat up on the couch. "So what do you have to drink?" I said as I got up and walked toward the kitchen.

"Lee, come here for a minute, will you? I have something to show you."

I stopped at the kitchen doorway. What exactly was going on here? Either I was misreading the signals or Fredirique didn't know when to stop teasing me. I shrugged my shoulders and turned back toward the living room. "What do you want?"

"Come on into the bedroom," her voice called out.

I stepped into the small hallway and stuck my head in her bedroom. Seeing her unmade bed with the covers piled up made me smile. Miss Architectural Digest didn't make her bed.

"No, over here," she said behind my back. I turned around to see Fredirique standing in the bedroom at the other end of the hallway.

I walked up behind her.

"Give me your honest opinion of what you think," she said, putting her hands on her hips with pride.

"Of what," I asked timidly.