I went to the Cincinnati Opera last night, and my first, most overwhelming, most lasting response: WOW!
I wasn’t sure I could handle 6 hours of opera, but the hours flew by, being exposed to the talents of the cast, the art of the sets, the energy of the audience. Having the tickets I had certainly helped, too. First balcony, first row, dead center. The acoustics and the view were spectacular. I loved being able to see into the pit, get to experience the musicians as artists and people rather than recordings.
The story was Shakespearean, filled with confusion, convoluted planning, star-crossed lovers. There was word play (I was able to catch some of the German, but the supertitle translations helped, too). There was cross-generational conflict. There was love of plot, characters and progression.
Given my background (my far, far away background, of say, high school), I love the performing arts. I miss being a part of a stage production, miss feeling the wave of music hit me as I take in a breath to push my voice into an audience. I miss that rush. But experiencing the wave of music, in terms of vocal and instrumental, on the other side of the stage was a welcome reminder of the energy that music, poetry, art can give.
The story behind the music, too, helped to inspire me to do everything I can to preserve a love of music and the arts in the next generation of my children.
So, my basic review: Never let a sub-textual title of “The Six Hour Opera” keep you from experiencing Die Meistersinger von Nurnberg.
I’m a geek, and I embrace this title. I cherish the idea that not only is okay to be smart and devoted to being the outliers of our social bubble, it is something to be PROUD of.
I’m not a hardcore geek. I am far from being a Geek God, as my husband is. (This ranking comes courtesy of http://www.innergeek.us/geek.html, the first version of which we both helped to draft, among our close circle of geeks and wannabes.)
My personal rank is Total Geek. I’m hoping to move up the chain of commands in geeks by attending my first San Diego Comic Con in 2010. I’m sure a few more boxes will be checked off once I attend - for example, I picked up a Star Trek dress to wear… But despite my somewhat lower status on the geek totem pole, I’m a hard-core lover of all things geek.
I can’t wait to have light shine on me from polite smiles to a crowd by some of my favorite stars. I can’t wait to basque in the glow of my husband basquing in the glow of Felicia Day. (My glow will be bright; his will be effervescent.) I look forward to watching, mouth agape, the wondrous parade at the Masquerade.
The idea of the overwhelming number of exhibits and booths for me to explore boggles my mind. And I can’t wait to have my breath catch at that perfect symbol of my time spent celebrating geekery. Will I find a new comic that draws me in? Will I find a Magic Card to add to my pitiful collection? Will I find a signed copy of something by Gaiman, Carroll (Lewis or Jonathan), or Card?
I will be tired. You might find me curled up against a wall, a book in hand, eyes shut even though the pages are open. You might find me limping along because the boots (I have yet to find) for that Star Trek dress weren’t broken in enough before the 7 block walk to the convention center from our hotel room. But then again, you might find me bouncing in line to be let into a seminar, high on Bawls if I can find a vendor selling it.
No matter what, you’ll be able to find me. I’ll be the redhead in the figurative corner, people watching, wishing I could wiggle out of the straight jacket created by years of trying to hide my geekdom.
But this year, I’ll be making more of a tear in that restraint than ever before, and I can’t wait.
Even if I’m not the newbie for you, please include one of us in your documentary. We’re part of the crowd, too, and Comic Con is just as exciting for us.
Thank you,
Brianna Cole
aka HippieLunatic
If you are interested in trying to get your own spotlight, send comiccondoc *at* gmail.com a note… Check out http://comic-con.morganspurlock.com/ for a little more info.
The Ghost in Love makes me want to track down Jonathan Carroll and hug him. (The Land of Laughs made me want to hug him, but this novel takes it up a notch.)
This is the story of Ben, his former girlfriend - German, his ghost - Ling, and his dog - Pilot. To say the least, it is a complex tale of how the four of them interact with the rest of society, the world at large, each other, and themselves. This novel explores many aspects of the self and the amount of power an individual has over the course of his life.
Perhaps the strongest compliment I can give to the beauty of this work is that I did not want to finish it. I got to the final chapter, and I was so in love with the characters, the depth of the themes, the lyrics of the prose, that I could not fathom how it was going to end, and I didn’t want it to. Much like in the midst of new relationship energy, you can’t imagine any way that a partnership will falter, and you want to grab on tightly to any piece of the beauty you are enveloped in, I wanted to hold on to this story, never see it end, but allow my heart to play the “what if” game over and over, following multiple paths the story might take, where certain decisions might lead.
So, I put it down. I waited a few hours. And then I had to pick it back up, as I didn’t want to be separated from it any longer.
The final chapter was a thing of beauty, if a bit too blatant in a few moments for my personal taste. I felt as though Carroll was hitting the reader on the head (gently, not wanting to hurt you) with his mantra. And while I appreciated it once, maybe even twice, I did get to a point where I wanted to hug the man a bit more tightly just to get him to shut up. I loved the message, but I also appreciate subtlety.
Overall, The Ghost in Love is a masterpiece of the exploration of taking charge of one’s self and destiny. The faults are part of the whole, make the whole more stunning, and should not be viewed as a weakness of the piece… as that would mean I took nothing from the work at all.
This is a brilliant exploration of what stands behind the seeming Utopia of Oz. While there are parts that don’t quite live up to the musical, there are parts of the musical that come no where close to the depth of the novel, either (as should rightly be the case).
I adored getting a better feeling of the story of the Wicked Witch of the West, what would have led her to the woman she becomes in the Wizard of Oz. Knowing her family life, her relationship with her sister, her connection with Glinda before they are merely at each other’s throats. I loved the lead in, learning about the politics and the different areas of Oz, each with their own complexities. Perhaps more than that, though, I adored seeing how intentions and perceptions do not match. How I can see the story of Dorthy as portrayed by Baum in glimpses of Maguire’s tale is absolutely fantastic.
As a reader who is interested in interpersonal relationships as well, I was struck by some of the non-traditional diagrams of relationships. There was a significant exploration of a triad relationship between Elphaba’s mother, father, and another man. There was mention of a sex scene bar. There was a prominent relationship between a married man and Elphaba, with a child being born to them.
Maguire has turned the Wonderful Wizard of Oz into the father the Wicked Witch of the West, making both characters that much grander in the eyes of this reader.
Okay, I’ll be honest with you. I don’t really know the biblical story of Elijah. Like, at all. But, I had read and appreciatedThe Alchemist, biblical fiction is right up my alley, even if I don’t know the basis, and I had picked this book up twice now (once on the $2 clearance shelf, and once at Book Bums - a coffee shop/lending library in Olde West Chester), so I figured it was time to read it.
And, wow.
Maybe once a year, I find a book that hits all the right chords of prose. Once every couple of years, I finish a book, close it, and hold it to my chest, hoping a bit more of the seamless goodness will make its way to my heart through osmosis.
No, this is not a book for all audiences, but it is one that I would have trouble NOT recommending to someone. Even if you are not a believer in one higher power (be it a trinity or a solo figure), this is a book that helps to define what it is that makes a human being a great one: the ability to challenge himself and the powers acting in his life; the ability to learn to love and to lose; the ability to set your own goals, even when no success has come your way in quite sometime.
So many have deemed The Alchemist a life-changing novel. This is Coelho’s masterpiece for me… at least of the ones I’ve read so far, and I will certainly be looking to complete my collection.
The Know-It-All was yet another terrific memoir by AJ Jacobs, this time exploring the Encyclopædia Britannica, from A to Z. (And yes, I did learn that the æ symbol is known as a ligature…)
While the book is more about Jacob’s personal life during the year it takes him to read all of the volumes of the reference collection, this memoir can be read as a CliffsNotes version of the encyclopedia. And it is a very entertaining study guide. There were entries that I wanted to dog ear, in order to go learn more about them - such as Sternberg’s theories on intelligence, Ecclesiastes, and Victoria Woodhull (whom I dimly recall was the subject of one of my high school history projects).
I see lead ups to another work by Jacobs, which I loved (perhaps even a bit more than The Know-It-All) - The Year of Living Biblically. He is set to figure out the human aspect of the world, and where each individual has learning opportunities, in both scholastic endeavors and moral endeavors.
I highly recommend this book to anyone who loves to learn, who loves to be reminded of all there is to learn in this world, and who is able to reconcile the fact that they don’t and can’t know everything with the amount of joy a challenge to grow can bring to them.
A mix of peppers, onions, oyster mushrooms, garlic, tomatoes and seasonings cooked in a stew pot for about 30 minutes. Then, I cooked a chicken breast and some rice, mixed in a very small portion of the cacciatore sauce, and enjoyed.
What I love most about this recipe is the rest of the uses for the leftover sauces. Tomorrow will be tilapia with a tomato cream sauce over it. Lunches for me this week will be tuna salad with some of the sauce mixed in. And then I have two meals’ sauces ready to go in the freezer for later on in the month… say when I have the audit at the office going on.
These are the types of stories that make me want to get back into writing on a regular basis. They are fresh and full, and have such a wide range of imagination that they make me remember what it is to create a world that can easily be traveled to and from in the course of 15 minutes.
While some of the stories are dark, a mature tween should have no difficulty in dealing with the themes and the questions that are posed by these stories. “October in the Chair” and “Troll Bridge” were my personal favorites. A personification of the months and what their stories would be hit squarely on my feelings, and an interesting twist on the story of the troll under a bridge made my heart cry.
It has been a long time since I was able to pick up a book and read it in a day (not necessarily a lack of shorter novellas in my library, but a lack of peace in the household and the freedom to just read). Love Story by Erich Segal broke my streak of 3 weeks spans between book completions.
Yes, it is a story of love, and I am a chick and cried at the end. But not only is it filled with pain, it is filled with a true sense of love that makes the pain that much more difficult to bear. Given that the opening line of the novel is a huge spoiler to the rest of the story, and that within the last 20 pages, it is obvious what the ending will entail. I still found myself completely wrapped up in Oliver and Jenny’s love, their banter with one another, though.
We started with bright lights and an anonymous kiss -
the crowds pushing two strangers together.
My stomach dropped with the meeting of our lips.
Cupid’s arrow shot with deep precision,
my heart took flight at the idea of sweet love,
and I followed a path, forgetting to leave even crumbs behind me.
Luck surrounded me on all four fronts,
every touch was golden,
all coffees had an Irish sweetness.
Small pranks and problems were ignored,
figuring it was all in good fun,
and I would be a fool to leave.
Life exploded for me, then,
igniting the sky and horizon in a blaze.
I tried to remember how to celebrate independence.
My heart worked to forget your touch,
as I labored to ignore my need
to get you back.
I masked my fear that I would be alone,
forever unworthy of being loved,
no one wanting the treats I had to offer.
I tried to be grateful for all
there was to appreciate in life,
even without someone to share it with.
I failed to give myself the gift of peace,
to grant forgiveness to you,
to save myself from humanity’s typical fall.
Instead, come our anniversary,
I huddled under a blanket,
alone,
watching Dick Clark.
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