Fall into winter, part one
Two months since last update, oops.
For a while there, writing in any form felt onerous. It took longer than expected to recover from the summer. I kept thinking the move shouldn't have rattled me as much as it did, but emotions are emotions, and life needed time to return to normal, aided by a meds switch. And then things got busy. And now it is now.
Let's catch up in increments.
Thanksgiving
For the first time in my nearly 40 years, I did not spend the holiday with family. I was worried I'd regret it, but forgoing travel proved the correct choice. I was able to visit friends for the holiday proper, host friends the day after and see my dad and stepmom this past weekend instead; soon I'll be spending winter break with my mom and her bf.
Our first snow came early and deep this year, starting at the tail end of Thanksgiving weekend. I used the quiet time to cook ahead, read a book and experiment with making caramels. The first batch of Smitten Kitchen's apple cider ones came out all right, so I tried the more time-consuming recipe from King Arthur Flour, which proved outstanding. I am so pleased. Making both of those taught me enough to do a better job when I made the second batch of the ciders. Now the fridge is packed with almost 400 caramels wrapped in cute polka-dot waxed paper and ready to be gifted.
New York
Two days after the storm, I drove to NY. I helped my dad around the house, including shoring up his ridiculous chipmunk-proof PVC pipe and chicken wire garden enclosure for the winter with a series of two-by-fours. He helped me with a couple of tricky tasks for my apartment: building aluminum air vent deflectors to stop the heat from blowing directly on the bed and living room chair, and cobbling together a weatherstripping getup to prevent said heat from being sucked straight out the gaps between the front door and the door jamb/door stop, since those gaps have been making an impressive vacuum sound as they pull my utility bill payments into the stairwell. I also cleaned out a bunch of books and paperwork that still remained in my old room. Best find: late '80s/early '90s sticker collection. Fuzzies! Oilies! Holograms! Neons! No scratch-and-sniffs, alas.
The highlight, though, was meeting my college friend S. in the city to see the Philip Glass opera Akhnaten at the Met, about the mysterious-bodied ancient Egyptian pharaoh, husband of Nefertiti and father of Tutankhamun, who upheaved hundreds-thousands?-of years of artistic and religious tradition only to have his changes and his legacy buried along with him. I like a subset of Philip Glass, and I'd loved learning about Akhenaten in school and on those early Discovery/History Channel shows because he was so distinctive, so I was really looking forward to this production.
It was as weird and beautiful as hoped! I loved it! Heavy on the spectacle, with gorgeous sets and costumes. The classic Glassian soundscape with repetitive and slowly progressive chords, here interspersed with hand-struck drums. One thing I did not expect was the circus arts. There was a LOT of juggling. It verged on the silly after a while-audience members gave little puffs of laughter each time the troupe started up again-but it did serve as a mesmerizing visual representation of the score, an oscilloscope of sorts, as well as a form of ritual like the ones Akhnaten both struck down and introduced, and the balls of various sizes, all white, echoed the sun he worshipped and the mirroring moon. Sometimes the opera was transcendent and sometimes it seemed like a parody of experimental theater done by professionals: a single repeating chord, a handful of serious singers belting out "hah, hah, hah, hah," a troupe in bark- or cork- or dried mud-patterned unitards alternately rolling around and juggling candlesticks. But I adored everything. Even if three and a half hours in a dark hall with hypnotic music while the main character moved in slow motion tested one's circadian rhythms. Though we chose the matinee for this very reason, S. confessed he briefly fell asleep in Act I, and I had to shake my head a few times to stay alert at the end of Act II (of three), not for lack of interest.
I loved what they did to convey the ambiguous gender of the historical Akhenaten. The actor must begin his performance naked, walking to his coronation and prostrating himself and being turned upside-down and lowered into his finery by the chorus in a way that leaves no doubt that this is a person with a penis; then, a few minutes later, he opens his mouth and out comes a lovely, unexpected countertenor voice, higher than Nefertiti's voice, so that it's hard to pick out who is who during their beautifully blended duets as well as in the trios with the royal mother. [Excerpt from a different production.] And then when the couple grew reclusive to the point of forming a temple cult, Akhnaten wore chest makeup that made his pecs look like the breasts of the women surrounding him.
I also loved something they did that spoke to the artistic revolution he sparked: Akhnaten walked through a line of chorus members holding out straight wings on stiff arms in that famous pose, and as he touched them, they softened and flowed and came alive. I couldn't help but think of that Tumblr cartoon about discovering contraposto, heh.
The opera is thin on plot, as @seekingferret pointed out, and the Met didn't provide translations for much beyond the act and scene titles. Not that there were a lot of lines anyway, and the narration and arguably the most significant aria were in English, but it would have been nice. Anyway, there was a lot of space to fill with juggling and themes, and S. and I weren't sure we grasped everything we were meant to. We definitely got the ephemeral nature of life and mortal achievement, how quickly magnificence and impact fade, Ozymandias-style-well, Akhenaten-style-which was hammered home by a scene featuring university students uninterested in archaeology/history. @seekingferret gleaned more, such as intergenerational transmission of knowledge or failure thereof. Well, this article says not to think too hard about it. :)
The last thing I'd call out is the… intriguing… mashup of cultures and eras in the production design. Iconic pharaonic and queenly adornments and animal god heads were interspersed with furs and jodhpurs and a Victorian necromancer with a skull on his top hat. The NYT review explains that the opera, or at least this production of it-I'm curious how much of what we saw was specified by Philip Glass and how much was the vision of the director-is about not only Akhenaten's reign but also the Victorians who rediscovered him and who "fetishized" the entire culture. The writer goes so far as to call the design steampunk.
To top it all off, Philip Glass appeared onstage at curtain call. He looked frail but happy as he gazed out at the standing ovation for the penultimate performance of the sold-out run.
R.I.P. Odo
That night I was sad to hear of Rene Auberjonois' death. He was such a sweet guy to his fans. I still belong(ed) to his official fan club. It's been both wonderful and difficult to read all the tributes from other Trek actors. When I got home, I watched a bunch of Odo episodes in memoriam.
This is why it takes me forever to post. More to come.
Originally posted at https://bironic.dreamwidth.org/392490.html, where there are
comments.
For a while there, writing in any form felt onerous. It took longer than expected to recover from the summer. I kept thinking the move shouldn't have rattled me as much as it did, but emotions are emotions, and life needed time to return to normal, aided by a meds switch. And then things got busy. And now it is now.
Let's catch up in increments.
Thanksgiving
For the first time in my nearly 40 years, I did not spend the holiday with family. I was worried I'd regret it, but forgoing travel proved the correct choice. I was able to visit friends for the holiday proper, host friends the day after and see my dad and stepmom this past weekend instead; soon I'll be spending winter break with my mom and her bf.
Our first snow came early and deep this year, starting at the tail end of Thanksgiving weekend. I used the quiet time to cook ahead, read a book and experiment with making caramels. The first batch of Smitten Kitchen's apple cider ones came out all right, so I tried the more time-consuming recipe from King Arthur Flour, which proved outstanding. I am so pleased. Making both of those taught me enough to do a better job when I made the second batch of the ciders. Now the fridge is packed with almost 400 caramels wrapped in cute polka-dot waxed paper and ready to be gifted.
New York
Two days after the storm, I drove to NY. I helped my dad around the house, including shoring up his ridiculous chipmunk-proof PVC pipe and chicken wire garden enclosure for the winter with a series of two-by-fours. He helped me with a couple of tricky tasks for my apartment: building aluminum air vent deflectors to stop the heat from blowing directly on the bed and living room chair, and cobbling together a weatherstripping getup to prevent said heat from being sucked straight out the gaps between the front door and the door jamb/door stop, since those gaps have been making an impressive vacuum sound as they pull my utility bill payments into the stairwell. I also cleaned out a bunch of books and paperwork that still remained in my old room. Best find: late '80s/early '90s sticker collection. Fuzzies! Oilies! Holograms! Neons! No scratch-and-sniffs, alas.
The highlight, though, was meeting my college friend S. in the city to see the Philip Glass opera Akhnaten at the Met, about the mysterious-bodied ancient Egyptian pharaoh, husband of Nefertiti and father of Tutankhamun, who upheaved hundreds-thousands?-of years of artistic and religious tradition only to have his changes and his legacy buried along with him. I like a subset of Philip Glass, and I'd loved learning about Akhenaten in school and on those early Discovery/History Channel shows because he was so distinctive, so I was really looking forward to this production.
It was as weird and beautiful as hoped! I loved it! Heavy on the spectacle, with gorgeous sets and costumes. The classic Glassian soundscape with repetitive and slowly progressive chords, here interspersed with hand-struck drums. One thing I did not expect was the circus arts. There was a LOT of juggling. It verged on the silly after a while-audience members gave little puffs of laughter each time the troupe started up again-but it did serve as a mesmerizing visual representation of the score, an oscilloscope of sorts, as well as a form of ritual like the ones Akhnaten both struck down and introduced, and the balls of various sizes, all white, echoed the sun he worshipped and the mirroring moon. Sometimes the opera was transcendent and sometimes it seemed like a parody of experimental theater done by professionals: a single repeating chord, a handful of serious singers belting out "hah, hah, hah, hah," a troupe in bark- or cork- or dried mud-patterned unitards alternately rolling around and juggling candlesticks. But I adored everything. Even if three and a half hours in a dark hall with hypnotic music while the main character moved in slow motion tested one's circadian rhythms. Though we chose the matinee for this very reason, S. confessed he briefly fell asleep in Act I, and I had to shake my head a few times to stay alert at the end of Act II (of three), not for lack of interest.
I loved what they did to convey the ambiguous gender of the historical Akhenaten. The actor must begin his performance naked, walking to his coronation and prostrating himself and being turned upside-down and lowered into his finery by the chorus in a way that leaves no doubt that this is a person with a penis; then, a few minutes later, he opens his mouth and out comes a lovely, unexpected countertenor voice, higher than Nefertiti's voice, so that it's hard to pick out who is who during their beautifully blended duets as well as in the trios with the royal mother. [Excerpt from a different production.] And then when the couple grew reclusive to the point of forming a temple cult, Akhnaten wore chest makeup that made his pecs look like the breasts of the women surrounding him.
I also loved something they did that spoke to the artistic revolution he sparked: Akhnaten walked through a line of chorus members holding out straight wings on stiff arms in that famous pose, and as he touched them, they softened and flowed and came alive. I couldn't help but think of that Tumblr cartoon about discovering contraposto, heh.
The opera is thin on plot, as @seekingferret pointed out, and the Met didn't provide translations for much beyond the act and scene titles. Not that there were a lot of lines anyway, and the narration and arguably the most significant aria were in English, but it would have been nice. Anyway, there was a lot of space to fill with juggling and themes, and S. and I weren't sure we grasped everything we were meant to. We definitely got the ephemeral nature of life and mortal achievement, how quickly magnificence and impact fade, Ozymandias-style-well, Akhenaten-style-which was hammered home by a scene featuring university students uninterested in archaeology/history. @seekingferret gleaned more, such as intergenerational transmission of knowledge or failure thereof. Well, this article says not to think too hard about it. :)
The last thing I'd call out is the… intriguing… mashup of cultures and eras in the production design. Iconic pharaonic and queenly adornments and animal god heads were interspersed with furs and jodhpurs and a Victorian necromancer with a skull on his top hat. The NYT review explains that the opera, or at least this production of it-I'm curious how much of what we saw was specified by Philip Glass and how much was the vision of the director-is about not only Akhenaten's reign but also the Victorians who rediscovered him and who "fetishized" the entire culture. The writer goes so far as to call the design steampunk.
To top it all off, Philip Glass appeared onstage at curtain call. He looked frail but happy as he gazed out at the standing ovation for the penultimate performance of the sold-out run.
R.I.P. Odo
That night I was sad to hear of Rene Auberjonois' death. He was such a sweet guy to his fans. I still belong(ed) to his official fan club. It's been both wonderful and difficult to read all the tributes from other Trek actors. When I got home, I watched a bunch of Odo episodes in memoriam.
This is why it takes me forever to post. More to come.
Originally posted at https://bironic.dreamwidth.org/392490.html, where there are
comments.