"Love is a gypsy child who never, never learned the rules."
A meme ganked from Kevin.
Post an ANONYMOUS comment with the following:
1. One secret.
2. One compliment.
3. One non-compliment.
4. One love note, but it does not have to be for me.
5. Lyrics to a song.
6. How old you are.
7. How long we've been friends.
8. And a hint to who you are.
9. After you do it for me, put it in your LJ and see who does it for you.
I did end up seeing Carmen, after all, with my mother, who was probably the best opera partner, anyway, but we left after the second act. The whole thing was really just a replica of our dismal Match Point experience: we weren't sure if it was because we were so far away from the stage and thus were confronted by only the poorly translated supertitles (that I could only read if I tilted my glasses at a certain angle, I soon discovered), but we just didn't care either way who Carmen seduced or who was being jilted by a lover at what time. There were also these truly tacky film clips of chaotic backstage life before every act, which just ended up being bizarre and annoying. However, the Habanera may be my new favorite thing of all time.
I briefly mentioned Woody Allen before, and now I feel compelled to say that, when he went through his brief funny stage, he was really funny. It was a little shocking, because the only film of his I'd ever seen was Match Point. Annie Hall is actually quite moving, even with its obligatory cliche conclusional statement summarizing relationships right before the blackout to the credits, and Sleeper made me pee my pants. Almost. If he hadn't married his daughter, I probably would have a lot more respect for him even after Match Point. Speaking of which, on the luridly eerie subway ride home from Lincoln Center this evening, there was a thirty-year-old man sitting across from me who was apparently mesmerized by my unmatchable beauty while his girlfriend glared at me whenever she could be bothered to. I contemplated making my infamous Chipmunk Face at them both, but soon decided against it, rather wisely. Thank you, Nabokov. Thank you, LIFE.
And now, to bed, because I am going to Broadway on Broadway with Sam tomorrow, and we are catching a 9:20 TRAIN, Christ on a bike. If anyone wants me to call them for anything, leave a comment here, and I'll surely do what I can.
Post an ANONYMOUS comment with the following:
1. One secret.
2. One compliment.
3. One non-compliment.
4. One love note, but it does not have to be for me.
5. Lyrics to a song.
6. How old you are.
7. How long we've been friends.
8. And a hint to who you are.
9. After you do it for me, put it in your LJ and see who does it for you.
I did end up seeing Carmen, after all, with my mother, who was probably the best opera partner, anyway, but we left after the second act. The whole thing was really just a replica of our dismal Match Point experience: we weren't sure if it was because we were so far away from the stage and thus were confronted by only the poorly translated supertitles (that I could only read if I tilted my glasses at a certain angle, I soon discovered), but we just didn't care either way who Carmen seduced or who was being jilted by a lover at what time. There were also these truly tacky film clips of chaotic backstage life before every act, which just ended up being bizarre and annoying. However, the Habanera may be my new favorite thing of all time.
I briefly mentioned Woody Allen before, and now I feel compelled to say that, when he went through his brief funny stage, he was really funny. It was a little shocking, because the only film of his I'd ever seen was Match Point. Annie Hall is actually quite moving, even with its obligatory cliche conclusional statement summarizing relationships right before the blackout to the credits, and Sleeper made me pee my pants. Almost. If he hadn't married his daughter, I probably would have a lot more respect for him even after Match Point. Speaking of which, on the luridly eerie subway ride home from Lincoln Center this evening, there was a thirty-year-old man sitting across from me who was apparently mesmerized by my unmatchable beauty while his girlfriend glared at me whenever she could be bothered to. I contemplated making my infamous Chipmunk Face at them both, but soon decided against it, rather wisely. Thank you, Nabokov. Thank you, LIFE.
And now, to bed, because I am going to Broadway on Broadway with Sam tomorrow, and we are catching a 9:20 TRAIN, Christ on a bike. If anyone wants me to call them for anything, leave a comment here, and I'll surely do what I can.