The taste of blood and opera
E. has brought me opera cds, as per my request. He’s also brought more groceries — protein drinks, yogurts, powerade. He thinks my apathy is a direct result of dehydration, although I think my apathy is a direct result of getting a bunch of teeth pulled at once. I’m just so bored and sour, can’t bring myself to do much besides wait for Ry to come back from Virginia and watch dvds with me. Regardless, I’m now ripping Verdi’s La Traviata. And after that, I’m going to force myself to drink something. And after that, I’m going to force myself to read something. And then I’m going to sleep again. Man, I sure hope retirement isn’t like this.
Listened to Faust live from the Met on the radio this afternoon while lying in bed, drooling. Thought of N’s performance in Dr. Faustus. It makes so much more sense to have the devil played by a woman, I think. Then they played all these operatic recordings from 1905 and such, these grainy, washed-out performances. The singers sounded so far away. I think about how lucky we are to live in this era of high def everything. The reason I love documentary is because things are so easy to document nowadays. We’re really just documenting what it’s like to document. I mean that’s what I’m doing right now, eh?
Dude, I loathe having large holes in my head. I feel 6 again. I don’t know how millions and millions of kids get this stuff done all the time. They’re tougher than me.