(no subject)

I do still exist. Although in a state of extreme exhaustion. Amanda is here, and we've been running around like crazy people -- the cabaret night on Wednesday (which was wonderful! And involved this woman with this incredibly old world sort of voice playing accordion and singing songs in French and then doing this awesome poem about the World Trade Center that didn't suck) and the piano bar last night and tonight, Boheme! Actually, we're about to leave the house to go get the rush tickets, which should be a long and moderately painful process.

I modeled for the lovliest art class yesterday in this incredible Victorian-era house, and there just aren't words for the pleasantness of being told I'm the sort of woman Vermeer would have painted, or that I have a face that suits that time period, or if one could just capture a certain reflection of light on my eye they would be a master. Huge fun. Even if I'm all achy for it today.

Anyway, got to throw my clothes for tonight in a bag and get ready to go, since I'm not standing on line all day in a red dress I wear for tango and a pair of heels, and I do believe in dressing for the theater for a number of reasons (a long tirade on this will surely follow my waxing poetic about the show tomorrow, as someone always wears jeans and I'm always fundamentally appalled).

(no subject)

I do not get rendered mute by art. Because while it's a lovely sentiment, it's rather besides the point. But dear god in heaven, I have absolutely nothing cogent to say about La Boheme right now, other than do yourself a favour and go see it. It was one of the most spectacular and moving theater experiences I've ever had, and is without a doubt accessible regardless of your feelings about either opera or this one's director.

Tomorrow, I'll try to actually get into it and the very strange day that led up to it, but beyond putting my hand to my breast, right now, there's just nothing....