CAVALLERIA RUSTICANA

CAVALLERIA RUSTICANA

Gerry D

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Yes, Marnier is grand.

[Feb. 3rd, 2010|06:10 am]

[	Tags	\|	liquor	]
[	Current Music	\|	Richard Strauss: Four Last Songs	]

I'm not a big drinker. No, honest, really, I'm not. I have an occasional glass of wine with a meal, an occasional vodka martini (with smoked salmon or oysters), and an occasional snifter of Grand Marnier after a meal or apart from a meal in classy surroundings such as at the intermission lounge of Symphony Hall in Boston between the Strauss and the Mahler.

I ask for a Grand Marnier in a snifter, about $8, sit for fifteen minutes with it as its orange-essence fumes waft up and I drift into a state of orange nirvana. I once ordered, for about $25, a snifter of the liquid from a 150-year old bottle of the stuff called Cuvée Speciale Cent Cinquantenaire. Its even more potent gases could have turned me into a hot-air balloon and sent me into an airborne state.

There are times when only Grand Marnier will do to keep the madness of this world at a distance. No Petit Marnier, no So-So Marnier will work. Well, then of course there's Green Chartreuse! Those Carthusian monks were in on some great secret, and it wasn't prayer.

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Cena con amici.	[Feb. 1st, 2010\|07:05 pm]
I wish to note here that I had a wonderful dinner last Saturday evening. I was invited by a former student named Bill, class of '99, and his terrific wife Elizabeth, a great cook. Bill and Liz were married a couple of months ago. The dinner was in their first home together as a married couple, in Cranston. Bill's friend Eric, from that same class, was there with his girlfriend Kady, born in Leeds. Oh, I had Bill and Eric as students for four consecutive years over a decade ago., I can describe the evening as three hours of fine food and joyful conviviality. Upon arrival I ensconced myself on the coffee-table laden with appetizers from prosciutto to shrimp to bacon-wrapped scallops, to cheeses, to bruschetta. Dinner was rigatoni al bolognese, roast veal stuffed with prosciutto and seasonings, homemade mousse and tiramisù. There was no resistance on my part. Nice people. Nice food. What could make one any happier?
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Neorealism thrives anew!	[Nov. 18th, 2009\|10:52 am]
Film Society of Lincoln Center series. Program ( and The Bicycle Thief in commercial re-release at the Lincoln Plaza Cinemas )
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All on one disc	[Nov. 17th, 2009\|09:14 am]
It's all on this one DVD+R disc: my entire existence. It has everything I have ever written, everything written to or about me. All the pictures I've taken or were taken of me are on it. Every word I have ever uttered, every insult I've made or received, every act of kindness I've shown or accepted, every useless prayer, every prayer believed useful. Every wasted year, bad decision, family argument, grudge, animosity. It is a veritable Wiki-ME-pedia. The names and addresses and e-mail addresses and phone numbers of every person in my life are incised on it. All the movies I have ever watched, all the music I have ever listened to, every concert attended, all the places I have ever visited, every dog or goat I have ever petted, every website compulsively visited, every car I've owned, every bicycle, every joke I told, every joke on me, every checkbook, cancelled check, bank book, passport, medical record, prescription medicine. It has all the good things I've done and all the bad. All my teachers and students are encoded here along with all the pasta eaten, all the meals in every restaurant, every goddam drink I have ever drunk, all my new or tattered clothing, the 1970s vest-madness, all my records, cassettes, CDs, DVDs, LPs, bedsheets, comforters, pillows, mattresses, ticket-stubs, laundry detergents, camera, photo albums, bureaus, souvenir mugs, boilers, oil tanks, lawnmowers. Behold every stupid list I've made, every book I've owned or read, every LJ or diary entry. My napkin ring is not forgotten, my bow and arrows, my unused football, the lonely clearing in the woods above Starr Street, my mother, father, brothers, sisters, cousins, aunts, uncles, neighbors, friends lost, friends retained, are there too. Amazing that it can all fit on this one disc. But what can I play it on? Even more to the point, why would I want to replay it all?
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Maciste the snorer.

[Nov. 1st, 2009|03:38 pm]

[

Current Music

Ludwig van Beethoven: Symphony No. 4 in B-Flat Major

]

I call him Maciste. Don't know what his name is. Don't want to know. At BSO concerts, however, he is the worst imaginable pest. True, for the rush tickets on Thursdays (no other days), he is often first in line, seeming like a passionate music buff. He goes to the pre-concert lectures, sitting up front with his wool cap on. I have reason to surmise that, despite this devotion, he knows nothing about music and has no feeling for it.

During the concert he usally draws a seat in the rear of the orchestra, a nine-buck bargain I take advantage of as well. I always groan when I see him and hope I am not placed near him. Nothing personal, understand. It's just that he sleeps and SNORES. He snores loudly, continually, throughout the concert, throughout every concert! This is always what happens; it will never change. It is ordained. It is my doom.

Thursday, true to my bad luck, I was given a ticket in a seat next to his in row QQ. Goddamit! Why me?

I was a good sport at first,. Maybe he'll be quiet, I thought. Hah! Before the concert began he said something loud. I thought he was addressing a friend passing nearby. But no, he was addressing me. "How are you!" he said in a loud and weird voice.

"Fine," I answered. "Nice program this evening," I added wanly.
He stuck out his hand, and I shook it. Rather strange behavior and social skills, I sensed. He wants to strike up a friendship? Hell, no way. I just want him to shut up and listen to the music when it starts.

The Beethoven Fourth Symphony began, part of a complete cycle of the nine within a period of two weeks. Three conductors are subbing for the ever-recuperating-from-something James Levine.

Inevitably, at the second bar of the symphony, Maciste started snoring. I fumed. I tapped him gently on the shoulder. Startled, he said something incoherent in imperfect English. I don't think he knows or cares that he is bothering people. He was quiet for a few moments. Then his snoring resumed, competing with the adagio, which his snores were desecrating. People shushed him. The concert-goer in front of us turned around to poke him at the same time I re-poked. He then went berserk, started flailing his arms, choosing to shout at me, "I call police FOR YOU!" English was not his first language. Others in the vicinity stared at this loony.

That did it.

I waited until the end of the ruined symphony to seek a seat elsewhere; after intermission I found one a few rows ahead, out of earshot, the sounds of the Eroica unmarred. Well, almost. At one point I could hear a reprise of the snores, this time like stentorian wheezing from the beyond in perfect counterpoint.

I have resolved (1) Never to get a rush ticket for Thursday nights. He will always be there. And I will always be given a seat near or next to him. (2) If I need to go on a Thursday night, I will purchase a full-price ticket for the first balcony, where he never sits. (3) Give priority to other non-rush-ticket nights.

I've seen three of the four concerts in the cycle. The Eighth and Ninth are this weekend. I will get a rush ticket for Friday afternoon, because it is otherwise sold out, and that is the only chance that we of the unticketed masses have of going to these last performances. He won't be there on Friday, not his day. I hope. O, great spirit of Ludwig, keep this fucker away from me!

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Nobel

[Oct. 10th, 2009|04:18 pm]

[

Current Music

Edvard Grieg: Norwegian Dances

]

I am thrilled that President Barack Obama was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. He has managed to change the image of America in the world from a bleakly negative one to one of positiveness and admiration. The folks I communicate with in Europe make a point of telling me this often.

Many say it was too soon or that he didn't deserve it. The loudest noises are emanating from the rightist wingnut extremists who have become apoplectic in their vein-bloating rage and jealously. Shows what petty, small-minded evil shits they all are. Limbaugh, Beck, Fox Lies Network, the rest of you, go to hell! Instead of trashing the president you should be proud of him and proud of this honor bestowed upon him and upon our nation. Congratulations, Mr. President, and good luck!

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4 Devils

[Sep. 15th, 2009|11:32 am]

[	Current Mood	\|	Jubilant	]
[	Current Music	\|	Igor Stravinsky: Circus Polka	]

French poster for lost 1928 American film 4 Devils, directed by F.W. Murnau

I had a film buff's dream. I was walking about an old darkened and long-shuttered movie theatre with the aid of a flashlight. In the projection booth, in a corner amid the debris, was a pile of rusty film cans clearly labeled, beneath the dust, with the title of its contents: 4 Devils. I pried open one can; the nitrate print seemed, miraculously, not to be in any state of decomposition.

Eureka! I screamed. For I had found one of filmdom's legendary lost films!

(Cross-posted to

silent_films)

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