Wednesday, March 09, 2005

Punch Bowl

I am impatient, distracted, and any number of uncomfortable things. I’m drinking a little and walking a lot and perusing my emotions over things that may or may not happen soon. I am playing the piano alone at noon, winter-dry skin slipping over glossy keys, pretty walnut wood pock-marked from over fifteen years of my fingernails gouging the soft panel above the black keys. Angry, desperate, betrayed, hopeful... however intensely I feel, I play that spinet harder than it was designed to endure, and I am only sad that I can't reward its loyalty, because each stroke still resonates with the heartwarming mellowness I first knew when I fell in love with it. A tuning here, a polish there. I wish I could reward all the objects that sustain me these days. A trusty vehicle, a faithful camera, my favorite paintbrush whose bristles splay awkwardly from years of thumping just-right foliage onto canvas, useful like an overused toothbrush. Nothing gets into the cracks of forty-year-old linoleum like a retired and reincarnated Oral-B.

I've tried to appease anyone who might occasionally revisit my blog by posting photos. Sometimes it's just too hard to share what I have to say, assuming anybody would care to read it. And yet, here you are, and now you know that I love all aspects of lemons, despise raw tomatoes, and sleep on my face, still and silent and cold as a corpse. Isn't blogging a wonderful thing?

I saw The Phantom of the Opera last Sunday night, a nearly private showing at the single-screen Strand Theatre on Main Street, all faded opulence and home-town charm. And I loved it, Phantom, as I always love it in any way, shape, or form. I love a melody that soars, a dischordant strain that pauses in agony and then sails, reborn harmonious, into the atmosphere, and Phantom has plenty of that. I don't even mind if, after that, it fades; music is loveliest by far when there is contrast, surely the true source of its power. The cast was fine; I'm no critic. I'm just glad they didn't mess with it, try to make it more film-friendly. They just made a movie of the elaborate, almost kitschy musical, and it's nice enough for me. Maybe I admire Andrew Lloyd Weber's consistency in the face of popular opinion, almost as much as I admire Tim Burton's. And I guess I like a little 'dark' once in a while, or maybe more often that not. Phantom is the right kind of time-out fairytale, that get-me-out-of-now 'dark,' the breath of fresh air I need after days of being naturally sunny and positive (but not in that annoying way, I'm just happy). But still, any day of the week I can be caught humming Christine's wistful aria Think of Me, or the quietly regretful song she sings to a long-dead father. There's nothing like 'too late' to get the tear ducts working.


Anonymous Anonymous said...

You know there are people who enjoy whatever kind of conversation they can get with you. No matter what and how it is accomplished!! I do enjoy your stories it is something I look forward too.

March 14, 2005 at 2:26 AM  

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