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The new domesticity
Saturdays are the new Sundays, at least when they're Opera Saturdays. I sleep in, dick around on the computer a bit, have a bite to eat, nap, read a little, and then before I know it I've got to get ready for my hour-plus commute to the West Loop. Today I even have to go a little bit further because Nuphy and I are eating at Wishbone. Seemed appropriate, given that the show is Showboat. We tried to sell our tickets, but it fell through about the same time that the reviews started coming in and they were incandescent. So we'll see.
My reading was "Brokeback Mountain". Nuphy likes the story more than the movie; I'll have to ask him why again, since all-in-all it makes the film look like the most faithful adaptation of a literary work I've seen since Huston's The Dead. But whereas the movie had me on the verge of bawling, all Proulx' prose gave me was a little tightness in my chest. Oh, and I guess a tremendous feeling of outrageous good fortune at being able to set up housekeeping with the man who stole my heart and have everyone in my milieu treat it like the most natural thing imaginable.
My reading was "Brokeback Mountain". Nuphy likes the story more than the movie; I'll have to ask him why again, since all-in-all it makes the film look like the most faithful adaptation of a literary work I've seen since Huston's The Dead. But whereas the movie had me on the verge of bawling, all Proulx' prose gave me was a little tightness in my chest. Oh, and I guess a tremendous feeling of outrageous good fortune at being able to set up housekeeping with the man who stole my heart and have everyone in my milieu treat it like the most natural thing imaginable.