Ábhar léitheoireachta saor in aisce

Inné d'imíos as siopa leabhar agus mé gan pioc a cheannach, mar sin féin, shroicheas an baile aréir agus dá leabhar úrnua agam. Do cheannaigh cara liom leabhar ar phraghas speisialta, ach chun an lascaine d'fháil bhí uirthi dá leabhar a cheannach. Sin an dóigh go bhfuaireas an chéad leabhar. Níos moille sa tráthnóna do bhuaileas le cara eile i mbialainn Ghréagaigh. Do bhí sé le déanaí ag Powells i bPortland an áit go bhfaca leabhar (ar lascaine leis) a chuir i gcuimhne dó mé. Sin an dóigh go bhfuil an leabhar eile faighte agam.

Rising Stars '09

Quick rundown of this year's Rising Stars in Concert at the Lyric.

Our seats: Just a little back and to the left from our usual seats at the front of the upper balcony. I think we might've been one row behind where e. and bunj usually sit.

The audience: Appreciative and reasonably well-behaved, even I did end up moving up a row after Mr and Mrs Pocket Flashlight left to get away from Twisting His Programme By My Ear Man. Not much coughing either, so bonus.

The programme: At the halfway mark, Nuphy complained about being "bel cantoed to death". It was woefully short on Mitteleuropäer (one Mozart, two Strauss) and heavy on the Frenchies for my taste (which as y'all know is basically the less Frog music, the better)--if we ever get through one of these shows without hearing another half-hearted "Scintille, diamant", I think I'll die of shock. But, per Nuphy's lament, the real focus was on Italian bel canto--three Donizetti (Fille and Elisir), two Rossini (Barbiere and Comte Ory), three (early) Verdi, and one each Bellini and Puccini (mercifully Gianni Schicchi).

Low points: Sam Handley's "Veiller sans cesse..." from Ory was definitely the nadir. He sang it like he'd rather be doing anything else in the world (and we'd rather he was) and couldn't reach the low notes. We wondered if he'd been victimised by a sadistic vocal coach.

Paul Corona's bit from Ernani was as flaccid as forgotten courgette. I didn't even recognise he was singing Silva until it was pointed out in the text since instead of coming across murderously enraged, he sounded like an annoyed buffo at best.

Andriana Churchman's "C'en est donc fait..." et al. from Fille was nothing to write home about, but would've been tolerable if it had been shorter. She suffered by comparison with Angela Mannino, who started off the show with her "Au bruit de la guerre" from the same opera. (Mannino's diction was terrible, but her control was lovely.) On the other hand, we were really disappointed by Mannino and Katherine Lerner's Presentation of the Rose from Rosenkavalier for being cut short well before they got to the good stuff. They were doing so well, it couldn't be that they weren't capable of the close harmonies, so we surmised that perhaps they simply hadn't had time to learn the entire piece.

High points: Edward Mout's "Firenze è come un albero fiorito" from Gianni Schicchi. (Handley was so much better in their duet from Elisir that I credited it to Mout's sprightly influence.)

Kathryn Leemhuis' Cavatina from Act 1 of Barbiere was lovely, but her duet from Così ("Il core vi dono") with Daniel Billings was even better. Billings also did justice to Rodrigo's death scene in Don Carlo during the second half. Definitely watching these two.

Everything Amber Wagner did was great, but particularly her Arabella. Opposite her, Churchman sang better as Zdenka than she had as Marie. And Lerner killed as Dalila.

"Places I go / make me feel so tired"

The plan today was simple: Take the Devon bus to Home Depot, stopping along the way for lunch in Little India, pick out some light fixtures to be installed this coming week and schedule a screen door installation. Oh, and try out the timer on the oven, because we wouldn't be back in time to get the ham in otherwise. As usual, fulfillment was mixed. From most to least successful:

Lunch at Sabri Nehari: Blessings upon Gary Wiviott for his review which steered us here, particularly the tip about the chicken charga: "Crunchy, juicy, hot, spicy--it's like a gigantic Punjabi buffalo wing. One word of advice: charga chicken takes about 35 minutes to prepare, so order it as you are seated." What he doesn't mention is that it's a WHOLE FUCKING CHICKEN. When we realised that, we scaled down the accompaniments to some naan and palak paneer--not just any palak paneer, mind you, but the very best I have eaten anywhere. Drowned in oil, but the spicing was perfection itself. As for the chicken? We ate it ALL. Half a dozen times each, we swore this was "the last bite", only to rip off another morsel or two. So good, I'm in favour of renaming that stretch of Devon "Charga Marg".

Getting dinner done: The oven came on exactly as programmed and we came home to house filled with the scent of roasting ham. Sweet! Now if I only had the capacity to eat more than a sliver!

Finding the screen door: We went in armed with a sticker from our neighbour's door and some photos. Good thing monshu had had the foresight to take those, since the sticker turned out to be for a replacement plate of glass and was of no help in locating a matching door. The sparkly-eyed young man they sent to help us was not only a baby bear to die for, but he knew his business backwards despite being a slow Sunday fill-in. Soon as we got back, we measured and were delighted to find that the doorframe falls within "standard size" parametres and so will cost half the price of the custom job we were braced to pay for.

Picking up the lighting fixtures: Way to blow that goodwill, Despot! It took four requests for service until someone finally came to the aisle. Lovely perm, but not much going on underneath. Our two top choices turned out to be "online only" products and we couldn't find an acceptable combination of reasonable size, useful brightness, and acceptable styling among the paltry options. In desperation, we swung by Clark/Devon Hardware on the way home, but it was strictly fugly-ass "developers' specials". Our hope is now in the hands of our amateur electrician locating something decent on his own.

When we left, it was gray and blustery. Coming back, it was that and rainy, too. It was sleeting going into Clark/Devon and snowing coming out. Day, you get a D- for weather. Recovery too two Scotches on monshu's part and a mojitoddy (peppermint tea, splash of light rum, dash of lime juice, spoonful of sugar) on my own. But now the carlins are cooking up, the cat is crazy happy to have us back, the Old Man is watching 60 Minutes and generally the crystalline spheres are orderly in their orbits. Except: snow. Yay, upper Midwest in April!