The Opera

I was lying in bed watching Pretty Woman with the wifey-poo the other night. No, don’t even start in with me about ‘chick flicks’. I have nothing wrong with watching that one. I’m secure in my manhood enough to cry when Jessie Ventura dies in Predator or Arnold lowers himself into molten metal to save mankind in Terminator II. Those were emotional times. And it’s ok to tear up.

But back to Pretty Woman...they’re at that scene with the Opera and Mr. I-Can’t-Kiss-Hot-Women-In-Public-and-not-have-people-disgusted Richard Gere says “You either love the opera or you don’t….” Thank God because I don’t! Whew! One less thing to worry about…

I mean really, the whole damn thing is singing! At least with a musical they don’t sing all the time. Sure, they freak the crap out of you by breaking spontaneously into song at the most inopportune time and nobody else seems to care. But there is some dialogue to a musical. The opera; not at all! The endless running of their voices as they stretch a word into 12 minutes of scales; ughhh! Let’s demonstrate as I walk into work as if I were in an opera:

“Hellooooo oooo oooooo oooooo ooooo ooooo ooooo ooooo o oooo ooo ooo oooo o
Bo oooo oooooo oooooo ooooo ooooo ooooo ooooo o oooo ooo ooo ss”

Well, you get the idea. Another problem with it is that it’s always in some damn foreign language. I can’t follow the plot even if they weren’t droning on with their scales. It’s always Italian this and French that. Have you ever heard one in English? I haven’t. In fact, it’s my theory that the words are actually mocking all of us for showing up to listen to scales.

Hell, they even make you dress up. I might make it through one if I could wear my sweats and bunny slippers and crank my ipod way up. But nooo…they want you to wear some sort of tie. The last time I wore a tie was last century. I think Kurt Cobain was even still alive. He probably went to the Opera…