Opera, who me?

My wife and I were invited by 2 of our friends to the opera this weekend.  Now I'm not a regular patron of theater unless Regal or Carmike is on the sign. I know that the opera usually calls for a modicum of class, but I have always felt that a suit and tie make me look like an ape, so I avoid them. For this little outing we found a compromise, and I wore my church clothes. My wife's take on the matter bolstered my confidence in our decision: "If its good enough for my lord and savior, it's good enough for the opera. I agreed. After a rousing morning in our church's nursery, we grabbed some lunch, dropped my daughter off with my parents, and got down to the business of culturing ourselves.

We arrived at the Tennessee Theater with the sun shining and the breeze blowing.  A beautiful day all around, so it was no trouble when our friends (who were also carrying our tickets) said they were on the interstate about 10 minutes out. As we stood there it became more apparent that this was not my scene as I beheld what can only be referred to as the geriatric adventure filing into the theater before me.  Lots of little old people, and just as many tall old people.  I waded through the scents of Oil of Olay, Bengay, Old Spice and Aqua Velva all in the course of 20 feet.  The caliber of dress was higher than I expected too.  I saw little black dresses, high heels, and sequins to my right.  Top hats, canes, suit jackets, and (I shit you not) monocles to my left.  Some of the ladies could have been movies stars on a red carpet premier. I saw a dead ringer for Jurassic Park's John Hammond.  And that monocle's owner could have doubled for Mr Peanut all the way down to the shape of his face.  Yeah, I was out of my depth here in a pale blue button down that was 1 1/2 sizes too big, Duluth firehose pants, and my Panama Jack hat.  But my wife had told me to own it, so I did.

The opera itself, Norma, had a solid and intriguing plot.  A Druid priestess, while being held as a political prisoner, gets busy with Roman commanding officer and has 2 sons. She is released with the understanding that she is to stifle any attempts from her people to rise up against Roman occupation and continuing invasion.  Her love interest makes his way to her temple years later and becomes infatuated with a newer, sportier druid.  What follows is a high class love triangle, peppered with italian yell-singing that's suitable for Jerry Springer.  Costumes, sets, and the fella who played the Druid King were all pretty dynamite.  The fact that the lights were low, the theater was cool, and italian yell-singing is strangely relaxing to me all contributed to my dozing through the 2nd half of the 1st act. 

I can appreciate the arts, and while I may always feel out of place in "polite theater," getting to spend time with friends was well worth it. Who knows, my wife and I may go see Carmen later this summer.  I just have to find a top hat and monocle by then, and we'll be all set.

Until we meet again
-Chase