Opera Lessons

Friday night some friends and I dropped a wad of cash to see the opera Turandot.

Here is a review of everything but the music.

1. David Hockney can design the poop out of a stage.

2. In San Diego "I'm going to the opera" is synonymous with "I'm going to Disneyland" and "I'm a Midwesterner going to the beach".

Apparently it's ok to wear a Hawaiian beach cover up with a Harry Potter sweater scarf and flipflops.

And if you're old and have bad taste, you're really in luck! You can wear orthopedic sandals with socks and shorts, so no, you are not the Greatest Generation that wore hats and ties and made everything all classy-seeming...you are a Schleppy McShlepper like Hawaiian Harry Potter lady and you should know better. Shame!

3. You can be the hottest (youngest, freshest-smelling, least wrinkled, lowest blood pressured, least likely to be part bionic) girl in the room, if you go to the opera.

4. You shouldn't panic if your friend shows up overdressed in a coat made of Chewbacca fur.

Sure, initially you will walk several feet away, and it will continuously startle your internal "bear alert" mechanism.

But later it will prove to be a good place to lay your head when the opera is still going at 10:45pm. You will dream that you are in Dr. Zhivago sleeping on a pile of Russian bear furs.

5. The real entertainment begins at 11pm, when 8,000 senior citizens are simultaneously released to wander the vast parking structure, like a mutant race of old people zombies, looking for their cars...with one policeman trying to assist them all. I hope they've all made their way home by now. I really do.

So, support The Arts. You can pay hundreds to watch an old guy play a young man singing about China in Italian. Through binoculars.

I'd totally do it again.