Saturday, January 29, 2011


I'm thinking of a letter I got from a dear friend a few months back, about how to stay flexible when the established ways of working don't, well, work. Cher ami, I get it now. Thanks.

Well. How to miss the deep waters all around, how to forget to drink?

I'm in the imperial-scarlet-and-cream Loge watching Magic Flute. I quote this opera a lot in these pages, because we are almost always performing it. This is the definitive good ensemble night. The only guest is a recent ensemble member, and everyone else is in-house (except for the choir boys, but they're from only a few tram stops away). The orchestra is sweet and light, the cast is true, the music is lovely, it's all as it should be. Oh, such a flute is worth more than gold and power, for human happiness increases through it are the words I hear before I head upstairs and turn my computer on. From Italy I hear dear CG digging into a major role debut several Alps removed from me, and she tears it up (Richard Wagner, I don't know if you smile much where you are, but I bet she got one out of you!). Back down to the Loge in time to see the prince and princess reunite, the cute little feathered people get together, and the audience go crazy.

I'm in the Kunsthistorisches Museum looking at van Eyck, I'm in Cafe Schwartzenburg reading my Kindle, I'm at the Naschmarkt Deli catching up with a friend, I'm on Skype with my family. I'm back on Facebook with several hundred people who really, truly are my friends.

Because, well, Vienna, I'm done knocking on the doors of your temples. They've been open the whole time, haven't they?

Well, well, well.


1 comment:

Anonymous said...

More Floyd......
Fearless (Waters, Gilmour) 6:08

You say the hill's too steep to climb
Climb it.
You say you'd like to see me try

You pick the place and I'll choose the time
And I'll climb
That hill in my own way.
Just wait a while for the right day.
And as I rise above the tree lines and the clouds
I look down, hearing the sound of the things you've said today.

Fearlessly the idiot faced the crowd
Merciless the magistrate turns 'round

And who's the fool who wears the crown?
And go down,
in your own way
And every day is the right day
And as you rise above the fear-lines in his brow
You look down, hearing the sound of the faces in the crowd.