Marriage of Figaro (Edinburgh)

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I entered a caption writing contest and duly won a pair of tickets to The Marriage of Figaro being performed at The Lyceum Theatre in Edinburgh. Sweet!


Just the reason I needed to wear my new vintage formal dress shirt.


The production is modernized and extremely Scottish -- meaning I didn't catch the bulk of the dialogue - ha! - but the funny bits were just too funny to be lost in translation. The only parts done in Italian were scene transitions sung by Figaro, himself. And, man, the scene changes were fun and interesting to watch. I'm always impressed by set design and literal set changes, whether the stage, per se, revolves or backdrops switch from, say, a winter forest to an underwater world. In the case of Figaro, set against the current banking situation and the pending marriage of Figaro to, both, his lady love and of his company to a much larger and established institution, the scenes changed from one to about four different executive offices plus an outdoor park -- complete with grass, evergreen trees and bushes -- and confetti fireworks!

I've never cottoned to people just singing everything

I must confess: I like going to the opera much more than I like actually sitting through it...in no small part because one, I don't understand the Romantic languages in which most operas are sung and two, I've never cottoned to people just singing everything. With this production, however, eschewing song for contemporary  dialogue (and dialect) I liked it all the more for it.


www.lyceum.org.uk

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A warm week in Scotland

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Last week in Edinburgh the weather was consistently sunny and warm. It wasn't all that hot but white people were sunning all over the place so damn giddy were they to have Mother Nature's heat.


Exactly one week later and outside is cold, windy, and wet. No more flip-flops and bare chests! Now it's mini hail storms and angry gusts that blow open the windows. Oh well. It WAS appreciated while it lasted. 


Here are snapshots the famous castle I took with my new camcorder. I wake up to the view of it every morning from the window beside my bed. It's impressive to behold and very expansive...unfortunately I've still not taken the castle tour:

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A pound sterling by any other name

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When is a pound sterling not a pound sterling? When you're in London, England, and the currency in your hand was printed by the Bank of Scotland -- apparently.

The clerk looked at the purple bill so queerly and asked, "What is that?"

 

I'd gone down from Edinburgh for an appointment and, with some time to kill, popped into a second-hand shop. Wasn't terribly tempted to buy anything - like I needed to buy anything! - but I found a thin book by Camus and a canvas money belt. When I went to pay for them I apologized for not having anything smaller than a twenty pound note. The clerk looked at the purple bill so queerly and asked, "What is that? Sorry, we only accept pounds." This is pound money, I said. So he went to double-check with his manager. She'd never seen such money either. Talk about thick! "Sorry sir....," the clerk said upon return. Whatever. Long live the Queen! I huffed and left the hicks to themselves.

Like New Yorkers some Londoners remain ignorant of things outside of their big metropolice.

(For the sake of knowledge, Scotland is part of the United Kingdom - said kingdom an extention of the House of Windsor (e.g., Prince Phillip is the Duke of Edinburgh) - and has as its currency the British pound; but being a seperate nation with her own federal bank Scotland prints her own notes which are, of course, of equal with those printed by the Bank of England).  

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Tate Modern Museum (London)

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Visited the Tate Modern along the Thames River. The building was once a factory of sorts and very immense within just as one would expect of a “working building” where ventilation and production were core. And, owing to that vast spaciousness, it’s impressive to walk through; not at all like a jam packed museum feel with wall-to-wall glass casings and paintings and roped-off artifacts. But that’s about as impressive as it got for me; that and the souvenir shop which, surprisingly, actually has many reasonably priced and discounted goodies. I went back twice just for the gift shop!

modern art pieces are what I would classify as crap for rich dummies

What didn’t lure me back were the modern art pieces. Most of it is what I would classify as crap for rich dummies. What do you offer to the man who has everything money can buy? A cock-and-bull story that no one in his right mind would buy! Hence exclusivity. Barring the canonized masters – Dali, Picasso, Lichtenstein, and even Pollock – I am greatly turned off by modern art, which, to me, smacks of a smart alecky affront where the story/explanation behind the piece counts for more than the art piece, per se. It’s not just a rock I found on my neighbor’s ranch but the rock which caught my attention when I decided to become a father and, thus, its potential energy is, in reality, active because it inspired me to enact my kinetic energy of reproduction; motion propelled by immobility!

(Gag!) Give that man a shovel.

There is actually a mirror taking up space in a gallery. Unlike the mirrors in the bathrooms this, otherwise, ordinary looking glass is glued to a canvas. And what goes onto canvases? Why, art of course – and boxers. This mirror was even naked of a frame. I’ve seen more creative works in a craft shop but because those things are actual and not symbolic they fail to impress rich dummies and qualify as art.

and, like Her Majesty, it is still around!

 plenty of space for plenty of sunflower seeds

 A nylon staircase which hangs from the ceiling. Pretty awesome!

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St Patrick's Day in Edinburgh

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Green is still big but bigger still are costumes. Don't know if it's a Scottish tradition but in Edinburgh, at least, St Patrick's Day looks a lot like Halloween -- minus Jack-o-Lanterns and scary get-ups. There were far more people dressed in funny or themed costumes than there were purposely wearing green clothing. The gag shops were busy yesterday! One louse burst in off the street and yelled to the annoyance of the entire store, "OI, YE SELL WIGS HERE-AH?"


And, god, can they put away the alcohol here! (But that by no means means these loud drunks can hold it down).

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St Christopher's Inn (Edinburgh)

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I took the train up from London (£60.50) on a Wednesday. The hostel has the best location in Edinburgh: right outside the train station…so it is super easy to find. I didn’t know it was there, though, and, in fact, trudged right pass it. Owing to my difficulties with the London branches I did not even St. Christopher’s Inn this time. But what the hell did I have to lose? So I walked in.

I was able to snag three nights in an 8-bed dorm! As it turned out the Six Nation Rugby Tourney was happening that weekend (Scotland v. France) so, like all other places in town, the hostel was already sold out for Saturday and Sunday.

The electronic card keys were a pain in the ass. You had to keep s-l-o-w-l-y swiping it, hoping it would catch eventually

Had an enjoyable stay. The bed was comfortable and no real roommate horror stories.  Plus inside the room was a bathroom and (hot!)shower. On the 1^st Floor is a chill-out room which is cool and comfortable – but a little too chill with the ultra dim lighting. Without light one cannot read, study or type; and since the only other social space of all St. Christopher’s is its Belushi’s sport bar that ain’t exactly helpful to concentration either. The electronic card keys were a pain in the ass. You had to keep s-l-o-w-l-y swiping it, hoping it would catch eventually. A real pain in the ass, that.

On Friday night the bar hosted Oscars Night trivia contest in honor of the upcoming Sunday’s Academy Awards Show. I gave my team the winning edge in the charades tie-breaker (Answer: The Matrix) but the other team were sore losers because they couldn’t act out/guess Pirates of the Caribbean so there was a dance off as another tie-breaker. Their team chose a girl. Our team had no girls. We could’ve had Usher and would’ve still lost. We were robbed!

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A mink for a hat

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Low on cash – and patience for toting around my ever heavy suitcase (no matter how much I discard along the way the load never seems to lessen) – I decided to sell some of my stylish clothes to retro clothing boutiques. Hated to part with my stuff but…oh well. Getting something for something is some consolation, at least.

…in exchange for my silk bow tie and mink  collar

Didn’t have the success I imagined. What the kind lady was willing to offer essentially amounted to two day’s lunch money. No thank you, ma’am. Then I started browsing around and zeroed in on the selection of men’s hats – a little window shopping never hurt! – and she noticed. “If you like a hat,” she said, “maybe we can make an exchange.” Oh? Well! I am in need of a dress hat and I am here to get rid of some things, I reasoned internally hoping I was maintaining a poker face.

As it happened the only two hats in the shop I liked were my size with one being a tad bit more my style and sitting just a bit more comfortably on my head.  So…I got a new top (German handmade) in exchange for my silk bow tie (Saks Fifth Ave), whose size I regarded a bit too dandyish and never got used to, and mink collar which, believe it or not, I found one night on the street in London.

my new cool ass hat 

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