Although technically it's still September, I like to round up.
From Cabdriver #1: "The world is ending very soon." "Thank you," I say.
From Cabdriver #2: Silence.
On l'hotel, from l'hotel-provided propaganda:
The French phrase, pied-a-terre, refers to a place one stays (often in Paris) that has them feel as much a part of the city as a local. The term literally means "foot to the ground." 70 park avenue hotel will be exactly that...a luxurious urban hideaway regarded by its guests as their own private pied-a-terre on Park Avenue.
Eh, I don't know. It's a room in a hotel. Nice enough but nothing to cry about.
From Cabdriver #3: Silence.
The main event. Ooh la lahhhh...
Profitons bien de la jeunesse,
Aimons, rions, chantons sans cesse,
Nous n'avons encor que vingt ans!
Tsk tsk, naughty Manon, an opera heroine of the first order. All sass & no consequence until it's too late, a pre-Lolita, a pre-Violetta. All fabulousness. If I lived in New York, I wouldn't be able to miss an evening...I hate knowing this is happening somewhere in the world where I am not. The people in front of me took off during the second intermission, but I'm pretty sure they really thought that was the end -- I heard one lady say "That's the best opera I've ever seen" as she collected her things. Just imagine: they left thinking it had a happy ending. But it doesn't. Don't kid yourselves: love = misery, poverty, despair. Seduce a priest and where does it get you? Nowhere.
Still: what fun! To watch Miss RRRRRenée go from coquettish teenager to high-class whore to prison cart mule in five short acts and four long hours. And it's coming back in the spring, which means I'm going to have to get another damn ticket. Because the only thing I hate more than missing it is having to let it go.
From Cabdriver #4: Silence.