sigh

Its that kind of morning. a clear blue sky and cold. The sun hasn't risen enough in the sky to warm things up.

This is the weekend of powerless women. I went to the opera last night: Madama Butterfly. The singing was wonderful (Liping Zhang in the title role, a tremendous voice) and the staging was artful, but, you know, its just a bit dull. And painful. And there is something about the music in the last act that brought everyone to tears. I couldn't help it, they just started flowing, and I was self-conscious until I realized that everyone around me was teary-eyed too. Yes, the story is sad, very sad, and tragic, but lets just face it Butterfly is so naive that it borders on the delusional. You don't really like any of the characters, you think they are all annoying and pathetic, and yet you cry anyway. I have a new theory about Puccini: the major Hollywood genres derive from his operas. So far I count two: the Spaghetti Western, which finds its roots in The Girl of the Golden West, and now the Tearjerker, which clearly derives from Madama Butterfly.

But nonetheless this powerless women business seems to be going to my head. I feel heavy this morning. This must stop.