If it seems like I spend a lot of time at the opera, it is because my aunt and mother buy sets of season tickets to support the theater, and every few months they send up the signal to pull on panty hose and get my head out of the oven of woe to join them for the evening.
This was another minor opera based on a modern play, so it was bumped over to the older, smaller theater in downtown Honolulu. Whoever designed this place understood what a night at the theater was supposed to be like - festooned, gold-encrusted, and decorated with naked people. I love it a lot.
Nobody loves a minor, modern opera, though, and the seats were mostly empty. We waited until the lights dimmed and then sneaked up to the front of the balcony. By "sneaked," I mean, "walked right down past the usher, who reported us to the manager". The manager did not do anything, though, because our seat poaching set off a minor stampede of old ladies doing likewise, and they decided to pretend they had not seen it because they didn't want a beaded purse in the face.
It was a really beautiful evening of discordant wailing, which I enjoyed because that wailing was not directed at me or coming from me, and also because I had had a gin & tonic for dinner.
Next season, I can maybe repay the favor, because the doorperson mistook me for a musician in the orchestra and tried to shoo me into the changing room, so all I need to do is hide my aunt and mother in a couple of cello cases and we're in. Maybe we could test it out on a dry run at the local movie theater or something. That's just smart planning.
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