Rebel Prince

I woke up mid-afternoon, just in time to go see the second matinee of Harry Potter at the Uptown. Really good, but the only thing that bothers me is the relentless pace. It’s heavily plot-driven, leaving little time for character development, which I wanted more of. Not until very late in the movie do you get a thoughtful line, like this one from Professor Dumbledore: “It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.” Ah well, again I say, I’m not exactly in the target audience, so I won’t belabor the criticism. By the way, someone, anyone, give Harry a haircut. Or at least a comb? Please.

Speaking of which, I got my hair cut today after work. (Get a load of this pic. I have the “stare off into the distance” look down. [photo to be re-uploaded]) I just went to the Hair Cuttery, which is your run-of-the-mill, hair salon franchise, but I landed in the hands of a great stylist. Since I get my hair cut only once or twice a year, it ends up being a big job. When asked what cut I wanted, I pointed to my hair, and said, “Can you just chop this all off?” Which she patiently did, clipping and shearing to and fro.

When we were about done, she narrowed her eyes and looked everything over. “Do you mind if I trim your eyebrows?” she asked. I was like, “Ooh, go right ahead!” I was practically having a makeover right there, and goshdarnit if I had said no. She took out a pair of tiny scissors and snipped away at my brows. You can’t really tell the difference, though, which I suppose is a good thing. They’re not shaped or anything, just a bit more orderly. (I’m reminded of this store in D.C. that I keep meaning to check out, the Grooming Lounge. I should go in and pamper myself one of these days.)

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Last Saturday I took the train to New York and met up with Marie to see Baz Luhrmann’s production of La Bohème. It was amazing! His was the first Bohème I had ever watched, a few years ago on PBS, so even though it is a modern interpretation of the classic, it’s become the definitive production for me.

Marie and I were sitting up front and off to the left. By the time the opera started, the four seats to our right were still empty. (My philosophy is to treat this situation like boarding an airplane. That is, if people aren’t in their seats on time, then too bad, I reserve the right to take their seat. Heh.) So we banded together with the two guys on our left, and all of us scooted across, closer to the center. It was great. However, after the first act, the rightful owners finally arrived, and we had to scoot back. It was nice while it lasted, we sighed.

The whole show is phenomenal. Everything is so lush and energetic, from the exuberant, young singers to the set design and even to the colloquial translations. Definitely a must-see.

After the show, still stunned by the soaring operatic spectacle, Marie and I said our goodbyes, and not wanting to end my trip just yet, I walked down Broadway, looking for another show to take in. It had started to rain, and Times Square was packed with people. I turned right on 42nd Street and decided to see, yes, 42nd Street. What a great, old-fashioned, toe-tapping musical. Really, I don’t think I’ve seen more tap dancing in all my life. Lots of fun.

Right after the show, I went to Penn Station and took the last train back to D.C. I finally arrived at my apartment at around 2:30 a.m., and slept. And slept some more.

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