Nessun Dorma

Calaf is alone in the moonlit palace gardens. In the distance he hears Turandot's heralds proclaiming her command. His aria begins with an echo of their cry and a reflection on Princess Turandot:
"Nessun dorma! Nessun dorma! Tu pure, o Principessa, nella tua fredda stanza, guardi le stelle che tremano d'amore, e di speranza!"
(English translation: "None shall sleep! None shall sleep! Even you, o Princess, in your cold room watch the stars that tremble with love and with hope")
"Ma il mio mistero è chiuso in me; il nome mio nessun saprà! No, No! Sulla tua bocca lo dirò quando la luce splenderà!"
(English translation: "But my secret is closed in me; none will know my name! No, no! On your mouth I will say it when the light shines!")
"Just before the climactic end of the aria, a chorus of women is heard singing in the distance: "Il nome suo nessun saprà... E noi dovrem, ahimè, morir, morir!"
(English translation: "No one will know his name... and we must, alas, die, die!")
Calaf, now certain of victory, sings: "Dilegua, o notte! Tramontate, stelle! Tramontate, stelle! All'alba vincerò! Vincerò! Vincerò!" (English translation: "Vanish, o night! Set, stars! Set, stars! At daybreak I shall win! I shall win! I shall win!")

I never learned the words until just now. Two performances, touching for different reasons. Two performers, opposite in all regards. And one amazing piece of music, from an incredible, romantic (in the original sense) opera.

Riddled with Cancer. Hobbled. His face courageous, passionate, even pained at the autumn of his life and skill. His last performance. The emotion in his face is marvelous.



And, one of my favorite triumphant moments. A great story. Also, courageous, but timid and frightened too. His first performance. A different face, certainly.

Amazing. And even more so, now that I understand all the words. Add seeing Turandot near the top of my life's goals.



It also illustrates nicely, compared with American Idol, the difference between the British Hero and the American Hero. Hmm. . . where's my copy of High Fidelity.

Clearly you've never been to Singapore.

Just when I thought that I'd not be going anywhere for a while. . . I might be headed to Asia for a few months. We'll see. I volunteered.

Other current events: it was a spectacular sports weekend across-the-board. If I'm not on a plane to Southeast Asia before Saturday, I might just go to another football game this Saturday. For thanksgiving, I travelled all the way to Dana Point, with TC and his family. Oh, and I'm reading again: trying to fight through the five or six books on my nighstand.

Mi Mi. Mi Mi Mi. . .

Dance your cares away

Worry's for another day

Let the music play. . .

Midway through surfing youtube last night (first, for Johnny Cash, then the Swedish Chef, then Steve Martin banjo-picking) and just after reading a Wikipedia entry on Fraggles, I found inspiration to blog again. About my favorite topic:

A variety is said to be the spice of life, and as my days have been filled with that material, that is the cause why I have thought proper to make this rough outline, that my posterity after me might know what trials and tribulations a roving disposition is calculated to bring upon a person who indulges a thirst for traveling. --Addison Pratt

So begins the Journals of Addison Pratt. And, being "posterity", possessing "a roving disposition" and frequently indulging " a thirst for traveling", I was immediately captivated. Although it may be difficult to be any less captivating than my first foray into the blogosphere, this re-launch, strictly speaking, is pointless. It may be useful. As an avocation. An outlet perhaps. But really, I'm not aiming for anything in particular. There is no point.

Addison wrote the above foreword to a lifetime's attempt at journal-keeping while under house arrest in the South Seas. Someday I may also assess the themes of my life, arrange them, or decide what, from those themes I can determine is calculated to happen to others and frame my musings accordingly. For now, I aim at nothing. So don't expect much.

At most, this new blog will be a rough outline of my travels and perhaps the trials and tribulations my roving disposition and thirst for traveling bring about. At least, it will be a voyage into idleness and irreverance. Beyond travelogs and far-off photographs, there will surely be some Mother Hips. Buffalo Creek. Cormac McCarthy. Letters. Languages. Comedy. Sports. Maybe even the odd head-nod to Fraggle Rock. But nothing heady: not much philosophy, law or religion.

In the name of Idleness and Irreverance, then, let me kick this off with the Swedish Chef, and a distant memory of meatballs and lingeberries in Malmo with Lil' Brudda: