Adventures Continue
Okay, so my check got deposited. Three cheers for the Royal Mail! It only took them (in partnership with USPS, let's not forget) nineteen days to deliver a letter that they said should take four to five!
So, my problems are solved, right? Ha ha! Of course not. I believe I may have neglected to mention that my ATM card expired. I didn't receive a replacement. I called my bank. They cancelled the card they had send (in August!) and reissued a new card. Two and a half weeks went by. I called the bank again. ONLY THEN am I informed that they can't/don't send new cards overseas. I am perturbed.
Okay, so this story isn't actually that interesting. But readers of Greg's London Ramblings will be more interested to know about the reaction of the bank supervisor that I was transferred to. She was extremely apologetic. She was utterly ingratiating. She suggested possible solutions. She apologized again.
You all know where this is heading: I really can't imagine quite this reaction happening in the UK. They would apologize, sure. But with a more "shit happens" kind of affect. Recently Gweneth Paltrow has been in the news for... um... politely pointing this out.
Anyway, I should confess something about job applications. But I don't want admit to it, just now.
Siegfried was so fucking mediocre. Not even bad enough to get upset about. Just... nothing. (The exception was John Tomlinson as the Wanderer, who was perfect.)
Recently R— was talking about a substandard performance of the Goldberg Variations he had seen in Oxford. His reaction was "if you're going to do the Goldberg, you gotta bring your A game..." I knew what he meant.
I think the same is true of directing the Ring. Not to be too... reverent or anything, but seriously: the Ring has a LOT of ideas in it. And the ideas are TIGHT. If you're going to stage this, you need to bring your A game. The director at Covent Garden appeared to have no ideas whatsoever. Seriously. There was nothing. Spirals. Clouds. Ugly clothes... I throw up my hands.
Luckily, Mark Morris came to cleanse my palate of all the mediocrity. (Yes, I wrote a review, although I have a LOT of ideas about the Stravinsky piece that didn't make it in.) This was, I'm pretty sure, the fourth time I've seen V -- the first (some of you may remember?) was a "pre-premiere" performance in Berkeley a few weeks after September 11th, 2001. I'm not kidding about crying at the coda... can't exactly explain it.
Oh, perhaps you are wondering how the ATM card will be (as they say in this country) sorted? Simple: I just have to change my address to my sister's address, get the card sent to her, then change me address back. What could possibly go wrong with this simple plan?
So, my problems are solved, right? Ha ha! Of course not. I believe I may have neglected to mention that my ATM card expired. I didn't receive a replacement. I called my bank. They cancelled the card they had send (in August!) and reissued a new card. Two and a half weeks went by. I called the bank again. ONLY THEN am I informed that they can't/don't send new cards overseas. I am perturbed.
Okay, so this story isn't actually that interesting. But readers of Greg's London Ramblings will be more interested to know about the reaction of the bank supervisor that I was transferred to. She was extremely apologetic. She was utterly ingratiating. She suggested possible solutions. She apologized again.
You all know where this is heading: I really can't imagine quite this reaction happening in the UK. They would apologize, sure. But with a more "shit happens" kind of affect. Recently Gweneth Paltrow has been in the news for... um... politely pointing this out.
Anyway, I should confess something about job applications. But I don't want admit to it, just now.
Siegfried was so fucking mediocre. Not even bad enough to get upset about. Just... nothing. (The exception was John Tomlinson as the Wanderer, who was perfect.)
Recently R— was talking about a substandard performance of the Goldberg Variations he had seen in Oxford. His reaction was "if you're going to do the Goldberg, you gotta bring your A game..." I knew what he meant.
I think the same is true of directing the Ring. Not to be too... reverent or anything, but seriously: the Ring has a LOT of ideas in it. And the ideas are TIGHT. If you're going to stage this, you need to bring your A game. The director at Covent Garden appeared to have no ideas whatsoever. Seriously. There was nothing. Spirals. Clouds. Ugly clothes... I throw up my hands.
Luckily, Mark Morris came to cleanse my palate of all the mediocrity. (Yes, I wrote a review, although I have a LOT of ideas about the Stravinsky piece that didn't make it in.) This was, I'm pretty sure, the fourth time I've seen V -- the first (some of you may remember?) was a "pre-premiere" performance in Berkeley a few weeks after September 11th, 2001. I'm not kidding about crying at the coda... can't exactly explain it.
Oh, perhaps you are wondering how the ATM card will be (as they say in this country) sorted? Simple: I just have to change my address to my sister's address, get the card sent to her, then change me address back. What could possibly go wrong with this simple plan?
posted by Grrg at 6:42 PM
1 Comments:
Oh my gosh, I am so tickled, as my fourth grade teacher would've said, by my nom de link.
Curse the Royal Mail for their hand in spoiling your NY trip, all else aside.
A mediocre Siegfried is a lot to sit through, but I'm glad you got to hear Tomlinson. I've only ever heard him in that concert Tristan and Moses und Aron which, um, doesn't count.
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