Diedi il canto agli astri

I was reminded Wednesday of the stunning glory of Italian opera; in particular, of the genius of Giacomo Puccini.

I’m not going to go so far as to say that his plots really hold a lot of water all the time, but the music—bellissima!

A case in point for both would be Tosca, whose title character is a woman who’s completely undone by jealousy, complicated by the (literally) rapacious lust of the local police chief. Along the way to the end of Act III, there’s more blood than a vampire reunion, or an official portrait of the sitting king of Britain.

Well, but also along the way there’s the aria “Vissi d’arte” (“I lived for arte”). And that’s what I’m giving you today.

Let’s hear Maria Callas singing it.

 

 

©2024 Bas Bleu

 

Statement

Since this is turning into a week of arts, here’s something I noticed on my Monday walk:

I mean—nice, but I hope they at least also got Mom a supermarket bouquet, or a card or something.

 

©2024 Bas Bleu

Royal blood

Well, alrighty then—King Charles III’s first official monarchical portrait since his coronation (which cost the British public way too much money) has been unveiled and it’s quite the statement.

Although Camilla has told the artist, Jonathan Yeo, “Yes, you’ve got him right,” the folks on the Interwebz beg to differ. I mean—they get the statement part, but it’s unlikely to be one the House of Windsor likes. Mostly around whether the surfeit of red is indicative of Charles being in Hell, or symbolic of the blood of empire.

(¿Por qué no los dos?)

And then there's the butterfly.

Me—I’m thinking that Yeo might just have found a lot of red paint on sale down to the local Michael’s. And climate protestors will have to find something besides tomato soup to throw on it to make their statement.

 

 

 

©2024 Bas Bleu

Going to the dogs

The sidewalk artists are back, and this time their subjects are canine:

I was a little confused by this one, though—six paws?

Upon reflection, I think there are four paws and two jowls with whiskers.

 

 

 

 

©2024 Bas Bleu

Gratitude Monday: regrowth

Last Autumn—maybe September/October—I was dismayed to see that someone had demolished the hibiscus shrubs that have the gigantic flowers. They were on a berm next to a small basketball court, which in turn is next to an apartment complex. I loved those bushes, and someone hacked them literally down to the ground.

Some time later, I came across a woman from the People’s Republic Association mulching the area, so I asked her why they’d been cut down. She replied that they do it every year (although I’d never noticed that) and that the shrubs would grow back.

I was dubious, and every time I walked past the site (which is to say: every day), my disbelief only grew, because the hibiscus certainly weren’t.

However: this past week, look what I saw:

I don’t know whether they’ll bloom this summer, but I’m so grateful to see that they are, indeed, coming back, right next to the stumps. 

 ©2024 Bas Bleu

On the boat to heaven

It was rather a roundabout way on Bluesky (as things often are on SoMe) that I came to today’s earworm.

Someone skeeted an AP story about one of the winners of the $1.3B Powerball lottery. Guy’s an immigrant from Laos, was a machinist at an aerospace company and he’s suffering from cancer. His comment on his net of $422M for him and his wife (they took the lump sum and split their winnings evenly with a friend who chipped in $100 to buy a bunch of tickets) was that now he’d “find a good doctor for myself.”

The commentary ran to “now that I won $200M I can finally afford decent healthcare,” which is a fair take. And one person added, “America, the land of opportunity. The Oldest Established Permanent Floating Crap Game in the world.”

Which of course features large in Guys and Dolls, so my contribution was “Sit down, you’re rockin’ the boat.” One of my favorite numbers in one of my favorite musicals. So here we are.

©2024 Bas Bleu

Sign of the times

I’ve added a new dogleg to my morning walk, so some new yards to assess.

This variant on the “no soliciting” sign was…interesting.

 

©2024 Bas Bleu

Not crop circles

Here’s an interesting pattern I saw on the putting green (? I assume that’s what this is?) I pass on one of my morning walk routes.

Not sure what caused these—at first I thought it was the push-jobber they use to collect all the golf balls that are left overnight after a day’s worth of putting. But possibly one of the mowers?

I dunno—I just thought it was interesting.

 

 

©2024 Bas Bleu

 

Have a seat

This bench is along one of my walking routes.

I’m not sure whose property it sits on—whether the townhouse cluster that would be to the right and behind me or the golf course onto which it looks out. I suspect the former, although there's a community path separating the bench and cluster, so it would be their landscapers' responsibility to trim the area.

But I don’t think anyone’s going to be watching the sunset from it anytime soon. It's actually looking like the kind of setting where unwary sitters disappear unexpectedly.

"I dunno, Muriel. I ain't seen those kids since they went out to watch them golfers tee off on the 9th hole..."

 

©2024 Bas Bleu

 

Gratitude Monday: new neighbor, old friend

A few weeks ago, a neighbor brought me a pastry, which was lovely. But what sent me over the moon was that it was in a Paris Baguette bag. Because that meant PB has made it to the ‘hood.

Back when I lived in the Valley They Call Silicon, I was a regular at the Santa Clara PB. It was my preferred coffee shop for lingering over a coffee, writing and people watching. My status was so well established that as soon as I opened the door, Kenyon, the manager, had someone start my decaf latte. The pastries were extra primo good, too.

I’ve not found anything close to PB, either in the District They Call Columbia or the People’s Republic, so I was profoundly grateful to learn that an actual PB has opened in Herndon. As soon as I could, I tracked it down.

It was interesting to me that it’s located on the ground floor of a block of mid-rise apartments—first to fill the space that will be all-food all-the-time, apparently. Like you might find in a city, instead of an ex-urb next to a highway. Whatever—I was just happy to see it.

Right after I found the place, I mentioned it to my yoga instructor, showing her a couple of pix after an in-person lesson. Not 20 minutes after she left my house, I got this text (and then follow-up):

Well, I mean—just look:

So my gratitude today is knowing there’s a Paris Baguette nearby—but not as close as the Santa Clara one was, so I won’t be tempted to pop by every day.

 

 ©2024 Bas Bleu