Bite-sized opera: just the way I like it

Sometimes I'm amazed at the talent of the people around me. Thursday night Jen, Krysta, and I went to a small production of Suor Angelica, one third of a Puccini opera trilogy. One of my coworkers was singing the lead, and I was eager to see her perform. The opera is, as most operas are, tragic and sad. But, unlike most others, Suor Angelica is only about an hour long, which worked perfectly for me. I'm constantly trying to like opera more than I actually do, and for the first hour or so of any show I always think it's working. I really do think that the singing is beautiful. But, after a while my mind begins to wander, my butt begins to hurt, and I start to wonder how it can take so long to say so little when you're singing in Italian. I usually make it to the end, but every now and then I have to give up and leave before the show is over: I went to a performance of Aida at the Met by myself about a year ago. Around midnight we hit the third intermission and still had an act to go. I really wanted to see Aida and Radames entombed together, singing about their love even as they were dying, but I wanted to go home and sleep more. All of this is to say that an hour long opera was perfect.

Of course, now I'm wildly jealous of my coworker's voice.