I WANT JOHN CLEESE TO SING!

Sometimes, in the evening, I pause for a little while near a doorway in Chinatown. Down the steps in the basement beyond, opera aficionados revive the arias they love, frequently whole scenes from classic works.
Opera, in the modern world, is no longer as popular as it once was, and now has to compete with movies, rap, video games, and karaoke.

Given that most of the time karaoke is "performed" by somewhat ("very") intoxicated young white people, who know that everything they do is brilliant, you can understand why I am not fond of that artform.
Their song choices leave much to be desired.
As does their behaviour at the time.
And their singing ability.


"NOT THE EAGLES, MAN, I HATE THE EAGLES!"


I'm having a rough night, Jesus, could you change the damned channel?!? Overly prosperous white jugend drinking Irish Whiskey and Tequila is a recipe for disaster.

Opera speaks of a more human time. Not necessarily anything more rational, certainly not normal events, but musically altogether more interesting and enjoyable.

In the peaceful area near the doorway, one can imagine romances and tales of bravado, military exiles in the far north among the Turkic barbarians, officials sent south to die of tropical agues, virtuous young ladies killing themselves in righteous protest, indignant old grannies, and great events of the past. The dulcet female lead sings an interior monologue, the wooden clackers mark a change of mood, then string fiddle and moon guitar pick up the pace. Suddenly a scholar appears!

The smoke from my cigarillo drifts, like a mildly obnoxious incense, down the street; it is a lingering presence, but mercifully brief. Sometimes a languid pajama-clad figure comes down from the apartments above to contemplatively enjoy a last cigarette before sleep, or a huddled blanket across the way grunts and wriggles in its slumber.

There are no screeching recent college graduates here.
What DO they teach those people nowadays?
Other than beer and pizza?



At the corner of the next block, the extremely short girl who works at the tea place is visible, having a smoke while reading her text messages. It is too distant to mark the details, she's only recognizable by the hue of her hair (which is dyed blonde, or blondish straw). Sometimes there are other youngsters around too; her friends and classmates. They cannot be heard, as they are fairly quiet, and well-behaved.

I am sure that when they sing karaoke, it is much better.
More restrained, not like egomaniacs.
And not The Eagles.


It isn't that I am an impossible old grouch, but that I very much prefer people who are calmly giddy on tea and sugar to those who are loud, and obnoxiously crazed on beer and hard liquor.

Yes, that IS a little old-fashioned.



Monty Python songs -- now THAT would make great karaoke!




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