A night at the opera. Or a theater for that matter. Small town, median age bracket 65+, living quality is very high if you do not need medical attention or accessibility for reduced mobility. We are lucky to have a theater here and it is a cute one too! It reminds me of the stage in [[Cyrano de Bergerac (1990)|Cyrano de Bergerac]], cozy, intimate, the acoustics are great, you hear the audience just as well as the performers. I wasn't expecting much but I was intrigued. A string quartet was going to present [[Haydn - The 7 Last Words of Christ]] and the [[Mozart Requiem]]. Haydn came first and I thought it was an improvised mix of famous melodies by the composer. No structure, one giant wall of sound without head nor toe. During the short interlude, the head of the quartet presented the works, which was interesting to me, as both versions for string quartet were made back in the day and either sanctioned by the composer (Haydn) in Vienna or their family (Mozart) in Milan. Then the Requiem came and I thought to myself: "そんなでたらめ僕のレクイエムになったようだ". This is what Mozart would have said, if he had been Japanese, as both [[Milos Forman|Forman]] and this guy from the quartet refer to the fact that the Requiem was Mozart's last work, commissioned by an unknown patron and that he realized he was writing his own funeral music. I don't put it this way to show off, rather to remind my future self of the fact that life, right now, is being really awesome. The sentence says: "So it seems that this nonsense has become my own requiem". I only know the word for nonsense, detarame, because I have recently watched a Japanese comedy about a young musical genius figuring out how to deal with other people while studying at music school ([[Nodame Cantabile (2006)|Nodame Cantabile]]). And a few days later, it actually becomes useful. I learn - I laugh - I write - and learn. Listen, old man, I know you are prone to overthinking and your brain summarizes life like a pessimistic LLM, but I am witness to the fact that it has actually been, many times, awesome. A couple of years ago, my gf would have just exploded in that concert. She would have become really quiet, shaking inside, hating everybody and left in the middle of the performance. She would have then told me 52 and a half times how bad it was over the course of the the following week making me feel like the last 7 days of Me had come about. Things changed and this time, she laughed! She laughed at the music, the loud audience, the ticket price. We were actually joking together afterwards and it felt like a couple, freshly in love, making fun of passers-by cuddling on the terrace of some coffee shop in spring. "You didn't pay to hear a specific rendition of music. You paid for an experience with me. And it was a memorable one", I told her and she actually agreed with me. Imagine the scene: sand on the stage, barefoot musicians. The cello is emphasizing every beat with algorithmic precision while the lighting operator uses the bare patch on his head as a calibration surface. On the balcony a forest of old trunks and a couple of blooming cherry trees. She wants to film but doesn't find suitable subjects so her phone shines a close-up of her finger into the dark. The air is dry and dusty and the guy gets a coughing fit, causing them to leave - and come back mid movement three times. I am sitting in the last row and while half the stage is visible, I never saw the first violin. "That's a problem", clearly thought the man to my left, who tried everything in his power to see clearly. In reality, not much was happening on stage. It's a string quartet. Nonetheless, at the end of every movement, the tall man, whose bird-like silhouette was only accentuated by the shape of his puffer jacket, would slowly stand up, perched and stretched to lean left, right and forward and make sure that the count of musicians never significantly deviated from 4. Amidst the coughing and the perching, first row seat a lady decides it's too hot in here. I understand why she didn't want to wait for the space between movements, because it wasn't clear from the performance when those happened, but taking off a puffer jacket is not a delicate matter and neither is rolling it on your knees. And dropping it to the ground. What do the French like about these jackets anyway? There are more puffer jackets here than people, all shapes and colors, the epoch-defining one certainly being navy blue, sleeveless. In front of us there was an older couple. Somewhere between the 6th and 7th word, she started complaining about back pain. "Je m'en vais", she announced, while changing seats and from then on her husband would look over to yonder wife, love and tenderness in his gaze, as if he didn't trust the bird man next to whom she built her nest, leaning against the comfortably cushioned wall. The intermission, history lesson, Mozart. It's time for the group to our right to break out the potato chips and beer cans, maybe light a camp fire? Okay I am exaggerating. No beer cans, but some rustling bag of snacks that could have waited. No time to complain as a couple of seats behind them, two guys played a guessing game on their phone and an AI voice at maximum loudness declared: "vi-sa-ge". They found that funny too, people were all merry and entertained, the mood was warm and the night was still young. Can I have a cocktail please? Lively chatter, fun and games, good food and two old ladies suddenly declared how happy they were about meeting up after such a long time: "SALUT SEVERINE, COMME CA ME FAIT PLAISIR DE TE VOIR", all while the cello kept grating cheese and the violin did it's thing under the watchful eye of Mr. Crane and Mozart kept turning in his grave unisono with the planet and the stars.