My husband and I have built a new house, and are in the process of moving. Naturally, being internet addicts and tv-aholics, we checked into the availability of cable (internet and television) before EVER seriously considering the move. You can imagine my dismay when the cable company (unnamed for legal reasons but it rhymes with tomcast) said "your street doesn’t exist."

So my husband said, "yes it does."
"No it doesn't."
"Yes it does." (This repeated several times before I intervened and said "let me write them an email.")

Mr. Marius shrugged and hung up and I wrote the following missive:

Dear Mr. Cable.
I want cable. Give me cable. You people say my street does not exist. It exists. Give me cable. My neighbors have cable. I want cable. You told them the street does not exist. But you gave them cable. I want cable. Give me cable. Give me cable now.

So… they are coming tomorrow to install cable.

I can't take credit for that technique. My mother taught it to me. When I started high school, the uniforms were supplied by Eisenberg and O'Hara. Only… they did NOT supply my uniform! So she wrote them several business type letters, which they ignored. My dad's attorney wrote two attorney letters. Which they ignored. So.. then my mother wrote the following:

Dear Mr. Eisenberg and O'Hara:
You have my $39.12. You did not send my uniform. But you kept my $39.12. I want my $39.12. You have my $39.12. You should not keep my $39.12. It is not right for you to have my $39.12. I want my $39.12. Give me my $39.12. I want my $39.12 now. Give me my $39.12 now.

About a week later… a check arrived in the amount of $39.12.

I'm afraid that Faeona CuChulainn is correct. I'm a curmudgeon. She made this ruling after I posted my attack on traditional Christmas music. However, she's known me for years and no doubt has observed other signs of incipient curmudgeon-like activity creeping into my daily routine.

I got up early this morning--a Saturday no less--for reasons that pass my understanding. There were many things to do, of course. The dishes need to be put away from last night, I have several posts that are overdue in AW, I need to go kill somebody in a group on another site, and there is always the burning need to read romance books, shovel the driveway, go get gasoline and groceries and process the bills that are staring at me from their evil address window cut outs.

So I was sitting at the computer playing Spider Solitaire (a new time wasting addiction I really had no need to acquire) and the telephone rang. It was a Sweet Young Thing from Verizon, an axis of evil as yet unidentified by the White House. I could have told her "buzz off kid, ya bother me" but I did not. Instead I explained that "we don't take calls before noon on Saturday."

Long pause.

"Oh?" (on a delicate note of inquiry).

"Oh no," I replied breezily. "On Saturday morning, after a lengthy bout of intensely chakric and chthonic lovemaking, my husband and I like to debate the finer points of Canon law while we bathe and dress."

"Oh." (The tone was flat this time and a bit concerned. I think she was trying to figure out what "chthonic" means. I can never remember either, but it’s a cool word and I had to learn to spell it for some nun or other who was trying to educate me so I reserve the right to use it any time I please.)

After another long pause, Sweet Young Thing said, "Okay, well I'll call back another time."

Perhaps I'm not so much a curmudgeon as I thought I was. After all, dealing with dark forces like Verizon, AT&T, Darth Vader or the Goa'ul demand a certain level of firmness and duplicity.

In any event, the telephone ring was useful because it awakened my husband who feels a deep need to prepare freshly ground coffee and home made blueberry muffins in celebration of the total rout of the Minions of Evil. (Well one of the minions anyhow.) He's now out in the kitchen singing about fromage. At least that's what it sounds like he's saying.

On the whole, it's been a good morning.

For some reason, Eriessa Marius acquired a bunch of tickets to the dress rehearsal of La Traviata by the local Opera Company. She coerced me and our friend--well let's call her "Justicia" (since that's her internet nic)--to go with her.

The disasters began at dinner. Eriessa ordered some sort of cake and it turned out to have cherries in it. She was outraged that anybody would contaminate an innocent cake with "fruit matter." The management of the restaurant was left in no doubt that some people do not appreciate the joy of fruit in their cake. I no longer eat in that restaurant. I'm afraid to go back.

The Opera Company had engaged a Famous Tenor who got sick and could not appear. So, they had to import a new one. They had no costume for this man. So… Violetta paraded around in all her lavender and lace and Alfredo wore jeans with a hole in the knee, sneakers and a really bad 'tude.

The performance was totally surreal. I wish I had a film of it. Alfredo just stood like a stick, with one hand in his jeans pocket looking like he was… well, never mind what it looked like he was doing. Every once in awhile Tito Capobianco (the artistic director and overlord) would zoom out from the wings, grab Alfredo's offending hand and position it in some more acceptable fashion. As soon as Tito disappeared, the hand returned to its pocket activities.

The Famous Soprano was miffed at Alfredo's attitude. This was unfortunate because of all the love scenes in La Traviata. She really looked like she wanted to clock him with a two by four. He never looked at HER at all. Which was awkward during the pretend smooching sequences. He just stood like a stockfish (hand in pocket) and stared vaguely at the center of the first balcony. Really, Violetta's scenes with Alfredo's dad were much warmer than her duets with Alf himself.

Now I realize it was a "rehearsal" but it was a dress rehearsal. And we paid money to see this debacle. The grand culmination of the evening came when Justicia announced (in a loud voice) "this really sucks" just as the music got all soft. Justicia has a very carrying voice. Eriessa replied (in an even louder and more carrying voice) "Yes, it does. They really ought to call this La Travesty not La Traviata."

Unfortunately, Capobianco chose that precise moment to materialize for the purpose of extracting Alfredo's hand from pocket city. Everybody in the audience froze as Tito turned majestically to search for the source of the disturbance.

My luck ran true to form and he decided that *I* was the evil presence. (The nuns in grade school always blamed me for the depredations of the person sitting next to me also. I really was a very well behaved child.)

Anyhow… Justicia had had enough. She rose from her seat and announced, "These people are such AMATEURS! I'm leaving and I have the car keys."

So Eriessa and I followed her out to the street. About a quarter of the audience slinked out in our wake.

Tito Capobianco resigned his position as artistic director and overlord of the opera company not long after that. And the Famous Soprano has never returned to town. I like to think that I played my part in opera history.