Much to my surprise, Eileen suggested yesterday that we watch the Redskins v. Ravens exhibition preseason game on TV. She developed a Raven-fan interest when she was at Hopkins three autumns ago and was imbued with Baltimore Ravens enthusiasts all around her. I of course see plenty of that when I go to my office in Towson and back when I was in Upper Marlboro where one lawyer had her door filled with Ravens posters and stickers.
For someone who enjoys sports, I watch less than average numbers of pro football games. I like games where something major is at stake and all my loyalties in pro football have more or less faded. I abandoned the Giants years ago when they went bad for ages--following their brilliant choice of not hiring either of their two top assistants, Vince Lombardi or Tom Landry, as head coach. I loved the Raiders for their attitudes right through John Madden's time coaching them. And back when the local eleven was in contention, I was even caught up in the furor. Heck, my staff at the Court of Appeals asked to come in wearing Redskins regalia the day of the Super Bowl victory parade and of course, I agreed--and wore my own.
But for years the local eleven has been synonymous with moronic management and the Raiders had passed their time even when Al Davis was still alive. I've been drawn over the years to the Ravens because they had great defense with the touch of outlawry that the Raiders had. I've been lucky enough to attend games both in Oakland and Baltimore to see how fervent their fan bases are.
So last night I realized that as these were preseason games, they would have local commentators. The Redskins are carried by the local NBC outlet, with Joe Theisman as the play-by-play man and the Ravens were on a Baltimore ABC station I picked up on cable. I only recall that the ageless Stan White was the color man. We switched back and forth and it was like hearing two different games.
They would go nuts when their team made a good play and more or less ignore anything done by the opposing club. If an opposing player went down, it hardly merited mention. It all reminded me of the old days of local baseball announcers on radio especially--known as homers. Some great ones, like Vin Scully, still calling the Dodgers for the last century or so, remain real pros and don't give off the aura of home-team favoritism to any major degree.
But then there are true homers like the late Bob Prince of Pittsburgh. I'll always recall driving into Pittsburgh and trying to find KDKA, the famous station there that still carries the Pirates. Suddenly, I heard those tones blaring out of the car radio: "All right, our team is up." And that was Bob. Like Howard Cosell, he had started out as a lawyer. Once Howard had him on his short-lived show covering the world, Speaking of Everything, and in response to Howard's challenge that Bob was a homer, Bob just responded that he was no different from Howard's backing his team.
He meant the Mets and Howard went nuts: "Don't call them my team! I have totally disagreed with everything that team has done for the past blankety-blank years etc etc." But there were lots of announcers like Bob Prince. Johnny Most of the Celtics comes to mind. It was fun hearing that old home-time religion if only for a preseason game. Most homers get old really fast but for one night, it was a trip back into a different pre-ESPN sports world.
Sunday, August 30, 2015
Thursday, August 27, 2015
Knee High
I'm two weeks past having my right knee replaced. Still somewhat stiff and swollen but I'm walking, going up and down the stairs fairly easily, and doing a lot of exercises twice daily to make the whole thing work in the end. It seems only slightly crazy that my "good" knee, i.e., the one which I plan to replace two months from now, feels better than good, now.
The experience, on the whole, has been highly positive. The surgeon and the physical therapists have been great, as have been the home health nurse and the caretaker-in-chief, Eileen. Spending five days more in rehab was on the whole worth it for the more intensive physical therapy.
Either I could go right home and people would come to my house with therapy and home health care. Or I could go into what is called rehab for some days or weeks. Rehab sounded like a good choice. It meant I would be taken to physical therapy twice a day, and given some occupational therapy as well. The rehab unit--the physical therapy part, that is, and although less needed for my particular surgery, the occupational therapy--was excellent and stretched my capacities as those needed to be.
Apart from the therapy, however, I was in a nursing home. And that's just what the contract for services that I signed said it was. Ostensibly they have tried to combine the two functions, but when you leave the therapy rooms, you are in a nursing home. This means reduced levels of service from what you expect in a hospital and a reduced level of competence in basic skills.
Things that I know all too much about, like legal liability and corporate structuring, help make this so. Example: if you are in one of these units, and it is attached to a hospital, it may not have access to the medical specialists that the hospital has available. It is a separate structure, designed to keep costs down.
Because you might fall, for liability reasons it struck me that no one encourages you to begin learning to get around without a walker. The five nights I spent in rehab were worthwhile because I began to get into the specific routine of focused exercises. This was highly desirable, since our house has lots of steps, with not all vital functions on the same floor. This is also why I was eligible for rehab. But after five nights in this unit, I began to see that the experience wasn't desirable for me psychologically.
So, yes, all appears to be working out for the best. This is also an experience that draws on what might not be my most outstanding virtue: patience. Yes, for this procedure to work, doing the exercises is critical, but results are cumulative and I have to keep reminding myself of that.
The experience, on the whole, has been highly positive. The surgeon and the physical therapists have been great, as have been the home health nurse and the caretaker-in-chief, Eileen. Spending five days more in rehab was on the whole worth it for the more intensive physical therapy.
Either I could go right home and people would come to my house with therapy and home health care. Or I could go into what is called rehab for some days or weeks. Rehab sounded like a good choice. It meant I would be taken to physical therapy twice a day, and given some occupational therapy as well. The rehab unit--the physical therapy part, that is, and although less needed for my particular surgery, the occupational therapy--was excellent and stretched my capacities as those needed to be.
Apart from the therapy, however, I was in a nursing home. And that's just what the contract for services that I signed said it was. Ostensibly they have tried to combine the two functions, but when you leave the therapy rooms, you are in a nursing home. This means reduced levels of service from what you expect in a hospital and a reduced level of competence in basic skills.
Things that I know all too much about, like legal liability and corporate structuring, help make this so. Example: if you are in one of these units, and it is attached to a hospital, it may not have access to the medical specialists that the hospital has available. It is a separate structure, designed to keep costs down.
Because you might fall, for liability reasons it struck me that no one encourages you to begin learning to get around without a walker. The five nights I spent in rehab were worthwhile because I began to get into the specific routine of focused exercises. This was highly desirable, since our house has lots of steps, with not all vital functions on the same floor. This is also why I was eligible for rehab. But after five nights in this unit, I began to see that the experience wasn't desirable for me psychologically.
So, yes, all appears to be working out for the best. This is also an experience that draws on what might not be my most outstanding virtue: patience. Yes, for this procedure to work, doing the exercises is critical, but results are cumulative and I have to keep reminding myself of that.
Wednesday, August 5, 2015
Opera As It Should Be
My second night at the Santa Fe Opera was a fine experience: Verdi's Rigoletto tends to bring out the best in most productions. And as with other highly popular operas, it can withstand crazy ideas for new productions, not that that was what happened here. I forced myself to remember that summer opera--even at its most renowned venues like this one--is a chance to test out old and new operas that lack the popularity of Rigoletto, as well as singers who are on the way up.
The combination of Georgia Jarman as Gilda and Quinn Kelsey as Rigoletto was magical; they clicked as a classic Verdian father-daughter duo. Brian Sledge was a respectable Duke, not that this isn't the most sordid tenor role, since he is thoroughly awful and gets away with everything. His penalty, I suggest, was the tepid round of applause following his rendition of La Donna e mobile, the opera's most famous aria and probably one of the two or three most famous numbers in opera. It made me recall how Pavarotti attracted exultation by holding that final note of the song for what seemed an interminable time.
Kelsey had a fine rich baritone but while he was wonderful for much of the opera, I thought he disappeared in the famous last-act quartet. Jarman is a comer--she shone in caro nome's coloratura and trills as well as in the taxing final-act music for Gilda. Peixer Chen was a memorable Sparafucile, especially for holding the last low note when he repeats his name to Rigoletto while, in this production, he walks across the stage much as the legendary Rosa Ponselle was known to do.
Rigoletto is a wrenching tragedy. When well done, the characters reach your inner self and you feel for them, well, for Rigoletto and Gilda, anyway. Rigoletto is truly a fool, in life as in his profession of jester. But you see more beneath his surface than in the most celebrated operatic clown, Canio in Leoncavallo's I Pagliacci. You also feel deep pangs of grief for Gilda's loss of both innocence and life. And you are revulsed by the "vile race of courtiers".
Mostly, though, you are overwhelmed by Verdi's seemingly endless flow of melody and every form of operatic singing: aria, cabaletta, quartet, trio, duet. From the opening questa o quella to the quartet, bella figure del amore, and in between, my own favorite, the Rigoletto-Gilda duet at the end of the penultimate act, the music flows with genius and brilliance.
The combination of Georgia Jarman as Gilda and Quinn Kelsey as Rigoletto was magical; they clicked as a classic Verdian father-daughter duo. Brian Sledge was a respectable Duke, not that this isn't the most sordid tenor role, since he is thoroughly awful and gets away with everything. His penalty, I suggest, was the tepid round of applause following his rendition of La Donna e mobile, the opera's most famous aria and probably one of the two or three most famous numbers in opera. It made me recall how Pavarotti attracted exultation by holding that final note of the song for what seemed an interminable time.
Kelsey had a fine rich baritone but while he was wonderful for much of the opera, I thought he disappeared in the famous last-act quartet. Jarman is a comer--she shone in caro nome's coloratura and trills as well as in the taxing final-act music for Gilda. Peixer Chen was a memorable Sparafucile, especially for holding the last low note when he repeats his name to Rigoletto while, in this production, he walks across the stage much as the legendary Rosa Ponselle was known to do.
Rigoletto is a wrenching tragedy. When well done, the characters reach your inner self and you feel for them, well, for Rigoletto and Gilda, anyway. Rigoletto is truly a fool, in life as in his profession of jester. But you see more beneath his surface than in the most celebrated operatic clown, Canio in Leoncavallo's I Pagliacci. You also feel deep pangs of grief for Gilda's loss of both innocence and life. And you are revulsed by the "vile race of courtiers".
Mostly, though, you are overwhelmed by Verdi's seemingly endless flow of melody and every form of operatic singing: aria, cabaletta, quartet, trio, duet. From the opening questa o quella to the quartet, bella figure del amore, and in between, my own favorite, the Rigoletto-Gilda duet at the end of the penultimate act, the music flows with genius and brilliance.
Tuesday, August 4, 2015
Taos or/a Bust
So yesterday we drove to Taos from Santa Fe. It was a day trip I've long intended to make so here we were with enough time in Santa Fe to do it. Some guides suggest taking the High Road up and the Low Road back; others recommend the opposite. I don't think it matters a whole lot. You see some of the Rio Grande Gorge on the Low Road and it's nice, as was the friendly desk officer at the National Parks Service center for that part of the Rio Grande valley. Best sight was the view of the mountains looming past Taos.
But neither route lived up to its advance ballyhoo, and nor did Taos itself. I suppose I mayn't have enjoyed all the views on the High Road since I had to focus just a tad on driving, but I have had to do that for most of my life when negotiating the curves on the Bear Mountain Bridge Road high above the Hudson, so I'll leave it at that.
Taos has lots of galleries, which if that's your thing, probably makes a big difference, as it does, but to a far lesser degree, it would seem, in Santa Fe. Even the guidebooks concede that Taos Plaza is one sleazy commercial strip but there seemed to be a lot of those. The Taos Pueblo has history--inhabited for the past 1000 years or so--but yesterday they were doing road work so you had to park quite a ways away and wait for a shuttle--yes, you know the drill and I suppose my patience was not weighing in at record high levels, so, since I figured I wasn't going to scale the ladders anyway...
But we did head out to the Millicent Rogers Museum (MRM, to locals) which is a fine collection of Southwestern jewelry, religious objects and paintings, pottery, some paintings, and more. Learning about Maria Montoya's pottery--e.g., black relief on black--was excellent but if, as one source touted, this was the best museum in Taos, I missed little by skipping the rest.
Santa Fe is a delight, even if we're resisting that music tempting us to open up a restaurant here. There are already plenty of more than decent eateries and lots else going on. On the day we got here there was a sold-out chamber music concert and a Shakespeare company was doing The Tempest. I did come especially for the opera and so far, that's been superb, along with that marvelous line of the mountains and sunset looming out past the stage as the show starts.
But neither route lived up to its advance ballyhoo, and nor did Taos itself. I suppose I mayn't have enjoyed all the views on the High Road since I had to focus just a tad on driving, but I have had to do that for most of my life when negotiating the curves on the Bear Mountain Bridge Road high above the Hudson, so I'll leave it at that.
Taos has lots of galleries, which if that's your thing, probably makes a big difference, as it does, but to a far lesser degree, it would seem, in Santa Fe. Even the guidebooks concede that Taos Plaza is one sleazy commercial strip but there seemed to be a lot of those. The Taos Pueblo has history--inhabited for the past 1000 years or so--but yesterday they were doing road work so you had to park quite a ways away and wait for a shuttle--yes, you know the drill and I suppose my patience was not weighing in at record high levels, so, since I figured I wasn't going to scale the ladders anyway...
But we did head out to the Millicent Rogers Museum (MRM, to locals) which is a fine collection of Southwestern jewelry, religious objects and paintings, pottery, some paintings, and more. Learning about Maria Montoya's pottery--e.g., black relief on black--was excellent but if, as one source touted, this was the best museum in Taos, I missed little by skipping the rest.
Santa Fe is a delight, even if we're resisting that music tempting us to open up a restaurant here. There are already plenty of more than decent eateries and lots else going on. On the day we got here there was a sold-out chamber music concert and a Shakespeare company was doing The Tempest. I did come especially for the opera and so far, that's been superb, along with that marvelous line of the mountains and sunset looming out past the stage as the show starts.
Daughter of the Regiment
Seeing tonight's performance of Donizetti's The Daughter of the Regiment at the Santa Fe Opera completes my trifecta--now, and with tomorrow night's Rigoletto here, I've managed to attend the three great U.S. summer opera venues: Santa Fe, St. Louis, and Glimmerglass (Cooperstown). It was a delightful evening, that maximized the opera bouffe character of Donizetti's work.
Kevin Burdette as Sgt. Sulpice was the pillar of the comedy as he danced, mugged, twisted, and, yes, sang his way to the audience's delight, fully deserved. Anna Christy in the title soprano role looked more, both in Act I military uniform and Act II aristocratic heir, like Olympia the doll in Act I of Tales of Hoffmann. Alek Shrader has a fine tenor that made his performance as Tonio. Phyllis Pancella, the veteran mezzo who joins hands with Sulpice at the end, lent her part, the Marquise of Berkenfeld some gravitas as well as humanity that it has often lacked in other productions.
For me, Santa Fe has the right idea in emphasizing the comic qualities of the opera which premiered at Paris's Opera-Comique. It's been more than half a lifetime since I was ever so lucky to see the incredible production at the Metropolitan in 1972, which starred no less than Joan Sutherland. As always, Sutherland made the coloratura singing look easy and her famously large frame looked great in a military uniform; she submitted to looking fairly ridiculous in her Act II gowns when transported to the Marquise's chateau.
Sutherland's most marvelous gift, though, in addition to her always glorious singing, was bringing along a then-little-known Italian tenor for his Met debut, a triumphant one, needless to say: Luciano Pavarotti. While Shrader could match Luciano's famed performing the nine high C's in Donizetti's score for the tenor's big aria, he could not equal the presence and beauty of Pavarotti's voice that was sprung then upon America for the first time.
It was pleasing to read the recounting of that great debut in the feature article in the Santa Fe program. The pre-performance lecturer, a former radio host of opera programs on New York's WQXR, neglected to mention it, somehow managing to give some of the interesting history of the opera's performances in the U.S. and leaving out its finest moment.
Kevin Burdette as Sgt. Sulpice was the pillar of the comedy as he danced, mugged, twisted, and, yes, sang his way to the audience's delight, fully deserved. Anna Christy in the title soprano role looked more, both in Act I military uniform and Act II aristocratic heir, like Olympia the doll in Act I of Tales of Hoffmann. Alek Shrader has a fine tenor that made his performance as Tonio. Phyllis Pancella, the veteran mezzo who joins hands with Sulpice at the end, lent her part, the Marquise of Berkenfeld some gravitas as well as humanity that it has often lacked in other productions.
For me, Santa Fe has the right idea in emphasizing the comic qualities of the opera which premiered at Paris's Opera-Comique. It's been more than half a lifetime since I was ever so lucky to see the incredible production at the Metropolitan in 1972, which starred no less than Joan Sutherland. As always, Sutherland made the coloratura singing look easy and her famously large frame looked great in a military uniform; she submitted to looking fairly ridiculous in her Act II gowns when transported to the Marquise's chateau.
Sutherland's most marvelous gift, though, in addition to her always glorious singing, was bringing along a then-little-known Italian tenor for his Met debut, a triumphant one, needless to say: Luciano Pavarotti. While Shrader could match Luciano's famed performing the nine high C's in Donizetti's score for the tenor's big aria, he could not equal the presence and beauty of Pavarotti's voice that was sprung then upon America for the first time.
It was pleasing to read the recounting of that great debut in the feature article in the Santa Fe program. The pre-performance lecturer, a former radio host of opera programs on New York's WQXR, neglected to mention it, somehow managing to give some of the interesting history of the opera's performances in the U.S. and leaving out its finest moment.
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