'M' For Opera.
It was supposed to be a refined, cultured affair, an evening at the opera, high fashion, air kisses, famous names, and trooping to a high-class joint after the show to sip coffee talking about what a talented young guy Jit Murad is and if only Malaysia had a theater program to produce first-class talents like him, we could be the center of art, culture and everything in between by 2010.
We left Damansara Perdana in her car driving straight into one jam after another at every traffic light junction from Taman Tun to Damansara Heights, inching our position along Jalan Mahameru all the way to Auditorium Negara. She had insisted on going in her Bavarian car on account of mine is a station-wagon with a conspicuous bicycle rack on the roof which she found a little too coarse and out-of-place for a fine evening at the opera.
She is in a jovial mood at the apartment making last minute adjustment to her beautiful dress standing before a full-sized mirror turning this way and that way asking, do I look alright? Do I look pretty? Do you think I've put on weight?. A light drizzle comes down in a cotton droplets and so we trot to the car like a TV couple going out to receive the award for best supporting actor and actress. She is a first-class girl smelling all so high-class in her French perfume, looking so nice and pretty, skin smooth as porcelain. I forgot my knife. A woman this pretty would need a first-class protection but she's got the engine running and I didn't think it is okay with her to wait so I could go take the elevator up to the apartment to get my knife. We are going to the opera for crying out loud, not to a potluck or a cook-it-yourself dinner show where you need to bring your own lamb, spices and 12-inch Chef knife.
She's got the radio tuned in to a nice station playing familiar songs for us to sing the chorus together. At the first traffic light junction at Taman Tun we inch our way little by little to be next in line when the green light comes on. She is in good spirit, laughing at my silly jokes about John Guling that drivers in the cars around us must be wondering what a pretty woman like this convulsing violently at the steering wheel as if possessed by a demon. When we get to Damansara Heights she starts to sound a little irritated being caught in a slow-moving traffic and begins cursing under her lips. I know it's time to shut up and that it is no time to be playing stand-up comic or putting on Mr. Bean kinda act. It is time to sit still as ramrod watching everything from the corner of my eyes because Malaysian opera is about to begin. And what a lucky fellow I am being the audience of one sitting this close next to the star of the show driving a German car of a matching color.
And it comes down in a torrent of curses and swearing I never thought a pretty woman like her is capable of doing I figure the sky is coming down in pieces. Quite frankly I like her this way. She's more original like this but this is no time to be thinking of originality when the show is starting any minute eventhough I say softly to her there's a good chance it wont start on time. Afterall it's the Malaysian opera and it is only fair that they run it according to Malaysian time, sticking closely to Malaysian schedule. It must have touched her deep with that one that she finally calms down like a pony, laughing and giggling at my stupid jokes which I deliver like a running commentary of the last horse race of the week.
After the show we stop for coffee at a joint to meet up with her friends, men and women with tired eyes who slur their speech that I have to keep saying, excuse me, excuse me, excuse me? In the end I give up saying excuse me when I sense they must have figured excuse me must be the only phrase I know how to say since I was born. But I have to say excuse me for one last time to a white girl blocking my way to the toilet. She turns her feet to let me pass but she's an extraordinary girl with an extraordinarily large body about a mile wide that I have to say excuse me three times before I can squeeze my way through to smell stale beer in her breath.
What was it about the opera that I remember most so I can write something to prove that I am no prairie cowboy or a roughneck who doesn't know any better how to appreciate finer things in life like red meat red wine, white if you are having fish, sir. Oh yea, I know that but at two pee aym in the morning I'd like something stronger like sirap bandung soda and lamb briyani. Sorry, sir, we don't serve that here. Oh yea, and you call yourself a first class joint?
She says please don't make a scene here to embarass me.
We left Damansara Perdana in her car driving straight into one jam after another at every traffic light junction from Taman Tun to Damansara Heights, inching our position along Jalan Mahameru all the way to Auditorium Negara. She had insisted on going in her Bavarian car on account of mine is a station-wagon with a conspicuous bicycle rack on the roof which she found a little too coarse and out-of-place for a fine evening at the opera.
She is in a jovial mood at the apartment making last minute adjustment to her beautiful dress standing before a full-sized mirror turning this way and that way asking, do I look alright? Do I look pretty? Do you think I've put on weight?. A light drizzle comes down in a cotton droplets and so we trot to the car like a TV couple going out to receive the award for best supporting actor and actress. She is a first-class girl smelling all so high-class in her French perfume, looking so nice and pretty, skin smooth as porcelain. I forgot my knife. A woman this pretty would need a first-class protection but she's got the engine running and I didn't think it is okay with her to wait so I could go take the elevator up to the apartment to get my knife. We are going to the opera for crying out loud, not to a potluck or a cook-it-yourself dinner show where you need to bring your own lamb, spices and 12-inch Chef knife.
She's got the radio tuned in to a nice station playing familiar songs for us to sing the chorus together. At the first traffic light junction at Taman Tun we inch our way little by little to be next in line when the green light comes on. She is in good spirit, laughing at my silly jokes about John Guling that drivers in the cars around us must be wondering what a pretty woman like this convulsing violently at the steering wheel as if possessed by a demon. When we get to Damansara Heights she starts to sound a little irritated being caught in a slow-moving traffic and begins cursing under her lips. I know it's time to shut up and that it is no time to be playing stand-up comic or putting on Mr. Bean kinda act. It is time to sit still as ramrod watching everything from the corner of my eyes because Malaysian opera is about to begin. And what a lucky fellow I am being the audience of one sitting this close next to the star of the show driving a German car of a matching color.
And it comes down in a torrent of curses and swearing I never thought a pretty woman like her is capable of doing I figure the sky is coming down in pieces. Quite frankly I like her this way. She's more original like this but this is no time to be thinking of originality when the show is starting any minute eventhough I say softly to her there's a good chance it wont start on time. Afterall it's the Malaysian opera and it is only fair that they run it according to Malaysian time, sticking closely to Malaysian schedule. It must have touched her deep with that one that she finally calms down like a pony, laughing and giggling at my stupid jokes which I deliver like a running commentary of the last horse race of the week.
After the show we stop for coffee at a joint to meet up with her friends, men and women with tired eyes who slur their speech that I have to keep saying, excuse me, excuse me, excuse me? In the end I give up saying excuse me when I sense they must have figured excuse me must be the only phrase I know how to say since I was born. But I have to say excuse me for one last time to a white girl blocking my way to the toilet. She turns her feet to let me pass but she's an extraordinary girl with an extraordinarily large body about a mile wide that I have to say excuse me three times before I can squeeze my way through to smell stale beer in her breath.
What was it about the opera that I remember most so I can write something to prove that I am no prairie cowboy or a roughneck who doesn't know any better how to appreciate finer things in life like red meat red wine, white if you are having fish, sir. Oh yea, I know that but at two pee aym in the morning I'd like something stronger like sirap bandung soda and lamb briyani. Sorry, sir, we don't serve that here. Oh yea, and you call yourself a first class joint?
She says please don't make a scene here to embarass me.
posted by Bergen at
12:15 PM
14 Comments:
I only remember me and my older sister dressed in samfu when we went to watch chinese opera a looooong time ago. We were still in pony tails back then.
i hv memorable time watching PGLtM last february.not once.. but twice.
good...no.. great show. standing ovation!
I found this a particularly entertaining and funny post!!
Please don't take this the wrong way, as I mean it as an endearing compliment, but when I read that post fast and without stopping, except where intended (as the only halts are full stops, since commas are sparse) - I can visualise Kimi Raikonnen narrating that whole post brilliantly. Am sure you've caught his post-race press conferences and his "style" of speech? :D
I never did like red wine (dulu2! Now no more!). Now white .. that's a whole different kettle of fish. *winks*
*wow*
and you say you are a country bumpkin?
jit murad! my former officemate looks like the actor. i failed to remember about the actor everytime i have the *you look familiar* feeling.
tq sir.
Ola B
I would have opted for Teh Tarik during hour...
Hope you enjoy the theater
If there's a musical that you should watch, it's GREASE and it's coming to town this MAY!! I have seen it before and I am going again. I already have the tickets! It'll make you dance in your seats..plus you prob know all the songs by heart. Fun! FUn! FUn!
ya lah bergen, what sort of country bumpkin goes for theaters with a woman in a "bavarian" car? You dont sound like one at all!
Berg,
You are trying to hard to keep company with this classy lady, but you do not seem to be enjoying yourself...
Aida.
hmmm..trying to figure out if its fact or fiction sir.
What was the show like? Any good?
AuntyN: Must have been quite a pair you and your sister then.
Nadya: Missed that one.
Blabs: Thank you, ma'am.
Sayuti: You know something, you remind me of someone too. Jeng jeng jeng...
Ailin: No, ma'am. Won't get drunk.
EM: I am a strictly coffee person, ma'am. Tea's good too.
Anggerik Merah: It was a good performance. That's what everybody says so it is safe for me to parrot it here.
Anedra: Yes, I am DEFINITELY going for that show. Don't be surprised if the security personnel throw me off the stage for getting all excited and get carried away with the show thing.
Aida: Quite frankly, I am intimidated by professional, successful, classy women in general. But I've learned that they are people too with emotional needs and capable of laughing at stupid things. I also learned not to try to sound intelligent when I know next to nothing about something. The best thing I learned is that they appreciate honesty. It's easy to move foward from there.
Anne: It could be facts. Or fiction. There are only two way this can go. Let's flip the coin. Head or tail?
Lifebloom: It's about guy very good at designing clothes to make people look good. His mother was a tailor. There's a lot of singing and dancing and people moving about the stage. A lot of lights. Colors. And then it ends. Curtain call. Everybody clapped. We go home.
Thinktankgal: LOL. You're most welcome, ma'am.
i am slowly introducing the hubby to recitals and musicals, and it's been quite fun really. it's nice to learn that my mat metal is open to what i consider quite tame and feminine.
when people had bubbly champagne during intermission, we shared dry ginger ale in a flute and giggled like small kids...
and in return, i am supposed to do be that goth chic and be there when the "monsters of metal" congregate every now and then.
A gr8 read, as always.
Funny how you say 'as though excuse me's were the only word you know since birth'.
Keep em coming!
Nazrah: A bit of metal every now and then will do you a lot of good, ma'am. Can't imagine you being metal though. LOL.
Pu1Pu3: You say nice things, ma'am. Thank you.
To everyone who came in for a visit, thank you for coming. Have a nice day, y'all.
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