I'm sitting in a hotel room in downtown LA listening to Madame Merle complain about the audience at LA Opera (people in flip flops and incessant wrapper masturbation for the last hour of the performance) and compare a magnificent performance of Das Rheingold to Chinese opera. She says Chinese opera was worse. To my ears, that's akin to comparing a South Park cartoon to a Dix painting as equal representations of contemporary social commentary. I could probably come up with a better analogy for this, but when you (if you) get through this post you may understand why I'm not at the top of my game on this day. Oh, let me correct this as I am being heckled as I as write this. She's claiming it was as bad as an Air Supply concert.

Now, is this the most ludicrous thing you've ever read? Heathens.

Guest writer Madame Merle: first, I'm being completely misrepresented... in my defense, which obviously won't work here, i did mention i don't like opera, but i make a really good arm piece...
rheingold, the story could have been told in an hour and the action would not have been sped up in the least. and seriously who taught la-la land opera goers etiquette? here's an opportunity to have an event folks... try some heels! and yes it was 12 hours and 53 minutes at least but eat before or unwrap your candy before the show, you were at the last 10 minutes for goodness sake.
now the Chinese Opera, i was sure my ear drums would burst, who sings that high! and why??? though had about the same amount of action and had actually managed to repress that i had ever seen anything that horrific until about half way through last night's performance when i suddenly had the flashback as i was trying to figure out ways to quietly kill myself to not have to suffer further.
now SOUTHPARK, come on... the beginnings of each episode this season have been brilliant, i was not saying anything at all good about any opera, chinese, german, italian, or any such likes... though did like dix.
are all women in Opera weak? vain? manipulative? so afraid her man will leave her, cheat again, she's willing to do anything?
the lessons i learned last night, power over love, but wait, youth over everything.
and what, only 60 more hours to go... joy of all joys.

Marcher: Yes, everyone knows you like Dix. What to do, you try, try to spread the wonders of the art to those you know and then you end up afterwards sitting at the Omni's outdoor bar listening to how one woman lost her virginity to Walkure (a marathon performance she has never found anyone else could equal since) while the other two tried to convince me of the merits of REO Speedwagon. Really, is this my life? Not that I'm complaining, but it was rather surreal. I was at least relieved to learn the deflowering did not take place during the first act.

Apparently Madame Merle has more to say, since she has figured out a way to poison herself at dinner and thus miss Domingo in Walkure, the prospect of which is causing her to break out in hives while she furiously texts her mother about the faux paus committed by various audience members:

Madame Merle: (putting on her bedroom eyes)... though we were actually a little more passionate about depeche mode... and we all know my likes are why you are allowing me to be here arguing in bed right now...
this is a city where people go to whole foods in their pajamas, but was hoping at least there would be some decorum, style, class... have i been in new york too long... i need to go back to the Met, its only obvious, leaving him to his girls with their german sex tales. [this portion has had certain bitchy elements removed by Marcher, to Madame Merle's great and vociferous protestations].

Marcher: Depeche Mode is the 80's version of Journey and just as musically vapid.

When I return, I'm going to write a real post about last night, and there are still a few other things I need to catch up on, but for now I'm going to give Madame Merle one final shot at clarifying herself (she knows no one cares about this except herself). We are now listening to Rick James. Seriously. Now I feel as if I'm in a Hunter S. Thomson story. Lust and Loathing in Los Angeles. Except there are no drugs to be found anywhere in this room. Well, there is the mini-fridge, which I'm about to drink my breakfast from.

Madame Merle:THERE, THAT'S EXACTLY IT! i had to do that opera stone cold sober!!!! (was about to write iTunes on shuffle as some sort of defense, but the fact that very kinky girl is even on it is indefensible... so i have to stop)

Marcher: She is a pretty arm piece, and brought everything she saw lacking in the audience, but I didn't expect any less of her. Needless to say, the price I'm going to pay for subjecting a juke box girl to 5 1/2 hours of Walkure will probably destroy myriad other hopes and fantasies I may have been harboring about the rest of the stay here in LA, but that's the price one pays for art, no?

It's now 1:20. Anyone want a ticket to see Walkure tonight?