(Or whatever the rhyming slang is for opera this week)
As I may have mentioned once or twice already, I went to the opera for the Very First Time last week.
I’ve been to the theatre approximately 5 BILLION times (or so), but have never, ever been to the opera. I know, I know, my bad.
I admit, it’s partly because I have a slight aversion to it, as a person who has always been extremely involved and in love with theatre, and therefore generally not keen on the sucking of arts funding by an art form which seems to have essentially ceased its popular development about a century ago and has since become - or has always been - a select club for those rich and self-congratulationary enough to foster the … ahem, stopitanna …
and also the opportunity of going has never really presented itself.
So when the opportunity DID present itself, I went.
And my god, it was beautifully sung. It was stunningly presented. Covent Garden Opera House itself is a breathtaking place. I never got bored during the whole thing, I’m really glad I went, and, at the end of the day, I didn’t like it. Sorry opera people. Feel free to start writing your point by point rebuttals now.
In the meantime, here is an open post to whoever decides to put on these same operas over and over again for, overwhelmingly, the same audiences, who go not to experience the new but simply to compare with the last time they saw it, with My tips, which I am offering Free Of Charge to the opera world, for how they can improve the experience of people who might not otherwise like opera. Like me.
Firstly, to whichever of you was responsible for the production of La Nozze Di Figaro I attended last week, if you’re reading, thank you.
It was really well done, and a few people I was with, who have been to lots of operas before, said it was one of the shit-hottest operas they’ve ever seen, so really, well done. I thought the music was beautiful. The singing, lovely. I would quite happily have sat and listened to your beautiful production all night.
However, most of the time I felt compelled to open my eyes, because the provision of surtitles and the fact that if I was just going to sit there shut-eyed I might as well be sitting at home on my sofa with a set of CDs and a galss of wine and my god that would have been more comfortable and also cheaper. And there wouldn’t have been rude old people sitting behind to and next to me tutting. Or at least I hope not.
Anyway, every time I did open my eyes, I got annoyed, because I discovered those pantomimical mugging shouty buggers were still faffing about on stage. And you know what? Someone might want to look into that aspect of the whole thing. Because it’s kind of off-putting. The faffing-about-on-stageness.
I don’t know if anyone from any of the major opera companies IS reading, of course, but if you are, there are some other things, and - although your respected patrons would probably tut at them - and let’s face it, they seemed to tut at EVERYTHING else new, different or ‘young’, I think, so it wouldn’t be a stretch - if you would at least look into them, I would be very enthusiastic about promoting the art of this “Opera” thing to my millions-strong, young, hip readership. Seriously.
So here we are:
Them surtitles. The surtitles (they’re like subtitles, but above the action, you see, it’s Latin) were great. And I was glad they were there. What with it being in Italian and everything. The problem was …
Well, I should explain to anyone who has been to a play but not an opera the difference in plotstucture beteen the two:
In plays, the plot moves foward. More minutes in the play will generally be spent on the points of plot development than atmosphere-building. Well, generally.
In opera, as far as I can see, plot is something to get over with as quickly as possible in the bits between the arias. The typical bit of sung dialogue might go:
A: I love you!
B: Marrrrreee meee!
A: I cannot marry you! I am your father! In a dress! I must now kill you!
B: Oh no! You are my father and you will not marry me and you are in a dress and are about to kill me! Where shall I hide?! The Beech tree! Or the Ancient Oak tree!
And then there will be TEN MINUTES of song about different trees:
A: The oak, the oak, the oak!
B: Beeeeeeeeeeech! And Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaple!
A: Oakoakoakoakoakoakpine and maple!
B: Maple! Maple! Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaple! Oak oak oak!
And you’re sitting there thinking - hang on, did those people really just spend 30 seconds discovering that they were father and daughter and then another seventeen minutes about the “peep peep peep peep” of the cuckoo in the oak tree? Because that seems a little illogical, doesn’t it? It’s almost as if the plot was just an excuse for the wonderful music and that expensive staging of it was therefore superfluous and rather. A crazy and illogical thought, I know.
Opera - let me warn you, my brethren - is very illogical indeed.
The thing with surtitles that no one told me was that they translate everything, but only until everyone starts repeating things over and over and over again. Which unfortunately, they do most of the time. So you would find your self thinking about something else for a second, and then realising that someone was singing the same thing over and over again. With no translation. Because it had been translated once, and for goodness sake if you weren’t concentrating the first time then frankly you simply didn’t deserve to know. But you sit there. And you try and remember why the shouty man is quite so cross, and you just can’t.
At one point, one of the leading men was shouting something that sounded like “Chorizo!“. I tried to remember what the converation had been about before I zoned out but - “Chorizo!” - as far as I was concerned, with no additional concentration for the short-concentration-spanned among us, the man was shouting “SAUSAGE!”.
Which fitted nicely into the ‘conversation’ with his wife, I have to say.
“Make sure not to cause a scandal!”
Said the wife in the surtitles.
“SAUSAGE!”
said the husband, as far as I could tell.
“It will all end in catastrophe!”
Said the wife, worritly, in the surtitles.
“SAUSAGE!!!”
Said the husband. I think.
Also, there were in the opera I went to see, about nine main characters and 30 - I take no piss, THIRTY people who wandered around pulling clown-like faces and maybe possibly sang something about three quarters of the way through for about five minutes.
So frankly, it was difficult to tell, when all the useful people and all the useless people were on stage, who was singing. Because there was only one surtitle bar, lines crossing each other, complex plots etc, and much much confusion.
So I had an idea.
I have suggested it to my beloved the professional technical amazing and all the other technical amazings that I have met, and they were all very supportive, apparently the idea of magic speech bubbles that pop up whenever the pantomimical shouty buggers open their mouths and then follow them around, is a bad idea. No, really. That’s what they all said. Sorry.
But then, I suppose they’re right. If everyone had speech bubbles, it wouldn’t make it better. Let’s face it - all you people who even like it- - it would make it worse. Because you would actually have to really watch it, and would inevitably come to a realiastion that none of this, none of the spectacle made any logical sense at all, and that while it was something that deserved to be listened to in awe and rapture, staging it was a waste of time and money, for all involved.
So there you are. It was a beautiful night with incredible music, and I really am glad I went. Because it made me aware that I want to listen to a lot more opera, enjoy a lot more opera, learn a lot more about the opera that I listen to, and to never, ever darken the doors of an opera house ever again.
And yes, I realise the owners of worldclass opera companies reading this are proclaiming “Do I look bothered?” in one, warbling, castrati voice. Let’s face it, you coped just fine without me before that night, and I without you. Let us simply continue in our mutual apathy. Thank you, and good night. Now cock off and warble twaddle for some other sucker’s hard earned fifty nicker.
Hi Anna
I read Little Red Boat a lot recently; it’s a great escape from medicine, and normally you write beautifully. But not this time.
Please dislike opera. That’s fine, and fair. But if you are going to take it apart, you need to do it better than this.
I have not seen this production of Figaro - and maybe it was not so good - but it’s all about suspension of disblief I guess. And you could not suspend yours.
I love opera, particularly Figaro, which I have seen more times than I can remember. And I don’t return to it just to mark a new production in the mechanistic way you imply.
I struggle with ballet…but I am not going to say, “Oh God, it’s just pouffes football” or “Men in tights and you can tell what religion they are…” and all the usual crap people come out with. I just can’t cope with ballet.
Anna, you are a great writer. Opera deserves better than a lampoon dismissal.
John
Comment by Dr John Crippen — 4 March, 2006 10:21 pm
I’m not trying to take it apart, John. I’m not trying to take it apart.
And I’m very glad you’re gracious in allowing me to dislike opera. I don’t dislike opera, as I said several times. I simply cannot understand why it needs to be staged.
That is all.
I am glad you have seen Figaro several times. I have seen it once, and I’m pretty sure that is the number of times I will die having seen it.
On the other hand, I have seen 13 different productions of Hamlet, and will continue going to see new productions of that and other old and familiar plays as well as brand new productions of new plays by new writers - which is more that one can say for most opera. Why? Because new opera is a niche attraction, and most opera fans look at anything under a hundred years old as an affront - including, it seems - other audience members.
In terms of the writing, I’ve just a read over it, and no, I don’t think it’s the quality of writing you’re pissed off by this time - I particularly like the part about ’sausage’, myself. And the tree bit - you’re pissed off because I don’t like something that you do, and I’m refusing to take it seriously enough to construct an intellectual argument against it.
Which is, of course, all true.
I’m really, really glad you like opera, and you like going to see opera.
I like going to see performance art, and believe me, I’ve read enough ill-informed ‘lampoon dismissals’ of it to last me a lifetime.
But I’m generally relaxed enough to realise that, you know, perhaps other people don’t see the same thing in someone hopping on the spot for 8 minutes that I do, and perhaps we can just exist peacefully, each having our opinons and voicing them freely and not feeling the need to dismiss each other for doing so.
Wouldn’t that be super?
love and kisses
anna
Comment by anna — 4 March, 2006 10:47 pm
Ohh I loved the sausage bit! I’d have understood that totally.
And… I’ve never been and would like to go just to see what it’s like and how it might make me cry. It does that - they say.
I can’t be arsed with this faffy snobbery shite though.
I want to say ‘it’s a puppettttttttt’ but that sort of doesn’t make sense but it’s only an Operaaaaaaaaa ffs!
Ballet is pretty. Thuddy but pretty.
I have yet to sample opera but oh god I hope they do sausages when I go…
(I’m buggered if I’ll pay fifty squid for the err pleasure though!)
Comment by Sooz — 4 March, 2006 11:02 pm
Incidentally… Dr Crippen… err didn’t you kill someone once?
Comment by Sooz — 4 March, 2006 11:03 pm
Thuddy is a nice word, Sooz.
Comment by anna — 4 March, 2006 11:30 pm
Thuddy *is* a nice word. I have never seen opera performed, or indeed ballet. This is quite clearly my own loss, most probably my own fault, and something that I shall not take any immediate steps to ratify. I shall merely add them to my incredibly long list of ‘Things I Haven’t Done Yet’, below sky-diving but probably above painting a badger orange with my feet.
I am, however, a theatre lover. Not just because of the escapism, the boradening of horizons, the new ideas being presented - but also because of the humorous anecdotes I collect as a result of attending the performances. Not many people can say they have seen Patrick Stewart in his underwear. I *like* theatre. And I intend to see more of it when I get to university, inbetween painting woodland creatures with my feet.
I also loved the ’sausage’ bit. Hehehe, SAUSAGE!!!
Comment by Anna F — 5 March, 2006 12:03 am
See, NOW I understand why I don’t go to opera. Up until now it was just an ill-formed uncomfortableness anytime my parents decided to buy an extra ticket for yours truly anytime they decided I needed some culture and an excuse to buy a “proper” outfit. There was always a vague “but-do-I-like-opera?” weirdness. I get now that I DO like opera, just not at the, you know, opera! Yow. I feel much better about myself. And one thing you didn’t talk about, Anna, was the worst part of any live opera performance - the intermission. $12 g&t, the pushing and shoving to get at a warm mimosa, the fawning….blurgh.
Same with ballet, but I immeditaly got why I didn’t like it - when you go to see the Bolshoi (only ballet I’ve ever seen live, aside from my friend Bec’s daughters’ recitals), you expect that the laws of gravity don’t apply to ballerinas. They should just float, sylph-like about the stage. Thus, hearing these potato-fed dancers land like a sack of sand on every jump was very disappointing. No more balet performed by anyone older than 14 for me!
Thank goodness for books and art and Australian Rules football, else I’d have NO culture in my life.
BTW, I like your writing a lot - thanks!
Comment by Zenta — 5 March, 2006 12:08 am
Oooooh - Patrick Stewart in his underwear, yes, I saw that too. Along with Joshua Jackson in HIS underwear. Hard to say which was more exciting. Patrick because he’s hot because such a great actor and Joshua because he’s, um, hot. Such a great arse!
I love theatre but some of it, let’s face it, can be boring. At least opera, some of it, livens it up a little. I love that unlike film, the romantic heroines don’t have to be skinny, in fact the best ones pack a few pounds. Makes me emphasise a bit more. I love the ridiculousness of it all, whether it’s someone singing sausage or, in a memorable production of Orpheus in the Underworld that my parents took me to when I was about ten, someone dressed up as Maggie Thatcher with a ten foot long bustle. The best opera I’ve seen doesn’t take itself as seriously as some less good theatre I’ve seen. Please don’t give up on opera! Well, ok, do if you want - there is lots of other good stuff out there to spend time and money on. But just remember that there are theatre productions that everyone raves about that you just want to walk out of half way through. (Brand with Ralph Fiennes was my controversial one. He gurned far too much.)
Comment by The B — 5 March, 2006 12:19 am
This damn door sticks,
This damn door sticks,
It is marked push and indeed I am pushing,
Perhaps it should be marked pull?
Comment by Oscar — 5 March, 2006 9:45 am
Um.
Comment by anna — 5 March, 2006 11:14 am
Oh that production of Orpheus was da bomb. My parents took me to see it too.
I love opera and I am young, but I am also posh, so while I can’t see why enjoying it would be a class thing maybe I am on the wrong side of the line and too embedded to be objective. (See above - parents taking one to see it from early childhood etc.) But I’d just say to your readers that while I totally support Anna’s right to not like opera, I think it would be a real shame if anyone else who had never tried it got put off because they thought they weren’t posh enough for it. Mozart, as I recall, wasn’t all that posh himself. Being put off because people sing sausage is a much healthier reason. Also, if you want to avoid the stupid surtitles, try the ENO - they perform all their operas in English translation.
Comment by Marie — 5 March, 2006 11:29 am
Hello I work in a senior capacity at the Arts Council. You are quite right. I have decided that we will no longer fund opera due to your article. We will give the money to ballet instead which, despite being shit, at least involves kids a bit more. Especially cute poor ones from mining villages. I hope you are proud.
I laughed at this a lot (before I read Dr C’s comment, which I smiled at) (in a non-nasty way)
Comment by JonnyB — 5 March, 2006 11:47 am
Were you able to eat your popcorn in peace this time?
Comment by andre — 5 March, 2006 11:53 am
It *was* a very well done Figaro! Much kudos to David McVicar (the man responsible).
Even as a life long opera fan, I do have to admit that suspension of disbelief is needed quite often - especially with a woman singer playing a male character who then dresses up as a girl and then kisses other girls (don’t think even any Lib Dem leadership candidates would think that one up!).
Ballet, on the other hand, I really have no time for. Perhaps because when you go see it you hear the beautiful music, and then the dancers land. Dee, dum de de de dum, de dum *THUD* Da *Thud* Da *Thud* Do de dum *Thud*. Plus I’ve never been able to take it seriously since that Morecombe and Wise film…
Now you’ve done comic opera, there’s always tragic stuff - would heartily recommend this summer’s Tosca as a good introduction. Rather than just some woman dying of TB yet still managing to sing perfectly (there’s that suspension of disbelief again!) there’s a stabbing, a shooting and a suicide leap off a rooftop, along with a lecherous priest and an escaped convict.
Just before I stop a thought on the sausage. Dame Nellie Melba (the woman the desert is named after) was once singing Mimi in La Boheme, and got to the bit “Che Gelida Manina” (”your tiny hand is frozen”). At this point Enrico Caruso (for it was he) thrust a hot sausage into her hand. And yes the stories all say “a” not “his”…
Comment by Richard — 5 March, 2006 12:27 pm
What did you end up wearing? Did you dress up or go for the jeans?
Comment by JSP — 5 March, 2006 2:06 pm
Good lord! A real hot sausage? In her hand? Really? Was it meant to happen? *impressed*
Comment by Sooz — 5 March, 2006 2:09 pm
Hi Anna
Yes, like you, I go to the theatre more times than I can count, and probably even more than I go to the opera. Hamlet is to Shakespeare as Figaro is to Opera. It does not get better than that.
So, why can you and I both suspend our disbelief for Hamlet, but I cannot for ballet, and you cannot for Opera? That is a fascinating question. I’m tempted to say, go and see this version or that version of a certain opera, and maybe you will change your mind.
It is artificial for someone to burst into song in the middle of a drama but logically no more articial that for Hamlet suddenly to start soliloquising. Both are dramatic conventions. I can cope with both, you can only cope with one. I wonder why?
I think opera walks a higher tightrope than theatre; if an operatic production is crap, then it is doubly so. And I have seen a few lemons, including some at Covent Garden. But at least if it is Mozart, you can close your eyes.
I agree, though, the seats are not very comfortable, and it would be more pleasant at home with a glass of wine. And interestingly, I took my wife, my four children and four of their friends to see a production at the Young Vic last year. The total price was less that the price of one stalls seat at Convent Garden.
I think we are not taxing the unmarried mothers enough. If we put the price of scratch cards up, opera could receive a bigger state subsidy. (That’s my main bug bear with it - the elitism)
I’m tempted to say keep trying; maybe it will get better when middle age comes. But I tried with ballet, and it didn’t get better, so I won’t say that.
Next time Peter Grimes is on somewhere try that. It is wonderful drama and because it is through composed, the singing does not interfer with the dramatic flow as much.
John
Comment by Dr John Crippen — 5 March, 2006 2:59 pm
Do you like musicals anna?
Comment by The B — 5 March, 2006 3:38 pm
1) If you didn’t like figaro then don’t bother with any other operas
2) did you find the surtitles distracted you from the opera? I spent the entire evening watching the surtitles rather than the “action”
3) I don’t know how universal this is but at covent garden there is a “sweet spot” on the stage (front centre) where you need to be standing to get the best out of the acoustics therefore the person front centre is the one singing
4) Speach bubbles could be done but as you realised knowing what they are saying detracts from the beauty
Comment by Chris — 5 March, 2006 4:49 pm
I think maybe “SAUSAGE” = “Guidizio!” ?
I’m not sure opera is really improved by understanding exactly what they’re saying. You can get the gist of the plot from the programme. I also think live opera is much better if you know the opera pretty well from CDs in advance, or maybe that’s just me not having a musically educated enough ear to hear it properly the first time.
Covent Garden does tend to have the top voice stars and the top voice stars, on average, probably tend to be a bit older and fatter and less energetic about their acting than the up-and-coming…… I would go to the ENO live and buy the top voice star on CD, for the same price or less than going to Covent Garden (goodness, quite a bit less, I just checked the prices).
Comment by potentilla — 5 March, 2006 8:41 pm
It’s “giudizio” not “guidizio”. Properly pronounced in Italian it does sound a bit like “chorizo”.
I agree, you should try the ENO Anna. Also I think the surtitles in opera are a waste of time. You spend the entire performance reading them instead of concentrating on the music or the action on stage. Also they’re pointless. Once you’re read the brief description of the opera (ie. boy meets girl, loses girl, finds girl etc) you really don’t need to know any more. Most opera lyrics are repetition, especially with Mozart. I absolutely LOVE Mozart’s operas and I speak Italian but I don’t waste time trying to get the lyrics.
Comment by Snoodle — 6 March, 2006 10:54 am
But what did you wear?
Don’t a lot of people who read your weblog go to the opera. I bet no one who reads mine has been to the opera.
(Apart from one, now.)
Comment by Stuart — 6 March, 2006 11:57 am
Anna
Loved the post (especially the sausage). Glad you enjoyed the music, and hope the tut-tutting old biddies weren’t too much of a drag. They must have hated me in my Covent-Garden-going days: I was strictly a T-shirt and jeans opera-goer. (And usually still am.)
It’s funny: I read lots of reviews and letters-to-the-editor (I read magazines for Wagner anoraks) from people who wanted to shut their eyes at opera performances, but generally that’s because they found the production at odds with the story. Which of course does happen. Your discomfort is rather different, though. As Dr Crippen suggests, you might get on better with through-composed operas (where they sing the whole time) rather than the oder ones where, as you rightly point out, all the plot development takes place in the tinkly bits between the arias. Peter Grimes might indeed be good: strong story, and in English. Not a jolly opera, though.
But just listening to operas is cool. Like people who prefer radio to TV because the pictures are better. If you get operas on DVD you can even watch the bits you like and then do the crossword during the ones where the pictures put you off. And nobody will complain. Even if you eat popcorn.
Comment by Rob — 6 March, 2006 1:47 pm
Hmm. Done a lot of opera in my time, at the Sydney Opera House, no less. You spend the whole opera itching for intermission there, because the bar overlooks the harbour. Opera itself, I find a bit tedious, but the strangest thing happens to me when I’m in there. I have ideas, all sorts of brilliant ideas, about all sorts of things. I wrote a movie one opera season, and no story blockage, no narative dilema, no unwieldy plot device was able to stand up to a night at the opera. So whenever everyone else was runing out to grab a pee and a glass of champagne, I would be hunched over in my uncomfortable seat (uncomfortable seats are a universal opera standard) scribbling in my Moleskine. Someone actually asked me if I was a critic once. I looked up, startled, and said, “No, not for years now.”
I’d suggest you give it another chance, because most of them are tedious, but occasionally an opera will grab you more powerfully than most other media. For me it was Turandot. And if nothing else, go for the ideas. (Oh, and contrary to what everyone has been saying, don’t read the notes beforehand. You want the story to unfurl at its own pace. If you read the notes you end-up sitting there thinking, “We’ve been here for two hours and we’re not up to boy-kills-girl-while-she’s-dressed-as-her-uncle bit - we’re not even half way through. Also, in three act tragedies, leave after the second act and you get a happy ending - just like seeing a movie. If you stay for the third act you’ll leave depressed, and it will be too late to go out for chocolate cake afterwards.
Comment by Damian — 6 March, 2006 2:06 pm
so, it is as i suspected all along, that salad advert with the ‘frise! frise! frise!’ and the ‘ROOO-KETT….ROOO-KETT’ is an accurate representation of (the) opera?
Comment by monkey — 6 March, 2006 2:47 pm
nice rant. You all take it for granted you can see this stuff. It costs me 500 quid just to get to Glasgow! We had an opera singer staying once. The bedroom was too cold for her voice.
Comment by em — 6 March, 2006 3:34 pm
I do love that the opera buffs are trying to convince Anna to try it again. Sometimes some things just don’t suit some people, and that’s all there is to it.
The sausage made me laugh. A lot. And it was just what I needed. Thank you. It was so good I read it twice. And laughed twice. Bargain.
Damian, I get the same effect from contemporary dance and live music. Mostly live music. My attention drifts off and my head fills with ideas. It’s great.
Comment by Clare — 6 March, 2006 4:24 pm
Kwesta?! Mallydetta!! Porta si blocka!!
Comment by Anna F — 6 March, 2006 7:25 pm
“frise frise frise”
hee hee
Comment by marycub — 6 March, 2006 8:32 pm
You’re all on crack.
Well, some of you.
Thank you though all. I am very busy and tired at the moment. I am just warning you. so I’m not being as good as usual at replying to comments. Sorry.
But B, The B, yes, I do, but only certain MGM-type musicals, like On TheTown, and Guys and Dolls and Singin In the Rain, and Funny Face, and, well any Fred Astaire, really.
But I am not very good at liking Rock Musicals, or anything involving the words Lloyd. Or Webber. Or Andrew. Why do you ask, sweetie?
Comment by anna — 6 March, 2006 10:01 pm
Oooh, Guys and Dolls - I LOVED that - with the very tasty Euan McGregor, though, hmm, I hate to say it but, perhaps a little bland. Anyway, actually no reason, really, just interested. There’s been a lot of long chat and yeah, just interested. I’ve never been quite sure of the relationship of musicals to opera, I like both but for different reasons. I think what spark the question was someone assuming that it was the suspension of disbelief over a character bursting into song in the middle of the action that made you dislike opera, and it hadn’t sounded like that was the case. And if you like musicals, it can’t have been.
I do agree about faffage. Nothing worse, in life generally.
Comment by The B — 7 March, 2006 12:33 am
Well, Anna, take omfort in the fact that you have some very cultured readers indeed. Well done you.
Comment by Anna F — 9 March, 2006 12:27 pm
The didn’t have the surtitles the first time I went to the opera and it was a complete bore. Even though people complained about them at first, it certainly helps me enjoy the opera a lot more, because I can follow the story.
Comment by Neil — 9 March, 2006 5:39 pm
Clare - I would definitely describe myself as an opera buff, but looking back I think mainly I suggested that listening (or watching on DVD where you can read a book in between interesting bits) is absolutely fine. Of course opera isn’t for everyone; but Anna has been at pains to point out that her problem isn’t with opera, it’s with having to watch the action (or lack thereof).
Damian - if you leave Berg’s “Lulu” after Act 2 you do miss much of the cast being offed by Jack the Ripper, ’tis true. But you don’t get a happy ending. You get what used to be the best closing line of any opera (”Lulu” was left unfinished and Act 3 was only completed from Berg’s sketches back in the 1980s): “Isn’t that the couch where your father bled to death?”
Comment by Rob — 12 March, 2006 10:57 pm
I love opera and this was flipping hysterical. Trees bit is inspired.
Comment by Nicole — 21 March, 2006 10:08 am