Dancing with Myself: The Opera or the Date?

What shall I talk about? Wagner's The Flying Dutchman or The Canadian Husband candidate? Oh fuck the opera. I met the only respondee to my Canadian Husband wanted ad. I wrote the ad sort of tongue in cheek on my flight back from Pittsburgh last Sunday and put it on Craigs List, SF, just to see what kind of response it might get. I also read ads put by Americans on several Canadian Craigs List sites. I thought they were all dreary. I ain't runnin' from nothin' 'till I'm sure they're looking for me. I did that once already. My ad was more tongue in cheek. Don't get me wrong, I'd love to have a Canadian husband. I've proposed to at least two already. One runs a guest house in Puerto Vallarta and the other runs a big retail operation in southern Alberta. For the record, I've also proposed to at least a dozen Americans, two or three Brits, one Frenchie, and I know a Russian I'd be willing to write hot Czechs for.

So this real normal and interesting sounding guy responds. He's a dual citizen. I assumed he was bi-national by way of split parents or something, or born in one country to citizens of the other, type of thing. Turns out he's a local boy (Berkeley) who went to college in Canada (McGill then Concordia), took to the water and naturalized. He came back for one of the primary reasons we all come and go: family. He read my ad because he was curious about the idea. He answered it because he thought I sounded interesting enough to at least meet.

We met at a bistro next to my office, a very eurotrash kind of place called Soluna. I sent him a picture of me, the one on my blog, and he also visited here. He walked in and I knew he was my date by the recognition in his eyes. That's as close to magic as I dare go. Just before he came in, a young man about 30 came in. He was an attractive person, but oh-so-definitely-not-my-type, and I was relieved when he didn't recognize me. For the first time I considered the possibility that I might have a blind date with someone who could possibly be cayote ugly. But hey. This is my story, so I quickly banished any possibility that the person I was supposed to be meeting was anything but handsome.

You should have seen my vain little soul react when this incredibly handsome man walks in and recognizes me and comes over and starts talking to me. Whoa! What have I been doing right? I'm on the right drug if this is the calibre of people I'm attracting. We had a very friendly visit before going over to the Opera House. This guy had a quiet calmness that I found compellingly attractive.

The opera we saw (in Box seats, if you don't mind my bragging) was Richard Wagner's The Flying Dutchman. It is a fucking downer, but it was in German, sung well, and I was watching my Date in my peripheral vision as much as I was watching the stage. I felt like a high school kid at the movie. It took me an hour to put my arm on the back of his chair. I was just being polite. I thought I'd give him a few minutes to put HIS arm on the back of my chair. When I realized that was that wasn't going to happen, I made my move.

This man is handsome and charming, and I would love to have him as a friend, but I would prefer to have him as a boyfriend, if you catch my drift. After about 40 minutes of just okay opera, I was thinking to myself, "WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING, BRINGING HIM TO A FUCKING WAGNERIAN OPERA, YOU DOLT!" You can see by my use of caps that I was screaming at myself. Then the opera hit its speed. Part III was beautiful--musically speaking. Senta, the woman who is prepared to sacrifice herself by giving herself in love, faithfully and forever, to the Lost Dutchman, was sung by Nina Stemme. Swedish woman. Great voice. The Dutchman was ably sung by Juha Uusitalo, originally from Finnland, but by the look of his resume, he's been around. Okay, here's my opinion from watching it out of the corner of my eye. Senta's boyfriend previous to the arrival of the Dutchman has been Erik, sung by British tenor Christopher Ventris. By the last note, I had stopped watching my Date, and I was watching the drama unfold on the stage before me, being sung beautifully. You would have thought I was at a rock concert, listening to me whoop and scream after the curtain fell.

Oh, and the box seats. I refuse to sit anywhere else at the San Francisco Opera again. Usual caveats here, you know, free is always a good seat, etc. I don't know if my date was half as impressed by the seats as was I, but I sure has hell was. (Sorry, Jaye, we were pushing curtain as we got there, so no pictures.) I think my Date enjoyed it. He said he did, anyway. Since he's not Southern, I assume he meant it. I'll give him a call in a day or so.

So, there it is, boys and girls, another day's adventure.

Now it's time to say goodnight.

Comments

"I know a Russian I'd be willing to write hot Czechs for." Ha ha, Houston, you kill me.

So? No goodnight snog? No booking for a second date?

Sounds like a sumptuous evening. I wish you many more; our US-Canadian relations could use a little help.

Posted by: ellen | November 18, 2004 at 04:26 AM

My Gawd! That sounds positivly delish! Now I want to know more. Is there going to be a date #2? My inquiring mind wants to know every little detail. I shall live my dreams vicariously through you.
Have I told you how much I love the way you write? When are you going to write a book?

Posted by: wanda | November 18, 2004 at 12:45 PM

Please, please do not keep me in suspense much longer tell all. I want to hear all about your life after all I can always dream if only damn Houston why are many good men I love gay?

Posted by: Sweet n Sassy | November 18, 2004 at 01:18 PM