Showing posts with label opera. Show all posts
Showing posts with label opera. Show all posts

Friday, October 13, 2017

About Austin Rogers and knowing


A successful contestant on the game show Jeopardy is apparently getting attention because of his on-camera gurning but he also says something that rather chimes with my own thoughts about knowing stuff:
I like reading and consuming knowledge; it’s almost irrelevant to my education. If I don’t know something, it visibly perturbs me and I have to find out. Back in the day, that meant dropping everything and finding a newspaper to find out exactly what I was looking for. But now, we have supercomputers in our pockets, which confuses me when people don’t know something and they go, “Well, I guess I’ll never know!” I’m like, “You have a supercomputer in your pocket, you can know right now.” You have all of mankind’s knowledge in your pocket. If you don’t know something, why not find it out immediately and close that chapter? I don’t know, people are weird. They’re not curious.
PS: Vaguely connected: Quentin Letts (the theatre critic for the Daily Mail) has been annoying again, which is as good a reason as any to resuscitate the moment he referred to “the death of Banquo’s children” in Macbeth; and Will Gompertz (the arts editor for the BBC) announced on a recent episode of Pointless Celebrities that Vivaldi wrote La Traviata. Now, it’s always a bit awkward bringing up solecisms such as these in polite society because there’s no fixed cultural canon any more and you have no idea whether someone else may or may not see anything wrong. (For the record, it was Macduff’s children who were murdered; and Verdi wrote La Traviata.) But even if you don’t know (or care), surely you’d expect the theatre critic of a high-profile newspaper or the arts editor the national broadcasting organisation to be better informed. Wouldn’t you?

Monday, September 18, 2006

It ain't over till the fat lady turns into a talking goldfish

According to a survey carried out by the University of Leicester, 12% of opera lovers have taken magic mushrooms.


Opera being one of the few musical forms that's never really sparked my motor (with all due deference to my darling departed grandma, for whom Placido Domingo was second only to David Gower in the geriatric crush stakes), I have to wonder if four hours of Wagner might go a little faster if one is enjoying a Huxley moment. Also, considering the picture above, I reckon the figures for performers may be considerably higher.

Also plucked from the cultural snowdrift in recent days: Rock's Backpages, that inavaluable resource for lazy music journalists everywhere, hits its fifth anniversary and 10,000th article; Charlie Brooker destroys Justin Timberlake ("testes the size of capers" indeed); Conservative Party activists freelance as art critics; a woman with even less talent than breast tissue is voted the greatest ever Hollywood starlet; and finally we get to see what Girl With A One-Track Mind looks like. She seems to be the sort of nice, middle-class Jewish girl my other grandma might have wanted me to settle down with; but, more to the point, is Sharon Osbourne turning into the mum from The Brady Bunch, or what?

And finally, I need your advice. Some of you may recall that I've joined LibraryThing, the online book catalogue site; indeed, a number appear to have followed suit. Well, I have a dilemma. For my birthday, Small Boo gave the Pocket Penguins 70th anniversary box set, which comprises 70 little books. Now, should I enter all 70; or just put in one entry, for the box?

Your thoughts on the matter, or any matter, except bloody opera, are welcome.