So Old It's New.

Listening to a Met broadcast of Ponchielli's La Gioconda, I noticed one bar in particular. It's at the beginning of the last act.

It sounds exactly like Philip Glass.

In other words: all of Philip Glass is exactly one measure (maybe two) of Ponchielli.

No disrespect to Glass.

But major props to Ponchielli.

--E. R. O'Neill

The Death of All That.

With the deaths of Bergman and Antonioni, the "Come Dressed as the Sick Soul of Europe Party" in cinema is now officially over.

But let's not tell Lars Von Trier! It'll be funnier that way.

--E. R. O'Neill

Home.

Returned to San Francisco today.

In New Hampshire it was in the 80's and 90's--and very humid.

Ditto Boston.

In San Francisco it was in the low 60's.

I brought my luggage home, changed into a long-sleeved shirt with a T-shirt underneath and a lightweight cotton jacket.

I went and ate a carnitas taco. I took the 33 bus to the Haight and looked for Gluck for my mom. (She's found she liked some while watching The Designated Mourner.) At Amoeba records I found Act II of Orfeo ed Euridice conducted by Toscanini. It's on LP. I'll send to to her.

I stopped by the Castro Theatre to contemplate seeing Velvet Goldmine there but instead walked home, buying groceries on the way.

Girls had their hands pulled inside their sweatshirt hoodies. One fellow wore a scarf. I saw other people with shirts, a T-shirt underneath, and a jacket. I decided I'd called the weather right.

Now it's in the 50's.

The end of July.

Feels like home.

--E. R. O'Neill