🚀 go-pugleaf

Triangle.bachelor, 34, 5'11", 228 lb., brn/hazel, ISO unattached F, 20-40, 
to accompany as date to the musical-theater event of the season.  
Shared dinner beforehand preferred but optional.

Who:  Ray Ubinger and Miss X
What:  Mozart's incredible _Don Giovanni_, one performance only, done 
   by Western Opera Theater, a professional troupe out of San Francisco; 
   sung in original Italian, w/English supertitles
Where:  1st Row, Lower Balcony, Memorial Hall, UNC-Chapel Hill campus
How:  carpool or self-transpo to the (restaurant and) theater, then 
   free ticket for a seat next to me
Why:  only cuz it's the kickest-ass opera ever.  Political yammering will 
   be limited STRICTLY to the intermission. ;-)  
When:  Tue 2 Nov 99 (Election Night!), showtime 8:00 p.m.

To apply:  Leave voice or written message ASAP, confirming 
your qualifications and detailing your interest, with Ubinger Date Mgt. 
Svcs. (UDMS), 1024-A Alabama Ave, Durham NC 27705-4073, (919) 416-5031, rcu 
AT duke DOT edu.  UDMS will notify its selectee ASAP.  Non-selectees will 
be notified only if they leave a second message requesting so.

Lengthy but possibly useful background, from a biography by Marcia Davenport:

     "Prague saw the three roisterers [the composer and his story/
libretto collaborators] parading the tiny cobbled streets[.]  They 
drank rivers of wine and punch and beer[,] sweeping the town in a whirlwind 
of enthusiasm for themselves and everything they did[.]   The Bohemians 
adored Mozart, and from the depths of his heart he wrote his greatest 
opera for them, fired by the unique experience of being wholly appreciated 
for the only time in his creative life.
     "So many superlatives have been showered on _Don Giovanni_, so 
many authorities have agreed that it is the all-round greatest opera, that 
it is redundant to dwell on it further.  It is better to say that 
_Don Giovanni_ does not lack a single element necessary to a perfect 
opera.  It has a subject which is universally acceptable, dealing neither 
with kings that are unreal to the modern world, nor with fairies that 
are slightly ridiculous, nor with myths that are dead and therefore 
boring.  Its text, while not classic poetry, is dramatic, polished and alive.
It treats of almost every emotion and sentiment known to the ordinary man.  
It has humor, from the finest-drawn irony to the broadest burlesque.  
It encompasses suspense, revenge, lust, anger, remorse, pathos, 
passion, terror.  Love appears in every manifestation from the filial 
devotion of Donna Anna to the outraged marital fervor of poor Masetto.  
It includes such elements of human behavior as the flirting fiancee, 
the mocking seducer, the woman scorned.  It shows the sinner tempting fate 
and the wronged thirsting for vengeance.  Yet unlike the solemn self-
conscious music-dramas of Wagner, imperiously demanding awed deference, 
it never takes itself seriously.  It is theater, first, last, and all 
the time.  It punishes the wicked villan in terrifying retribution -- 
then (when the performance is authentic) the other characters come 
forward, reconcile their differences, wink at the audience, and leave 
every one sure that it is all a play, and a burlesque at that.
     "The music is Wolfgang's genius flaming and sparkling at its 
loveliest.  It is poised, sure, utterly aware of its dramatic responsibility.
It is a masterpiece of characterization, a complete transcription of 
human behavior from experience into sound.  Technically it is a wonder-work 
of construction, rising and moving with the story and the characters into 
two amazing climaxes--the ball scene ending the first act and the 
banquet scene ending the second.  And it is delightful.  Its 
extraordinary freshness and its variegated beauty have never palled or 
lost their delicious quality of surprise....
     "[At the premiere, on 29 Oct 1787, Mozart] bowed, took his place at 
the clavier and picked up his baton.  The first stern, full, unearthly 
chord flowed out to the tense ears of Prague, then the second.  At 
the resolution into D major, with its enchanting succession of 
prophetic themes, the house moved as if to break into applause, and 
the overture subsided in a wave of uncontrolled enthusiasm....
     "Posterity has heard finer performances, technically, than 
Bondini's company gave in Prague that night.  But what those singers lacked 
in voice and training they made up in their magnificent spirit.  With 
the divine inspiration of Mozart himself at the clavier, and with 
the advantage, not only of having been trained by him, but of being able 
to watch him as they brought his great work to life in his own hearing, 
they sang and played like genii.  He was deeply moved.  He knew the 
eternal worth of _Don Giovanni_, and the wiser among the players and 
audience knew it too.  At the utterly sublime climax of the first act, 
where Don Giovanni's ball is the setting for one of the finest scenes in 
any opera, the house burst into roars, cheers, and bravos.
     "At the end of the opera, Wolfgang had purposely abandoned in the 
music all the rough comedy Da Ponte had intended for his _dramma giocoso_, 
and flung himself passionately into the wild, terrifying punishment meted 
out to the frightened but always noble reprobate.  The solemn, other-
worldly notes of the ghostly Commendatore, alternated by the stormy, 
sweeping, chromatic minor scales--the consuming fires of hell and the wails 
of the damned--gripped and dried every throat in the house, caused eyes 
to bulge from stinging sockets, breath to come fast and loud.  When it 
was over, there was a moment of tense, pregnant silence; then the 
graceful white-and-gold interior came suddenly alive.  The house was shaken 
to its cellars by such an overwhelming torrent of applause, shouts, and 
cheers as it has never sheltered since.  In the street outside, the 
ovation sounded like the reverberation of a battle.  Trembling, 
still bewildered at the violent return to a world of people from his own 
world of sound, Wolfgang was hoisted onto the stage to take the bows with 
the deliriously happy singers.  Again and again the little man with the 
plain face and insignificant body was cheered, blessed, and pelted 
with flowers.  Cries of speech, speech, punctuated the salvos of applause 
and yells of _Viva Maestro!_  Someone pushed him, and hesitantly, 
Wolfgang stepped forward.  He stretched out his little white hands in 
their best lace ruffles, looked for a moment down into the cheering 
mob.  Then, from an overflowing heart, that had known the chill depths 
of indifference, and would know them more bitterly still, with tears 
running down his cheeks, he said, `_Meine Prager verstehen mich_.'"


Ray, of UDMS
"Go ahead, send it in!" -- Ed McMahon