Going to the Opera is an admittedly dusty affair. My first few visits were the strangest; filled with all these “Wow, people still do that?” moments. The half hour intermission, the champagne, the encores, the five minute applause, the six hour show, all of it seemed then, and to some extant still seems, to be very old and of another time. The atmosphere is impeccable, the productions are lavish and huge, and—with the exception of the drinks—the whole experience is rather inexpensive. The house, as Opera’s not particularly popular, is only usually 2/3rds full and couldn’t be funded by ticket prices alone, not without charging a pile of gold, which would only decrease it’s popularity further. It stays open because the old people who make up the house’s largest demographic, very often leave their estates or large parts of it, to the Opera; corporations, wanting to seem patrons of high-culture, also give them large sums of money. Because of this, the Opera, unlike just about every other medium, doesn’t have to cater to people my age to stay in business. And the results are magical.
I have an addiction to buying books. While others consume large amounts of food while upset or buy themselves a new wardrobe, I tend to go over to The Strand and use the ladder to find some dusty, decrepit, old volume from the earlier reaches of this century, hidden all the way at the top of the bookshelf. Perhaps it’s the speeches of Cicero, or the stories of Ring Lardner, or a collection of Icelandic Sagas–it doesn’t matter. The smell of the binding, the cold and soft cover, the smooth paper and, of course, the contents of the books, all give me this warm, comforting feeling.
One of the greatest things I’ve ever seen was a showing at the Film Forum of Douglas Fairbanks’ silent Robin Hood, with the accompaniment of a Pianist. Watching a great silent movie, in a theater, with an audience, and a pianist, maybe one of life’s most quickly disappearing pleasures.
Oh god, could I go on! Using a typewriter still feels more like actual writing to me than using my MacBook. There’s no television in the world that will ever match the feeling of sitting in a ballpark, the smell of real grass, the crack! noise a ball makes that sends shivers down my spine. Walking! Actually, walking somewhere, instead of taking a train or a car. And the bakery on my corner makes better anything than all the wondorous magic of the Starbucksaubonpainwholefoodsdunkindonuts Market.
One day I’ll give it all up. I’ll go to Starbucks. Starbucks is cheaper than my coffee shop and will never not be cheaper. And there’s free WiFi. And they’ll never, ever bother you. And the staff is so fucking helpful. It makes perfect sense to get coffee there, right? I’ll read books on my E-Reader, watch movies on my Cell Phone, use my computer to write, speak, transmit, and connect. I’ll do it all, I swear! Because it’s efficient. And efficiency is always the most important thing. Efficiency has moved mankind forward in both evolution and technology. The entire Universe revolves around efficiency. If God is God, then efficiency is his greatest power. Who am I to argue with ease of use and lowered barriers to entry?
I will give it all up. Just not today.
Have you considered Subscribing to all of this madness?
Starbucks is cheaper? Where the hell do you buy coffee? Starbucks is the most expensive alternative in my area. I hate spending two-fifty on black coffee that I had to argue with the clerk - who pretentiously insists on being called a barrista - to get (being asked what kind of coffee I want after I have spoken the phrase “regular black coffee” aggravates the he’ll out of me).
I’ll stick with my decent coffee for no haggling and a buck-fifty.
Steven, this may be a New York thing. The fancier caffeinated beverages (Lattes, etc.) are indeed cheaper at Starbucks, usually. I can still get a far better cup of regular coffee on the street for a $1.50. However, much of this expense (Starbucks) is just inflated pricing because the ingredients aren’t that great. If they needed to compete with others in the price area they could. And I’d still be willing to pay more at a decent independent cafe.
I just go where I don’t have to argue for my coffee. Like I said, if my exchange with the cashier (or clerk; I refuse to call them barristas) needs to extend beyond “Regular black coffee, please,” I’m just not interested in buying my coffee there.
I’m a very simple kind of person.