Ahhh, another day at Salisbury. No sunburn this time. No obnoxious brats. Peace. Closed-eyed tranquility. Refreshing. I was going to say, “no bird-brained women”, until I remembered the two morons who left a plastic bag of snacks laying on their beach towel before wandering off – completely forgetting that seagulls aren’t stupid. For those two women “bird-brained” would have been a compliment. The resulting squabble among the gulls over who got the last piece of red licorice (who knew gulls liked red licorice and cheesy-bites?) was pretty funny ... as was the expressions on the faces of the two dingbats when they returned and found their food bags spread out all over the sand – minus all the food. Gulls looked happy, though.
For those wondering about Piero’s version of “No puede ser” – I’m guessing if you asked Carlos Marin of Il Divo, he’d know exactly what you were talking about – “No puede ser” is one of Spain’s most favorite tenor arias from the zarzuela world, and Carlos came directly from the operatic and zarzuela world himself, so you know HE was familiar with the number.
Think Gilbert and Sullivan – operettas with a common touch; that’s the Spanish art form known as the zarzuela. One of the most popular zarzuelas is La tabernera del puerto, by Pablo Sorozábal, written in 1936, with libretto by Federico Romero and Guillermo Fernández Shaw. Christopher Webber of Blackheath, London, UK provided the full synopsis of the zarzuela, providing the context of “No puede ser”. Some background: Marola is the beautiful barmaid, Leandro is the handsome young sailor (who is madly in love with Marola), and Leandro has just been told an untruth: that Marola is using him as bait to smuggle illegal drugs. Leandro (wise little cutie that he is ... or maybe I’m thinking of Piero) doesn’t believe a word of it, and sings “No puede ser” ("It cannot be!") Lyrics and translation follow:
"No puede ser" (Leandro)
¡No puede ser! Esa mujer es buena.
¡No puede ser una mujer malvada!
En su mirar como una luz singular
he visto que esa mujer es una desventurada.
No puede ser una vulgar sirena
que envenenó las horas de mi vida.
¡No puede ser! porque la ví rezar,
porque la ví querer,
porque la ví llorar.
Los ojos que lloran no saben mentir;
las malas mujeres no miran así.
Temblando en sus ojos dos lágrimas ví
y a mi me ilusiona que tiemblen por mí.
Viva luz de mi ilusión,
sé piadosa con mi amor,
porque no sé fingir,
porque no sé callar,
porque no sé vivir.
TRANSLATION
It cannot be so! This woman is good.
She cannot be a bad woman!
In her look, like a strange light,
I've seen that this woman is unhappy.
She cannot be a cheap siren
who has poisoned every moment of my life.
It cannot be so! Because I've seen her pray,
because I've seen her love,
because I've seen her cry!
Those eyes that cry don't know how to lie.
Bad women do not look like that.
Glinting in her eyes I saw two tears,
and my hope is, they glint for me.
Vivid light of my hopes!
Take pity on my love!
Because I cannot pretend,
because I cannot be silent,
because I cannot live!
http://www.zarzuela.net/syn/taberna.htm
And here’s another example of l’uno e solo singing it, this time in Phoenix.
Update: Witchy Brew (haha) Evaluation
 |
| Love Potion #9 |
Now, this is not the same thing as the Damiana aphrodisiac steeped in alcohol. I need to find a container for that. This was the damiana tea: equal parts Damiana, Angelica root and Saw Palmetto berries. Instructions are to take one cup per day for two weeks. “Seems to have stimulating effects on sexual performance.”
It actually sorta worked after one cup, so I am seriously looking forward to 14 cups. By “sorta worked”, I mean that I was actually involved in something else an hour after I drank the tea, which was actually delicious. Really! I think it was the angelica root that added the very delightful and distinctive flavor to the tea – it was excellent! In any event, I was in the midst of packing, when all of a sudden I found myself thinking about ... sex. I actually thought, “Why the &*^& am I thinking about ...?” and then I looked at the clock. One hour exactly. I have to admit, I burst out laughing.
Of course the general state of arousal could have also been encouraged by Piero posting another photo of himself – dressed all in black, looking like a cross between gunslinger and a priest. Or, to put it another way, if you’re an Italian tenor, “sembra lei un incrocio tra un pistolero e un sacerdote”. Mmmm-mmmmm! I almost lost consciousness he looked so hot: the dangerous bad boy crossed with the [supposedly] unattainable.
 |
| incrocio tra un pistolero e un sacerdote |
Lucky for me he isn’t the latter, or I would have been moved to confess all the lustful thoughts I have had about him since he was 17. And thank goodness he isn’t the former, either, or he might have shot me. And someday he wants to have 6 kids?? Some woman is going to be delirious with joy when he starts THAT program!
And so, back to the Incubus.
It occurred to me ... and I have no idea why it took me this long ... that it didn’t matter what christians thought of incubi, or what qualities they attributed to incubi, or even what Enoch said about them. The ONLY thing that mattered was what I – me – myself – thought about incubi. If I (me-myself-I) did not believe them to be bad news, then they weren’t. It was that simple. They were bad news only if I bought into the nonsense spewed out by the church ladies with the pointy hats brigade.
It’s getting near bedtime again. Back to the teapot, and some lovely experimenting!
