Beautiful.
UPDATE, Monday 26 May
Welcome, Anchoress readers.
Friday baritones
Via (who else!) The Anchoress, who asks, “Who do you prefer?”
I prefer Bryn’s singing voice, and his looks, but Dmitri Hvorostovsky’s speaking voice is manna from heaven.
In other unrelated matters, A Second Hand Conjecture has The official Symbol of Marriage
Hopefully not reaching the end of my stardom for a good long time (h/t Kat),
| What military aircraft are you?
F-15 Eagle You are an F-15. Your record in combat is spotless; you’ve never been defeated. You possess good looks, but are not flashy about it. You prefer to let your reputation do the talking. You are fast, agile, and loud, but reaching the end of your stardom.
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You are an F-15. Your record in combat is spotless; you`ve never been defeated. You possess good looks, but are not flashy about it. You prefer to let your reputation do the talking. You are fast, agile, and loud, but reaching the end of your stardom.
Luke, I am your father
Deep-voiced men have more kids, study shows.
A bunch of Harvard/Mc Master/Fla. State scientists figured a nifty way to go on a junket to Tanzania: Go looking for “one of the last true hunter-gatherer cultures”, record the guys saying “Hujambo” (Hello), and then check out who has the most offspring. The deep-voiced guys do, at least in that neck of the woods (savanna?).
From there the researchers jumped to a conclusion that every Patrick Stewart fan already knew: Women prefer men with deep voices.
In case you didn’t know already, yes, I certainly do.
“In previous studies, they have shown that women find deeper male voices to be more attractive, judging them to be more dominant, older, healthier and more masculine sounding.”
Spend thousands of dollars, travel across the world, bother the natives, and reach that conclusion. Sweet.
I thought everybody knew that men with deeper voices are more masculine sounding.
But then, you know what they say about men with deep voices.
The researchers would have saved the airfare to Africa if they had called The Anchoress and me. We would have told them that
baritones won out over tenors.
One particular baritone comes to mind.
On the downside, the researchers also claim that
Men, on the other hand, find higher-pitch voices in women more attractive, subordinate, feminine, healthier and younger sounding.
That probably means two things,
- Hillary’s screeching may not be putting people off
- I probably need to raise my pitch to get more podcast listeners
On the other hand, when it comes to the podcasts, Siggy‘s on the baritone range.
But in more serious matters, Patrick Stewart’s playing Macbeth in London. I think he looks better without a mustache, but I’m hoping the production moves to Broadway. Patrick Stewart is a force of nature on stage.
And for a bald guy in his sixties, he’s hot. Very.
It’s all in the voice, isn’t it?
Technorati: Patrick Stewart, Bryn Terfel
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Bette and the Joads
The guys are away camping this weekend so I’m indulging in one of my favorite pastimes (aside from listening to viola da gamba and Bryn): watching old movies. I don’t rent them on Netfix, I just take pot luck with AMC and TCM.
As it turns out, AMC’s playing The Grapes of Wrath,
and TCM has Dark Victory
As you can see from the trailers above, each movie had its own agenda; The Grapes is a socialist vehicle; Dark Victory was Betty’s vehicle. They’re both excellent films in their class. 1939-1940 was a great time for movies.
The first time I saw The Grapes I was greatly moved, both by its message and by the actors. Now I can’t help but think of this
The first time I saw Dark Victory I must have been 10 or 12 years old and was probably watching it with my sister. We cried our guts out, of course.
The trailer has it right: “See Glamorous BETTE DAVIS”. Glamorous she is. Bette wears a succession of spectacular outfits, including evening gowns by Orry-Kelly, that would look stylish today. You can sit there and learn all there is to be learned about what was considered The Look in 1939 just from watching this film.
Bette has an incurable brain tumor and is dying through the whole movie. George Brent is her doctor, who, unlike House – who would have laid the truth on her like a thick (and very unstylish) wet polartec blanket – doesn’t want her to know that she’s dying. After brain surgery that spared her hair – except for a small section that she covers with a clerical-looking beanie dyed and decorated to match each spectacular outfit – George and Bette’s friends (among them Ronald Reagan) keep up a clearly contrived brave front.
And then Bette finds out.
Of course, Bette does what any reasonable glamorous socialite would do under the circumstances: she runs out in her mink coat to the barn where Irish stable boy, Michael O’Leary, played by Humphrey Bogart, awaits.
Bogey’s his usual smoldering self, and has the best lines in the movie. There they are in the stables, Bette smokin’ and Bogey in her presence, saying,
“I guess I was born out of my time, Miss Judith. I should have lived in the days when it counted to be a man, the way I like to ride and the way I like to fight.”
Oh yes.
Michael/Bogey goes on:
“What good’s riding and fighting these days? What do they get you?”
Beanie-wearing Bette appraises him with a knowing glance, lets out a puff of smoke, and replies,
“You’re making love to me, aren’t you?”
Hot stuff.
But wait, there’s more:
Michael/Bogey: “I’m as good as some of them whose been playin’ around with you. They’re all afraid of you! I wish I was in their boots!”
Judy/Bette: “What then, Michael?”
Michael/Bogey: “The things I wanted to say to you ever since I first laid eyes on you… belong to me and no one else.”
Then he takes her in his arms and kisses her passionately.
M’m.
Good stuff. You can watch that whole scene in the trailer above.
Now excuse me. The Joads are still having a hard time, and I just realized that the blouse and cardigan I’m wearing make me look like Ma Joad. I must go look for something more stylish.
But before I go, here’s a nice photo of Bogey 
For more entertainment pleasure, Dr Sanity has the Carnival
Speaking of stylish, The Anchoress is looking beautiful.
technorati tags: Bette Davis Humphrey Bogart Ronald Reagan
Mullah Dadullah’s dead, and today’s items
Yallah! Mullah Dadullah’s With Allah!; the BBC is less alliterative:
The Taleban’s top military commander in Afghanistan, Mullah Dadullah, has been killed in fighting in the south of the country.
Also via Pajamas Media, an article on the Islamberg Jamaat ul-Fuqra compound near Hancock, New York
Islamberg is a branch of Muslims of the Americas Inc., a tax-exempt organization formed in 1980 by Pakistani cleric Sheikh Mubarak Ali Gilani, who refers to himself as “the sixth Sultan Ul Faqr,” Gilani, has been directly linked by court documents to Jamaat ul-Fuqra or “community of the impoverished,” an organization that seeks to “purify” Islam through violence.
Though primarily based in Lahore, Pakistan, Jamaat ul-Fuqra has operational headquarters in New York and openly recruits through various social service organizations in the U.S., including the prison system. Members live in hamaats or compounds, such as Islamberg, where they agree to abide by the laws of Jamaat ul-Fuqra, which are considered to be above local, state and federal authority. Additional hamaats have been established in Hyattsville, Maryland; Red House, Virginia; Falls Church, Virginia; Macon, Georgia; York, South Carolina; Dover, Tennessee; Buena Vista, Colorado; Talihina, Oklahoma; Tulane Country, California; Commerce, California; and Onalaska, Washington. Others are being built, including an expansive facility in Sherman, Pennsylvania.
Before becoming a citizen of Islamberg or any of the other Fuqra compounds, the recruits – – primarily inner city black men who became converts in prison – – are compelled to sign an oath that reads: “I shall always hear and obey, and whenever given the command, I shall readily fight for Allah’s sake.”
Read it all.
According to Google maps, it’s only 129 miles from Chappaqua to Hancock; maybe Sen. Clinton would like to take a look the next time she’s at home.
Gates of Vienna has a series of posts on Jamaat ul-Fuqra (see right sidebar) in the USA.
The Anchoress asks, Is it time for War Bonds?
Bryn Terfel’s in Utah and The Anchoress is keeping me posted. Here’s one article, Regular bloke with a golden voice
“You know what an Irishman is, don’t you?” he asks, then answers with a twinkle: “A Welshman that could swim.”
In the interview, he says that his favorite role was Falstaff. Here you have him:
While in Utah, Bryn sang Mendelssohn’s “Elijah” with the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. Wish I’d been there.
Happy Mother’s Day to all my visitors.
Late afternoon blogging: A superfecta
Via The Anchoress,
Bryn (wearing glasses + camel hair coat + trim beard) singing = Superfecta
Late afternoon blogging: Madamina, il catalogo e’ questo
I hope The Anchoress is watching.
Two nights at the opera
Back when I worked in Manhattan I had a friend who had season tickets for the Metropolitan Opera. She and her daugher were big opera fans, and her husband tagged along.
She knew that I like classical music and one day she asked me if I’d like to go to Turandot on a Friday evening, since her husband was out of town. I don’t particularly like Turandot because it doesn’t really have any catchy tunes like La Traviata and that gong gets annoying, plus I’ve never been crazy about Pavarotti, but she was great fun and The Husband was away on business that week. So of course I agreed. The evening of the event we went to her apartment near Lincoln Center after work, changed into evening clothes, had a nice dinner and were comfortably seated on schedule.
Too comfortably, I’m sorry to say.
Since I was commuting from Convent Station I used to get up at 5AM, and after a long week at work and a nice dinner my exhaustion caught up with me and I slept through most of the opera, briefly waking when they rang the gong. I did wake up on time for Nessun Dorma, which back then wasn’t identified with the World Cup and Three Tenors’ shouting matches. After the opera was over I profusely apologized while she assured me that she really didn’t mind, took the train home – still blushing from embarassment – and after all that napping couldn’t fall asleep for several hours once I got home.
I really was horribly embarassed, and was very surprised when several months later my friend invited me again to another opera. This time was La Traviata, which she knew I liked. Again, we went after work. While we had a very enjoyable dinner together, once we got to the Met her husband disappeared.
What I didn’t realize was that I was seated at her daughter’s seat (her daughter was out of town) the first time we went. Her husband had a separate seat, a row in front of us, to the right of my friend. Neither she nor he acknowledged each other for the duration of the evening.
I soon found out why.
Once the opera got going, he went to sleep and softly snored away, in a rythmic,
pattern that was barely audible IF the music was playing but clear enough for me to notice. If the snoring went into a crescendo my friend gently poked her husband on the back of his head, with a move that was barely noticeable.
All I could think of was that at least I don’t snore.
After the opera was over we met outside the theater, went out for a drink, I returned home – and was able to fall asleep right away.
My friend and her husband were married for over forty years. A few years after La Traviata he died of a stroke, and she died a few months after, from what all appearances looked to me of a broken heart.
In any case, here’s Pavarotti,
In other opera news, the double good news is that The Anchoress wants me to see Bryn with her. The double bad news is that I’ll have to wait three years, and it’s Wagner (which I hate).
I’ll make sure to stay awake for that, though.