I'm becoming a softie.
Several times a day I run to Cute Overload to check out CUTE baby bunnies, CUTE baby kittens and CUTE baby other stuff cohabitating with CUTE baby other stuff. The caps-lock AWWWW factor is just about more than any mortal could bear, but I cannot help it. I have to have my cute picture fix every single day.
Last week I was thoroughly entranced with the soundtrack to the 2005 Broadway musical The Light in the Piazza. Tagged as "The most romantic musical since West Side Story" it doesn't disappoint. Generally I would roll my eyes, stick out my tongue and make gagging noises with lines like "With you I am all happiness...There is no unhappiness with you." But the more I listened, the more enchanted I became. Instead of insufferable schmaltz, I found the score and lyrics to be entirely enchanting.
Last week TinyTuna and I sat down and watched the movie Tuck Everlasting. I thought it was great. I had no problem accepting the premise of the story, and thought there were some wonderfully thought provoking moments. After the movie, I went online to check out some external reviews, and I was disappointed to discover several critics came down squarely on the thumbs down side of the review. The common complaint was the film's heavy handed treacleness and implausibility.
I hate treacle, but I loved this movie. What was wrong with me?
The Soprano persona is one of acerbic wit, usually offered at the expense of others. We are known as Rottweilers in pearls, and in all honesty, I'm not totally against that generalization. After all, if altos are matronly, tenors are vain and basses are slow, it's only fair that sopranos be painted with the same wide brush of over-generalization.
So how come I was suddenly becoming a soft, ooey gooey mess?
Just when I started to despair, I found myself in church this morning. Listening to the "Ah Ahhh!" soloist getting buried by the choir (but IN MY DEFENSE, the dynamic marking was ff which is short for GET OUT OF MY WAY), my un-censored, un-Christian thought was, "Well, if she can't be heard, it's her own damn fault."
Praise the Lord and pass the pearls.
I was cured.