Colbert rules

Word and Iphigenia

Your faithful correspondent was a happy Torontonian today, even snuffling, with wheezing lungs. I've been riding my bicycle to Word on the Street almost every year since its inception, decades ago, on Queen Street. And today, at Queen's Park, it's bigger and better than ever. Someone somewhere has said that print is dead, but you'd be hard pressed to believe it today, looking at the countless actual dead-tree books, mags, newspapers for sale, the publishers and editors, the number of tents with writers reading and signing books - it's a marvel. In all those years, I can remember only two with bad weather - and today did not break the record, a perfect day of hot sun with a breeze. Heaven - many books, much sun.

Every year I try not to buy and every year, I cannot resist. Couldn't pass by Groundwood Books, had to buy a few kiddie books for my nephew, and my friend Laurel Croza's prize-winning "I Know Here" again, though I have several copies already. Couldn't pass "The Master and Margerita" that I've been meaning to read for years, and a few bookish gifts for my kids. The "Dummies" series was celebrating their 20th anniversary; I brought home their catalogue and a free Dummies pen. Among their subjects: Judaism for Dummies, Parkinson's Disease, Weight Loss Surgery, Autism for Dummies; Knitting, Happiness, California Wine, Holiday Decorating, Fishing, Biochemistry, Quitting Smoking for Dummies. The catalogue is 144 pages long. This is known as a successful franchise.

Had to tear myself away, because, sigh, I had to go to the opera at 2. My student and friend Peg is in the chorus and periodically shares in-house offers of orchestra seats for $22. Yes, $22. Hopped on my bicycle, down University Avenue in the sun, my backpack loaded with books, off to the opera: "Iphigenia in Tauris," by Gluck. Omigod. Breathtaking.

This dysfunctional Greek family - the House of Atreus - makes any other family look like the happiest of munchkins. Father Agamemnon sacrifices his daughter Iphigenia to the gods, but she is rescued by the goddess Diana. Iphigenia's mother Clytemnestra does not know the girl has survived and avenges her death by murdering Agamemnon. Their son Orestes feels he must avenge his father's death by murdering his mother. Orestes, pursued by furies and ravaged by guilt, is shipwrecked on the shore of Scythia, where his sister lives in exile as a priestess whose job is to make human sacrifices to the gods. Of course, she must sacrifice Orestes - and yet, must she?

Believe it or not, these tormented souls end happily. The heavy black scrim lifts, and there is light. The music was heaven - the chorus gorgeous, the leads, especially Susan Graham as Iphegenia, which has apparently become her signature role, spectacular. What an afternoon. The best in books, music and sunshine. Thank you, Toronto.

P.S. An opera joke: As I left after the last act during which, despite its happy ending, many people were killed and there was much, much angst until the darkness lifted, a nice older man with whom I'd been chatting said wryly, "This is the only opera about Seasonal Affective Disorder." Made me laugh out loud. Maybe you hadda be there.

moving along

My French neighbour Monique has a group from France visiting, drinking l'aperitif on her deck - overhearing from next door is like being in France. Makes me want to go out and buy cheese. Especially as I bought a Paris "Elle" today and am reading it as I listen.

So, my friends, I'm a bit better health-wise - I got out of bed for a bit today, got my face in the gorgeous sun. And I'm a bit further ahead with the cell-phone, because my daughter came over this morning to get me started. I can do basic things; she sent me a text saying, "Welcome to the 21st century!" and we've been texting all afternoon - at one point, I was on Parliament Street and had to sit on a bench to respond. My son called as I was buying cold medication in Shopper's Drug Mart. I'm one of them! I thought, the people always jabbering on the phone or concentrating so hard on texting that they walk into walls. Anna and I are texting as I write now. Thrilling.

The first time I encountered this new technology was about seven years ago in London; I was riding on the tube with my goddaughter Jessica, and watched her communicating with her boyfriend, who was miles away, by tapping on her phone. I was mystified and impressed. It has only taken me 7 years to begin to do this myself. Oh, she's a fast learner, folks.

This phone, however, is way too complicated for me - I took it in to the nearest Roger's office and they couldn't figure it out either. I just downloaded the manual on the LG website - it's 80 pages long, with stuff about video conference calls and music sharing. When I'm just trying to input numbers and a little message or two. But then, I also have a stunning silver MacBook Pro, and use about 5% of its capacity, I'm sure. My stove, even, has all kinds of amazing possibilities, including - believe it or not - a kosher component that lets you turn it on and off remotely, so it can cook your shabbat meal without you defying the word of God. I myself can set the temperature, and that's it; it took me 5 years to find out where the timer was.

All this fabulous technology, in the hands of a clueless luddite. What a waste.

I walked home this aft with my cellphone in one hand and my take-out tofu noodle soup from Ginger's in the other, feeling, yes, very 21st century. I guess that's a good thing. Is it?

missive from bed

It's 11.30 on a Friday morning, and I'm in bed with a cold - stuffed up and achey, after a night of not much sleep. Phooey. This is one of the times when I am powerfully grateful to be self-employed, and particularly, that I am not an actress any more. The few times I had to drag myself from sickbed to stage were a nightmare. What a blessing to stay in my cosy bed. It's dark and raining, so I'm especially safe and warm in here - with my MacBook Fleet, two newspapers, piles of research - I just printed a calendar for 1964 - and the box containing my new cell phone.

Yes, I've just bought a cell phone, my first - mostly because I want to be sure my mother and my brother in Ottawa can always reach me. The stylish little black thing is an LG with a keyboard, which I can't even open. Another learning curve coming my way - there's a CD I'll have to watch. As usual, I'm ten years behind the rest of the planet.

But sometimes there's a benefit to my slow ineptitude. I didn't bother to shave my legs in adolescence, for example, and by the time I got around to thinking that I should be like everyone else and do so, there was no hair to shave. I attribute the fact that there are three measly hairs on each leg to my failure to shave in my early teens.

This may be utter nonsense, of course.

Last night, dinner with the group of 10 or so women who've started to meet regularly - all free-lancers in the world of publishing, agents, book publicists, editors, copyright lawyers, and one lone writer, moi - now called the Word Sisters. We all bring something for the meal, and the conversation is wide-ranging and always rich. Somehow I forgot my cold during the festivities, but it came back when I got into bed.

Just went downstairs to get a fresh cup of coffee. I wish I could figure out how to open this phone. The rain falls, and I am safe, warm, and bewildered.

1.30 p.m. I've figured out how to slide out the keyboard and install the Sim card and the battery, and now it's charged up. But I still don't know how to turn it on. I've pushed every button, but the little screen remains black. Also inserted the helpful mini-disc that came with it into the Mac DVD drive, and now the disc, which didn't open, is stuck in there.

Leg-shaving was never like this.

U OF T COURSE BEGINS SOON

Writers, this is to let you know that my course at U of T, Life Stories, begins Monday October 3, from 12.30 to 3, on the U of T campus. It runs 8 weeks till the end of November. It's a wonderful pleasure, to explore words and stories as the old trees turn red on that beautiful campus. JOIN US!

And here, in a brief clip, is the most passionate and succinct case for taxing the rich that I've heard in a long time. It's astonishing it has to be repeated - but it does. Watch it and cheer.

http://andrewsullivan.thedailybeast.com/2011/09/the-lefts-chris-christie.html