Wolfgang snoozefest

Last Saturday, I canceled my colonoscopy appointment to go to the opera "Così Fan Tutte." \nBig mistake. \nGoing to the opera is like taking musical Dimetapp. Side effects might include vomiting, pale stools and losing the will to live.\nBefore the show started, while watching the vast majority of people roll into the building, I probably should have anticipated boredom. The bipedal slice of the opera's mobility pie could have easily been defined as "sliver."\nThe average age for opera attendees was 170. In fact, when I walked into the auditorium, I found myself seated in between a Pterodactyl and a cotton gin. \nEven more archaic than the patrons was the patrons' attire. Fur coats, tuxedos, monocles and cummerbunds. A couple of times during the show, I became so confused by the outdated attire that I actually forgot where I was, and kept referring to the Pterodactyl next to me as the unsinkable Molly Brown. \nPeople were even wearing hats with feathers in them. Note to the reader: Never wear a head garment that has been mocked by a man with the name Yankee Doodle. \nClad in a casual jean jacket and chords, I felt like everyone's cataract-filled eyes were locked directly on me. Once the show started, though, I didn't have to worry about that anymore: because their eyes were too busy falling asleep. \nDuring the show, I too was trying desperately to avoid the snooze caboose. But might I just say, in regards to this particular show: choo freakin' choo. \nI was aboard. Totally a-bored. \nThe playbill in my hand was my only source of entertainment. As the opera dragged on, I began rolling the playbill tighter and tighter, hoping it might magically transform into a giant, operatic doobie. \nThe show was ridiculously long. How long you ask? Well, the opera started at 8 p.m., and about halfway into the show, I looked down at my watch and it said, "GET ME OUT OF HERE." \nWhen the show finally ended, I did clap. However, this was just to wake up my hands, which had fallen asleep along with the rest of my appendages. \nWhat disappointed me most about the opera is that the performers themselves have remarkable talent. They've got phenomenal pipes, ones big enough to erect an Alaskan pipeline. This talent, however, was lost in the antiquated script. \nI realize Mozart was a genius for his time. However, in Mozart's time, Pop-Tarts did not exist.\nI repeat: Pop-Tarts did not exist. \nThree hundred-year-old operas are not currently palatable for the same reason 300-year-old green beans are not currently palatable. They have expired. \nEven according to the Metropolitan Opera Radio Broadcast Web site, opera is dead.\nMy suggestion, however, instead of burying it for good, we take opera from RIP to RAP. Just think about it! Classical style with a ghetto twist. Tchaikovsky meets Puff Daddy. \nWe could call it Hip-Hopera. \nThe fact is that it's time to bury this dreary style of opera and resurrect a revolutionized style of music.\nFeel free to wear your feathered hat to the funeral.