1. Today I decided that I am normal, no strange stuff. We only focus on the beautiful, the very beautiful. Not that nonsense that thinking differently isn't a gift, it's a curse.
2. Here is Boccanegra. Abbado. Now, tell me one thing about Abbado that isn’t wonderful. I can’t name one. Then add this opera here, which the Magician loved like a son born crippled…
3. Well, enough of the chatter, this is the last aria of Simone. He's about to die. Poisoned. By Paolo. Okay, he had thought about dying in a thousand ways. Not this one. If he thinks it over, life has been quite kind to him. The Magician is still young. He’s not yet at 'God, you could have cast me away' or 'Everyone tricked.' He’s still on 'was it worth it.' Simone has also found his daughter. He understood that – despite him and his nonsense – she is doing well. She even has a boyfriend. Okay, he’s a tenor, but he cares for her. If he had been an engineer, that would have been worse, right?
4. But how the hell am I digressing? Well, nothing, he’s dying (and of course Fiesco appears, Verdi's father, I mention it because otherwise imasuolman will scold me). He says maybe in the end it’s all right like this.
Verdi: Simon Boccanegra, Act III: M'ardon le tempia
5. Why am I not directing at La Scala? Because if it were up to me (and - basically - that’s why I’m sharing this wonder with you) I would make it that every time Simone sings about the sea, the sea would rise, and with his hand he would make a sign. Like a C...