<p><a href="http://www.azopera.com/performances.php?opera=pirates" target="_blank"><img class="alignleft size-medium wp-image-1299" title="azopera" src="http://www.diaryofalatebloomer.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/10/azopera-200x300.jpg" alt="" width="200" height="300" /></a>I've never been a huge fan of opera. Specifically, I'm not a fan of the singing style.</p>

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<p>Or it may be rebellion that traces back to college. My classically trained voice coaches refused to work with me on musical theatre pieces. (And I was a theatre major.)</p>

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<p>Their reasoning was something to the effect of, "Oh, noooooo...Musical theatre is base! Opera is grand! If you want to study with me, you will sing arias!"</p>

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<p>Granted, there are worse fates in life than being forced to sing Puccini arias.  In fact, listening to Puccini makes me feel weak in the knees.  Puccini oozes Romance.  It is Puccini you hear in the scene from <em>A Room</em> <em>with a View</em> where George Emerson marches across the field and lays one on Lucy Honeychurch. **  Sigh...</p>

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<p>In other opera memory lane news:  In a lifetime not too long ago, I created a summer program where children ages 1st - 4th grades would meet every afternoon for three weeks.  Culminating activity?  A child-sized version of Mozart's opera, <em>The Magic Flute</em>.  Oh, yes, it was adorable.  And I successfully brainwashed many a child into a Mozart obsession.  :-)</p>

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<p>But most opera leaves me lukewarm.  Until the evening of Day 27, Opening Night of the Opera. </p>

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<p>Opening Night of an opera season has always intrigued with its glamour and sophistication.  And this town could use more sophistication.  Trust me. </p>

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<p>To join me, I invited one of my most chic friends, Brittany aka Britters.  (Although Britters recently confessed to me that she hated my nickname for her.  Not chic enough.  Not chic at all, really.  So I changed her nickname to "Britt", which sounds very sultry and Swedish, yah?)</p>

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<p>Britt and I originally dreamed of wearing gowns to Opening Night, but with no fairy godmother in sight, (and no time to shop), we donned a more than acceptable substitute:  fancy/sexy dresses and strappy/sexy shoes. </p>

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<p>An evening at the opera calls for somewhere classy beforehand.  We decided on <a href="http://www.cheuvronts.com/" target="_blank"><strong>Cheuvront's</strong></a>, one of my favorite wine bars in Phoenix.  You have to love a restaurant that plays old James Bond movies with French subtitles.  ???  I have no idea why they do this, but it's cool.  Trust me again. </p>

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<p>Cheuvront's also mixes up the best mojitos in town.  And they have a cheese menu.  That's right.  Half of their regular menu is devoted to cheese.  Can you spell L-A-C-T-A-I-D? </p>

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<p>Luckily, I am not lactose intolerant, and neither is Britt, so we happily ordered the cheese plate.  Très délicieux!</p>

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<p>After wine, cheese and girl talk, Britt and I arrived at Symphony Hall for Gilbert and Sullivan's <em>The Pirates of Penzance</em>. </p>

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<p>The lights dimmed, the orchestra played, the chorus of singers entered the stage and...Magic.  Pure Magic. </p>

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<p><a href="http://www.azopera.com/" target="_blank"><strong>Arizona Opera</strong></a> mounted a tremendous production full of wit, humor, talent and heart. </p>

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<p>Am I a convert?  Only time will tell. </p>

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<p>For now, I say, "Bravo, Arizona Opera!  Bravo!"  I will see you again for Puccini's <em>Turandot</em> in January. </p>

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<p>** If this is too obscure and you have no earthly idea what I am talking about, for your viewing pleasure...</p>

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