Opera Meet Rock / Rock Meet Opera ~ Vid(s) of the Day

If you’ve ever admired the considerable vocal talents of Evanescence’s Amy Lee…

Guess what? You’re already an opera fan. Think Lee is the only one who can successfully belt out and merge her operatic lightening with thundering rock?

Guess again! For our proof, let’s welcome Cristina Ramos to the stage in our above Vid of the Day.

If you’re here only for the Vid of the Day, blog over. I thank you for clicking by.

However… if you’d like to view a bonus Vid of the Day, featuring Amy Lee’s emotion driven, hard rockin’ performance…

If you’re now content with hearing out both vids, blog over. I thank you, again, for your visit.

However… if you’d like to check out my (hopefully) amusing Highway to Hell short story… inspired by AC/DC the band that inspired Ramos… I now present…

The Highway To Hell: The BackStory

Ever since Day-1 of Grand Dragon Donny’s reckless regime, he took a fancy to impulsively flipping off all laws… inclusive of the speed limit. His bellowed, little boy, “WHEEEE” could be heard echoing up and down 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, while he lead footed it… tooled about carelessly and careened America downhill…

down…

down…

down…

down…

down…

down…

down the Highway to Hell…

WHEEEE!

Citizens all across the American fatherland and all across the globe had little choice but to be Donny’s captive passengers. As such, they soon found themselves on the final approach of a crash landing at the Hellmouth. Yet, while still multiple kilometers / miles above, they became eyewitness to Donny’s bailing out sans parachute! Even though driver-less, nobody seemed to notice the diff.

They could now virtually smell the stench of sulfur and feel its lung constricting capabilities bowling them over… see the fire and brimstone’s blinding glow and feel its searing heat… hear the ceaseless snorting and roaring of the beast, too! OMG, that beast wasn’t even Satan!

They soon realized that the stampeding in circles, snorting and roaring, fire-breathing Grand Dragon Donny’s multiple layers of jiggly fat had helped him make a soft landing just outside the Gates of Hell. Boing… Boing… Boing… Boing… Boing… 

Many incredulous passengers thought aloud in unison, “Just how the Hell could he have ever survived his yuge dive? Someone pointed out, “Are we really sure that he did? It’s entirely possible that… just like Donny’s income tax returns… he’s likely been effectively hiding his dual (American and Hadean) citizenship status / his undead condition.”

Everyone became dumbstruck while watching a totally pissed off Satan emerge. He stomped his hoofs and gruffly bellowed, “Damn it Donny, what the HELL are you doing down here… AGAIN? You know how much I loathe you. Hear me now! Hell shall forever be too good for an ornery cuss like you. I flat-out refuse to let you in! In fact, I intend to build a steep WALL just to ensure you never set your hoofs in the netherworld. And don’t you DARE roll your eyes at me. I’ve caught wind of your plot for a hostile takeover of Hell! How DARE you collude with bad Vlad to oust me! Why… with a snap of my fingers… I could built that wall! As Satan droned in high decibels, “Let there be WALL”, lo and behold the WALL materialized out of thin sulfurous air!

Dejected and jealous, Grand Dragon Donny lamented, “Geeze why can’t I do that along the Mexican border?” followed by his glum, woe-is-me whining, “What the Hell am I supposed to do now? I’m F’d!” With a devil may care leer, he suddenly snapped out of his funk to gleefully concede, “Oh well, I guess I’ll be summering back in DC. My hostile takeover of America could still be fun!”

And that said, stay tuned for Chapter 2.

I mean I could go on and on… but… my dear readers… I really need to purge my mind of this unnerving, unpresidential tale… as well as clear my lungs of the virtual sulfur congestion.

You might even hear my virtual hack… hack… hack… hack… hack… hack (j/k)
 (j/k) 
(j/k) 
(j/k) 
(j/k) 
(j/k)

Oh God… I’m dying…. (j/k)
 (j/k) 
(j/k) 
(j/k) 
(j/k) 
(j/k)… hack… hack… hack… hack… 
 somebody please call 9-1-1! (j/k)
 (j/k) 
(j/k) 
(j/k) 
(j/k) 
(j/k)

In reality… that sulfur didn’t affect me in the least…

That clearly established… and lungs reasonably clear… blog over!

 

 

 

21 Verse Salute: Nuclear Family Meltdown

Preface…

 

This day’s tale to tell, mostly, regards family friction,

One would hope that it’s merely, a grim work of fiction.

Nonetheless, this plot plays out, upon real world stages,

Has spanned our vast cultures, coursed through countless ages.

 

Phony Phoned In Relationship…

 

Long, long ago, as such tales oft commence,

Two peasants met, both defied common sense.

Societal dictates! Roles / Rules! They would follow!

Were they even aware, that their hearts were both hollow?

 

“Don’t be a loner!” his buddies cajoled,

“Don’t be a spinster!” her peers would oft scold.

Duly duped by these meddlers, they’d woo, court and date,

Vowed to trip down the aisle, before ‘twas too late!

 

Now hopelessly lost, in their Fantasyland,

Groom-to-be bought The Ring, then asked for her hand.

Saner heads would’ve spurned, this Lothario’s duress,

Must explain why she gave him, her ear ringing, “Yes!”

 

She was the fair maiden. He was on the rebound,

Marriage for him? The second time around.

“Here Comes the Bride”, the organ grinder did play,

They exchanged tepid vows, one tempestuous day.

 

The grand life she ceded, being missus to mister,

Could’ve travelled the world, with her own elder sister,

Could’ve had hometown fun, too, till death do they part,

But he swooped her away, doused life’s spark in her heart.

 

Parental Stick Figures…

 

Expectations, anew, would ensnare and encumber,

“Be fruitful and multiply,” dance to that number!

Mom and Pop had been driven, and then double-crossed,

When Ma Nature won out, their two hatched children lost.

 

They were stick figure parents, irked without joy,

Their firstborn a girl, and next born their boy,

This foursome was fearsome, as a nuclear clan,

Out-billowed the mushrooms, once seen in Japan.

 

The parenting skills, were oft absent, elusive,

Focused on ‘tudes, which were cruel and abusive.

With tempers unfettered, they’d go mad, grow wild,

They’d forget there’s no good way, to spank a bad child.

 

The emotional baggage, both parents did pack,

Made for childrearing methods, which were out of whack,

Further aiding that mindset, the society traditional,

Spoke of outmoded dogma, best described as divisional.

 

It played favorites to boys, that’s never defensible,

It demeaned every girl, that’s mean, reprehensible,

With system so biased, it’s the sir, not the dame,

Who got to maintain, the family surname.

 

So both Mom and Pop, propped up this sick schism,

Male chauvinist ‘tudes, to foment favoritism,

Their boy child was one, who they’d strongly adore,

Their girl child was one, who they’d wrongly ignore.

 

The 3 against 1 math, the story-problem-come-true,

Rendered resentment, made daughter feel blue.

With not even one shred, of love to partake in,

Little wonder she felt so forlorn, so forsaken.

 

She was the sad orphan, with a live dad and mother,

An only child, too, in spite of her brother,

Since nobody cared, she’d make nary one peep,

Save for soft sobs, as she’d drift off to sleep.

 

Daughter knew all too well, that she had no real voice,

Made passive resistance, her M-O, by choice.

She’d take on the role, of the strong-willed protester,

From all of her family she’d hang tough, sequester.

 

Sister Perseveres…

 

It was from out of thin air, where she drew all her might,

Her spirit wouldn’t die, be it morn, noon or night.

She flung open Hell’s portals, and off she did roam,

Late in life, as a grownup, she’d run far from home.

 

She snubbed social structures, which oft tend to screw,

And flipped off the strictures, with male bias / skew.

She boxed up life’s sorrows, stowed them high on a shelf,

At last, made lasting peace, with the world, with herself.

 

After the death of her father and mother,

She found it tough, to still disown her brother.

It was not all his fault, that mom / dad took his side,

And allowed only him to go on life’s joyride.

 

Brother’s Regrets…

 

For too many years, as the fortunate son,

He had hogged mom’s, dad’s spotlight, nixed his sister’s fun.

He had hampered her happiness, in her life been a thorn,

He just knew she had wished, he had never been born.

 

Oh how he wished, he had not ruined her life,

That he had not been a party, to friction and strife,

Unable to think, of a remedy better,

He decided to write, a much overdue letter.

 

His pen touched the paper, in longhand he wrote,

Dear Sis, was as far as he got in his note.

He paused, wracked his brain, and then searched his soul,

To right a lifetime of wrongs, was no through the park stroll.