Ugh...

Luciano Pavorotti has come back as a cricket, and he seems to be working his way through the entire frakkin' Ring cycle underneath my bedroom window. He's been at it for at least 4 hours so far tonight, and it's right under where my pillow is. Could someone please call the Met and have him carted off to New York to continue his career so that I can finally go to frakkin' sleep? It wouldn't be so bad if he hadn't retained his operatic capacity for volume -- he's really quite loud, and it's loud enough that it sounds like he's in the room through a brick wall and the attendant insulation and inner wall.

L'Argh...