The final performances of two French operas, Pauline Viardot's Cendrillon and Maurice Ravel's L'Enfant et les sortilèges, will be held at 8:00 p.m. Friday, Feb. 27, in the Hoerner Theater. And yes, you should be there.

I'm the first to admit that the totality of my opera experience was shaped not by evenings at La Scala or the Met, but rather by those master thespians of the animated age, Bugs Bunny and the Looney Tunes ensemble. Surely Wagner himself never conjured a scene of such villainy as Elmer Fudd's chilling litany of doom: "Norf winds bwow! Souf winds bwow! Typhoons! Huwwicanes! Earfquakes! Smog!"

Anyway, if Elmer and Bugs taught me anything about opera, it's that tradition holds the spectacle of an ample soprano flying above the stage like a zeppelin in chiffon far outweighs whatever linguistic or cultural barriers might exist between 19th century European composer and 21st century schlub just there to appease his missus (even if only because it reminds him of '80s hair metal shows).

Luckily for me and the rest of the ignoratti, the immensely talented and fit non-cartoon players in our productions took lessons in aerial performance, which you can read about here (I'd show you a video, but stupid YouTube is being stupid).

The musical and theatrical folks responsible have done some excellent work to create a pretty special show, so if you haven't already checked it out make sure you get out to see this one. This is probably your only chance to see your friends sing at the top of their lungs while flying -- at least without earning a Homeland Security beat down.

Of course, that wouldn't be too out of place. To quote Bugs: "Well what did you expect from an opera? A happy ending?"

It's not all fun and games here at Ithaca. For instance, at least five people have been dumped on campus since I started this post (some of whom have yet to actually hear the bad news -- my lips are sealed). But aside from those miserable few, yes, it is all fun and games.

To wit, the Acahti Players (fiddle with the name, you'll get it) will be doing their improvisational best to amuse you on the red carpet in Dillingham at 7:00 p.m. this Friday evening. It's free, it's (potentially) funny, and you might even meet the love of your life guffawing Snapple through his/her nose while there (yes, you too have been dumped in the last two lines).

And if you find yourself just completely overwhelmed with funny, Achati hosts an open improv session for the laugh-seeking among you every Sunday from 3:00 to 5:00 p.m., again on the infamous tapis rouge. Oy, if that carpet could talk....

Valentine's Day is upon us once again (like a biblical plague, the lovelorn might suggest). To celebrate this holiest of Hallmark holidays, I heartily recommend you spend tomorrow evening (7:00 p.m. - ?) snuggled up with your sugarpie at Cinemapolis watching a movie about sectarian hatred and slaughter.

No, not the film version of my ex-wife's diary -- last I heard that was still in post-production.

The flick in question is Ari Folman's surrealist documentary Waltz with Bashir, an account of his time in the Israeli army during the Lebanon war in the early eighties (historical spoiler: it was bloodier than a Cosa Nostra dinner theater production of MacBeth). Reunited with images of a horror he had tried to forget, Folman animates his tale -- one assumes because the stark reality is a little too, well, real.

Does it work? Hell if I know, I'm just the guy with the blog. I do know it's up for an Oscar, and the distributor is sufficiently psyched that they're allowing FLEFF just the one sneak peak before hustling off to butter up the Academy (or whatever it is distributors do -- they're so mysterious).

Until Oscar night this is a one-off, so go check it out for yourself. Get there early -- the place will be nuts -- and stick around after for the panel discussion. Just a guess, but I reckon you'll be able to roast marshmallows on the opinions in that room. So play nice and, to paraphrase Pumpkin and Honey Bunny, everybody be cool.

Oh, and be on the lookout for the FLEFF staff. They'll be blogging about this event and all things Finger Lakes, environmental, film, and festival related right up through the big event itself (March 30-April 5, if you're booking ahead). They'll also embrace Twitter like the forward-thinking brilliant minds of the new generation that they are. Ain't it tweet? (Oy.)

Fellow by the name of John Carlos will be speaking tonight at Emerson Suites (7:00 p.m. for those interested; 11:30 p.m. for those who aren't).

If you're an obsessive track and field fan, you may recall seeing the name Carlos in the "1968/200 meter dash/bronze" column of your copy of the Ginormous Compendium of Track and Field Minutiae (79th edition). Not to diminish the accomplishment of placing third in one's Olympic event, but if that's all John Carlos ever did he probably wouldn't be talking to a bunch of college students 41 years after the fact (unless it was to yell at them to get off his lawn).

No, what John Carlos did was to evoke both a passion for justice and (quite frankly) reactionary hysteria among his countrymen by silently raising his fist and looking downward at the medal podium as "The Star Spangled Banner" played, a gesture born of the frustration, sadness, and anger felt by Carlos and millions of others about the blight of racism and the economic misery of people around the world. (For those of you too young to remember or unfamiliar with this episode in history, let's just say 1968 wasn't exactly a banner year for humanity.)

The image of Carlos and U.S. teammate Tommie Smith, heads bowed almost mournfully and those gloved fists aloft, is widely considered to be among the defining icons of the 20th century, as much for the violent reaction that followed as the gesture itself. Both Smith and Carlos were cast out of the U.S. team and ostracized upon returning to the States. The usual healthy debate of death threats and racial invective followed. Even Australian Peter Norman (he's the other guy on the podium) took it on the chin for his support of the two Americans; he was banned from 1972 Olympics and eventually sank into depression and booze, dying in 2006.

And if you're sitting there thinking how lucky you are that you live in an era when peaceful protest is no longer met with violence and hysteria...well, you just cling tightly to that little delusion as long as you can, friend.

Anyhoo, Carlos will probably have a lot to say on this subject and more tonight. He's led a fascinating -- if frequently tragic -- life, and we could all learn something from a man who made one of this country's most resonant statements without uttering a single word.

It's a funny ol' place, this Ithaca. One minute you're desperately trying to unstick your frozen tongue from the flagpole following a somewhat foolhardy stab at self-amusement; the next every single cool Canadian band in history is playing in town.

Tonight rock music's answer to chamomile tea, Cowboy Junkies, will be ensconced at the State Theater. Since they brought the glories of church acoustics to the most committed atheist, you can probably count on a mighty fine performance (though don't be surprised if they've kicked it up a notch or two from the old days -- Michael Timmins apparently believes age and feedback should advance in step).

Friday your very own IC Bureau of Concerts has helped to bring Montreal's Stars to the State, and this reporter is kinda thrilled. For the uninitiated, Stars are another of those semi-orchestral pop treats that have become the specialty of Canadian indie gods Arts&Crafts (Broken Social Scene, Feist, Constantines, Dears). They sing real purty-like, and their newer stuff just sounds BIG (though I remain a devotee of earlier tracks like "Elevator Love Letter"). With students from "that other school" also getting a deal on tickets, they may be going fast. Best get on it lest the cool kids think you...um...less cool.

And just in case your thirst for Canadiana remains unslaked, head (New) Pornographer A.C. Newman will be here March 10 to prove once and for all that red hair and power pop are not mutually exclusive. Dude's got more hooks than a one-handed pirates convention.

No matter where you end up this weekend (well, okay, I probably shouldn't leave that quite so open-ended), we want to hear about it, see pics, et cetera. Use that comments thingie, people.

And if you get backstage with Amy Millan from Stars, let her know I think she could kick Feist's ass any day of the week.