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04.01.01 4:09 p.m.

"It is a mystery to me how a person can feel honored by the humiliation of his fellow human beings."

 -Mahatma Gandhi 

On Friday, I rather salivated over several high school girls and skimpy clothing and a high school boy in a black trench coat and shortpants. No, it's okay, I am not a creepy pedophile, I was merely watching a local high school to a production of Cabaret.
Frankly, I do not think Cabaret is really a play a high school should be doing. It's just a little racy, in that is it completely so. In the first ten minutes, the Emcee refers to a Kit Kat Club girl as a "cunning linguist" and slaps the asses of two others. I'm not complaining, you understand. Seeing attractive people sing and dance for me (especially when they are dancing like that) is certainly appealing. I am just wondering the appropriateness of it through the eyes of the community. I personally adored it, not merely for Heidi and Helga (I think it was Helga. One of the girls had fabulously chiseled cheekbones). Or even for the Emcee. Don't worry; the Emcee was only attractive as a character. While the actor did an excellent job with him (which fed my attraction), it was the character and his interplay with the other characters that made him appealing. Attraction to one sex is one sex too many for Xen right now, both would make my head pop like warm champagne. And not in the nice way.
Last night I decided to see the play yet again, but this time bring friends. It is not that I didn't try to bring someone with me on Friday. Rather I tried quite hard and was serially rebuffed, so I went alone (which made it quite a spell easier to get a seat close to the stage, as I still lack glasses). Anyway, I picked up Alison and Zanna at the home of the latter. My intention was to dart right out and get to the play early enough to get very good seats for three. However, dear Zanna revealed that she had a cartoon created by the same author as "i feel sick." Now who was I to not indulge her? It is called Invader Zim and it truly is hilarious. For the rest of the night Alison (primarily) and Zanna were quoting the cartoon, usually to my great amusement. Especially when they quoted Gir, the robot, who I am adopting (When choosing identities on earth: "Can I be a mongoose?" No, we are going to make you a dog. "Can I be a mongoose dog?").
They were both a great deal of fun to have at the play. It gave me someone to direct humorous asides to. However, Alison was able to find two very amusing gay guys (and their nauseous friend. Seeing such a good play mutilated made her feel sick, literally) sitting next to us to make aside with. She can be a surprising social little butterfly when it suits her. I'll have to keep her around just for that.
I realized how appreciative I am for the knowledge and skills I possess. As I watched the play unfold, I realized that I was considering the effectiveness and beauty of the sets, costumes, choreography, and lights. Not on a superficial level, but I was diagramming the lighting structure in my mind, considering what went into the decisions for each costume, the experimental nature of the choreography. I had such a greater concept of the aesthetics of the play because of my training. I now want to learn to read music, so I can appreciate that aspect on a deeper level.
The high/low point of the night for me was when the Emcee finished his parallel speech about how there are no troubles in the Cabaret, taking off his coat to reveal he is wearing concentration camp prison garb with a Jewish star and a pink triangle on it. Very affective scene, I get chills just recapping it. From behind me, I hear someone ask, "Why is he wearing pajamas?" I was so shocked; I turned around to spot the culprit, but did not see whom these words came from. Pajamas! How horrible that they completely missed the message of the whole bleeding play!
After the show was over, Alison and Zanna got the e-mail addresses of the two gay guys who were seated with us. They wanted to get together today and see Quills together (see, things like this make me wonder if my life is the work of really bad script writers. The first time the three of us are all together at one since we saw Quills together, and the strangers we meet mention going to see it together. Eerie!) We refused since Zanna had to perform today and I was supposed to help the library in the Bowl-a-thon. However, I didn't collect any pledges and am feeling under the weather owing to being awoken numerous times this morning. So I called my boss up (I was going to bowl to benefit the Dutchess Library) and informed her I could not make it because I felt terrible. She was very understanding as always.

Oh, I don't think I told you. One Wednesday, I was called away from my desk to submit my graduation information. Foreseeing no problem, I didn't swipe out at work. However, it was a long and arduous process owing to the graduation requirements having been changed after I changed my major so I had to run around, submitting waivers and forms. Finally, an hour later, I was done and back at work. However, I was feeling like a less than model employee for having wasted an hour trying to convince DCC that I should graduate. So I wrote my boss a note telling her what had a happened and to please take an hour off of my timesheet. The next morning, my note was on my desk with a message that she appreciated my honesty and had taken 45 minutes off. Have I mentioned that I love my boss and job and am going to miss them both terribly when I go to New Paltz?

Kate and I are not talking, really. I told her I was not going to call her something like... oh... ever again. Well, that's not exactly true. I told her I had no plans on calling her for a while, as she is a bit like a hedgehog covered in razor blades and lemon juice. (Poor hedgehog!) However she should feel free to call me sometime next week. Actually, she paged me last night when I was about to settle down for some fried mushrooms and milkshakes with Zanna and Alison. When I called, she sounded hurt/needy. I asked what was up; she said she was fine in a convincing way. I told her that I couldn't really talk; I was just concerned as her page contained extra numbers. She said that her finger pushed the button a little too much and she was sincerely fine. So I went back to my food. (That sounds so cold and heartless, but I need some time to myself.)
I just need a break from her games, whether she knows she is playing them or not. One night she is snogging me madly, proclaiming that (and I quote), "I want nothing more than to be happily in a relationship with you... I don't want to hurt you." The next I am the most unattractive thing since maggot infested sliced bread. I told her this on Wednesday, when I was clarifying that I was having trouble being her friend.
After I got home last night (after dropped Alison and Zanna off at their respective homes and engaging Zanna is a long discussion of why Saint Peter envies Peter the Great), I saw that Eileen had just come on-line. For the past several days, she has seemed rather upset and I have been very concerned. However, prior to last night, she really didn't want to talk about it.
She is just reevaluating what it is she wants in life. Last night it was a devoted, caring, and amazing boyfriend. Hmm... I wonder what I said to her on this topic? However, she rebuffed me with the usual (and nettlesome) "But you belong with Kate" and "You think too much of me." And she damned Erikson, which I take to be a good sign in her personal evolution. She is a sweet girl, truly. However, I do not idealize her, there is no pedestal engraved with her name. She is just a remarkable girl.
I hate warm champagne.

reading: very obtuse information on how land friction effects wind speed.
listening: Shrieking Jende Conures
listening: I'm lookin' for baggage to go with mine.
interesting thought: Every moment brings me close to an end.
moment of zen: When I saw the stage bathed in pale blue light and stark red light was streaming through the door on stage.

Thomm Quackenbush is an author and teacher in the Hudson Valley. Double Dragon publishes four novels in his Night's Dream series (We Shadows, Danse Macabre, and Artificial Gods, and Flies to Wanton Boys). He has sold jewelry in Victorian England, confused children as a mad scientist, filed away more books than anyone has ever read, and tried to inspire the learning disabled and gifted. He is capable of crossing one eye, raising one eyebrow, and once accidentally groped a ghost. When not writing, he can be found biking, hiking the Adirondacks, grazing on snacks at art openings, and keeping a straight face when listening to people tell him they are in touch with 164 species of interstellar beings. He likes when you comment.

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