I went to Roger's benefit concert today. I mean, I performed in it. Apparently, we raised over a thousand dollars, which I'm not sure is sensible, since it was easily the most atrocious performance I have been to in a long time, but I suppose we should be proud of ourselves. It's not every day that people shell out for such a business as this. It was really fun though! I invited Austin, and he came! He missed my solo, though. Boo, and phooey on him. That's what you get when you're late. I sang dat yung solo a lot better in rehearsal, so some of my jumps were kind of jumpy, but it was mostly fine. A lot of people came up to me to shower me in adulation, so I was happy. The poor girl who sang the alto solo, though, man I didn't know what to tell her. It's kind of like when you get an A, and someone who failed sees your paper. Like, how does one handle such a situation? I've never been sure (and unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on perspective, it happens to me quite often). Dad didn't record me, though! He even had the camera! I wanted to hear myself, man! Lots of exclamation points, oh dear. You know, I love watching Roger conduct. He's so into it, and he looks so graceful and happy, it makes me happy. When he does anything music-related, actually, it does something to this pore ole heart of mine. What if I'm attracted to talent, like Dominique in The Fountainhead? That would be strange and peculiar. Oh dear, oh dear. He's quite a good-looking fellow, too. Why did I ever break up with him? At the end of the concert (which was fraught with peril), everyone took pictures, and it was about a quarter of an hour before we could get out and go to the reception. Poor Austin waited for me patiently the whole time, and I felt bad, but who can argue with the will of the photographers? A picture is worth a thousand words, you know, and words are money in this economy! What am I even saying? But man, Austin, though. He's so exceedingly attractive! Makes my knees feel weak whenever he's around. He got all spiffed up for the concert (or, as he said, for me), and he looked like a tangible representation of poetry. I'm such an awkward little dork though; I kept getting tongue-tied at all the wrong moments, and never made any witty puns, and was just an unspectacular social failure all in all. How can this be? Why is this happening to me? Maybe I'm losing my brain as I mature and ready myself for the plummet of life. I could have some kind of wasting disease, maybe, and every day I will lose a few more brain cells until I am naught but a vegetable. And since I am no Dudley Randall, I think it would be best to donate the working parts of my body to those who need them at that point. How did my charming monologue on love turn so morbid? I think that's a problem too. Anyway, I'm a sad specimen, and it must have pervaded the general atmosphere, because Austin was all tongue-tied too. Later he texted me and said that he was sorry for being such an awkward individual around me, since he always thinks he'll be fine, and then I'm distracting, or some lovely sentimental rag like that. But for the time being, it was a slightly uncomfortable half-hour. We found Roger, who was talking to some of his elderly admirers, and he came over and talked to us for awhile until I had to leave (and Austin went with me). He and Austin, man, they're quite the pair. I had heart palpitations on the one end, and leg failure on the other. I'm glad no one else was there, or I would have had to be carried out on a stretcher. Do I sound like a shameless flirt for saying all this? That's all right, because I am. No problem there! I had a really fun time though, and it was disappointing to leave so soon. Actually, not really, come to think of it, because then we went off to Barnes and Noble and I read The Economist and drank tea lemonade, and it was really very wonderful.
Say, I don't think people give that magazine enough credit, by the way! Its positions are so sensible, and the writing is so good, and it has flippin' puns in every article! You can't get much better than that. I wish I had more time to devote to news and all that. I read Mother Jones and stuff like that online, but it takes awhile to go around to each article and peruse it thoroughly, and then you get sucked in and start reading stuff from years ago, and then you want to look stuff up, so you go on Wikipedia, and then you're down the rabbit hole never to return. And since I have limited time to spend on the computer (even on my baby Daisy Bell), I don't read stuff as much as I should. It's so shameful, really. I can't let my laziness and lack of time management skill get in the way of my absorption of world affairs! I want to be able to discuss a bit of everything with everyone, like Jefferson (whom I don't like, really, although I feel like I should, but that's beside the point), and that includes all parts of the news. I have to admit, I sometimes skip the articles on agriculture or whatnot, just because the business and economics and politics are more interesting to me, but I really need to stop doing that. What if I meet a farmer at a party and I don't know anything about his party? I have to labor to know of Labor (or Labour, I guess), and that is final.
Now, what was I talking about before this excellent interlude? Ah yes, boys. An excellent subject. I think I'll return to it. So, let me tell ya about a fella whom I've met, but who is not well met (what a punchy sentence, dearie me, I do have flair). I met him at the wedding I played with Mom and Kitty and Sungmin, and I thought he was pretty cute, so I did the whole eye-flirting thing that is so popular with Durkos and Alfonsos alike. I mean, I didn't gaze passionately at him while stroking my beard and mumbling Wagner lyrics or anything (although that would have been funnier), but it was a nice little light, Rococo, divertimento to while away the weary hours. So, that was all well and good, but then he found me on facebook and started messaging me. And then he started texting me. And now he won't stop. It's dreadfully annoying! I mean, I can just be sitting down innocently to read some existential philosophy, and bam, it's time for another Hit-on-Jasmine session with the world's most illiterate Lothario! I wonder what it's like for people who don't have to worry about this sort of thing all the time. And I wonder why it is that I can never attract the attentions of an Ivan Karamazov or a Francisco D'Anconia. Maybe I'm genetically predisposed to irritation, and I have to seek it out wherever it may find me. It does seem to find me, though. That creative writer chap has been chatting me up recently as well, and doing so in language that seems remarkably poor for someone planning on writing for a living. You'd think potential authors would need to know the rudiments of grammar and spelling, but maybe that's all the job of the editors nowadays. At any rate, he has no editor when speaking with me, so I'm subjected to the full brunt of his unwanted linguistic inventiveness. I guess it's a helpful, eye-opening, experience for me. Perhaps I can somehow use some of his aberrations from our mother tongue as additions to a project in college next year or something. There has to be a way to get some use of him! Oh my, I sound like a horrible person. I suppose I am, though, so that shouldn't make no never-mind. Well, then.
You know, I hate to be an abrupt Durko-type, as well as an awkward Kevin one (see the annals of my tragic failures in the field of love), but it's a little late, and I'm tired, so without prevarication or delay (maybe just a little delay), I'll be off to bed! I really need to learn some new literary quotations involving the phrase "goodnight"; I think I've used up all of them on here already. But be that as it may, Goodnight!
No comments:
Post a Comment