Sunday, September 07, 2003

Alice in Crackland

As an alumni of the 2002 UNLV Edinburgh fringe festival, I really wanted to support the 2003 crew. It's a bit sad that I only made it to one of their shows. And even sadder still, that the show I happened to make it to was Margot's. How can I best capture her in words? She's all of four feet high, she's about a hundred years old, her hair is bigger than she is, she's Jewish, and she's hilarious. You would know what I'm talking about, if you ever had to prance across a stage in front of an international audience barefoot in a prom dress with your hair in a side ponytail making sadistic cat growling sounds. (In case you were wondering- I was the narrator for this crazy "Alice in Wonderland" cracked-out thing we did in Edinburgh.) Imagine a female Kramer as the door mouse in our Alice in Crackland- that would be Margot. She is the weirdest choreographer known to man. Still, we were pretty amused watching her flounce across the stage with her big hair bobbing in her wake.

I convinced Joel to come with me to watch Louis perform (who I'm completely in love with in that idolistic-no-way-in-hell-it's-ever-going-to-happen since he's my teacher and more importantly, he's gay, the chair of the deptartment, did I mention completely gay, attached, and utterly beautiful)? Can I add that the reviews discuss in detail his rippling muscular sinews as he strips down to his underwear? Needless to say, I was ecstatic to see him, and more than a little disaspointed when we ended up stuck in a music room practicing church songs all night.

A fun fact about Vegas is that it has more churches and gambling facilities sharing the same zip code than anywhere else in the world. Apparently, there's a market in the music community for cantoring several of these masses each weekend at 50 bucks a pop. Desperately in need of a get-rick-quick scheme, I dusted off some of the old Catholic standby's, "Be Not Afraid", "Eagle's Wings", etc. (Unfortunately, no Polish pilgrimage revival of "Chitty Chitty Bang Bang" this time.) And then we ended up at Carrow's across the street, drinking milkshakes with our choir director, while I reprised everyone with travel tales. I'm not sure how this happened, I'm not really one of those do-gooder-brown-noser-kickin'-it-with-the-teacher-types. (Then again, I chose to spend the entire evening inadvertedly praising the lord rather than drooling over my naked, sinfully gay dance teacher. Maybe the tides are turning?) Once the conversation turned into a discussion of male cheerleaders and their thumbs sometimes sliding up their female counterpart's bung holes, I felt much more in my element.

I miss public transportation now that I've been back in town for a week and already had an accident in Holly's car and a flat in Joel's car. The rest of the evening was comprised of an adventure called, "Let's figure out how to fill Joel's tires with air." This entailed us rolling up to a gas station, fumbling with the manual, which took the time to print "See backside left-hand door, to locate air pressure measurment" without actually telling us what the magic number was. Wouldn't it have been easier to simply print '33' in the instruction manual? Because sure enough, we couldn't find a '33' or a '35', or whatever the damn number was supposed to be, printed on the inside of his very old car. We did, however, consult the random Mexican people who came to the pump equipped with air mattresses to be filled. They told us to go with '33, so we did, and hopefully his car doesn't explode anytime soon.

Tuesday, September 02, 2003

Night Swimming

My roomates, Amanda, Stephen, and I decided to illegally go "night swimming" in our appartment pool. This resulted in a lot of dead brain cells, because of our breath-holding competition. Stephen kicked my ass due to his elementary school swim team experience, which I found pretty disgraceful, since I'm an opera singer and should have the lung capacity of a whale. (Do whales even have lungs?) But I impressed him with my high school dive team experience, and then we tossed around the self-named "falafel." (You know, one of those floating noodle things- do those have names?)

After the swimming adventure, I tried to go to sleep, it was 12:30. I woke up again at 2, because there was a wild storm positively raging outside my window pane. The deadly kind, when the thunder claps simultaneously with the lightning. A moment of panic as the urgent thought; "Oh man, I don't have renter's insurance! What if a tree crashes through this house?" raced through my head. Had I taken a second to reflect and realize that there are no trees in Las Vegas, I wouldn't have had this concern. Such thoughts make me realize how much I'm turning into my mother, always worried about ridiculous things. It also makes me aware of the fact that I have been way too stressed out lately thinking about "practical concerns". I have seven dollars to my name, what valuable possessions could a tree possibly destroy?
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