(no subject)

So.

It begins.

But I wonder- how will it end?

(no subject)

So.

It begins.

But I wonder- how will it end?

Written at Tess’s chorus concert earlier this evening.

My parents have decided to torture my sister by sitting in the front row tonight. Erg. They did that to me once- Nida nudged me and then pointed to them waving like maniacs- it was embarrassing. Legolas is refusing to sit with us, choosing instead to sit in the back with Fonny Boy. He keeps Fonny Boy talking in hopes of sooner or later deciphering his speech patterns. (Fonny Boy*, you see, talks backwards over his left shoulder. *From “Isle of Dogs.” Hysterical book. Go read it.)

Legolas finds Fonny Boy fascinating.
I find Legolas finding Fonny boy fascinating fascinating.
Fonny Boy finds treasure fascinating.
It’s a vicious cycle.

---Later---

Still in front row. Parents will not listen to me or to reason. This is one of those rare times that Reason and Myself happen to share the same opinion, but they’re thrilled with the seating arrangements as is, so I guess that’s it.

Now they’re talking about corned beef. Ew.

---Later---

Mrs. Johnson, the photo teacher, is over by the door. I wonder if she remembers me? Probably not.

There’s this guy behind me having a conversation with some woman. This is what they said.

Guy: “…You know that Sandman, right. Only way he’s leaving is in a pine box. Give ‘im the Mussolini treatment- hang him by his feet from a lamp post! Heh heh!”

Woman: “My daughter’s in the Navy. She wanted to be a nurse but they put her in the nucular area instead.”

Guy: “You mean nuclear.”

Woman: “The President said nucular.”

I hate this town.

---

Here comes the Girl’s Chorus, trooping in in lots of sandals.

~~~ You know, we’re going to miss the war starting. The first bombs are going to start falling as the girls are singing “When You Believe” from the Prince of Egypt. I find that some kind of ironic.

As usual, they’re all wearing way too much makeup for fifteen year olds and have plucked most of their eyebrows off.

Written at Tess’s chorus concert earlier this evening.

My parents have decided to torture my sister by sitting in the front row tonight. Erg. They did that to me once- Nida nudged me and then pointed to them waving like maniacs- it was embarrassing. Legolas is refusing to sit with us, choosing instead to sit in the back with Fonny Boy. He keeps Fonny Boy talking in hopes of sooner or later deciphering his speech patterns. (Fonny Boy*, you see, talks backwards over his left shoulder. *From “Isle of Dogs.” Hysterical book. Go read it.)

Legolas finds Fonny Boy fascinating.
I find Legolas finding Fonny boy fascinating fascinating.
Fonny Boy finds treasure fascinating.
It’s a vicious cycle.

---Later---

Still in front row. Parents will not listen to me or to reason. This is one of those rare times that Reason and Myself happen to share the same opinion, but they’re thrilled with the seating arrangements as is, so I guess that’s it.

Now they’re talking about corned beef. Ew.

---Later---

Mrs. Johnson, the photo teacher, is over by the door. I wonder if she remembers me? Probably not.

There’s this guy behind me having a conversation with some woman. This is what they said.

Guy: “…You know that Sandman, right. Only way he’s leaving is in a pine box. Give ‘im the Mussolini treatment- hang him by his feet from a lamp post! Heh heh!”

Woman: “My daughter’s in the Navy. She wanted to be a nurse but they put her in the nucular area instead.”

Guy: “You mean nuclear.”

Woman: “The President said nucular.”

I hate this town.

---

Here comes the Girl’s Chorus, trooping in in lots of sandals.

~~~ You know, we’re going to miss the war starting. The first bombs are going to start falling as the girls are singing “When You Believe” from the Prince of Egypt. I find that some kind of ironic.

As usual, they’re all wearing way too much makeup for fifteen year olds and have plucked most of their eyebrows off.