I was raised to be charming, not sincere
May. 24th, 2010 12:44 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
timerippleThis is your semi-annual airport post, brought to you by that infernal "soft jazz" Sacramento insists on playing, which pleases nobody and irritates everybody, “everybody” being defined in this instance as “Fiona”.
Last Thursday we went to the local performance of Into the Woods! It was most excellent. My favorite part is always the princes, and I am most annoyed that the London cast recording doesn’t have the "Agony" reprise. The orchestra was fantastic, and the cast was wonderful. Cinderella's prince was a dead ringer for Tom Cruise. It was hilarious. I was a little bit smug to note, however, that they only had one cow, and Milky White had to masquerade as Fake Milky White. When I was Assistant Props Mistress, we had Milky White and Irma the Fake Cow. Irma only had one scene, but she acted the hell out of it.
Er, as much as a paper-mache’d suitcase on legs can act. I’ve completely forgotten how we got the cows to roll around. And nothing could ever, ever beat our Prince’s giant stuffed horse.
Spent most of the week betaing things for various people, except when I was watching Ace of Cakes on YouTube, which was most of the time.
This morning the San Francisco Chronicle’s Style section had an article about a man who’d written a fashion book on How to Be Classy, Ladies! I laughed my ass off and then turned to the second page of the article, which featured a spread from the book. Airport fashion! What Not to Wear: hoodie, sweatpants, Ugg boots. What to Wear: blazer, skinny jeans, four-inch heeled boots. I laughed my ass off some more. The guy said something like, would I want the woman wearing a hoodie to the airport to be the mother of my children? I don’t think so! I laughed harder. Suddenly I understand why the gay best friend makeover is such a popular trope. The gay best friend is never, ever thinking, “I will make her into the woman I want to mother my children!” Neither is Professor Higgins, come to think of it. Usually.
So here I am in the non-ghetto terminal, surrounded by other people’s crying children wearing a hoodie and flip-flops. Well, okay, it’s a fire department zip-up sweatshirt I stole from my dad. But this is the first time I’ve worn a hoodie to the airport just to piss off somebody I’ll probably never meet.
Besides, those damn planes are always cold. I brought a summer scarf, but the zip-up’s warmer.
And it doesn’t smell too badly of horse drool.
Last Thursday we went to the local performance of Into the Woods! It was most excellent. My favorite part is always the princes, and I am most annoyed that the London cast recording doesn’t have the "Agony" reprise. The orchestra was fantastic, and the cast was wonderful. Cinderella's prince was a dead ringer for Tom Cruise. It was hilarious. I was a little bit smug to note, however, that they only had one cow, and Milky White had to masquerade as Fake Milky White. When I was Assistant Props Mistress, we had Milky White and Irma the Fake Cow. Irma only had one scene, but she acted the hell out of it.
Er, as much as a paper-mache’d suitcase on legs can act. I’ve completely forgotten how we got the cows to roll around. And nothing could ever, ever beat our Prince’s giant stuffed horse.
Spent most of the week betaing things for various people, except when I was watching Ace of Cakes on YouTube, which was most of the time.
This morning the San Francisco Chronicle’s Style section had an article about a man who’d written a fashion book on How to Be Classy, Ladies! I laughed my ass off and then turned to the second page of the article, which featured a spread from the book. Airport fashion! What Not to Wear: hoodie, sweatpants, Ugg boots. What to Wear: blazer, skinny jeans, four-inch heeled boots. I laughed my ass off some more. The guy said something like, would I want the woman wearing a hoodie to the airport to be the mother of my children? I don’t think so! I laughed harder. Suddenly I understand why the gay best friend makeover is such a popular trope. The gay best friend is never, ever thinking, “I will make her into the woman I want to mother my children!” Neither is Professor Higgins, come to think of it. Usually.
So here I am in the non-ghetto terminal, surrounded by other people’s crying children wearing a hoodie and flip-flops. Well, okay, it’s a fire department zip-up sweatshirt I stole from my dad. But this is the first time I’ve worn a hoodie to the airport just to piss off somebody I’ll probably never meet.
Besides, those damn planes are always cold. I brought a summer scarf, but the zip-up’s warmer.
And it doesn’t smell too badly of horse drool.
