Saturday, November 06, 2004

Cabaret, China Mieville

Listening to the Smiths's How Soon is Now. A fairly bad song, I don't know why it's on my playlist. Huh.

Tonight I went to my school's Cabaret Night with low expectations, but it was really great. A girl I don't know well, M., did an amazing job singing Somebody Else's Story; the Madriguys (the guys from Madrigals, heh-heh) sang Men in Tights from the Robin Hood movie; some girls did a cool job of Aida's My Best Suit; the chorus did a rousing rendition of Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody, which was a thousand times funnier to me because of Wayne's World--though nobody else there seemed to think so; then Marmalading (a band from our school--jamming = marmalading, get it?) did Jethro Tull and Bach's Baroquey-dokey. And etc. There was one act that featured two ditzy-looking girls dancing along to some Britney Spears song, which was awful until I realized that their shadows on the back wall made them look like an iPod ad. So then it was okay.

I've decided that for next year it would be hilarious to get someone to sing Lou Reed's Take a Walk on the Wild Side, but I couldn't think of anyone zany and audacious enough to do it. If I could sing in the least I would probably do it, even though I'm very shy about performing and the like. Hmm...well, at least I have a year to find someone.

Oh, I almost forgot to mention: I had requested China Mieville's The Scar from the library a while ago, and I finally got it today. Curious as to whether "China" denoted a man or a woman, I opened up to the back sleeve and...he's young and tough-looking and REALLY cute. And he must be unbelievably smart; The Scar, his third novel (all of which have been critically acclaimed), was written when he was 30 and he taught English in Egypt when he was 18. And he has a degree in Economics and a B.A. Je-suss. And the book is brilliant. I've told my sister that while I will concede (at long last) that Neil Gaiman, at 44, IS indeed a little too old for me, 32-year-old China is just the right age. Then she shot back that that would be like marrying J., an annoying little boy I sometimes (unfortunately) babysit. Urgh. But I will still hold out hope.

Tomorrow is Sunday, which means the Sunday paper, which means happiness. And now I'm veddy tired, so au revoir...

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