How Sweet It Is (To Be Loved By You)
My mom packed me a dinner to take to rehearsal tonight. It
consisted of a zip lock bag of potato chips, a zip lock bag of baby
carrots, a raspberry Juice Squeeze bottled drink, and thinly sliced
packaged turkey on thinly sliced sourdough bread with salt and mustard
and nothing more. In a zip lock bag of course. Just the way
I liked it when I was in 8th grade.
Now that I'm 18 I'd say my tastes have been refined a bit and have come to appreciate the finer things, some eclectic things, and even the convenient, if sub-par things. Like coffee for example. And nowadays I like a traditional French turkey sandwich on a long baguette with cheese and butter and nothing else. Or I like it on a sourdough roll with an olive oil spread and onions and mushrooms maybe or something like that. Something strange with another distinct and clashing taste.
But the difference is that I didn't ask for a sandwich tonight. I didn't ask for a dinner, I didn't ask for my mom to go out of her way. But she did and she remembered the mustard and the sourdough and the little bit of salt. Not often do you eat a turkey sandwich made with love. And believe it or not, the mustard, sourdough, salt extravaganza makes just as good a sandwich for post-rehearsal hunger as the baguette with cheese and butter. Maybe even better.
Having said that, I want to shame anyone who thinks Aida is a good show. It is arguably the worst musical ever written and Tim Rice and Elton John should be ashamed for having their names attached to it.
Ok, that having been said, everybody should come see it when it opens because I dance all through Act 1 and it's totally a lot of fun. I'm wicked awesome as a warrior. I should have been in A Chorus Line.
Now that I'm 18 I'd say my tastes have been refined a bit and have come to appreciate the finer things, some eclectic things, and even the convenient, if sub-par things. Like coffee for example. And nowadays I like a traditional French turkey sandwich on a long baguette with cheese and butter and nothing else. Or I like it on a sourdough roll with an olive oil spread and onions and mushrooms maybe or something like that. Something strange with another distinct and clashing taste.
But the difference is that I didn't ask for a sandwich tonight. I didn't ask for a dinner, I didn't ask for my mom to go out of her way. But she did and she remembered the mustard and the sourdough and the little bit of salt. Not often do you eat a turkey sandwich made with love. And believe it or not, the mustard, sourdough, salt extravaganza makes just as good a sandwich for post-rehearsal hunger as the baguette with cheese and butter. Maybe even better.
Having said that, I want to shame anyone who thinks Aida is a good show. It is arguably the worst musical ever written and Tim Rice and Elton John should be ashamed for having their names attached to it.
Ok, that having been said, everybody should come see it when it opens because I dance all through Act 1 and it's totally a lot of fun. I'm wicked awesome as a warrior. I should have been in A Chorus Line.