Act I, Scene 1
[Curtain rises to reveal a cluttered stage. Amidst the clutter is a young man, who seems to act as though the clutter is his natural habitat. The young man is TacoTortoise, and clutter is in fact his natural habitat. He turns to face an imaginary audience, and speaks:]
TacoTortoise: ...
[Or, rather, he doesn't. Well, he's certainly thinking; perhaps he can be prodded to think out loud. A stagehand rushes up and prods TacoTortoise, to no avail. Guess he'll only speak on is own terms.]
TacoTortoise: ...
[Oh, forget it. I'm leaving.]
TacoTortoise: Hey, wait!
[Never mind, then.]
TacoTortoise: Sorry about that. It takes me a while to get started. I'll try to keep it rolling now.
Today's not the best of days for me. I'm one to two weeks behind in my ethnomusicologist seminar (after only two weeks, at that) and I stupidly postponed my attempt to catch up until the weekend, when everything I need is closed. I can't pick up a new copy of the syllabus I lost because the Music Department's closed. I can't buy the course pack I've been putting off purchasing because the copy center's closed. The music library closes absurdly early on a Saturday, so I can't check out the readings there, not that I even know what the readings are, because I don't have the syllabus. I'd drop the class if only it wasn't too late for me to start taking something else. And every time I try to compose, I think about how much more accomplished all the other MA students are. I know these things shouldn't make a difference, but they do. At least I do have lots of good ideas for my latest compositions. The music in me is certainly spilling out, even if I don't got the oranges. Not even the combined powers of Brian Woodbury and Michael Torke can change that right now.
I'm not really that depressed, I'm just in a temporary low. Come back again in a couple of hours and I may be telling a different story.
-- TT
TacoTortoise: ...
[Or, rather, he doesn't. Well, he's certainly thinking; perhaps he can be prodded to think out loud. A stagehand rushes up and prods TacoTortoise, to no avail. Guess he'll only speak on is own terms.]
TacoTortoise: ...
[Oh, forget it. I'm leaving.]
TacoTortoise: Hey, wait!
[Never mind, then.]
TacoTortoise: Sorry about that. It takes me a while to get started. I'll try to keep it rolling now.
Today's not the best of days for me. I'm one to two weeks behind in my ethnomusicologist seminar (after only two weeks, at that) and I stupidly postponed my attempt to catch up until the weekend, when everything I need is closed. I can't pick up a new copy of the syllabus I lost because the Music Department's closed. I can't buy the course pack I've been putting off purchasing because the copy center's closed. The music library closes absurdly early on a Saturday, so I can't check out the readings there, not that I even know what the readings are, because I don't have the syllabus. I'd drop the class if only it wasn't too late for me to start taking something else. And every time I try to compose, I think about how much more accomplished all the other MA students are. I know these things shouldn't make a difference, but they do. At least I do have lots of good ideas for my latest compositions. The music in me is certainly spilling out, even if I don't got the oranges. Not even the combined powers of Brian Woodbury and Michael Torke can change that right now.
I'm not really that depressed, I'm just in a temporary low. Come back again in a couple of hours and I may be telling a different story.
-- TT