Me too. I happen to believe that everyday life should be just like a big musical production. Not like Grease. Maybe something more along the lines of Oliver. The original, not the remake, though I haven't seen the remake as I'm a purist that would find that to be sacrelig.
In this fanciful land (of really bad taste, funky unitards, bad makeup and such), when you are accosted for a fight, it would be like a beautifully choreographed artistic display of genius; accompanied by witty retorts and self-deprecating humor following each blow. Each quarrel would be beautifully sung in two-part harmony, but you'd soon forget the basis of your quarrel as soon as the bridge of the song was reached.
Duelers trade in their swords for banjos; thieves relinquish their loot and offer the gift of music with their hands as their only consolation. Your enemies dance with you and strangers sing with you. The weary vagabond, upon hearing the ululating revelers, sets down his cargo and stays a while. Everyone knows each word to each song as if it had always been a song familiar and dear to them. Boy, girl, man, woman--each sing a note that is all his own, yet that coalesces with those of his aggressors to finally unite in perfect harmony. Even in the midst of their pain caused by their partisan deviations, there would be redemption in the beauty of their song that, once sung, would overpower every iota of ill-will and malice that gave rise to the song to begin with.
Alright, I have to go join the people in the street now. Some dude is excited about some new issue of his fave comic book that came out and for some reason, the postman, street sweepers, shopkeepers---all of Riverside know the choreography so we'll be out doing some really unnecessary display of revelry disproportionate to the event we're celebrating. We're out on Park street. Come with.
No comments:
Post a Comment