Son of Gouda.
That reminds me of my favorite comic from Hans’ door, which advertised the Nietzsche Deli, home of the Übersandwich. A sign read, “Gouda is dead.”
There are always many things to write about. The books I acquired from the library. My antepenultimate class of the semester. Exams handed back. Lunch at the Mediterranean Cafe.
Yes, lunch there. They knew what to get me, and the girl behind the counter asked, “Isn’t a lamb and beef sandwich always what’s for lunch?” Or “the right choice?” I forget which. We decided that “A lamb and beef sandwich. It’s what’s for lunch” would be a good ad, as well as, “I’m not just an employee of the Mediterranean Cafe, I’m also a customer.” The idea of hiring me to handle their advertising was, I believe, a joke.
How about “Where’s the beef?”
The question was posed by one employee to the owner: if he could rid the world of only one, would it be Kenny G or Michael Bolton. Fais replied: both. That was not, however, allowed, and while I did not provide my answer then, I have it now: Kenny G.
It’s simple. All things being equal and both being evil, one must note that Kenny G 1) goes by a diminutive of Kenneth and 2) uses only the first letter of his supposed last name. Things would be equal, if his opponent went by Mickey B or similar.
Thereafter came my couple hours at Free Trade, followed by the library trip, and then my arrival at the Union. I worked for a bit. Josh (prop and curtains guy Josh) arrived, then went, then came back. Eventually Heather opened things up for us. We met with Manfred, we got in costume, Manfred gave us each a little gift after we stretched and warmed up, and PLACES, PEOPLE!
Upstairs Heather, Kris, Johannes and I chatted a bit about summer jobs. We discovered that Heather took German 204 for retrocredits back around 2001 as a freshman.
It was about curtain-time. I checked with Manfred and Sabine. A few idiots went out for a bathroom break; a few others showed up almost late. I waited an extra 15 seconds. Lights out.
Curtain up (open).
Lights on.
Action.
And about 77 minutes later — applause.
Out in the foyer: congratulations from peers and professors.
Get changed, make jokes, sing and get rid of penciled in eye-liner. Stand around upstairs, and then make a move toward Van Hise for the post-premiere party.
Alas, no booze. But great bread, great cheese, and more great bread.
So eventually a handful of us — after small speeches by Manfred and Sabine — escaped for the Union, where they were still, temporarily, serving beer, just not in pitchers. Others got some; I held off, and out to the terrace we went and discussion ensued.
Jack and Claire were kind enough to give me a ride home.
Two more performances.
I could do this all day. Every day.
