chronicles of disappointment, continued

Funny, strange funny, not ha ha ha ha ha funny, but strange funny how different things are important for different reasons.

My writing, my attempts to create a story set in the ancient Roman empire, and my recent work building an autobiographical novel based on the year I lived in Chicago with my wife and our baby son, and yes, even all my videos, are not as important as a few pages I am working on for a client at the University of Mexico.

Of all the files I chose to transfer and copy over into my new computer, it was the “work” files, the job files, the paying income and earning a reputation files, for those I opened up the link to the local home network, for those I negotiated the slippery slope between windows seven and windows ten – not so hard, actually, if I took my time and stepped carefully – yes, the “real” work, the work that will pay the monstrous credit card bill for my new computer, the translation texts that give me real silver and gold, not just money but reputation and acknowledgement – those were the babies I transferred over into my new little laptop.

Not my poetry. Not my videos. Not my novel.

Nope.

No.

Yes to the bottom line.

Damn.

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1 August 2017 remembering high school Xmas pageant fifty some years ago

1 August 2017

I appeared as a shepherd in the 1966 pageant. That was the year that a few guys played an outrageous practical joke during one of the last rehearsals, just as the choir came marching down the central aisle, singing Cantique de Noel. I can remember the name of only one of the perpetrators – I knew him then and later. During this rehearsal, the curtains should not have opened, this was to have been only a run-through of the procession and singing. But they did. Open. What they revealed was hilarious, barbaric, and/or sacreligeous, depending on your particular belief system, sense of humor, or point of view. The fabled red robe choir was stopped dead in their tracks. Dozens of cast members sitting in the auditorium, waiting to be called to the stage, all laughed and gasped, or screamed. As the shock died away, the directress of the pageant – I believe it was Audrey Seidel but am not certain – flew down the aisle like a veritable fury rushing toward those suddenly gaping curtains and what they had revealed.

Needless to say, the coterie who had plotted and carried out this irreverent coup de main were banished from the pageant. I do not remember whether they met the vice principal’s board of education, but would not be surprised if they had been forced to bend over and take that medicine.