We were evacuated from class tonight about 45 minutes into the evening's lecture. Everyone milled around outside for ten minutes or so, then a security person came along and told us classes were officially cancelled. I'm so mad. I love my Oceanography class, and I resent losing those hours of instruction. I expect it was a bomb threat since the hallways didn't smell like a chemistry experiment gone wrong. Naturally, I hope there really wasn't a bomb, but if it was merely a prank then I'm thoroughly cheesed off. Not that I'll ever know.
So now I'm home hours early, listening to a boy band sing really stupid lyrics over an impossibly catchy melody and bobbing my head along while I type. I have the most predictable CD collection. There's nothing cool at all in it. It's pretty much a reflection of whatever's popular on the radio. Why am I such a sap for pop music? I tried so hard to develop an interest in experimental, difficult, intellectual music. And in fact I have a background in classical music, having majored in choral conducting during my first attempt at college. I've been exposed to a broad variety of styles, sang Gregorian chant and 12 tone rows, learned to appreciate Schoenberg, Dufay, Menotti. But I always secretly preferred the easy, pretty stuff: Schubert, Vivaldi, Mozart. A beautiful melody is the way to my heart. That's how these dopey pop creations like the Spice Girls and 'NSync convince me to shell out an absurd amount of money for a CD packed with frothy fun and absolutely no content.
I love frothy fun. I love a vista of fun social engagements spread before me. Thus I am jazzed about the upcoming three day weekend. I am jazzed about going out to dinner at a romantic Italian restaurant with my romantic husband one night. Of course, another couple is joining us so it's not going to be that romantic, but it will certainly be delightful. I am looking forward to having dinner with Michael on another night at which I can tease him a little about keeping his romance with Mo a secret. I have no plans at all for the third night, though there will be some canoodling if the weather's nice. This is because we can then shove the cats outside with clear consciences, and not have an interested furry visitor or two during any critical canoodling moments.
We'll tell 'em it's an evacuation. They can handle standing around in the cold a lot better than I can.
The Index
Next Incarnation