Welcome back to the madcap adventures of that cool-ass—and sometimes
drunk—orchestra class. Whoo hoo!
Meg the cellist peered out from behind the auditorium piano and peered around like a mole in a hole with a coal on a pole from Hades. She sat there, transfixed by the electric glare of the 70-year-old stage lights.
"My GOD," she exclaimed silently to herself, lightly scratching her nose, with a thoughtful and pensive look in her glittering eye, "Have I been asleep all this time?"
"No," a voice answered from the very depths of Hades. "You have not been asleep," it boomed and sizzled ominously like an elf with very little shampoo left, "You have been… AWAKE!!! BWAHAHAHAHAAA!!!"
"Oh."
Then the Euphonium appeared, its shiny locks bouncing in the… (WHAT?!) …wind. "I have come for you, my cellist… my cellist, heh heh heh."
Meg tried to scoot deeper beneath the piano, but her yearbook was jammed in a deadly crack and would not budge. "Noooo!" screamed Meg. "I'll NEVER sign your yearbook!"
"Damn." The Euphonium stalked away, dragging its bright red yearbook behind it.
"You may have won the battle!," cried Meg in patriotic anguish, "But you HAVEN'T WON THE WAR!!"
Now, you may ask, what is an accurate yet entertaining analogy to this heart-rending situation? Well, you may ask. And I may answer. But if you DO get an answer, what will you do with it? Do you really even NEED an answer? Does the answer NEED you? What if I were to say that the answer has already answered itself, but you were just too far away to hear it? Or what if you had just been in bed, sleeping, or with some hot cocoa reading The Amber Spyglass? And even worse, what if you had accidentally called it the Amber Compass instead of the Golden Subtle? Or…that's not right… what if you had accidentally forgotten to return your copy of Owen Barfield's Evolution of Consciousness? Do you have an excuse for THAT? Eh? Because you're NOT getting an ANALOGY!!! So there.
Meg eventually freed her lovely, sweet and delicious yearbook from the clutches of the Satan-worshiping piano.
"Sorry," mumbled the piano as Meg ran away (but not before kicking the piano and stubbing her toes and crying).
And so, as fate has a way of messing things up and changing them round and eating lots of doughnuts for breakfast and then being offered an ice cream sandwich and being too full to eat it, so it also has a way of making itself throw up and feel better again. And this is exactly what Meg WASN'T thinking when she scampered on and ran full rib-crunching skull-smashing head-on into Dustin.
The delicious Dustin. The one with hair that would have been prettier had it not been so darn pretty. The one whose laugh was so freaky that it was adorable. The one who sometimes wore shiny red and gold things to school. The one who wasn't afraid to go to school an entire week with his pajama pants on. The one who was basically the epitome of random geekiness. Oh, swoon!
And so, fate decided to embarrass Meg the innocent cellist who had just been stuck underneath the piano. Oh woe! Horrors!
So she ran smacky dab-dangy into Dustin.
"Oh my God!" screamed Meg, reaching for something to grab hold of. With all the grace and dexterity of a practiced ballerina with elephantitis, she flailed about and latched herself onto Dustin's shirt.
"Oh my God!" she wailed again, managing to pull herself and Dustin down onto the ground, where they hit with a painful thud.
Dustin rubbed his poor adorable little head, and looked about confusedly. "Where am I?" he asked, his eyes unfocused like those of an eagle who has accidentally found his way into the water, and is just now realizing that he doesn't like fish for dinner, OR stupid 70's bands for that matter.
"I don't know! Augh!"
Meg ran away and out of the auditorium, managing to trip only thrice on her way out.
The Euphonium looked up from its yearbook.
"Ballerinas. Huh."
Meg the cellist peered out from behind the auditorium piano and peered around like a mole in a hole with a coal on a pole from Hades. She sat there, transfixed by the electric glare of the 70-year-old stage lights.
"My GOD," she exclaimed silently to herself, lightly scratching her nose, with a thoughtful and pensive look in her glittering eye, "Have I been asleep all this time?"
"No," a voice answered from the very depths of Hades. "You have not been asleep," it boomed and sizzled ominously like an elf with very little shampoo left, "You have been… AWAKE!!! BWAHAHAHAHAAA!!!"
"Oh."
Then the Euphonium appeared, its shiny locks bouncing in the… (WHAT?!) …wind. "I have come for you, my cellist… my cellist, heh heh heh."
Meg tried to scoot deeper beneath the piano, but her yearbook was jammed in a deadly crack and would not budge. "Noooo!" screamed Meg. "I'll NEVER sign your yearbook!"
"Damn." The Euphonium stalked away, dragging its bright red yearbook behind it.
"You may have won the battle!," cried Meg in patriotic anguish, "But you HAVEN'T WON THE WAR!!"
Now, you may ask, what is an accurate yet entertaining analogy to this heart-rending situation? Well, you may ask. And I may answer. But if you DO get an answer, what will you do with it? Do you really even NEED an answer? Does the answer NEED you? What if I were to say that the answer has already answered itself, but you were just too far away to hear it? Or what if you had just been in bed, sleeping, or with some hot cocoa reading The Amber Spyglass? And even worse, what if you had accidentally called it the Amber Compass instead of the Golden Subtle? Or…that's not right… what if you had accidentally forgotten to return your copy of Owen Barfield's Evolution of Consciousness? Do you have an excuse for THAT? Eh? Because you're NOT getting an ANALOGY!!! So there.
Meg eventually freed her lovely, sweet and delicious yearbook from the clutches of the Satan-worshiping piano.
"Sorry," mumbled the piano as Meg ran away (but not before kicking the piano and stubbing her toes and crying).
And so, as fate has a way of messing things up and changing them round and eating lots of doughnuts for breakfast and then being offered an ice cream sandwich and being too full to eat it, so it also has a way of making itself throw up and feel better again. And this is exactly what Meg WASN'T thinking when she scampered on and ran full rib-crunching skull-smashing head-on into Dustin.
The delicious Dustin. The one with hair that would have been prettier had it not been so darn pretty. The one whose laugh was so freaky that it was adorable. The one who sometimes wore shiny red and gold things to school. The one who wasn't afraid to go to school an entire week with his pajama pants on. The one who was basically the epitome of random geekiness. Oh, swoon!
And so, fate decided to embarrass Meg the innocent cellist who had just been stuck underneath the piano. Oh woe! Horrors!
So she ran smacky dab-dangy into Dustin.
"Oh my God!" screamed Meg, reaching for something to grab hold of. With all the grace and dexterity of a practiced ballerina with elephantitis, she flailed about and latched herself onto Dustin's shirt.
"Oh my God!" she wailed again, managing to pull herself and Dustin down onto the ground, where they hit with a painful thud.
Dustin rubbed his poor adorable little head, and looked about confusedly. "Where am I?" he asked, his eyes unfocused like those of an eagle who has accidentally found his way into the water, and is just now realizing that he doesn't like fish for dinner, OR stupid 70's bands for that matter.
"I don't know! Augh!"
Meg ran away and out of the auditorium, managing to trip only thrice on her way out.
The Euphonium looked up from its yearbook.
"Ballerinas. Huh."
