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Otium cum Dignitatae

Monday, November 03, 2008

Another Fantastic Idea

This morning I had a work dream. A gig of indeterminate nature located on the sunny acres of some large campus of some kind, somewhere. Bee came along just to hang out, kinda, and sit in the sun.

At some point, I was actually in the basement of some building, and after several lunches (this is a fairly realistic detail, actually), I was working with several others under the stewardship of a domineering woman with heels that clopped like horses' hooves.
That too is a pretty true-to-life tidbit: I was working for someone like that last week, except that she's tiny and never wears heels, I bet. The fun thing is, every time I've had a boss like that, the distant approach of hoofbeats, while no doubt filling their wearer with pride and a sense of great power, served mostly as a warning to the rest of us to go hide somewhere.

I went over to another part of this (I'm now noticing) increasingly filthy basement, where I interrupted the guy making the food delivery for the day. In the middle of the floor, there are scattered, torn open boxes, and a small four-legged figure dancing about in the wreckage.
"You found a chihuahua in your shipment of beans?" I ask the delivery man.
He muttered something in Spanglish about 'ugly goat', and I wandered away.

Toward the end of the day, I'm sitting there with several other stagehands, and The Stagehand Who Is Actually Named Dan Fogelberg pulls out a Zune (as I recall from real life that he prefers them to Ipods) and starts playing us a recent live recording by what he said was his band.
It starts out with solemn, over-serious sounding guitar picking that fairly well announced that here is a song that must be listened to for its fantastic, life-changing content. This illusion was broken by the lead singer, who sang in a high falsetto, "FA-FFLES...I'M QUI-EEET...FA-FFLES...I'M HEEERE..."

When I awoke immediately after, I laid there thinking up more lyrics to "Faffles", and starting to scheme about possibly writing a musical. "Faffles! On Broadway!", I believe it would be called, and while you never actually meet the lead character ('Faffles' perhaps could be represented, like at many a Christmas paegent, by a light bulb), all the songs sung by each of the characters would be about the life of Faffles, different aspects of Faffles's personality, and finally, Faffles's end.

That's where Fogelberg's song comes in. The arrival of the person singing those lines would spell Faffles' doom. To Reader's Digest-ize it a bit, perhaps that song could be called "I Am Faffles's Multiple Myeloma". Or maybe -maybe- we go deeper than that, into the realm of Opera. This is Faffles's nemesis, and as Faffles is seemingly eternal, he/she/it has been ardently pursued throughout the ages by this unstoppable enemy, who finally catches up in the final act.

Ahh...Tomorrow: probably more writing about politics.

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1 Comments:

Blogger George Popham said...

Hey, the faffles are dancing in my head. I'm polishing off a BIP and havn't had teh chance to chime in like I would like... Faffles. I snort and chortle, Deb is all, like, honkshu next to me here in the bed or I'd be singing to her. Your previous post was theraaputic, stuff we just can't say enough, but the more concisely it is put the more it heals.

falling asleep from beuadryl, deb and I miss yu and bee. Other stuff. all good. should email and blog soon... chief of faffle staff

7:07 PM  

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