Cows and Curtains

(this is highly desultory. one paragraph has hardly anything to do with the next. just take it that i am copying the style of xiao pin...yeah right. haha. )

VT would be smirking if it were here.

The curtains were ineffectual, too few to shield our ungainly movements from the knowing audience, and too red to sculpt the protective atmosphere exclusive to enveloping black. The familiar "Be careful! Cyclorama coming down!" that would usually send the whole crew into a scurrying act of self-preservation is replaced by a boring 'thud', a small, unobtrusive attestation that someone has been less than careful with the props or whatever part of the anatomy newly humbled from its scuffle with solid brick. Flybars, the undisclosed and unrivaled agents behind miraculously quick scene changes, are substituted with a single projector screen too lonesome and banal to stir the blood of self-proclaimed vt veterans. Walking in front of the 'flood lights' during a performance is no longer up there with gluttony, pride, lust, sloth, envy, wrath and avarice as one of the deadly sins.

The props division is a dismal population of three people, one of which is a renegade marooned from publicity. There is none of the spurts of adrenaline induced by frolics in the dark, nor of the childish fascination with luminescent tape. Here, it is a mere passive waiting, a lassitude that comes from the lack of greater stimulation, (passing the actors' placards and glasses can hardly be constituted as work) and long hours at the computer the night before. The irony is just too interesting to miss, and I marvel at how the amount of work done is directly proportionate to the energy one posesses. The more you scream and run and jump, the more energetic you will feel. The more you mope around like a corpse in search of favourable haunts, the more life (or after-life for that matter) will be sucked out of you. This theory explains my behaviour before and after our performance.

I have never really liked cows, my impression of them being dull, pock-marked despoilers of fields and pastures, tolerated only because of their contributions to humans in terms of providing milk and meat, one of which I am unable to enjoy. Whats more, their tendency to be bull-headed, and their cow-ardy acceptance of their eventual fate most definitely does not endear them to me. However, the recent performance has made me change my mind. I no longer averse to cows, indeed, i would gladly welcome two or three into my abode should they show some talent for dancing the tango, or chairing a profit making company, or governing a country or teaching or simpy mooing in that bimbotic way. (Mind that my tolerance for bimbos is not extended to humans) Mad cows with an artistic flair are also welcome.

But enough of cows, this is after all a story meant for humans, and by gawd, there were many of them! There was a very distinct set of people delineated from the rest by their practice of cow-worship. I know this because they laughed and cheered at every alternate line that spouted from the cows' holy lips, regardless of its comic value. Also, most of them donned black shirts with orange lettering on it. It wasn't clear from where i was standing, but from what i saw, they are from some place called yellow city, which i presume is low in dairy stocks and thus accounts for their enthusiasm in seeing its producers.

(ok, i give up. This persona is driving me mad. Shall stop trying to be funny, though i think you all probably didn't even notice. )

(footnote)--------

Yeah, so xiao ping was great. We won 1st prize and we didn't let huang cheng and its 24 year old legacy down. Huang cheng is like this crystal that increases in bulk over the years. Every year adds a new layer to it that helps it to maintain its shiny sheen, but it also makes it increasingly fragile. Everybody regards it with a sense of awe and fear, awe, for the the numerous times it had dazzled with its irisdescence, fear, fear for its corrosion that is inevitable with time, should new technology not be introduced to rejuvenate it. Everybody knows this. We dare not fiddle with this gem, for fear of it shattering, yet we fight tooth and nail should anyone proclaim it less then perfect. It is a treasure we love but cannot touch. An ivory tower we guard but cannot enter. Or dare not, because one wrong move, one moment of folly, and 24 years of pride could be reduced to broken shards of humiliation in one's hand. Our legacy is both boon and bane, it is 24 years of experience that placed us so high in the hierachy of school productions, but it is also this 24 years that prevents us from going further.

Laurels are only comfortable when you are assured of your place. Xiao pin helped (i hope!). But i think it will still be a long way before we reach the immortal green pastures.

Huang cheng jia you!