The Five Year Mark, Etc.

I doubt anyone's manage to miss the fact that today is the fifth anniversary of the attacks on the World Trade Center (and Pentagon (and Flight 93)). It was, unequivocally, a bad, bad day. Everyone has his or her own 9/11/01 story, so I might as well tell mine.

September 11, 2001 was the day I had the best callback of my life. The fall musical my freshman year (it was only the second week of classes, I think) was to be Candide and I was just destined to play the old lady with one buttock. Really, there are a few parts that are totally perfect for me, and that's one of them. After auditions the day before, we had callbacks on Tuesday. I sort of knew I had it in the bag, especially during callbacks, when I was explaining the jokes in the monologue to the other people called back for the part. I spoke to quickly, sure, and my singing is passable at best, but I sailed into that role. Such sweetness.

And frankly, it was exactly what I needed. Like everyone else, I had been sitting around campus all day glued to the news or wandering around feeling like there should be someone to comfort or blood to donate or something to do besides check in with my parents that they (and more relevantly my uncle, who worked at the WFC) were ok. Some skinny barely post-pubescent femme gay boy is clutching his cell phone to his ear screaming that his sister has an internship at the world trade center and he can't reach her. What do you say? "I'm sure she's OK?" Um, that would be dumb. And after a while, shock and sadness just turn to restlessness. You can't smile, but it's hard to maintain one emotion for hours on end. You need to relax, fall asleep, let your brow ease up. So going to an audition, where I had to be funny for a director whose boyfriend lived three blocks from the WTC. And being forced to be funny was perfect in every way.

Oh, and totally off topic, the facebook news feed has informed me that my ex is in love and he has posted cheesy (and seemingly inapt) French quotes about it. My own browsing (read: stalking) has informed me that he has taken his name off of the picture that Dave G. posted of us at prom and that the girl seems pretty cool. And by cool I mean dorky. Which is cool. I'm happy for him and all, but the old feeling applies: you want your ex to find someone absolutely wonderful...after you do.