Grandiloquent Gal

When I lived with Holly Creepster, we hung faux "glamor shots" of ourselves on the wall, referred to each other as "old Basil," and lemons as "poor man's lime." (The first was a different kind of ridic but a failure nonetheless) We were just amateurs back then. Pretending to be pretentious and grilling SPAM on a George Foreman. I need to learn to carry this sort of bombast:

Another ticketholder, a dancer and choreographer, said she yearned for theater and art that aspired to a fresh aesthetic, rather than the Broadway fare that rarely impresses her. “You talk about the play, about plays as literature, about the sets, about the ideas. ... I don’t want to be elitist, but the fact is there’s an elitism to self-education.” --NYT

Perhaps with opera tonight (thanks wonderful Tyler) I shall. Finals are over, but the real tests in class are just beginning.