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Tales of a Post-Grad Nothing

Friday, December 09, 2005

La Vie Boheme

This past weekend I saw Rent, which, unlike Good Night and Good Luck, was not both slow-moving and anti-climactic. This metal robot heart of mine was touched by the useless artists of New York. I cried when it was revealed that everyone had AIDS or was addicted to smack. I cried when people broke up. I cried when characters got back together. I cried every time this super hot kid in a cute scarf came on the screen and my heart cried a little when I got home and looked up his high-ranking-on-the-lickability-scale picture and realized that no, he doesn't actually wear those glasses around in real life. What a shame. Honestly, do the public a favor and just wear a pair of dark frames around as if you do really need glasses. Do your part of keep America beautiful and nerdy-looking Anthony Rapp. Through the plotlines of AIDS and death and addiction, I cried the hardest when they sang about measuring their time on earth in love. THEY'RE MEASURING THINGS IN LOVE PEOPLE...WHEN'S THE LAST TIME YOU MEASURED ANYTHING IN LOVE? Yeah, that's what I thought.

There's no way to watch Rent and go home without a tiny piece of you secretly wishing that you lived in a New York tenament with no heat and no real family except your rag tag team of lovable pseudo-degenerates. In all sincerity, I'm pretty sure that if given the choice, I would give up the nice-ities of heat and reliable electricity and at least a couple of members of my family to live in a world where people broke into spontaneous song and dance, unafraid of the majesty of the jazz hand. When mentioning how close to heaven a perfectly in-tune choreographed world would be, a friend brought up this point: There are far more crappy songs than good ones out there. Would a world of crappy songs and crappy dances be worse than no world at all?

In reconsidering my stance, I thought of all the eye-rollingly bad car commercial jingles and boy band songs these innocent ears have been scarred by over the years. Then, like a gift from the gods of all things auditory, I was sent this today and my faith in music, hockey, and the power of the handlebar mustache has been returned. I will NEVER doubt again.

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