- The freaky chocolate children of Moscow
- Cadbury Offers to Pay £1 of Your Hospital Bill
- Poor Ireland gets stuck with Time Out
- Halloween in England
- The long walk home
- UPDATE: My One-Month Plan to Seduce the Chocolate Man
- Cocaine is not Candy, Boys and Girls
- Turndown Service
- A Daily, 5-Second Vacation for The Chosen
Monday, July 03, 2006
You Are What You Eat
Saturday night I went to my first London musical with Amanda, a former co-member of Girl Scout Troop 147 and a loyal O.C.-er.
Amanda—who, it should be noted, threw my beloved Esprit sweatshirt into a gutter and fought me atop the slides of Linda Vista Elementary School at age ten—had heard good things about Avenue Q, which has traveled from Broadway to London.
The play is basically about an idealistic young college grad named Princeton who has just shown up in NYC hoping to change the world, only to realize that it is hard to do world-changing with a B.A. in English Lit. Princeton moves to Avenue Q, where he meets a bunch of people who sing songs like “Everyone’s a Little Bit Racist,” and “It’s OK to be gay.”
I enjoyed the musical—even if songs like “Porn! Porn! Porn!” are a far cry from the classic, foot-stomping romps of West Side Story and Guys & Dolls. Still, at some point I got bored, and looked for relief in the package of Rolos underneath my seat. As I bit into that choco-caramel goodness, I realized that I, just like young Princeton, am still searching for my purpose (and, incidentally, a much better convenience store chocolate buy than Rolos). So then I thought: Maybe I should work for another five years, then quit and open a chocolate shop? Or maybe I just need to return to more creative work and become a writer or do something creative?
Suddenly the voice of doubt came forth: “Moko, one should not be a creative type unless one can be amazing at it, and you are not.”
To which the voice of delusion replied: “But—someone has to be the amazing creative person—why can’t it be you?!?”
Before I could think this through, Princeton answered my question:
“You’re not special! You’re not special.” he belted out in song. “It sucks to be you!”
I looked down at my Rolos—the most unexciting, conservative chocolate candy out there. Princeton was right. My Rolos and I were nothing special. We were litte more than diseased birds swimming through the dirty London canal of life, spending our days ingesting and spitting out sewage that crossed our path.
To add insult to injury, my Rolos were hot and half-melted, so I couldn’t even do that depression+chocolate pig-out that usually accompanies moments of existential woe.
Categories: chocolate,, Rolo,, work,, New,-ork,, England,, apocalypse