Saturday, July 31, 2010

Annie... (Quick! Get your gun!)

Digging in the dunes in forty degree heat can take a lot out of someone. So, when asked what it is like to live in a musical, I laughed it off. Even if the inquisitor was the excavating leader cum prestigious archaeologist I should be impressing. And I am new at this. "No singing" did not feature in my mind as something that could count as bad field etiquette.

The truth is, severe heatstroke and dehydration are not to blame for my sudden urge to burst into "The sun will come out tomorrow" (which was, in hindsite, an appropriate song to sing given the desert-like conditions of the excavation). I would sing for any particular reason: one note is played in the background, someone says a line that I happen to remember from another song, I see a product that has a paticularly catchy advertising-limerick, or not... I happen to be as great (and very bad) a songwriter as I am a singer. I was once called "the Singing archaeologist" by a six-year old who had clearly never understood the wonders of a life run by Frank Sinatra and Julie Andrews.

And no genre is sacred. Rap, rock, pop and opera have all joined the Victims of Kezz support group. How else does one suggest I achieve my dream of leading dozens of strangers into an unusually synchronised song and dance a la "enchanted", the disney movie featuring a disney cartoon that is tricked by an evil queen into a well that takes her to real-life new york?

Life is extremely frustrating for a leading lady whose cast has no clue as to what the next scene may portray. I often wish that everyone would not just empathise with my strange behaviour, but join in (without ruining my groove, obviously). But until the world learns how to tap dance, play musical instruments and smile insanely as if lifes just grand, I am afraid that the Singing Archaeologist will have to be fulfilled watching old movies and Bollywood for eternity. It's a hard knock life.

On second thoughts... 

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