Wow, does my brain hurt. A whirlwind few days of “Carmen” rehearsals have left us with one simple fact: I am working with very talented people, and am only barely keeping my head above water. It’d be helpful if I could learn my dialogue and music, I think, so I’ve spent probably 10 out of the last 24 hours muttering to myself in French. In French! And I’m enjoying it, which is doubly surprising. I’d always considered French to be the province of beret-wearing, chain-smoking, skinny men with a deep knowledge of Proust.
I have more of a knowledge of Beavis and Butthead, myself.
In other news, Charles continues to expand in size and capabilities; despite having a head that’s planetary in scale, when lying down he basically insists upon holding his head and legs in the air. It’s an abdominal workout that I can’t even begin to duplicate. It’s becoming clear that our son is very strong. Like, World’s Strongest Man strong. It’s my dream to see him competing against Swedes, his enormous belly hanging out over his kidney belt, throwing huge boulders at passersby. If he was green I’d’ve named him Bruce Banner. Or maybe Elphabor, or something.
Note: the previous paragraph contains something for everybody: sports references, comic book characters, even Broadway shows. Thusly, it probably made sense to no one on this earth but myself. Forgive me: my brain is functioning partly in French at this point.
Charles also seems pretty darn smart, if you ignore the fact that right now he’s attempting to eat plastic. I base this on his ability to watch Baby Einstein DVDs; he lasted about 15 minutes through one the other day and followed everything. This is in sharp contrast to Sarah and I, who sit and stare at the screen for the full 30 minutes as if we had just eaten a 13×9 pan of pot brownies.
Not that I, uh, know what those are. Just…nevermind.
