Jonette's recent post reminded me of my own college encounter with Tony Mabesa, lo, these many years ago. It went like this:
I was cutting class with some of my friends, based on the sterling logic that (a) Our teachers were always telling us that if we were thirty minutes late, we might as well not show up at all; (b) We would never get to Nat. Sci. from AS in less than five minutes; and (c) Hey, what's a multiplier of 6 between friends, right? So anyway, there we were, shooting the shit in the AS corridors, when this girl I'd never laid eyes on before traipsed up and asked me if I would be in her playlet for her Theater class.
"Why me?" I asked her suspiciously, examining the actually quite innocent-looking little Chinita girl for signs of madness.
"Because you speak English very well, and you're very beautiful," she replied.
"Oh, okay," I chirped, ever a sucker for shameless flattery.
So I ended up spending every afternoon of the next couple of weeks rehearsing to play the part of the evil-ish sister in Pirandello's Six Characters in Search of an Author (not actually that much of a stretch, I know). When presentation day finally arrived, the class professor turned out to be Tony Mabesa.
"You are lovely," he pronounced when we had finished. "You have excellent diction, and you're a talented actress. But you need to learn to project your voice better. Speak up for me."
"Okay, sir," I tried, wielding my best Vin-you-had-better-show-up-on-time-dammit tones. (Yes, we have been friends for a long while... and he's always been un-punctual.)
"No, no, louder," Mr. Mabesa said. "Shout for me!"
"Sir, I don't shout," I reasoned.
"What do you mean, you don't shout?!" Tony Mabesa exclaimed, gesticulating theatrically (as well he might). "Everyone shouts. Pretend you're calling for a jeepney. Or a taxi, probably, in your case."
I looked at him blankly. "Sir," I said, with perfect sincerity, "shouting for taxis? That's what men are for."
And I never did become an actress, and now you know why.
What's so odd about cow physiology?
answer to yesterday's question
In the very inappropriately-named Normal, Oklahoma, you can be imprisoned for "making an ugly face at a dog". In Maryland, it's illegal to play the song Short People on the radio. You can't play dominoes on Sunday in Alabama, you can't laugh after 10 p.m. in Hawaii, and you can't swear while having sex in Oregon. In Melbourne, men are forbidden to "parade in strapless dresses", but cross-dressing in anything with sleeves is just fine. In Minnesota, men's and women's underwear may not be hung out to dry on the same clothes line--how this applies to cross-dressers is anyone's guess.
doggone right: Ariel, Julz, and Jonette