Monday, April 16, 2012

fringe festival for the outcasts

One of my favorite people is my friend Lori. We became friends last year when we worked together on a group project in a technical editing class. Our first conversation was about IUDs. I mentioned to Lori that I had just gotten one in lieu of my upcoming marriage (yes, I like to test possible friendships with blatant over share). Without missing a beat, Lori told me about an article she read about IUDs and camels. IUDs and camels--like it was no big deal! The rest was history. Whenever I'm hankering for a conversation about cognitive therapy or sociolinguistics, Lori is my go-to.

Lori recently emailed me her Honors thesis, which is a collection of personal essays she wrote during a study abroad in London. I wanted to share one of the essays that I particularly loved. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

Fringe festival for the outcasts
I can find reasons to feel sorry for everyone; it's a little overwhelming. The longer I've been awake tonight, the more I've worried about the two comedians who passed us fliers this morning to their shows today. As I clipped my toenails, I had to turn the handouts upside down in the trash can so I wouldn't be staring at their faces, wondering if anyone showed up for their performances, hoping that they were funny and their audiences (however large) stayed for the whole thing and bought them drinks at the end. They were both free, after all. And these two men were definitely not the only people trying to convince tourists to spend their time with them.

There's some festival going on--Fringe--and the main street here is full of people handing out fliers, people dressed up like cows or soldiers or ghosts and holding posters drooping in the rain. I smiled and said "no thank you" to people holding glossy handouts with their own photos on the front above words describing how awesome their performances might be. I smiled as if to say, "it's not you, it's me," as if rejection doesn't always hurt. I don't want them to waste their printouts on me who will throw them away when I get home and remember them for days afterward.

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