Susceptibility...

... the state of having little resistance.

I can’t believe I’m doing this.

This entry is conceived in much shame. Nonetheless, most of my posts come only after I’ve tested the ideas against time. Meaning, if I think about blogging something and three days later I still want to blog about it, then I usually commence the process towards fruition.

Some of my friends and I have been on a stage kick of late. I’ve seen two plays in the last two weeks alone. And this pastime makes going to the movies look like an activity for the poor.

(I'm still going to the movies AND attending concerts. In fact, I've done all three this week.) Two nights ago, my friends and I decided to go see Aida which is playing locally at present.

I have really come to appreciate the direction which goes into these productions. Every stage is different and every new director has a unique vision for placing the specific story mood and essential details to generate an atmosphere on the small stage.

I was completely amused by the plot though predictable. However, I enjoyed what I believe the origin of the play to be. Elton John and Tim Rice having had so much fun writing for the Lion King that the moment it ended commenced the creation of Aida.

This musical is similar in plot location and musical theme only. Fortunately, it’s about people and not a pride of lions.

I am NOT before you writing a review. There was a simple detail the director took in this production which exploits one of my weaknesses for and affinity towards in my “Pandora’s box of male characteristics.”

(Sigh discreditably.) The fauxhawk. Or my truer kryptonite, the mohawk, when executed responsibly.

Now, there could not have been a better friend or companion at my side than was in this moment. For when I gasped so audibly upon sight of the Captain and his servicemen , the only person who could laugh and understand completely my immediate physical (emotional and let’s face it, 99% hormonal) response was the girl which sat beside me.

All the same. My former roommate. My very dear friend. A hair stylist. And my own color specialist.

I love mohawks but am extremely particular to shortness of the sides, wideness of the band, and overall height. So I love the fauxhawk. Additionally, a more traditional hair do is essential (as I prefer my men with respectable jobs) which lends itself to the conservative fauxhawk better.

Men in any play have never looked so appealing and so… well, delicious that appetite seems an entirely appropriate word for sexuality. I was in love. And those who do not presume lust to be a form of love, who sadly limit their definition of love to “happily ever after”, are truly missing out.

Should you believe this to be a random act of direction for the men of the play to be required to sport the look, the play has quite a sub-plot emphasis on fashion. It makes sense for the director to have employed fashion details such as this. I applaud the person who took my dull mundane week and turned it into daydream central ever since.

I cannot ever truly love a man who does not have a fauxhawk.