Performin' Artz

I wish I could go to an elite but charmingly run-down urban performing arts high school so I could wear no end of clingy, revealing dance costumes and loom in the hallways and devise dance numbers that would win me the Nobel Prize, not to mention successfully liberate quarks from hadrons, and I could get into all sorts of tepid interpersonal conflict because I'm from a different social class than my fellow dancers and my upscale parents don't think I should dance with beetle-browed spawn of garbagemen, but everyone knows it'll be all right in the end because love and athletic modern dance conquers all especially when set against a backdrop of Mozart (to convince us we're cultured) and watered-down hip-hop (to convince us we've got cred), though there'll be a scrape with the law because my street cred is such that I run with dangerous dudes who'll get me in trouble, but the school principal, who has become frankly astonished by my raw physicality, will ask the judge to not throw the book at me because she can fix me with a program of hard work, simmering glances, lingering attraction, and fairly large amounts of Kaopectate because she knows that under my backwards-hat-wearing thug exterior lies a soul as true and artistic as Bob Fosse and I just need to stop hanging out at krunk nightclubs and stealing cars to realize my full artistic potential.

On second thought, I think I'm just going to go back to bed.