The end of a three-week era.

The Fringe festival ended on Monday, by which time the entire town was starting to feel like a hostess weary of her party guests, ready at last to kick off her shoes, crash on the couch and see what's on the telly. Similarly, my poor, beleaguered immune system sensed that the end was nigh and unceremoniously announced, "Screw it--I'm going on break." Thus did I spend all yesterday--the official first day of Pomona classes, by the way--laid up with a particularly vicious flu. It sucked even more than usual because I had to miss a day of my film scoring class, something I've been enjoying so far. I still don't know if it's something I'm cut out for, but at least now I know a lot more about the business, the process and the theory behind making music for movies. And it's making me want to spend a lot more time in the studio next semester.
But anyway...back to the festival. I realize now that before this past month I never even knew the meaning of the word "festival." From now on it'll be forever associated with three weeks of great shows, on top of work, class, parties, pubs and perhaps even a little romance (well, one date, anyway...but remember, this is me we're talking about, so STOP THE BLOODY PRESSES!) There were too many highlights to list here, but one definitely worth mentioning is the Tattoo, the big military band showcase at the castle that goes on every night for the duration of the festival. My friend Jessica, who works at a hotel, managed to score a few prime seats (it had been sold out since February) and it was just awesome--all bagpipes, brass and bombast, complete with fireworks and images projected onto the castle itself. There was just one wee misstep, which I won't say much about except that while it was going on all I could do was imagine the following conversation taking place:

TATTOO DIRECTOR: Angus? D'ye remember that song from The Lion King? Ye know, the one sung by Elton John?
ANGUS (his trusty arranger/orchestrator): Can You Feel The Love Tonight?
TATTOO DIRECTOR: Aye.
ANGUS: What about it?
TATTOO DIRECTOR: I need you to arrange it for a hundred bagpipes, the combined military bands of Scotland, Chile, Nepal and New Zealand, forty snare drums from Switzerland, and the children's choir of Uganda.
ANGUS: Ye gods, sir! I canna' do it! I don't have the power!
TATTOO DIRECTOR: Don't let me down, man! Just think of what Sean Connery would say.
ANGUS: (resigned sigh) Aye, sir. I'll do it. But it won't be pretty.

And it wasn't. Luckily, though, that debacle was soon overshadowed by a rousing rendition of "Scotland the Brave."

Between that, the creepy yet fascinating Ron Mueck exhibition at the National Gallery, the fascinatingly creepy film "The Page-Turner," the jazz concert in Princes Street Gardens and maybe twenty-odd Fringe shows, I managed to hit five out of the eight festivals that make up the massive conglomeration that is the Edinburgh Festival. (I think it started off with the Tattoo, the International Festival and the Fringe, but then somewhere along the line some smart people decided to take advantage of all the tourism and start up the Film Festival, the Art Festival, the Book Festival, the Politics Festival, and the (shudder) Starbucks Blues and Jazz Festival. The only way anyone could take advantage of it all would be with a time machine and a few hundred cases of Red Bull.) And the amazing thing is, I only saw two shows I really and truly disliked: this one tragically unfunny comedian who literally bullied my friend and myself into seeing his show, and Bat Boy: The Musical, which might have been salvaged had any of the cast members been able to sing.
Not surprisingly, despite getting to see several free shows through various creative means (including working a night as a bouncer), my finances ended up taking quite the hit. So I might end up living like a monk for my next year, or at least my next semester, at Pomona.
But--at least until my Claremont claustrophobia kicks in--I can look back on the past three weeks and say to myself: it was so worth it.