I am BOCO Fierce!

When I attended The Boston Conservatory to study Musical Theater we called it TBC.  Nowadays it's referred to as "BOCO."

I don't like it. 

Yesterday I found myself walking behind a girl wearing dangly earrings, three quarter length leggings and a mismatched sweatshirt that said:

"I am BOCO fierce!"

My sister and husband maintain they can spot a theater geek a mile away.  There are dead giveaways, telltale signs.  The appearance of bright red lipstick or heavily applied makeup; perhaps a smile that's just a touch too wide, or clothing that looks like it came straight out of the wardrobe department of Fame!  In any case, something is just not quite right.  It's an intangible sort of wrongness, difficult to pinpoint exactly.

It's not that I didn't once roam the streets of the Back Bay wearing yoga pants and t-shirts with the collars cut out, because I certainly did.  And I suppose at the time I thought I looked...pretty effing awesome.  But I agree with the notion that you can detect one of us a mile away.  We're...stinky, you see.  Not literally, of course, for most actors I know are quite clean.  But figuratively speaking, we stink of dairy.  Curdled milk.  Yogurt.  Know what I mean? 

The girl wearing the BOCO Fierce! sweatshirt positively reeked.  And I was standing downwind.

Comments

[Weinerdog]

Ugh. Just Ugh.

[the odd broad]

Come on, wouldn't you like a 'BOCO Fierce!' sweatshirt for your birthday?

[Sissy]

What does that even mean, BOCO Fierce? Was it the name of some sort of play or something? I'm getting one.

[the odd broad]

No, these stinky types say "fierce" when they're referring to themselves, or a performance, a new haircut, etc.

I won't lie. I kind of want one, too.

We are BOCO Fierce!

[Weinerdog]

Boco Schmocko.
Stink, Stank, Stunk!