Friends and Feline Enemies

Anakin arrived in class looking a little hunted--a day devoted to singing when one's wife was not, say, musically gifted, was a bit of a trial before enough coffee was ingested. (And Rory's song about coffee had long and included inexplicable choreography.) "Hello," he said, choosing his words carefully.

Ahoksa had mostly been dealing with melancholy introspective pieces so far. "Sometimes, if you're unsure of a course of action, it pays to look outside of yourself."

"Today in particular let's you hear what mood you are sending into the universe," Anakin agreed.

"For example, if your actions are resulting in an ominous leitmotif." Some kind of military march with kettle-bells, maybe. "Then possibly it's not such a great idea."

Some people were just iconic, okay?

"And if you combine singing with some manner of horrifying romantic overture," Anakin added, "try to keep the object of you affection in mind. They might not be prepared for a huge declaration in, say, the middle of the road today."

"A huge, awkward declaration." Because when all was said and done, they were both space monks.

"So our ethical question is, should you bear witness to someone singing, should you record it or pretend like it didn't happen? Does it depend on the song?" Anakin asked.

"Do you respect their privacy and dignity?" There was a noticeably aghast silence from the bush that had totally always been in the corner of the room at the very idea. "Does your answer change if you like the person? If you don't like them?"