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Tuesday's rehearsal was a real letdown after Spaghetti supper.
Which was a letdown in itself. I couldn't get my Fs without sticking out, so I skipped them in Madrigals, and even some Es. But I got to loaf almost the whole time we weren't performing; the music library is fun.
Roger and Debbie came near the beginning, and saw almost all of Madrigals. Once out of there, Nabil struck a pose on the stairway, only to have us be so involved in our conversation we didn't see him. I felt so awful. He'd arrived while we weren't there to greet him, too, and was feeling abandoned. We spent half an hour or so chatting outside till the evil hick smokers invaded and we moved to the back of the school. We teased him for awhile and then walked him, teasing, to his car... we shouldn't be so mean. Poor boy brought us food. And he seemed a little perturbed by Tony's demonstrative mood with me. But it was so nice to see him.
Once he ran away, I loafed and loafed in the music library, reading The Importance of Being Earnest with Tony. Mama and Bill apparently came and looked for us, but I think they looked in the one on the other side in the Jazz room. I didn't see Mama till after Bill left, right around the time Barbershop had to perform (they were quite good, despite the fact that their tenor I caused a song to be dropped by not knowing his part). Then it was Chorale, then I had to zoom away to HSC.
Which sucked. People still don't know their parts. How long have we been doing this Britten?
At least I got a really long ride on Bill's bike...
That thing... I don't know what it is, because it's not the wind in my hair (he gives me the helmet)... flying horizontally, without constrictive walls of a car, is one of my euphoria-inducing activities. Even riding in a fast car on a sweeping highway... that's what inspired Draco Urbanis. I could just spread my wings and.... die. But it's fun.
Mama said we can't take the freeway, so we hit all the red lights coming to Chuy's by the backstreets of the 'hood. It was Linda's birthday, so there was margarita pie (Spanish for Keylime, not alcoholic, yum). Fun night.
And then there was today, breakdown.
We went straight to the dance studio first period. Mr Seible declared he was going to be sexist about it and make the girls carry chairs to the closet while the guys carried the carpet downstairs to the dumpster (we're getting new ones, which is good, since these were bright nasty orange and had been leaked on by the rain... gross). Well, I carried about 20 chairs, and then they were done, and the guys were only done with one carpet. They were mostly carrying chairs or sitting around. So I hefted one end of a roll and ordered Greg to get the other end, and we trooped down the Dance hallway stairs and across the Denney stage and outside to the dumpster. The custodian standing out there exclaimed, "They've got ladies doing this??" Jason Lewis, standing in the dumpster with the guys to pick up the carpets, replied "She's no lady. She can hold her own." I was quite pleased. Though the rugburn on my arms is rather painful.
I got the back end of three more 150-pound rolls of carpet, and then it was time for the risers. Those are harder, because the handles dig into your hands and your wrists get tired... the wimps were all taking the down the elevators, but I and some sophomore girl carried one down the Commons stairs. And then the tables.... those are light. I can get one by myself if I put it on my head. It looks needlessly flamboyant and showoffy, but it's the way that works best. You can walk a lot faster holding a big rectangle on your head than you can dragging it from your drooping arms and trying to walk behind it.
The tradition of giving the breakdown crew the extra desserts was broken this year... there were none left. They had to go get donuts. I had a blackberry-creme filled one. It was good. And the mariachis sitting at the commons tables were looking at me with visible respect.
I have a love/hate relationship with physical labor. I can certainly do it, and do it well if I try, but it's so seldom that I have the motivation to try. Why do it if somebody else can do it better? I suppose I'm both lazy and efficient. Though it's fun to prove I can. I like to carry people around... and their stuff for them, when I don't have my own. It's good to do real work. It's satisfying in the same way a well-written essay is. I've accomplished something, look! It exists. It's not a temporal phenomenon, like music. That's what makes me sad about sound. It's not permanent.
Way to go to ruin my good mood.
Which was a letdown in itself. I couldn't get my Fs without sticking out, so I skipped them in Madrigals, and even some Es. But I got to loaf almost the whole time we weren't performing; the music library is fun.
Roger and Debbie came near the beginning, and saw almost all of Madrigals. Once out of there, Nabil struck a pose on the stairway, only to have us be so involved in our conversation we didn't see him. I felt so awful. He'd arrived while we weren't there to greet him, too, and was feeling abandoned. We spent half an hour or so chatting outside till the evil hick smokers invaded and we moved to the back of the school. We teased him for awhile and then walked him, teasing, to his car... we shouldn't be so mean. Poor boy brought us food. And he seemed a little perturbed by Tony's demonstrative mood with me. But it was so nice to see him.
Once he ran away, I loafed and loafed in the music library, reading The Importance of Being Earnest with Tony. Mama and Bill apparently came and looked for us, but I think they looked in the one on the other side in the Jazz room. I didn't see Mama till after Bill left, right around the time Barbershop had to perform (they were quite good, despite the fact that their tenor I caused a song to be dropped by not knowing his part). Then it was Chorale, then I had to zoom away to HSC.
Which sucked. People still don't know their parts. How long have we been doing this Britten?
At least I got a really long ride on Bill's bike...
That thing... I don't know what it is, because it's not the wind in my hair (he gives me the helmet)... flying horizontally, without constrictive walls of a car, is one of my euphoria-inducing activities. Even riding in a fast car on a sweeping highway... that's what inspired Draco Urbanis. I could just spread my wings and.... die. But it's fun.
Mama said we can't take the freeway, so we hit all the red lights coming to Chuy's by the backstreets of the 'hood. It was Linda's birthday, so there was margarita pie (Spanish for Keylime, not alcoholic, yum). Fun night.
And then there was today, breakdown.
We went straight to the dance studio first period. Mr Seible declared he was going to be sexist about it and make the girls carry chairs to the closet while the guys carried the carpet downstairs to the dumpster (we're getting new ones, which is good, since these were bright nasty orange and had been leaked on by the rain... gross). Well, I carried about 20 chairs, and then they were done, and the guys were only done with one carpet. They were mostly carrying chairs or sitting around. So I hefted one end of a roll and ordered Greg to get the other end, and we trooped down the Dance hallway stairs and across the Denney stage and outside to the dumpster. The custodian standing out there exclaimed, "They've got ladies doing this??" Jason Lewis, standing in the dumpster with the guys to pick up the carpets, replied "She's no lady. She can hold her own." I was quite pleased. Though the rugburn on my arms is rather painful.
I got the back end of three more 150-pound rolls of carpet, and then it was time for the risers. Those are harder, because the handles dig into your hands and your wrists get tired... the wimps were all taking the down the elevators, but I and some sophomore girl carried one down the Commons stairs. And then the tables.... those are light. I can get one by myself if I put it on my head. It looks needlessly flamboyant and showoffy, but it's the way that works best. You can walk a lot faster holding a big rectangle on your head than you can dragging it from your drooping arms and trying to walk behind it.
The tradition of giving the breakdown crew the extra desserts was broken this year... there were none left. They had to go get donuts. I had a blackberry-creme filled one. It was good. And the mariachis sitting at the commons tables were looking at me with visible respect.
I have a love/hate relationship with physical labor. I can certainly do it, and do it well if I try, but it's so seldom that I have the motivation to try. Why do it if somebody else can do it better? I suppose I'm both lazy and efficient. Though it's fun to prove I can. I like to carry people around... and their stuff for them, when I don't have my own. It's good to do real work. It's satisfying in the same way a well-written essay is. I've accomplished something, look! It exists. It's not a temporal phenomenon, like music. That's what makes me sad about sound. It's not permanent.
Way to go to ruin my good mood.
