….followed by another beginning.

Today marks the beginning of my last doctoral class. It’s been a long haul: eleven courses in all, 44 semester hours, nonstop through weekends, musical and dinner theater rehearsals and performances, weddings and the birth of a grandchild, holidays and summer break, since January of 2007. I’m glad this is the last one, but by no means is it the end. And I’m not talking about writing the dissertation (which I’m actually looking forward to).

Unlike many degree programs, this doctorate doesn’t end by way of completing classes and graduating. If only…

Rather, it ends with my taking three huge exams. If I pass, I collect (or, more likely, pay) my $200 and advance to the residency stage, where I will defend my dissertation proposal to a panel of professors. If I don’t pass, I can test again for a total of three times. If I don’t pass after the third round, it’s sayonara. Do a curriculum project and we’ll give you a second masters degree. Nice knowing you. Have a nice life. Thanks for the fifty grand, and please go away now.

That’s a bit unnerving for me. My family and friends, who are wonderful and very supportive, have all assured me that I will pass the Qualifying Exams I will take in the spring. But, as I’ve told them, other (and very smart) people have tried and failed. It’s an exceptionally difficult program to get through. Out of the last group of 70 students who took the QEs, only 7 passed. That’s an eight percent pass rate.

Things don’t look good for the home team.

I’m not trying to be all doom-and-gloom and woe-is-me, but I am trying to be realistic. If a Tanglewood scholar can’t pass, what are the chances for a jazz and rock and roll singer? I have no answers. I don’t know…it’s good for me to “verbalize” my fears, I suppose. Maybe the planets will align properly on testing day and I’ll be magnificent. Maybe I’ll go down in flames. No way to tell. I can only prepare and do my best.

But if the worst does happen, I’m not going to just fall on my sword. I will keep fighting the fight (although what that means, I’m not entirely sure). I know that there are many more important things in life than having “Dr.” in front of your name. And I’ve learned a ton of great stuff in this journey. It will undoubtedly help me in the future, whatever that will be, no matter what the test grades are.

And that’s all I have to say about that.

Fink out.

I’m proud of my students. It was a strange concert….some really great music was made, but I sensed that everyone was tired (including Yours Truly). I feel like I pushed them/thrashed them about/made them weary this year. In my drive for whatever you call it, I think I sometimes forget that they are 15-18 years old, and with other lives.

This requires reflection. But seeing as how I’m too tired for that, I will just tell you that my students made me proud again last night. I know not why, but blessed I am.

Yoda

Last night, my middle school choirs gave their spring concert. Just when you think that 11-14-year-olds possess little more than the keen and often-practiced ability to suck the very marrow from your bones, they get up on stage and make art.

I often hear the question from audience members, “How do you get that sound out of those kids?” Well I must admit that I wish it were all about my sparkling mad skills, but alas, without these willing and talented singers, I got nothin’. I’ll go as far as to say that it’s a unique partnership of their great attitudes and innate talent, and my burning wish to live vicariously through them. Many of them think I don’t care much for them and that I’m pretty much a shrew/hag…guess I need to hone my interpersonal skills. But the joy I get from hearing them do something well is pretty much worth the half-hour drive and the low salary.

I’m looking forward to the high school concert on Monday, so I can envy their experience at singing great jazz and fine old spiritual and Broadway arrangements. Ok, I’m looking forward to it being over, too, so I can focus my full and enthusiastic attention on my Aesthetics and Criticism class. Joy and bliss.

Somebody shoot me.

Fink out.

They are going to kill me. Swear.

Boston University and Barnes & Noble (partners in extortion), I must admit, have happened on an idea that is positively, consummately, hilariously brilliant.

Ladies and gentlemen…the “Coursepack.”

What is a Coursepack, you ask? Well let’s see if I can get this right. A Coursepack is a bunch of Xerox-copied pages from various textbooks, compiled into a stack, and offered as reading material for my doctoral classes. Nifty, eh? Not so fast, pard.

Behold Exhibit A:

Right. They have some 18-year-old library droid pull books off the shelves in Boston and stand at a copier for 5 hours, and charge me $106.75 for the privilege (and this is the cheapest one yet - once I paid something like $190). But what do I get for my money?

Exhibit B:

The Coursepack. They did go to the trouble to punch holes in the sides so you can provide your own 3-ring binder. How thoughtful.

Exhibit C: Reduced in size and copied sideways so you have to turn the book to read it. Some pages are right-side-up, some aren’t. Brilliant.

Is this not the most incredibly profitable idea ever? Pardon me while I go get my credit card.

Sheesh.

PS - I want one of these.

Arg.

Dinner Theatre was fabulous. I must say that the thrill of seeing 15-18-year-olds displaying unmitigated professionalism onstage never gets old. The fact that they (and my pit band) make me look good is just an extra bonus. To cast and crew reading this: great show. Let’s do it again next year.

But for now, I turn my thoughts to Ms. Johanna Grüssner - the subject of the paper I have to finish in just a few hours. Anyone want to write a 6-page review?

Sometimes - especially after a night like last night - real life bites.

Fink out.