Monthly Archives: January 2011

WotD II

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Nettled.

Annoyed. Peeved. Hacked off. Irritated. I like the word nettled. Has a good mouth feel. It could also mean the state of having been stricken by the “weedy plant of the temperate urticaceous genus Urtica, having serrated leaves with stinging hairs and greenish flowers” (Harper Collins).

Them stinging hairs…

So why “nettled” today? Well you’d think I’d be delighted at having a two-hour delay from school, but I am not. Too much to do, and delays totally whack out my class schedule, not to mention wreak havoc on any evening rehearsals — like the ones I have tonight — in the event school is closed.

Nettled.

But it’s January in Ohio, so it’s not like I’m surprised, having lived here for going on 38 years. I will use my two hours wisely. Or not. :-)

Update: School is now canceled. No likey.

Round 11

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MLK Day and we’re off to the races. Today marks the start of the rehearsal schedule for my 11th Dinner Theatre. Hard to believe. Of course, this means that my life, for all intents and purposes, is over for awhile. Rather, I live for these and jazz shoes and…

  • transpositions
  • how can I make this work?
  • I just hope it sounds as good coming out of their mouths as it does in my head
  • cripes I gotta get bass parts written
  • Greg, can we….?
  • why am I still not hearing those heel drops?
  • hey, here’s something — dancers have to count.
  • they’ll never be able to pull this off
  • there are no blown-out knees in theater!
  • oh good, Stoney’s here
  • people are gonna be runnin’ for the exits
  • can we please sing in tune this time?
  • sweety, you can’t just make stuff up.
  • WHERE ARE MY KEYS?

And that’ll do for starters. Gotta pack it in and go to the school house for the day. Am I getting too old to dance with teenagers? Nah. I think they should be able to keep up with me. :-)

Things that make me woozy

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You know, sometimes it’s a wonder I can function in normal society. In addition to aviophobia, claustrophobia, coulrophobia and atychiphobia, I also suffer (not surprisingly) from acrophobia — fear of heights.

OK, so I’m not really afraid of clowns. That’s more a nod to my good fiend Stoney. But back to me.

Of the aforementioned, I’d say only two are bona fide “phobias,” meaning that I have a persistent, unrealistic, irrational fear that causes me significant anxiety. That would be my fear of suffocation and fear of heights (although a more accurate description might be bathophobia — fear of falling from a high place).

Are you surprised that aviophobia didn’t make the short list? That’s because while I hate, hate, loathe flying, I will do it if I have to, on occasion. That is, if there is absolutely no other remotely feasible way for me to reach my destination other than going 30,000 feet in the air, I’ll take a plane. But you’ll never, ever, ever in your long-legged life get me to walk a ledge, or even get close to one. Been there, done that, hated it.

I’ve jerked to consciousness from dreaming about it, and I’ve shaken off thoughts of it while awake. It’s insane.

I came across a collection of awesome old photos from New York City this morning that pretty much illustrate my fear. Check these out:

Ew. I also hate crossing suspended bridges, which I suppose is an extension of the fear of falling from high places. I’m not as bad as this poor gal, but I do not enjoy the experience.

Some people have giggled at my weirdness, saying things like, “Hey, when it’s your time to go, it’s your time to go,” and “You could fall from three feet up and still die.” Yeeaaaaaaaaaah BUT…I have no interest whatsoever in aiding and abetting the eventuality. Knowm sayin’?

All right, I’m off to breakfast with Mavis. At Friendly’s, where everything’s at ground level. :-)

Happy Sumday!

Behinder

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It’s a little later than usual this year, but I’m almost done choosing tunes for Dinner Theatre. Actually, it’s a *lot* later.

The Thriller insists that as I’m getting older and my mind is more on grandchildren and travel than grand theater and tap dancing, my priorities are shifting. It’s true that I’ve been thinking about retirement more and more lately (many of my teacher friends already know I’m not going to make it to 30 years). I told BFF Kay last night that I want to be there for Jake and Justin’s concerts, ball games and school programs. I want to be able to pick them up from school sometimes, and take them to my house for dinner, homework, hang-out time, whatever. I also want to be available to drop everything and take off for an extended weekend with the Thriller before we get too old to take off for anywhere.

And don’t forget the occasional sleeping in.

Anyway, I figured about nine more years and I’m done. I’ll do something else, like the bakery business, or maybe write another book. The thing is, I can’t do just part of my job as I get older. I have to do it all, or it won’t work. In other words, I have to do those shows; gotta put in the late nights for three months, twice a year. That’s what’s aging me. But cripes, I do luv it.

Subject change……………….

What do you have planned for the “holiday” weekend? I put “holiday” in curly finger quotes because it’s supposed to be a day “on,” not a day “off.” I should be performing a community service on MLK Day, but instead, I am having tap rehearsal. Is that a service? Whom does it serve? I spoke to a friend who works in the private sector yesterday and asked him what he’s doing on MLK Day. He scoffed and said, “I have to work on MLK Day! I’m not a public school teacher!”

WELL! *humph*

Regardless, it is Saturday, and for many, that is a day of rest. So rest while you can, fiends. Monday (or Tuesday) is right around the corner.

FO

And another one of these…

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… just for good measure.

Sometimes, when my high school choir has exasperated me to the point of utter despair, I tell them, “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you. Please tell me you’re doing this to me on purpose.” I get blank stares, revealing nothing. And life goes on, inside my little Hitchcock movie.

Since high school students are on exam schedules this week, I don’t see them. But hey, I still have grades 5-8. They have apparently assured the high school students that they’ve got the insanity quotient covered in their absence. They are on my everlast nerve.

What is it about “Bring a pencil to choir every day” that makes kids give me a worried look and a non-answer when I ask about it? In a class with no homework, no tests, and no midterm or final exams, they can’t quite wrap their brains around the “bring a pencil” concept. And these are smart kids, fiends. As most music teachers know, secondary performance ensembles usually get a large section of the more successful, “together” students. They can solve multi-level math problems, write research papers, and spew the scientific names for every muscle and tendon on a dead cat’s butt — yet they can’t circle a half rest when I ask them to. What gives? Am I mental for expecting more than this?

At first glance, it’s a little thing. Multiplied by 250 kids — not so little. And to be fair, not everyone forgets a pencil or chooses not to engage his/her brain. It just seems like the ones who do forget disengage the loudest.

This is usually the place in a rant post where I say, “But I have lots of good things happening in my life, too…” Mehhhhh I’m not sayin’ it. Although I do not plan to take out my anger on anyone today, sometimes it’s good to feel the burn in your brain, ya know? Exercise the “get fired up” muscle. That’s gotta be good for something.

And the guy who keeps sending emails out with the signature line, “You win with people.” — Woody Hayes, gets a boot to the head. What does that even mean? It’s bad enough that Woody Hayes said it, but cripes…

Personally, I’d rather win with pickle beets. Or perhaps blast furnaces, rocker arms, hoary bats, or knights who say Ni.

*kA-BLaM*