Category Archives: School

Always a good time

And always proud of them.

Last night, my v-jazz ensemble had their annual anthem gig at the Q, where the Cavs made short work of Phoenix.

If you’ve never done something like this before, it’s quite the experience. First, you audition by sending an mp3 of your group doing the SSB. Then they contact you, and the smackdown begins. This is the part I hate, especially in this economy. The pressure to sell tickets to your community is immense. I mean, I’m certain these guys are paid on commission. You can hear the disappointment over the phone line when you say, “I’m sorry — times are really hard here for folks, and it’s Christmas time, and I just asked these parents to pay enormous deposits on their kids’ choir tour accounts, and we just closed a show and had another gig last week…” It’s like they’re just vacantly nodding their heads…then they say, “So. You sold only 32 tickets then?”

Kak.

Then you get the forms filled out (each kid has to sign a waiver, saying it’s OK to film them), report 90 minutes early to the event level, warm up, act silly, get pumped….and then they walk you out to the little ramp space right off the court. Excitement.

As always, they made me proud, and I hope they all had fun. Next year, we’re taking a Cavs break. I’m going to call the Injuns and the Browns and see what’s shaking there.

Yipes, I’m late. Have a good Thursday, fiends.

You couldn’t write this stuff.

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I mean, really. It just makes you want to jump off a cliff.

“Type A” influenza has struck our cast in various and sundry manifestations. We’re doing Bye Bye Birdie, right? Well, Conrad Birdie is in bed for the next couple of days. The other leads are at least one flavor of sick, as are about 15 of the supporting cast and chorus. One of my dancers stuck it out to the end with a raging fever, and I lost a clarinet/sax player about halfway through rehearsal. We open in 62 hours.

This has got to be building my character.

But like I told Mavis this morning: Look at the bright side! We could postpone indefinitely, and then no one would get paid.

Seriously, it’s all good. The kids are troupers for sure. The orchestra sounded great in spite of my hacking at the keys. Always good to see my fellow pit dwellers; especially Adam, who’s likely twice the musician I am but never says it out loud (at least where I can hear it).

So hey, I don’t have it so bad, do I? What am I complaining about? Finkleman, Finkleman. What a donkey.

But the tea is getting cold and the hour is getting late…gotta git. Have yourself a merry little Tuesday, fiends. I’ll update you on our state of entropy tomorrow — bet you can’t stand the wait.

Fink out.

New idea.

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How about a big Fink thumbs-up.

You know how they have Farm Town and Mafia Wars and Fairyland on Facebook? I say developers should come up with a wacky new app. Call it High School Theater.

Hey, I need a lead who’s not sick. Anyone got one?

Yo. I need a swine flu vaccine over here. Hit me up. Willing to trade.

Wouldn’t that be fun?

For the first time in our careers, Stoney and I are being forced to at least have a conversation about postponement (NOT PLANNING ON IT — you know how rumors get started in our little village — just discussing it). We’re not like other, bigger, likely Kool Kid schools. No such thing as understudies out here in Hooterville. Haven’t spoken at length with our boss about it yet, but since we have one lead already sick, and who knows who in the on-deck circle, life could get really interesting around about Tuesday. My boss has a line when crazy things are going on in the office: “Don’t you wish you were me?” I think I can speak for Stoney and ask all Finkites the same question.

So today is the marathon tech rehearsal. All you theater types out there know what kind of a day lies ahead. Coffee and donuts at 8; rehearsal at 9 until 3. Various and sundry meltdowns in all manner of style and intensity. Three directors pulling out their hair (and one really can’t afford that). Sound, lights and full costumes for the first time. Bliss.

And speaking of donuts…gotta get ready so I can be at the bakery at 6:30 to pick ours up.

But hey, look on the bright side. At least it’s pouring down rain and 40 degrees outside. THUMBS UP!

Have a good Saturday, fiends. I don’t think I’ve ever looked forward quite so much to coming home from school and being chained to the box. Heh.

Fink, locating the raincoat

Dialing down the suck-o-meter

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And there was…life.

We rounded a bend in rehearsals last night. Not saying we went totally around the corner, but we’re navigating the curve. OK, enough euphemisms for “we might finally be getting it right.” Dial down the suck to “moderate.”

Our singers/actors are an interesting bunch. Last night, Stein came to rehearsal (I bribed him with dinner) and used my Flip Video recorder to capture the production numbers for me to view later (and to show the kids themselves), since I’m playing piano all the time and it’s hard for me to watch choreography & staging. It apparently ended up being one big experiment in the Hawthorne effect.

Hey, whatever works. There were actually some places where Stoney and I smiled a couple of times. Progress.

I must say that I marvel at how these kids handle the stress. Many of them are athletes, so they go to school all day, go right to football/volleyball practice, take a quick shower, run to the theater, wolf down a packed lunch their mom dropped off, and rehearse till 8:30, all the while cramming in bits of homework when they’re not onstage. I gotta hand it to them: it’s impressive. I thought I had a busy life when I was a teenager involved in shows; and I was only involved in shows. Even the kids not involved in sports are busy, in that, unlike Stoney and myself, they have lives.

I’ma get me one of those one day. Like, after the first of December. Yeah. I like that idea.

I can see Finkday in the distance. And all the people said…

One Adam-12, see the woman…

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Here we go, fiends. I’m runnin’ like a fink on fire. The Great Race begins today and ends (temporarily) on 16 December. That’s the next time I will breathe.

Mark me, though. Weekends are reserved for family and fun stuff with friends. OK, most weekends will be reserved for those things. But the schedule doesn’t look bad for September. October, however — well….

RNF for today: While making tea this morning, I found myself quietly singing the chorus to Beyoncé’s “Put a Ring On It,” which was played at the wedding on Saturday during the bride’s bouquet toss. I remember thinking that night, and again this morning: that tradition is probably ready for the wrecking ball. I mean, can you remember a wedding reception in the last 20 or so years where the “single ladies” made a mad dash for the dance floor in order to catch those flowers so they’ll be “next,” or where the DJ or bridesmaids weren’t out in the crowd, bodily dragging girls out of their chairs?

I played sporadically with a band years ago in a neighboring city. The leader, a loud-talking, bigger-than-life, lounge-lizard type in a cheesy tuxedo, would announce the bouquet toss with an infuriating “you know you want to do it” smirk in his voice. When the bride would throw the flowers, he’d shout, “Dive! Dive! Dive!” into the microphone. I always wanted to walk up behind him, take that mic stand, and…well, you know. It was humiliating to the girls on the floor. You could tell they hated it, but were taking one for the bride & groom.

So no wonder every single girl beats feet to the ladies’ room when she senses the impending bouquet cookie toss. Who wouldn’t want to avoid it? “OK, ladies and gentlemen, we now feature the girls who can’t get husbands, or are still in middle school.” I have worked wedding receptions for 30 years and have never once seen a group of girls who enjoyed it, or at least didn’t stand with their arms behind their backs.

Now, a bride throwing her bouquet over a stairwell or in the parking lot just before leaving — that’s cute. Everyone is gathered around — we’re not hauling single women out to the center of the ring like the next round of cattle at the auction.

All right, I must fly, my darlings. My mind does wander.

Rockin' the Bourgeoisie

Your friend Rat Fink fires the neurons at random