moving on

25 Oct

So. Tonight is my school’s International Dinner, an insipid event where overprotective soccer mothers cooly guide their children to go to instead of some other, more “edgy” party.

But I’m going tonight, so I guess I should stop putting it down. Anyway, there’s a lot of food, and halfway through eating said food they have a talent show. Usually there are about seventeen participants, but this year Mr. D (the rest of his name will be obscured so I don’t get yelled at by moral guardians), our rather…we’ll call him unique for now, alright?…band teacher has decided that his steel pan band is more important than that talent show nonsense and cut the acts to seven.


I was going to audition, but then thought “this will be the saddest talent show ever” and didn’t even sign up. Now instead of hearing more children be cute and play  instruments or dance or sing, we will be treated to a disgusting view of Mr. D’s sweaty back.  For some reason he finds it necessary to be at the front of any band he directs, even though when you’re playing steel pans you NEVER look up unless you’re not playing anything or you’re playing the six-pan bass. 

In case you haven’t noticed, this guy bugs me. Backstory: I used to play vibraphone really, really well, then got into high school and couldn’t take Band my freshman year. Tried again sophomore year, and since I can’t read music he utterly humiliated me in front of th’entire class. I quit, dropped the class, and never looked back. The irony is, that year they’d just gotten a new vibraphone and no one else played it. Now my friend Ben dabbles in it, but he mainly plays piano. Mr. D just sticks whoever he can find in the vibraphone slot for most of the concerts.

Our school used to have a really good music programme, but now people are getting tired of Mr. D’s attitude and terrible jokes and refusal to play anything other than jazz music, and they’re quitting. The high school band is about fifteen people strong, about ten of which are freshmen.

Alright, done venting about that. Listening to Fleetwood Mac right now, I have a soft spot in my heart for them. I actually do listen to a lot of music, though my friends insist (rightfully, considering what’s on my iPod at the moment)  that I only listen to one kind of music.
Ha! I appreciate all types, besides that mass-produced Disney-ified crap that consistently spams the top 50 slots. No. That stuff is, truly, crap, though your mileage may vary.
But really! I enjoy rock (of course. Come on. Led Zeppelin? Hell yes!), blues (Taj Mahal is a beast), jazz (Duke Ellington), rap, even (I have great respect for Jay-z and Danger Mouse’s Grey Album), electronica (PASSION PIT), country…well, not hard-core country, and not Taylor Swift country, but the kind like they had in O Brother, Where Art Thou?.

But I do complain a lot about music I don’t like. That’s just my nature. Though usually, if it’s a popular song and I like it, I’ll complain about it a little but secretly think “gee, pretty good.”

In other news:

I am looking forward to play practice tommorrow. So much. I want to go backstage and talk on invisible telephones and draw on the backdrop and do the Scooby-Doo-esque headpoke with Jake, since we’re never exactly sure when we come onstage. I love our cast.
Two years ago, we did a play called Into The Woods, and our cast by the end of it was practically a family. The same thing is happening here. We’re all friends and we all laugh with each other- the cast party is gonna be something else. I can’t wait.

Aah, warm thoughts. Will blog tommorrow.



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