mediocrity

OK. After tonight's concert, I feel like the Salieri of the Lawrence Public Schools. My own fault.

oh crap

Seriously, I meant to try to keep this up again.

Oh well. I've discovered my life to be fairly mundane lately. My days are full of routine. Plenty of stress and routine.

Money, as always, is tight. And I've found myself thinking way way way too much about money lately. Like wondering how it is I never seem to have enough. It's not like I'm going out and buying clothes or the latest trends in anything. Hell, I don't even have a TV. I can't remember the last time I bought a pair of shoes.

And I find myself comparing the cost of something to the number of hours I would need to work in order to get that thing. Like, say, a vacation. It sounds great. But for a "real" vacation (I'm talking something tropical) I estimate I'd need to work 66 hours. Which doesn't sound like a lot. But that's about a week and half's pay and that only leaves 2.5 weeks worth of pay to cover everything else.

See, money sucks.

i can hem

Sort of.

I have a choir of 80+ kids. At the beginning of the year we had 60 uniforms. The boys had tux pants, tux shirts and tartan plaid cummerbunds and bowties, circa 1992. The girls wore tuxedo skirts (think casino waitress) with tux shirts and the same cummerbunds and bowties.

I know that plaid was a hot thing back then. (I had my own very-plaid phase thanks to one Ed Burns [insert swoon]) But cummerbunds and bowties? Really? Our school doesn't even have Scotch/Irish roots. At all. I can only guess they liked them because it had our school colors or black and red. But we all ended up looking like cater-waiters.

Believe it or not, I actually tried to find more cummerbunds and bowties in that pattern and thought of getting 20 more sets. They are not, however, mass-producing that pattern anymore. One company offered to recreate the pattern at $50/set.

I realized that if I'm spending that kind of money, we should get new uniforms. So we've slowly been putting the girls in real dresses and the boys in neckties and vests. So now we'll look more like a bridal party. Much happier than sad cater-waiters.

Yesterday was a huge concert at our school. It involved my audition choir, the H.S. audition choir and all the 6th graders that will come to our school next year (about 150.) And I was in charge of coordinating all their comings and goings from getting on the stage, to seats in the auditorium and the transitions in between.

Here's a quick run-down of my afternoon yesterday after I was done teaching:

Double check programs for errors.
Print and fold 400 programs (with the help of students)
Clean the 1000 seat auditorium (not enough janitors. Budget cuts)
Reset the stage lights.
Change some bulbs.
Program the light board.
Teach student how to run the light board.
Check sound system. (it's not working, someone's been messing with the buttons.)
Change microphone batteries.
Get video camera.
Set up video camera.
Set up audio recording equipment.
Post signs where everyone should be going.
Recheck that auditorium is ready.
Set up tables for bake sale.
Go home, walk the dog, get tux.
Back to school, have students polish piano.
Assign students to be door guards (big pet peeve: entering the auditorium during a song.
Count cash box for bake sale, give to parents.
Get out pearls and neck-ties.
Students arriving.
Make sure they're checking-in.
Check to make sure no bangs are in the eyes.
Make one girl cry because she thinks her bangs pulled back make her look "so ugly."
Uniform emergency: The built in self-adjusters on a boys pants are broken and his pants won't stay on. Find another pair. They're unhemmed. Hem with staples.
Check pearls. Check ties.
Warm-up the choir.
Send liasons to tell H.S. and 6th graders to go to seats in auditorium.
Line up choir and take to auditorium.
Shut doors.
Cue lights.
Show's on.

The whole thing actually goes on without a hitch. The hours of planning the coordination of everyone (Keeping 5 different elementaries on the same page) actually paid off. While it's not like a D-Day invasion, I can only imagine that the generals had about the same feeling when their plans worked.

I'll note here, however, that 90% of what actually took place yesterday was nowhere to be found in any "methods" courses in college. I still argue that every music ed degree should only be conferred once a student has demonstrated proficiency in:
Riser repair
Sound system purchase, installation, repair and maintenance
Lighting system purchase, installation, repair and maintenance
Program writing and printing
Fund-raising organization and implementation
Budget organizing
Music purchasing
Field-trip planning and implementation
Massive concert organization and implementation

The things I learned in methods classes, mainly, how to teach music and direct a choir, take up less than 50% of my time.

In any case, I could feel a cold coming on. The sick poop told me so. (you all know exactly what I mean.)

So I'm taking a sick day today and snuggling with Oliver on the couch. He's a perfect cuddler.

what to wear

In reviewing my 100 list, I thought of revising it. Oddly enough, not much has changed in that list except my current job. (Jr. high. Not teaching elementary) I thought of making another 100 list. Funny enough, I'm self-centered enough that it wouldn't be too hard. But that's not the image I want to project. Remember, it's all about what you project.

One item I realized was way too true to be comfortable. And I wish I could change it. I have tastes that are far nicer than my little salary(s) can afford. And I'm usually too lazy to be cheap chic. Cuz, yo, that takes effort.

Augh, sorry for that. I'm teaching a lot of minorities these days. It's seeping into my vernacular, fo shizzle. (and what's worse, I actually know the proper usage of the slang.)

One item did change. I *used* to enjoy cooking gourmet seven course dinners. And I find myself glad I didn't take the culinary career path.

For some reason, I loathe having to cook nowadays. In fact, I even loathe having to go grocery shopping. It's a chore now. I actually have to think about what I'm going to eat, plan my meals and go out and buy it. It's not that I don't like eating. (my belly says otherwise) And it's not that I expect someone else to make my meals. I've never had anyone cook all my meals, save childhood, and even then I cooked more than I do now.

In the back of my mind I'm always thinking of better things than food I can be spending my time and money on. Like a new flatscreen hd tv. (which, for the record, I do not have. But Christmas is coming. God, why do I come from a poor family?)

And though I've never thought of myself as a clothes whore, I've come to the sad realization that I am.

With all my weight fluctuations I've learned NOT to throw out clothes that don't fit. Unless it had pleats. I know better than that now.

At my current weight I'm wearing my "fat" clothes.

I won't throw away the skinny clothes because last time I did that, I lost all the weight and had to go buy new clothes. And I hated spending money on that.

But in the spirit of keeping a somewhat organized apartment, (as organized as you can cram 1000 sq ft of stuff into a little less than 800) I started going through all my clothes and trying on everything and packing away clothes that don't fit.

What I found was that I could wear a different outfit three weeks straight. Then wash it all, reconfigure, and have another three weeks of completely different outfits.

I shared this with my colleagues who informed me that was a lot of clothes. Even for a woman. But I like to consider gay men a hybrid. We have to have the normal, dressy, public clothes (which straight men have), the casual at home clothes (straight men have), the sexy at home clothes (women have, straight men consider this and the casual the same in one), the gym clothes (some straight men have, but all gay men have, regardless of gym membership), the clothes that can be summer or winter (totally gay), and then a separate rack for the going out clothes (women). And in the gay community, you can't be caught in a repeat. Even if you're a burly gay lumberjack, you don't wear the same flannel two weekends in a row.

However, I've been trying. I haven't shopped in a "regular" store for a while. I've made repeat visits to goodwill and was surprised to find clothes that didn't look like something from an episode of "Friends." Though I've had to wade through racks of pleated pants to find one nice pair of Banana Republic Chinos, which are great... when ironed. 100% cotton has it's drawbacks. Give me 10% polyester that I don't have to iron. Please.

Or find me a job where I can afford to hire someone to do my groceries and cooking and ironing. Preferably a dumb but pretty 'someone.'

for something different

OK. I kind of disgusted myself with the self-loathing in that last post. So, to undo that, I present to you my first published article. It's me, in a nutshell.

[editor's note: if you get lost in the choir jargon, please consult google.]


We may, or may not, have a problem.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I have an addiction. To choir. I need it. Every day, like clockwork, I have to get my hit of chords. When schools out, I go to youtube to get my fix. There should be a support group for people like us. (Wait, I think it’s called KCDA). I’ll start the meeting. “Hi, my name is Kevin and I’m a choir junkie.” [Everyone- “Hi, Kevin”]

Most people probably won’t admit that what really drives them to be choral directors is the need to hear well sung harmonies, perfectly formed vowels, crisply enunciated consonants or impassioned melodies. But choir junkies are easy to spot. Just mention the words “choir rehearsal” and you’ll notice their eyes brighten. They sit forward a bit. They talk faster and carry a slight grin. (However, this is easily confused with, “I’m about to attack you.” So beware.)

This complete obsession for everything choir drives me every day and gets me out of bed in the morning. By no means do we get a perfect rehearsal every time. What I and, I think, most choir junkies live for are those tiny, almost imperceptible moments of brilliance. Maybe you hit the perfectly dissonant chord just once. Or the [O] finally rings brilliant, if even for a split second. You know it. The choir knows it. And if you’re lucky, they know how to get back to that moment.

The greatest fix of all, however, is when you can see it in the choir’s eyes while they’re singing. Harmonies locking, phrases flowing; you and the choir are discovering new ground. And suddenly they’re not just hearing, but feeling the music.

It is moments where the choir truly comes together with each other and you that create the rush of adrenaline that we keep searching for. It’s our “fix.” And if we’re truly hooked, we keep looking for ways to get back to that high and keep driving at it until we get it again.

Of course we realize that, invariably, if we get to that magic spot then they are likely to follow that with a botched modulation.

But those little fixes keep me going.

Seventh grade choir is sight-reading. We add “La.” They are brilliant and sing eight bars perfectly in beautiful unison with faultless handsigns. Not a single mistake. They know it. I know it.

Then someone blurts out, “Augh! Who farted??”

now for some levity

I disgusted myself with the self-loathing in that last post. So here I present my very first published article. It's short. But it's a pretty good glimpse into my life.

here's the deal

So I've been gone for a while.

Life has had it's upheavals for me in the last year. And as upheavals go, it wasn't pretty.

I was in a relationship for 6.5 years. I brought it to an end at the beginning of June.

What actually pisses me off is how long I stayed. I put on the pretty face, I said what I was expected to say in public. No one ever knew what was going on behind the scenes. Half the time (in hindsight) I didn't even know what was going on.

But I got bitter. Somewhat mean. Completely disheartened. Humorless and incapable of being completely honest. And, seriously, that's not me. At all. I was having a hard time even making a good poop joke.

Honestly, I'm a person who's always thought he knew who he was. And after letting this go on for so long, I'm having a hard time dealing with the fact that I crawled into so many holes and so many corners and shut out what was the truth that I lost track of myself.

It's been a slow climb out this summer and fall. I'm still completely distrusting of people, strike that, men. I think I'm unconsciously taking it out on the guys in my choir. (poor fellows.) And I'm working to the bone to pay off debt for things that are no longer in my possession. So even a social life is tough.

Ironically, while trying to get back on my feet, working so many hours, I feel like I've gotten less good at my work.

OK. Is that all vague and generic enough??

I promised myself at least a year of being single. It will be my first full year of being single since coming out at 21. (note: I'm now 31.)

I've heard enough people tell me it's not worth dwelling. They're right, to a degree. But I'm hoping I learned something from this and won't repeat it. However, looking back at my "100 list" I realize that a lot of my dislikes on that list were directly from this past relationship. It reminds me of a play I wrote in college about a closeted lesbian... and didn't even realize the entire story was about me.

Wait, no. I'm not a lesbian. Vaginas scare me in a way spiders scare some people. I meant... oh hell, if I have to explain it.

So, what's next?