Monday, April 30, 2007
grad school - part three
I remember when American Idol’s first season came out, and what a strong reaction everyone had to Simon, with all his rude comments to young singers, pouring their hearts out every week on primetime. Well shoot, people, bring one a’them cameras into Fran’s class, or a coaching with Cathy. You’ll hear things that could spark a nation-wide fallout stretching over generations of time, reek devastating divides which span the millennia, wage raging disputes to rent a social fabric in twain, like Islam vs. Christianity, Shiites vs. Sunnis, Creamy vs. Chunky. Seriously, they’d have to broadcast it on Cinemax.
During any one of my songs, I may have had a teacher stop and mimic my voice mockingly back at me, drop her pencil and smack her head with her hands, say things like, “Mary, do you have any idea how awful that was?” “Who taught you to sing?” “Well, I don’t think you could have chosen a more pathetic direction than that one.” “You do understand this is a music degree, right?” “All you need to learn, Mary, is what the notes are, and when to sing them. That’s all.” “I have no idea why I should care about you right now.” “That was painful, utterly painful.” “Who sat in on your audition for the school? I need a name.” And so on…
Along with 256 showtunes, a piece of paper, and a severely compromised view myself as an artist, I also came out of BoCo with a single chest hair, just for taking it every day like I did.
I remember Shaina passing out right after a 45-minute rough run of her thesis project. I remember verbally lashing into Scott for ten minutes in front of 20 people because I thought he was bashing the Catholic church - - only he wasn’t. Wee for me. I remember Holly ripping up the linoleum in her apartment’s kitchen because it was “too dirty,” and we all thought she’d finally gone completely nuts. I remember her roommate, sweet little Peter, breathing into a bag as he asked me what to say to property management about it.
Please keep in mind that it really wasn’t all that bad, it’s just fun to write about it like this. I actually loved my two years. All these things are true, they did happen, but man it was a blast. This could also mean I’m some kind of sadist.
Next installment, the final thesis project.
Labels: story time
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