Murphy's Law

I'm taking improv classes at Dad's Garage Theatre Company, and it fucking rocks. They're on Sunday nights, so I can pretend it's both the glorious ending to an exhausting week and a wonderful energy boost before the beginning of the next. Awesome.

I've been trying to look for opportunities to squeeze in the little games we're learning into my own life but have been disappointed that there's really no place on the streets of Atlanta among strangers to start a riveting game of "Zip-Zap-Zop."* I'm almost certain I'd get arrested for terrorism or something ethnic. One outlet I haven't been able to try where I'm almost certain it would work is with the University Choir- and I'll finally have an opportunity to test it out this weekend as we go to Savannah for the Georgia Music Educator's Association (GMEA) convention. Awesome.

*You stand in a circle. The person who starts says "zip" while clapping towards the person they're passing 'it' to. The receiver then repeats the action, instead saying "zap," passing 'it' to somebody who will have to say "zop." The game ends when someone breaks the cadence or the rhythm.

I'm beginning to notice that it's excessively difficult not to want to start a paragraph (or a sentence, even) with the pronoun "I." Sure, it's an account of my life from my perspective and there's bound to be more "I"s ("Is"? Is? I's?) than in a biography about Britney Spears ("From Belle to Bald to Bouncing Back!"), but still. Now I'm going to be all hypersensitive about it and it'll take me ages to begin new paragraphs. Dammit.

Anyways (HA!), we're going to Savannah on Wednesday. The itinerary says that we depart from Atlanta at 6:15AM, sing a concert at Colquitt High School at 10AM, and pull into Savannah at 6PM.

Wait, what?

Colquitt is apparently a county in the southwest corner of Georgia. We're driving in a big, fucking triangle. I fucking hate this choir. I hate it so much. This is due in large part to the fact that I'm driving myself and will have to dish out twice as much money for gas than I was hoping for- but the rest of my reasoning is legit. Six semesters being forced to be in choirs, doing ridiculous recruiting things for the vocal program (I'm a pianist) that take away my time in my own piano labs and academic courses, the school decides to take a chorus to China, I want to go, and it's closed to non-vocalists. Motherfucker. They're even making a trip to my own hometown a dreadnought of effort because they want to showcase to some podunk high school choir in the middle of nowhere before we go to a convention where we'll be singing for FOUR MORE HIGH SCHOOL CHOIRS. This is the most inefficient publicity I've ever seen arranged, ever.

Oh, but they're giving us pizza. That's cool. I mean, driving four hours for free pizza is a good deal, right? Right. ...right. In the meantime, I'm losing out on TWO accounting class, TWO computer information systems class, a legal business administration class, a microeconomics class, attendance points, extra credit eligibility, and my sanity and patience. We're leaving Wednesday before the sun rises and staying until after dark on Friday to do a concert that starts Thursday, 9PM in a city four hours away. I'm getting ulcers just thinking about it. I would like nothing more than to pour fermented urine into the eyes of everyone involved with planning this BULLSHIT.

And improv class is canceled for the Superbowl, motherFUCKER.
-dubs

An Introduction

I think that's what you do initially for a blog: a brief descriptive paragraph. Who you are, what you do, who you're going to gossip about or what kinds of recipes you're going to post or exactly how many kittens will be in each and every photograph you'll take.

I'm D-----, I'm a teacher/student/barista/singer and I have no gossip material, cooking skills, or cameras, and furthermore, I will not be posting any pictures of any kittens because in my country they're delicious and nobody wants to see the pictures I would have of kittens should I ever get a camera in the first place.

I am, however, extremely self-conscious about just about everything that I do and I've got a little me inside my head constantly dissecting every moment I'm a part of. I really do try to remain as positive as I can, but sometimes I'll bitch and moan because the laws of Schadenfreude dictate that people can and will take a secret pleasure from my misery. Venting is is better than pent-up stress. If I put my frustration in a blog, then I won't put my neighbors in jars 20 years from now.

Welcome to the Terminal Ward, my safe haven where God forbid anybody I actually know find out about this and call me out for publishing how I was practically shitting my pants over how awesome I thought her new sweater was when actually I was thinking that she should be arrested for coming out in public thinking that neon, glittery yellow eyeshadow was a good idea.

Enjoy!
-dubs