A moment of success

Here's just a quick post because I am so very thrilled with myself. After a day of planning things and enduring the mundane and spending time with people that I love and that I am thrilled to see happy and all sorts of other good things (pictures to come) I got home late at night and found waiting in my mailbox a contract to sing in the Utah Opera Chorus. I auditioned a while ago and then didn't hear anything and figured I flunked. It turns out they are just being as organized as musicians should be. It's not a huge thing, just another small success that helps me hope for good things to come. But it is a paid position and singing the way I love to and, oh yes, that first show is Verdi. I love Verdi. Granted, it's not Aida, but it's still Verdi. Who can complain?

Happy Easter to me.

I realized something. You know how as a kid you always got a new outfit for easter? This was particularly significant in my childhood, when we would get a new church dress for easter, and we would get new school clothes (from the JC Penny catalogue) in the fall, and that was pretty much it for new clothes. Anything else that came out way was a hand-me-down. Go ahead and be shocked and appalled, but I am just old enough to remember a time when we didn't just up and buy stuff whenever we wanted to. And those wants for new clothes and new stuff (*Junk*) we viewed as needs as soon as we saw someone we admired wearing or using the coveted item. Some of you may remember a time like this as well. How quickly we forget (and how ironic that this is my opening idea for this post...). At any rate, I was a kid who got a new dress once a year and it was a big deal. I miss that new dress excitement.

And then there was Friday. Which really kind of beat me up. At the end of the day I was headed home in a bit of a funk. I wasn't doing the sleep-babble that I was doing on Thursday (You really should experience it, I start to babble and tell these stories and go off on these tangents and I only start to realize what is going on when I start to get weepy. If you ever see me get weepy, it's probably because I am exhausted, and you should make me go to bed immediately.) But that is beside the point, because this Friday Funk was an entirely different beast from the Thursday *insert clever alliterative descriptive term here*. My Friday Funk was more about not having weekend plans, not wanting weekend plans, and hoping that my body and my brain would agree on sleeping for a really long time. Of course they didn't. I got home and let my brain rest for a few minutes but then my body wanted movement and so I cleaned a few things. But by the time my body was running out of steam my brain was going full speed. The whole process took only about 20 minutes. Luckily, while I was cleaning, I found various stashes of cash that I hide from myself occasionally. I found my Christmas money from my grandparents. I found some $5 and $10 bills from a grocery shopping trip a few weeks ago. I guess long ago this stuff would have been referred to as "egg money". You know, just the change a housewife has lying aroung the house from having sold eggs that they save up for a rainy day. (This is an entirely different term than "Nest Egg"). But since I am not a housewife, and I do not have chickens from which I can gather eggs for selling, I just stick a few extra dollar bills in some obscure places and find them when I have something I really want.

I bet you can see where this is going.

But in case you can't, let me give you a clue.

Is that a shopping bag I see? Where is it from? Ooooooh. No you didn't.I might have. Peek-a boo!

(Do you love the photography? I tried to make it as if Mr Easter Bunny left nice presents in my back lawn.)And did I mention?

So here is the irony, or rather the hypocrisy, in my blog entries. When I made the purchase, the nice sales lady asked me if I needed a validation. And I was as honest as I could possibly be.

"The Shoes are my validation."

So much for anti-princess sentiment.

She refined her statement. "Uh, parking validation."

Oh, that, no. I don't ever pay for parking. I think its a ridiculous thing to pay for parking. But I will shell out for cute shoes. Let's face it. They are REALLY cute shoes.

Happy Easter to me.

Of course, now I need a dress ot match. And a pedicure. And there was this necklace that was gold with some beads and some roses that were the exact same shade of pink... Oh and the matching earrings. I could go on, but somewhere in the back of my head is the little girl's voice saying "Mommy, I won't be beautiful without my jewelry".

I know the shoes won't make me beautiful. But they might make me feel beautiful. Why do we crave that so much? Why do we crave spring flowers and new dresses and that one voice that tells us we look pretty? I think it's about renewal. It's about everything being fresh and clean and spotless. It's perhaps a prideful perversion of the whole day, but at the same time, there is symbolism in what we wear and how we show respect to honor the day. That's why we always got new easter dresses as kids. So maybe its merely a rationalization, but I think it justifies the shoes. Not a pedi or the jewelry or anything at all that is more than I can actually afford. But I can keep the shoes.

The thing about Thursdays...

Thursday is my hardest day to get through. It shouldn't be, since the number one most difficult student in my classroom is consistantly absent on Thurday. But Thursday has always been hard for me. And this Thursday, I decided to do something about it. I decided to play hooky for the afternoon. I was hoping that playing hooky would make Thursday a more bearable thing. It turns out, Thursdays are still Thursdays and playing hooky doesn't change the nature of it any more than having that difficult student be reliably absent.

Part of the problem is that Thursday is too far into the week to have any energy left. On Monday, the kids are still cute. On Tuesday they are precious souls needing to be filled with knowledge and experience. On Weds they are brilliant and clever. On Thursday, their brilliance has turned to plotting and they cleverness has been put to use hiding things from me. You don't even want to experience the paranoia that seeps in on Friday. But today is Thursday. And it is also too far away from the weekend to really look forward to anyting except the realization that I have not made my weekend plans yet.

The morning started out well enough. I like to wake up to rain almost as much as I like falling asleep to it. Weather does not particularly depress me, unless it is weather that drops below zero and intends on staying there for more than a day. Rain simply reminds me of Paris. Plus it makes all the other colors more vibrant, so I can't really see why some people think it to be a depressing thing. I woke up early too, with enough time to really enjoy the morning and the rain and the cocoa krispies. I even chatted briefly with a friend before really rolling into the meat of the day. But leaving for work was when the Thursday-ness of today really kicked in. On Thursdays, my work schedule makes for a lousy drive. I leave just as the school bus goes through my neighborhood. I have tried timing it so many different ways, but no matter what there is always a school bus in my path. I drive past the elementary school just before they are turning off the 20 MPH signs, which means traffic is backed up. And then I usually drive past the middle school right as they are turning on the 20 MPH signs. I have tried leaving 5-10 minutes early, but it is one of those situations where I end up in the same crowd going the same direction and leaving earlier means a slower drive, therefore arriving at the same time. Of course, if I leave 15 minutes earlier, then I actually get to work about 25 minutes too soon. Timing. *Sigh* And also , I wonder how people who work up where I work all go in to work at 830-9am, but they all leave by 330-4pm. How come they get to work shorter days than me?

This morning's rain did not really affect my drive, it was just a cold rain. The kind that you know if you go a few feet up the mountain, it is snow. And when I turned to go up the mountain to work, sure enough, it turned to snow. Great. Just when I had started bragging to people about how at my job, I get to go out for recess every day.

My radio was already tuned to the classical music station. Lovely. It was a violin concerto. A violin concerto is my favorite form of music. And by form, I mean quite literally, "Form". As in, the soloist and response form, with the cadenzas and the movements and, well, insert music geek stuff here. (I knnow you thought it was the hymn, which is in fact my favorite kind of music. But the violin concerto also speaks to my soul in a different sort of way. I could go on for hours about the properties of either but...) Let's just say that the rain combined with some Perlman made it a little easier to get myself in to the office. Of course, when it violin concerto ended, I switched to NPR, in order to be appropriately informed about the issues or whatever it is that people listen to talk radio for.

I swung into the parking lot at precisely the right time, I know because Marketplace was on NPR and they were finishing up with an explanation of something that I will never completely understand, but I feel smarter for having heard about it.

I headed into work appropriately biased by the news media and thinking the thoughts that they told me to have. It's the American way.

Of course, as soon as I walked into my classroom I was greeted by the precise reason why I choose NPR for my drive into work: The children of wealthy people who are also indoctrinated by NPR and who are paying me to teach their children the same thought process. We are learning about outer space this week. Some of them have decided that they will be the first astronauts to walk on Mars. One of them is a very much too smart for my own health little girl. She announces at breakfast that not only will she be the first person to walk on Mars, she also doesn't like princesses very much.

And audible gasp is heard from the other little girls at the table, followed by fearful silence. Its as if we are in Orwell's 1984, and everyone is terrified that Big Brother heard her. Thay all look at me in silence. The one who, just the other day, told her mom she "won't be beautiful without her jewelry" has a look of confusion and terror on her face. I think she might cry. She is a paradox to me. Her parents are extremely liberal, priding themselves on political correctness and all things "free thinking" but they indulge her every plastic princess desire. Her world is crumbling at the very idea that a little girl might not like the lurid pink and gold glitter disney campaign currently ruling preschool social circles. I decide to break a little more off the foundation of her perceptions.

"I don't like all that princess stuff either. I bet you could go to Mars, and I think its a better thing to try to do than becoming a princess. Princesses set unreasonable expectations of physical appeal and high maintenance habits on us."

Well, most of the kids didn't understand the last part, but apparently astronaut girl did understand, because she responded with "Yeah, besides, all those girls want to be princesses, and all it takes is some toys. I am smart enough to do more than that."

Bravo child, bravo.

By the time recess rolled around, the snow had turned back into rain and we played outside in a cold drizzle. Well, they played. I stood under an umbrella and mediated fights over toys and personal space. I was counting down.

At lunchtime another heated discussion began, this one on the nature of marriage. In Minnesota I always kept my mouth shut for these discussions because the kids had great things to say about their perceptions. Here, the kid were actually debating whether or not boys could marry boys and so forth. The discussion got as heated as you would find in any protest rally or political platform. I was concerned. Another teacher stepped in and defended the boys right to marry other boys. The kids looked at me. I can't believe I am being forced to take a political stance in front of 4 yr olds. I am not going to teach them something that goes contrary to their parents values. That would irk me beyond all belief. I am also not going to assist in raising a generation of children who have no respect for gender or belief.

"Someday you are going to have to choose what you believe. Grown ups disagree on this all the time. Your job is to learn so that you can choose what to believe and then you have to find a way to have respect for all the people, whether you choose the same thing or not. I might disagree with Miss W, but we are still friends and so you guys can still be friends too. Now drink your milk."

Lovely. I resent Thursdays.

We are reading the book "Tale of Despereaux" at naptime. I read a chapter outloud to the kids, and we talk about the story. This is an incredible book and if you haven't read it than I order you to turn off your computer and read it before you go any further in life. Today we read the chapter about the rat that loved the light.

When I finally got out of work, I actually didn't have anything to do or anywhere to go. For the first time since last Thursday, I actually had an hour to myself. It was nice. I was going to meet up with a friend at the Clark Planetarium, and I took my sweet time doing so. When we met, we did as tradition dictated and watched the Hubble feed for an hour. Its a very peaceful thing actually, especially since we are both just nerdy enough to understand and enjoy and make jokes and ask questions and even sit in silence for a while. We learned about some of the stars and about the extra-solar planets that have been discovered in the last 15 years. We learned about how scientists measure gas in the atomospheres of other planets. We learned about the update that will be made to Hubble during 2009, including a maintenance mission to replace the batteries and the camera and stuff. We made some jokes about Pluto's demotion and we tried really hard to figure out where Kolob is. Then we went and got tickets to "Deep Sea 3D" as narrated by Jim Carrey. We got popcorn too. We learned about sharks and cuttlefish and the great barrier reef and we made jokes about being even bigger nerds with the glasses.

She had a rehearsal tonight, so we went our seperate ways, she towards greater musical aspirations and me towards frivolty. There is this pair of shoes I have been drooling over. However frivolous and girly it may be, when I find shoes I love, then I love them. I loved them before it became popular on that TV show, I love them because they fit. No matter what my body image may be, shoes fit. No matter what my frump level may descend, shoes describe. And this pair of shoes is an adorable peep toe heel that is an insane $160. No matter how much I love the shoes, I am not shelling out $160. So I watch for them to go on sale, with every hope in my heart.

Oh look. A shoe sale. My heart is beating faster. There they are. Half off. $80 is still alot for shoes. I turn away but my brain is going. I need shoes. (No I don't) but normally I would spend $20 on shoes. So I really just need an extra $60. I can skip going to Baja Sol tonight, and skip ice cream this weekend. That's already $20 saved. I'm halfway there. I won't be playing this weekend. I will be earning my new shoes by eating cold cereal and oatmeal and ramen and doing responsible and cost free things like, well, I don't know yet, but something brilliant. I hope I can have $80 by monday. I hope the shoes will still be there on Mon. Suddenly Monday seems like it will be a very good day.

And also, suddenly, I realize that at some time in the past few hours, the cold drizzle has stopped and the sun has come out and I am driving home with my car windows down. Thursday is nearly over. Friday is around the corner. I can deal with the Thurdaysness of the evening. I have a goal in sight. Oh it is a frivolous goal, but it has pulled me through Tursday. And that alone makes it a valuable goal.

I get home and settle into bed. It's as good as Friday now. Here's to hoping I dream of good things:

Cousin Conference Play by Play

*Names will be changed to protect the innocent from family gossip repercussions*

*This is a less than reverant approach, I recognize that. If you want my honest and spiritual opinio on things, you should either talk to me in person or steal my journal. I don't feel inclined to post that stuff here.

You have already had to suffer through my conference music notes once, I won't make you do it again. But I would love to share a little bit more of the conference experience with you all. I have the lucky advantage of being able to choose how I watch conference. I am not bound to "helping" children learn how to sit through it, so I get to pay attention the whole time (yes, I am counting my blessings) and here in UT, you can pretty much see it or hear it anywhere but a local chapel. There is a world of possibilities. Today I chose the cousin conference experience. I had to swing down to Salem this morning for a visit, and after that I headed up to watch conference in Provo. For the purpose of this blog, we shall call her Cousin P'Ally*. We have another cousin in town who, for the purpose of the blog, shall be called B'Kristen*. (It's easier to pronounce if you make the "K" silent). Pally is married to Porrin, and together they are very snuggley and talk in fun voices. I am not quite sure why I can handle it coming from them, but I can. It is in no way too cute or lovey for me, probably because they really do like each other and are pretty good at being funny. Pally is one of the classy cousins. Bristen is one of the pretty cousins. No that they aren't both classy and pretty (and smart like some of the other cousins, and spiritual like some of the other cousins) it's just important for everyone to know how my brain processes them. And my whole life I have been told about how Pally's family was ultra classy and Bristen's family was gorgeous. By the way, I am "Sweet Spirit Cousin", if that gives you any clue what my own standing is in the social hierarchy.

Where were we? Ah yes, having conference weekend....

I love conference weekend. I prepare for it with grocery trips and a new notebook and new fun pens and then I end up typing things anyways but it doesn't matter I still get the notebook and pens. And the grocery trip is for treats and in between session meals and filling for the crepes. Because part of conference is eating a ridiculous amount of really yummy things. I learned that when I turned 8 and Dad took me out for ice cream after the Saturday sessions because I was the only kid that went with him to it. A very important lesson learned, conference is for treats. This is in fact one concern I have about eventually singing with The Choir. If I am singing in the choir the whole weekend, how will I get to enjoy conference. Will they let me have treats? If I sneak them into conference, will they be confiscated? I probably should not be littering the floor with pistachio shell, so those will be out. Will M&Ms be too crunchy? wil 14 million people be distracted when I try to tear open a package of gummy bears and there is that plastic crinckly sound before the package bursts open, flinging red and green Haribos at the whole of church leadership? A girl could lose sleep over such things!

Not to worry yet. Today, it was just the cousins, so bear explosion concerns can wait for at least another 6 months.

I left Salem later than I expected to, so I was late to the cousin abode. I arrived just as the choir was singing Israel Israel God is Calling. I purposefully waited in my car through the first verse because I didn't want to miss the slow build to the key change in this arrangement. The men of the choir did a nice job with it. I ran as quick as I could, like a conference bunny, up to the door as soon as the verse was through, so I wouldn't miss any of the good stuff. At the cousin house, everyone was comfortable watching with their conference packet. Porrin had the bingo sheet, Pally had some markers and a CTR page, and Bristen was anxiously waiting to document the neckties of every authority. A sense of anticipation was hanging in the air. When Elder Hales got up to speak, his tie was a fantastic black tie with white polka dots that was strongly reminiscent of the ties worn at Pally and Porrin's wedding. A good omen. Bristen did a beautiful job illustrating it. Next up was a nice lady from the Primary Presidency. No necktie, just pearls. We expressed our dissappointment.

As the session went on, we notices a bit of a trend in the ties. There were maily checkered or polka dotted. Stripes were rare, red was common, and tiny patterns were preferred. I am noting this here for several purposes. First, because necktie discussion was part of the experience. Second, because I know of at least one man who copies the GAs on their choice of neckties. There must be more out there, and now they have the info recorded if they happen to need it.

Towards the end of the session, we were running low on gas. Pally had taken to tormenting Porrin who was drifting in and out of consciousness and saying amusing things and I had pulled some solitaire up on the computer and Bristen was still dutifully documenting ties and topics. She should be the spiritual one, perhaps. As soon as the session ended, we were stretching an collecting our wits about us in order to create food. Porrin left for a haircut while we began constructing crepes. Bristen did a fancy decorative cut on the avacados. It was lovely. I filled a crepe with Nutella and bananas. Other people ate some stuff. I filled a crepe with cheese and bacon and avacados. Porrin returned with a haircut, Pally filled some more crepes, everyone ate and was filled. With 10 minutes before the next session, construction began on a fort. You know, the kind you built as a child out of bedsheets and overturned furniture? Consider for a moment. Now that you are a grown up, you can still make them, but you are srtong enough to really move the furniture, and you can leave it up for as long as you want! Why are you still sitting here? Go build a fort!

The fort was still under construction as the session began. A random boy had shown up to help out. It was nearing completion during the opening song. We paused for the prayer while holding up various fort parts. It was completed by the time the sustainings began. We sat beneath it and got comfortable. Just as Elder Ballard was finishing his talk, Pally pointed out that in true for fashion, we needed to turn out the lights and light some candles. Soon we were sitting by the light of the TV and a red scented candle.

"We are warming ourselves by the light of the gospel" Said Pally. Perhaps she should be the spiritual one.

Meanwhile, Random Boy who was joining us for the second session had joined the bingo card contingent. For some reason, both he and Porrin seem to think that a mention of missionaries is the same thing as a mention of baptisms. They both served in South America. Random Boy also informed us that Bingo is WAAAAY, more fun if yo mix the letters up and call it "Boing".

Elder Cook finished speaking.

"Although I am feeling kind of cold" Pally was continuing her statement from earlier on.

"They all have red ties on today"

Intermediate hymn! Let us all press on. Random Boy is concerned about his Boing Board. He also make a really funny joke about communists. I had to control myself to keep from continuing the snicker.

We are starting into the seventh inning stretch. The 20 minutes after the intermediate hymn of the afternoon session. This is the hardest part of conference to get through. Just as we are asking each other who the guy is that is speaking, he says "Distraction and lack of focus are satan's most effective tools"

Oops. Re-focus.

Suddenly, in the middle of Elder Nelson's talk, we hear "I got one! It's my first Boing of the day!"

What a grand experience. I am learning very quickly that I don't feel like I have really had a weekend unless I have spent at least some of it with friends. And laughing. I can spend all day Saturday cleaning and grocery shopping and getting ready for another week, but if I don't laugh with friends for a good part of it, then I can never be ready for work on Monday.

Would you like to hear more? It will come... It will come.

A pistachio recall?

NOOOOOOO! I am sorry, but you are absolutely not allowed to recall pistachios the week of general conference! Do you know how much of an impact this has on my life? Oh sure I have been going along with all these food recalls just fine. Spinach? Whatever. Tomatoes? Meh. OK. Peanuts and Peanut Butter? Well, not my brand. Pistachios? Well, OK, since I only really eat them 2 weekends out of the year... Errr. Wait a second.

Do you think we could postpone conference until the pistachio recall is over? Someone call Salt Lake. Surely there must be more out there that enjoy those little green morsels of love during the afternoon session. Or postpone the recall until conference is over. Call the FDA.

Somehow I don't think either of those things will work. Oh well, I guess I will have to risk the salmonella. It's either that or fall asleep for the entire afternoon session.

Yeah, I know I could switch to cashews or peanut M&Ms. But cashews are more expensive and I do peanut M&Ms for the morning sessions. If only they had Cashew M&Ms. Oh man wouldn't that be a dream!

Come on fellow conference lovers. Help me out here. What are my alternatives? What keeps you awake for that killer 20 minutes in the afternoon session where some unknown Seventy is speaking and you have been sitting in front of a tv for 3 hours and your eyes are starting to droop and their words start to run together and before you know it there is drool on your notebook/needlework. I know you all do it.

Seven Things Tag

Oh yes, another tag. It's seven things that you probably don't know about me. The thing is, I am starting to run out of things that you might not know about me. My life is becoming an open blog page, as it were. But at the same time, I am drawing a blank as to what else to post, so here goes my attempt at 7 things.

1. I love to floss. I didn't always love to floss, but sometime in the past 10 years I started loving it, and keep dental floss in my purse so that I can floss whenever I feel the need. There is something particularly soothing to me about calling another teacher into my classsroom so that I can slip into the bathroom at work and floss for a few minutes.

2. I actually want to take the GRE now. Not because I think I will do particularly well, but because I want to know where I stand, how close I am to acceptance into a Masters program. But also a little because I want the pride kick that could possibly come from doing well on it.

3. I regret having graduated from college too soon. Not that I was too young when I graduated, but that there were a lot of classes that I still want to take. There is a lot of learning I stil need to do, and now that I have a BA, academia makes it more difficult for me to just take some classes.

4. I still have a crush on Matthew Perry's character from Friends. Chandler Bing. What a ridiculous name. I also have a crush on Hawkeye from MASH and Rob Thomas from Matchbox 20 and Bryn Terfel (the opera singer). And Gene Kelly. And I might have a political crush on one of our congressmen from here in Utah. And also I think President Uchtdorf was and is really handsome. I like Mark Harmon too. There is no consistency.

5. Actually, there is some consistancy. I am a sucker for brown eyes. Those other people are all distant and sometimes unrealistic characters, but in real people that I interact with every day, I have a weakness somewhere in my lungs, just behind my heart, for brown eyes. If I ever have kids, they had either better all have brown eyes or none of them, because I have noticed a distinct difference in my ability to be firm or teach discipline to children when they have those big brown eyes. Just the other day, a wholly destructive child told me that he wanted to throw ice chunks at his friends because he wanted to see what it would be like if they got hurt, started bleeding, and had to go to the hospital, but he said it with big brown sparkling eyes and long laughing lashes, and I had to ask another teacher to deal with him, because I was too enamoured.

6. I have a tendancy to believe conspiracy theories. I come by it honestly, genetically even, from my dad. Did the CIA kill Kennedy? Was the moon landing staged? Is Big Oil running the Republican party? Are Wal-Mart CEO's actually intent on destroying capitalism and taking over the world? The jury is still out on these things, but I know which way they are leaning and I see the logic in the evidence. Don't worry, I am also well aware of the crazy, and I try my best to tone it down. At the same time, oil prices dropped drastically during election season....

7. I go through phases of obsessing over certain expressions of art. My current musical obsession, since Thursday, has been Gorecki's 3rd symphony. I can't get enough of it right now. My current poetry obsession is Diary of an Old Soul, the writing is beautiful and I can't quite take it all in. My current art obsession is Degas Ballerina pieces, I am fixated not on the color but on the shading. I even went so far as to search some black and white scans. My current singing obsession is German Arias and art songs. I have never been able to handle singing in German, but right now they are in my head. I don't have a current literature obsession, since I haven't read a really good new book in a while. I am doing a lot of re-reading of Newberry Award winners though. My current piano obsession is Beethoven, which is only unusual because it is not Mendelssohn.

Forgive me for a moment while I indulge my Inner Diva

To the director of one of the 4 shows I have auditioned for in the past few weeks:

A chorus role? How quaint! Why, I haven't dabbled in the chorus since I was 15 years old! You might have enticed me to accept it if you hadn't invited me to callbacks and then fully wasted two and a half hours of my Saturday. Honestly, if you had simply called or emailed and said "we would like you in the chorus" I would have accepted and probably attended every rehearsal. Instead, you invited me to a callback in which every role except 1 was clearly pre-cast, and you didn't invite me to read even once. I sat in that line up for two and a half hours and you merely invited me to sing with a sextet at the end in order to place me according to voice part. By that time I was so irritated with you that I purposefully busted out the bigggest opera sound I have in me and drowned out every other voice in the sextet. And frankly, I could have buried every voice in that room singing together if you had given me the opportunity. It doesn't matter, though, because by that point in the audition you had already made it clear that your friends were receiving the roles they wanted and the rest of us could sit on it, regardless of talent or ability. And at that point in the audition, my decision was already made. You didn't make the cut. Your audition process was a disheveled waste of my time and an insult to my ability. I knew the moment you spent 10 minutes looking for sides to hand out that you were not a director that I wanted to work with. But I gave you the benefit of the doubt and I sat there anyways, because I wanted that one role. And let me tell you something, the woman you had pre-cast in that role doesn't have half of what I have to offer. I wonder why you even put that all roles were open on the audition notice? Perhaps you were lying to yourself, and saying that you would only give those roles to your friends if nobody better came along? Take a glance at my resume, honey. You don't even need to hear me sing to know that someone better had come along. Of course, you did hear me sing, and your music director was clearly salivating over the opportunity to work with this voice. And while we are at it, your choreographer was thrilled with me too. In fact, the group that I danced the combo with would not have made it through to the end if they hadn't had me to follow. And that group included the woman you pre-cast in my role. So it will be your sad duty to inform choreographer and music director that I won't be joining the cast. They made my callback. I would willingly work with either of them. But you didn't even make my first cut. I don't even want to hear you monologue.

The thing is, I have enough experience to know when I nail an audition. And I have enough experience on the other side of the audition table to know how to run an audition and how to cast a show. I recognize that some decisions are subject to opinion, and I recognize that some decisions depend on the ensemble as a whole. I saw the ensemble you assembled, and I saw the decisions you made on that cast list. I am not the only talent you slighted. There was that military man with the perfect tenor voice that was slated to the chorus as well, while you put an unsure and slightly tone deaf adolescent into the lead role. Did it occur to you that he is cast opposite a woman who is twice his age and it will never be believable? As a general rule, I don't work with theatre organizations that pander to groupies regardless of ability. I am in it for improvement and experience, not for social posturing and ego stroking. Perhaps you are secure in this because your organization is designed to do something other than produce decent theatre. If that is the case, kudos to you, you have created an environment where the weirdos can bond and the social outcasts can invent and perpetrate inside jokes. But frankly, any theatre organization does this much. If you ever want to offer more than that, take my advice. Use talent when you find it, don't waste my time, and oraganize yourself and your paperwork before you hold a call back. And be honest about the roles that are pre-cast.

Don't get me wrong, I've accepted chorus roles in the past 15 years, but somehow they always evolve into supporting and leads. It's too bad for you that you won't have access to my talent when pre-cast lady throws out her hip during the first week of rehearsals. It's too bad you won't have my directing ability when your music director suddenly goes out of town for a week. And don't even think of using this note as a reason why you wouldn't want to work with me anyways. I'm worth it. The Diva only throws these fits when she doesn't get the part. When she does get the part, she is not only pleasant to work with, she brings killer brownies for the strike party and is the life of every cast party. I'm more than worth it. People pay me to work with them.

You can keep my headshot as a reminder of your failure. And don't be too hard on yourself. It's important we learn from our mistakes.

The Inner Diva

PS. Can I have military man's phone number? I know a few more shows that are auditioning, and I would love to meet up with him in some other chorus...