Sunday, April 30, 2006

Where I'm From

Many memes are short responses to simple questions.
This one is different.
Deceptively straightforward, I found the more I worked on it,
the more I worked on it.
And in the process I remembered more things
more answers led to more stories
and help explain the simple question
Where am I from?

Thanks to Bozoette, where I first saw this meme.
The original template can be found here.


Where I'm From
I am from the mitten, from Vernor's Ginger Ale, from the majestic Sleeping Bear Sand Dunes, the Mighty Mac and The Great Lakes.

I am from the white house at the fork in the road, from a sunny yellow kitchen with the ominous three-legged chairs, from an old climbing tree in the back yard and dinners announced by the clanging bell down the street.

I am from daffodils in the spring and dandelions in the summer, lovingly picked, presented and displayed in an old-fashioned juice glass.

I am from breakfast before Christmas presents and uncontrollable laughter at the dinner table. I am from Nellie and Hazel and Emma, lovely old-fashioned names that remind me of mountainside cabins, beautiful artistic creations, and picture puzzles done on the floor at the tender age of 88.

I am from a wicked wit and a strong opinion. I am from having to stop everything in order to look it up, because not knowing simply will not do.

From Brer Rabbit in da' briah' patch, Andy Panda, and a daily reading of Play with Me.

I am from the Glorious traditional Episcopal heritage. From religious pomp and circumstance, from good music, sacred aerobics and Sunday brunch.

I am from the Motor City, Motown and the land of The Lions and the Tigers. I am from little boy salad, black-eyed peas on New Years and cinnamon toast when you're sick.

From the sled that went down the mountain in the Black Forest. From bears at Yosemite. From Topo Gigio and Larry the Lion. From Snoopy and his red scarf. From twirpy birds and garbanzo beans.

I am from the Spanish turtle that rings, the small wooden chair with the secret compartment and the purple marble grapes -- perfect for hiding the purple Easter Egg. I am from The Pink Sheets, the Family Cookbook, two enormous brown photo albums and a closet full of slides. I am from all those Sunday dinners where the only thing better than the food is the stories.

This is where I'm from.

Where I'm From

Many memes are short responses to simple questions.
This one is different.
Deceptively straightforward, I found the more I worked on it,
the more I worked on it.
And in the process I remembered more things
more answers led to more stories
and help explain the simple question
Where am I from?

Thanks to Bozoette, where I first saw this meme.
The original template can be found here.


Where I'm From
I am from the mitten, from Vernor's Ginger Ale, from the majestic Sleeping Bear Sand Dunes, the Mighty Mac and The Great Lakes.

I am from the white house at the fork in the road, from a sunny yellow kitchen with the ominous three-legged chairs, from an old climbing tree in the back yard and dinners announced by the clanging bell down the street.

I am from daffodils in the spring and dandelions in the summer, lovingly picked, presented and displayed in an old-fashioned juice glass.

I am from breakfast before Christmas presents and uncontrollable laughter at the dinner table. I am from Nellie and Hazel and Emma, lovely old-fashioned names that remind me of mountainside cabins, beautiful artistic creations, and picture puzzles done on the floor at the tender age of 88.

I am from a wicked wit and a strong opinion. I am from having to stop everything in order to look it up, because not knowing simply will not do.

From Brer Rabbit in da' briah' patch, Andy Panda, and a daily reading of Play with Me.

I am from the Glorious traditional Episcopal heritage. From religious pomp and circumstance, from good music, sacred aerobics and Sunday brunch.

I am from the Motor City, Motown and the land of The Lions and the Tigers. I am from little boy salad, black-eyed peas on New Years and cinnamon toast when you're sick.

From the sled that went down the mountain in the Black Forest. From bears at Yosemite. From Topo Gigio and Larry the Lion. From Snoopy and his red scarf. From twirpy birds and garbanzo beans.

I am from the Spanish turtle that rings, the small wooden chair with the secret compartment and the purple marble grapes -- perfect for hiding the purple Easter Egg. I am from The Pink Sheets, the Family Cookbook, two enormous brown photo albums and a closet full of slides. I am from all those Sunday dinners where the only thing better than the food is the stories.

This is where I'm from.

Unconscious Mutterings

I say ... And you think:

1. Out of place :: Uncomfortable

2. Helicopter :: Chopper

3. Francis :: Drake

4. Ryan :: Seacrest

5. Wedding :: Crashers

6. Appalled :: Horrified

7. Historian :: Academic

8. Powerful :: Strong

9. Sex Symbol ::

10. Uncomfortable :: Sitting here not being able to think of a sex symbol.


Seriously. Who would you choose? There is a difference (in my world) between people who are sexy and people who are a sex symbol. I'm at a complete loss. But then again, it's Sunday morning, and I don't think I'm supposed to be thinking of those kind of things.

Mutter along HERE.

Unconscious Mutterings

I say ... And you think:

1. Out of place :: Uncomfortable

2. Helicopter :: Chopper

3. Francis :: Drake

4. Ryan :: Seacrest

5. Wedding :: Crashers

6. Appalled :: Horrified

7. Historian :: Academic

8. Powerful :: Strong

9. Sex Symbol ::

10. Uncomfortable :: Sitting here not being able to think of a sex symbol.


Seriously. Who would you choose? There is a difference (in my world) between people who are sexy and people who are a sex symbol. I'm at a complete loss. But then again, it's Sunday morning, and I don't think I'm supposed to be thinking of those kind of things.

Mutter along HERE.

Saturday, April 29, 2006

Pluses and Minuses

Another Saturday lived at 125 rpm.

The Tuna household is in the midst of its springtime conversion, which is full of pluses and minuses. For example, my voice teaching is done for the academic year. Big plus. But this means my voice teaching paychecks are also done for the academic year. Big ouchie minus.

Without the time commitment of teaching, I am home more often during the week. HUGE PLUS! This time, however, must be spent evicting Satan from my bathroom, his cousin Fred from my basement, various lesser demons from the kitchen, refrigerator, living room and bedroom, and (dum dum DUM) the bunny cage. Minus factor 666.

I have finally finished the mind-numbing carpal tunnel-inducing job of spending out my various budgets for the year. Definite plus. Now my activities are limited to solving old heinous problems or cleaning my office, meaning I'll uncover more problems; even older and more heinous-er. Redundantly speaking. Definite minus.

The trees and flowers this spring have been unbelievably gorgeous and long-lasting due to chilly nights and warm days. Double daffodil plus because I am not allergic to any of them. However, I am allergic to the sun, which always proves annoying over the summer. SPF minus 60.

On the plus side, the family calendar is our anchor of organization.
On the minus side, it's a big fat visual representation of our insanity.

Warm spring days invite us to go outside and shake off the winter blahs. But spring also brings activities, rehearsals, concerts, homework, final projects, field trips, recitals and the like. Despite a to-do list longer than my arm and deeper than my wallet I try not to complain. Despite a calendar that tells me I have one free evening in the next 25, I look at this as a time management and scheduling challenge rather than a losing cause. Today I didn't finish everything I hoped I would, but I did manage (among many other things) to perform a successful bathroom exorcism, take a short bike ride and discover three new trillium covered by leaves in my garden. Despite being buried, they were making their springtime transition without complaint.

I hope I can do the same.

Pluses and Minuses

Another Saturday lived at 125 rpm.

The Tuna household is in the midst of its springtime conversion, which is full of pluses and minuses. For example, my voice teaching is done for the academic year. Big plus. But this means my voice teaching paychecks are also done for the academic year. Big ouchie minus.

Without the time commitment of teaching, I am home more often during the week. HUGE PLUS! This time, however, must be spent evicting Satan from my bathroom, his cousin Fred from my basement, various lesser demons from the kitchen, refrigerator, living room and bedroom, and (dum dum DUM) the bunny cage. Minus factor 666.

I have finally finished the mind-numbing carpal tunnel-inducing job of spending out my various budgets for the year. Definite plus. Now my activities are limited to solving old heinous problems or cleaning my office, meaning I'll uncover more problems; even older and more heinous-er. Redundantly speaking. Definite minus.

The trees and flowers this spring have been unbelievably gorgeous and long-lasting due to chilly nights and warm days. Double daffodil plus because I am not allergic to any of them. However, I am allergic to the sun, which always proves annoying over the summer. SPF minus 60.

On the plus side, the family calendar is our anchor of organization.
On the minus side, it's a big fat visual representation of our insanity.

Warm spring days invite us to go outside and shake off the winter blahs. But spring also brings activities, rehearsals, concerts, homework, final projects, field trips, recitals and the like. Despite a to-do list longer than my arm and deeper than my wallet I try not to complain. Despite a calendar that tells me I have one free evening in the next 25, I look at this as a time management and scheduling challenge rather than a losing cause. Today I didn't finish everything I hoped I would, but I did manage (among many other things) to perform a successful bathroom exorcism, take a short bike ride and discover three new trillium covered by leaves in my garden. Despite being buried, they were making their springtime transition without complaint.

I hope I can do the same.

Sunday, April 23, 2006

Unconscious Mutterings

I say ... And you think :

1. Rising :: Sun

2. Third :: Base

3. Disruptive :: Attention-grabber

4. Surround :: Sound

5. Distant :: Planet

6. Suction :: Cup

7. Fried :: Chicken

8. Nuggets :: Chicken

9. Clip :: Excerpt

10. San Antonio :: Texas


It seems that once I start these I get bogged down in a certain mind-frame and can't get out. It's quite obvious that this morning I want to eat some chicken, watch a baseball game and go to the planetarium ... in Texas.

Hey! I have some heavenly leftover Tex-Mex in the fridge. Chicken burrito, here I come!

Unconscious Mutterings

I say ... And you think :

1. Rising :: Sun

2. Third :: Base

3. Disruptive :: Attention-grabber

4. Surround :: Sound

5. Distant :: Planet

6. Suction :: Cup

7. Fried :: Chicken

8. Nuggets :: Chicken

9. Clip :: Excerpt

10. San Antonio :: Texas


It seems that once I start these I get bogged down in a certain mind-frame and can't get out. It's quite obvious that this morning I want to eat some chicken, watch a baseball game and go to the planetarium ... in Texas.

Hey! I have some heavenly leftover Tex-Mex in the fridge. Chicken burrito, here I come!

Saturday, April 22, 2006

Just Another Manic Saturday

Today the town of Tunaville was a bundle of contradictions. In one location there were celebrations of diversity. In another, there were detractors, shaking their fists and howling at the moon. Miles of chain link fences allowed freedom of speech and assembly while protecting the overwhelming majority from a message they did not want to hear.

I chose to stay away from the mess on both sides of the fence.

Instead...
I delivered sandwiches for a blood drive.

Instead...
I dropped off my recycling.

Instead...
I celebrated spring by buying TinyTuna some fun, kicky sandals.

Instead...
I donated clothes to the less fortunate.

Instead...
I joined some choir folk and sang to shut-ins whose average age was about 236.

Instead...
I watched TinyTuna become the Tito Puente of the tambourine during Rock of Ages.

Instead...
I listened -- over a slice of pizza -- to an incredibly moving acapella performance of a thanksgiving chant written by one of the choir folk.

and as always,

Instead...
I started my morning with breakfast at the Grill Dogs.

It may have been a bundle of contradictions everywhere else.
But for us, it was just another Saturday in Tunaville.

Just Another Manic Saturday

Today the town of Tunaville was a bundle of contradictions. In one location there were celebrations of diversity. In another, there were detractors, shaking their fists and howling at the moon. Miles of chain link fences allowed freedom of speech and assembly while protecting the overwhelming majority from a message they did not want to hear.

I chose to stay away from the mess on both sides of the fence.

Instead...
I delivered sandwiches for a blood drive.

Instead...
I dropped off my recycling.

Instead...
I celebrated spring by buying TinyTuna some fun, kicky sandals.

Instead...
I donated clothes to the less fortunate.

Instead...
I joined some choir folk and sang to shut-ins whose average age was about 236.

Instead...
I watched TinyTuna become the Tito Puente of the tambourine during Rock of Ages.

Instead...
I listened -- over a slice of pizza -- to an incredibly moving acapella performance of a thanksgiving chant written by one of the choir folk.

and as always,

Instead...
I started my morning with breakfast at the Grill Dogs.

It may have been a bundle of contradictions everywhere else.
But for us, it was just another Saturday in Tunaville.

Friday, April 21, 2006

Friday's Feast

Time for a Friday feast (under-the-wire version)

Appetizer: List three things you keep putting off
1.
2.
3.

Soup: What do you feel is your greatest responsibility?
The twelve-year old in the next room. Too easy.

Salad: If you could have starred in any movie, which one would you have wanted to be in and why?
The best movie in the history of ever has to be, hands down, Waiting for Guffman. To mock the world of community musical theatre would be like ... well, like every day of my regular life. Only with better jokes and compensation. (Everybody dance!)

Main Course: What is an expectation you had as a child about being an adult and, now that you are grown up, you realize you were wrong?
Evidently I led an unbelievably shallow life as a child. I wasn't full of expectations. I was full of grape popsicles. My concerns most likely were concerned with how many grape popsicles were left in the box.

Dessert: When was the last time you had your car serviced?
Serviced? Now I sound like a Madame for the Geo Prizm.

Friday's Feast

Time for a Friday feast (under-the-wire version)

Appetizer: List three things you keep putting off
1.
2.
3.

Soup: What do you feel is your greatest responsibility?
The twelve-year old in the next room. Too easy.

Salad: If you could have starred in any movie, which one would you have wanted to be in and why?
The best movie in the history of ever has to be, hands down, Waiting for Guffman. To mock the world of community musical theatre would be like ... well, like every day of my regular life. Only with better jokes and compensation. (Everybody dance!)

Main Course: What is an expectation you had as a child about being an adult and, now that you are grown up, you realize you were wrong?
Evidently I led an unbelievably shallow life as a child. I wasn't full of expectations. I was full of grape popsicles. My concerns most likely were concerned with how many grape popsicles were left in the box.

Dessert: When was the last time you had your car serviced?
Serviced? Now I sound like a Madame for the Geo Prizm.

Otanjou-bi Omedetou Gozaimasu!



Unbelievable as it may seem, the littlest of the extended Tuna clan is a whopping one year old today. Here he is showing off the best present in the whole wide world ... the box. "Forget that educational stuff," he says. "All I need is a box and some peanuts and I'm living large and in charge."



"...Good thing..." thought the dog, who took permanent ownership of one of the more colorful educational toys.



Happy Birthday big guy. And many, many congrats, Mom and Dad. He's a keeper.

Otanjou-bi Omedetou Gozaimasu!



Unbelievable as it may seem, the littlest of the extended Tuna clan is a whopping one year old today. Here he is showing off the best present in the whole wide world ... the box. "Forget that educational stuff," he says. "All I need is a box and some peanuts and I'm living large and in charge."



"...Good thing..." thought the dog, who took permanent ownership of one of the more colorful educational toys.



Happy Birthday big guy. And many, many congrats, Mom and Dad. He's a keeper.

Tuesday, April 18, 2006

Songs in the Key of Strife

I can remember teaching several years ago and having an extremely eagerly naive student explain to me in long rambling bouts of puffiness how he could sing this, that and the other song regardless of range or appropriateness to age or gender. I let him talk himself out, and then peering over my glasses I said, "just because you can, doesn't mean you should."

I thought that was pretty good for an impromptu nugget of wisdom, and have uttered that phrase many times since.

Just because you can, doesn't mean you should.

And in that phrase lies my annual American Idol rant.

Every week is theme week. So far we've had songs of Stevie Wonder, The 50's, The 21st century, Country, Queen, and this week, The American Songbook. The resulting performances have been painful, awful, hideous, yeehawwwwrrible, just plain wrong, and what the hell, let's go for six.

I appreciate singers needing to be flexible, but I don't see the point in shackling wannabe Idols to a vocal style they would most likely never tackle. What's next? Milli-Vanilli Unplugged? Opera week? Great Methodist Hymns Grandma loved to sing at the pie social? Only The Shadow -- or I fear, The Spanish Inquisition -- knows.

Just because you can, doesn't mean you should.

If the theme isn't bad enough, most of the songs being performed are so ridiculously excerpted they bear little resemblance to the original. Think about it: is it really Bohemian Rhapsody if it's only 45 seconds long? If Chopin's waltz takes a minute, and instant rice takes five, a proper fandango must take longer than that.

(Although I must admit here that had Pickler's Bohemian massacre lasted one second longer, I would have had Galileo poke out my eyes with thunderbolt and lightning)

And still, I tune in when I can. Not so much for the train-wreck value, which seems to be in ample supply. Certainly not for the vapid comments of the judging panel. I think I watch because hope springs eternal. Every week I wonder if one of these singers will find a song and really get it. It's really not as easy of a task as you might think.

I don't know if every American Idol can. But I do know that every musician should.

Songs in the Key of Strife

I can remember teaching several years ago and having an extremely eagerly naive student explain to me in long rambling bouts of puffiness how he could sing this, that and the other song regardless of range or appropriateness to age or gender. I let him talk himself out, and then peering over my glasses I said, "just because you can, doesn't mean you should."

I thought that was pretty good for an impromptu nugget of wisdom, and have uttered that phrase many times since.

Just because you can, doesn't mean you should.

And in that phrase lies my annual American Idol rant.

Every week is theme week. So far we've had songs of Stevie Wonder, The 50's, The 21st century, Country, Queen, and this week, The American Songbook. The resulting performances have been painful, awful, hideous, yeehawwwwrrible, just plain wrong, and what the hell, let's go for six.

I appreciate singers needing to be flexible, but I don't see the point in shackling wannabe Idols to a vocal style they would most likely never tackle. What's next? Milli-Vanilli Unplugged? Opera week? Great Methodist Hymns Grandma loved to sing at the pie social? Only The Shadow -- or I fear, The Spanish Inquisition -- knows.

Just because you can, doesn't mean you should.

If the theme isn't bad enough, most of the songs being performed are so ridiculously excerpted they bear little resemblance to the original. Think about it: is it really Bohemian Rhapsody if it's only 45 seconds long? If Chopin's waltz takes a minute, and instant rice takes five, a proper fandango must take longer than that.

(Although I must admit here that had Pickler's Bohemian massacre lasted one second longer, I would have had Galileo poke out my eyes with thunderbolt and lightning)

And still, I tune in when I can. Not so much for the train-wreck value, which seems to be in ample supply. Certainly not for the vapid comments of the judging panel. I think I watch because hope springs eternal. Every week I wonder if one of these singers will find a song and really get it. It's really not as easy of a task as you might think.

I don't know if every American Idol can. But I do know that every musician should.

Monday, April 17, 2006

Ready, Set, Go

And so, eight days later, the following has been accomplished:

3 requiems sung (2 Brahms flavored, 1 Mozart)
1 taxes completed (and mailed)
1 TinyTuna birthday celebrated over the stretch of many days
1 Opera Workshop Scenes -- with magic cat toy bells -- sung quite nicely
1 Holy Saturday service chanted in the dark
2 Easter Sunday services sung -- high C's and all -- at 9 a.m. and 11 a.m.
24 Easter Eggs -- Well hidden and then thankfully, all found
1 day of Voice Juries -- sung and graded
1 Voice Studio -- cleaned out and carted home


I'm done done done done done.

But do you know what's even better?

Now... I can start.

Ready, Set, Go

And so, eight days later, the following has been accomplished:

3 requiems sung (2 Brahms flavored, 1 Mozart)
1 taxes completed (and mailed)
1 TinyTuna birthday celebrated over the stretch of many days
1 Opera Workshop Scenes -- with magic cat toy bells -- sung quite nicely
1 Holy Saturday service chanted in the dark
2 Easter Sunday services sung -- high C's and all -- at 9 a.m. and 11 a.m.
24 Easter Eggs -- Well hidden and then thankfully, all found
1 day of Voice Juries -- sung and graded
1 Voice Studio -- cleaned out and carted home


I'm done done done done done.

But do you know what's even better?

Now... I can start.

Wednesday, April 12, 2006

With Beelzebub Playing the Accordion

Improvisation is second nature to a musician. The ability to deviate from the mundane and to turn the ordinary into something both extraordinary and unique is highly prized. These skills can be taught and honed -- to a point -- but without that innate sense of what works, improvisation can quickly turn into a big, nasty mess.

As a singer, I know improvisation. I can take a baroque aria and add flourishes, skips, trills and embellishments on the spot. I can take a jazz standard and make the notes jump and swing right off the page. I can take a contemporary atonal ditty and ... well ... approximate the pitches like a pro and sing my guesses with such conviction that nobody is the wiser.

This made me feel all the worse as I gathered materials for my student's Opera Workshop performance tomorrow night. One of their scenes is from Mozart's greatest, most venerable opera, The Magic Flute. It's a work that explores such themes as loyalty, fidelity and the grandeur and mysticism of the Masonic religion. I had to get some props for the scene, and since I'm fresh out of miniature rotating glockenspiels, I had to improvise. And now, much to my chagrin, the role of Papageno's magic bells will be played by a jump rope handle covered in tinfoil with a plastic multi-colored jingle-bell cat toy affixed to it with a garbage bag twisty tie.

I am going to hell.

With Beelzebub Playing the Accordion

Improvisation is second nature to a musician. The ability to deviate from the mundane and to turn the ordinary into something both extraordinary and unique is highly prized. These skills can be taught and honed -- to a point -- but without that innate sense of what works, improvisation can quickly turn into a big, nasty mess.

As a singer, I know improvisation. I can take a baroque aria and add flourishes, skips, trills and embellishments on the spot. I can take a jazz standard and make the notes jump and swing right off the page. I can take a contemporary atonal ditty and ... well ... approximate the pitches like a pro and sing my guesses with such conviction that nobody is the wiser.

This made me feel all the worse as I gathered materials for my student's Opera Workshop performance tomorrow night. One of their scenes is from Mozart's greatest, most venerable opera, The Magic Flute. It's a work that explores such themes as loyalty, fidelity and the grandeur and mysticism of the Masonic religion. I had to get some props for the scene, and since I'm fresh out of miniature rotating glockenspiels, I had to improvise. And now, much to my chagrin, the role of Papageno's magic bells will be played by a jump rope handle covered in tinfoil with a plastic multi-colored jingle-bell cat toy affixed to it with a garbage bag twisty tie.

I am going to hell.

Sunday, April 09, 2006

Unconscious Mutterings

I say ... And You Think:


1. Buck :: Stops here

2. Harry :: Lou

3. Play :: Kids

4. Monstrosity :: Too Big

5. Nightclub :: Drinkin' and Dancin'

6. Missing :: Lost

7. Sprout :: Little Green

8. Flavor :: Grape is the best

9. Identity :: With or without the cape?

10. Saucy :: Sexy

Unconscious Mutterings

I say ... And You Think:


1. Buck :: Stops here

2. Harry :: Lou

3. Play :: Kids

4. Monstrosity :: Too Big

5. Nightclub :: Drinkin' and Dancin'

6. Missing :: Lost

7. Sprout :: Little Green

8. Flavor :: Grape is the best

9. Identity :: With or without the cape?

10. Saucy :: Sexy

Saturday, April 08, 2006

BirthDAY? Yes. BirthTIME? Dream on.

Yes, today is the big 1-2 for TinyTuna. I would like to point out, however, that even as of now -- a little after 3:00 pm -- there was NO TinyTuna. There was NO celebration. There was NO joy or happiness. There was NOTHING GOOD. There was, however, about 45 miles of fetal monitor tape in a huge heap on the floor, and one GreenTuna who swore she was going to highlight the fun parts in red and then use it to decorate the child's room.

TinyTuna, in all her stubbornness (go figure!) was in no mood to go anywhere. And why should she? She had held on for three extra weeks...what were seven more hours? The cavalry finally went in at 10:04 pm and got her, and in doing so gave us more joy and happiness and love than we could have ever imagined.

It's been a celebration ever since.

Happy Birthday.

BirthDAY? Yes. BirthTIME? Dream on.

Yes, today is the big 1-2 for TinyTuna. I would like to point out, however, that even as of now -- a little after 3:00 pm -- there was NO TinyTuna. There was NO celebration. There was NO joy or happiness. There was NOTHING GOOD. There was, however, about 45 miles of fetal monitor tape in a huge heap on the floor, and one GreenTuna who swore she was going to highlight the fun parts in red and then use it to decorate the child's room.

TinyTuna, in all her stubbornness (go figure!) was in no mood to go anywhere. And why should she? She had held on for three extra weeks...what were seven more hours? The cavalry finally went in at 10:04 pm and got her, and in doing so gave us more joy and happiness and love than we could have ever imagined.

It's been a celebration ever since.

Happy Birthday.

Friday, April 07, 2006

A Big Pile of Random

It's a Friday Feast Tuna-style, so I'm making up my own questions and then answering them.

Appetizer - Garlic Bread: Where the hell have you been?
Bu-sy. When I'm at work I'm spending out the budget. This translates to typing, non-stop, from the time I get there until the time I leave. It's deadly dull, but critically important that I get this done ASAP.

Appetizer - Cheese Sticks: OK, fine. Why don't you write at home?
Two reasons. First, I'm tired. I'm sick of computers. I'm so tired of looking at computers I don't even read anything. I come home, I stare for awhile and then I go to bed. Or, I come home and clean.

Appetizer - Antipasto: CLEAN? YOU'RE STILL CLEANING?
Yeah. Go figure. It's becoming an illness. Not that I'm necessarily making enormously perceptible progress. But I am making progress. I'm cleaning, organizing, and, yes world, even downsizing. The lucky recipients of my purge happen to be my students, who flock to my studio to rifle through the pile of free music. The neverending project is long and tedious, and well, neverending. But there is no denying that the more I do, the better it gets, and when all is said and done, it's a very good thing.

Soup - Minestrone: Wazzup with American Idol?
Yeah. Mandisa is gone which kind of blows. Sadly, country wasn't her style, but in all honesty, it wasn't most people's style. It wasn't even Billy-Bob-Bucky's style, and he's the one with the cowboy hat. Next week is songs by Queen. I feel like I should write Freddy Mercury an apology letter ... and he's dead. Be afraid. Be very, very afraid.

Soup - Chowder: Anything else to report reality-wise?
All the other shows seem to be percolating along, but nothing is really stand-out spectacular. Race is fine. Survivor is too. Model is OK. The Donald is passable. But none of it strikes me as "must see" TV. Yet another casualty of my too-busy, too-tired world.

Salad: What's the haps with TinyTuna?
TinyTuna is currently fixated on the itty bitty fact that tomorrow she is going to be twelve. She asked if being twelve means you get a cell phone (no) or a laptop computer (no). I asked if being twelve means you instantly become delusional. Poor child had the misfortune of being born to a mean mother.

Main Dish: What's the haps with GreenTuna?
Aside from the budget spending and the house cleaning, I'm looking at two singing gigs this weekend (Brahm's Requiem -- very yummy), taxes not yet done (lazy!), a Good Friday Mozart Requiem gig (can't go wrong there), a something or other to sing gig on Holy Saturday night, oh yeah, I have to sing something on Palm Sunday that I can't find (sadly typical), a TBA high, fast and loud piece to sing on Easter (twice), TinyTuna's family birthday party on Easter Sunday (Easter Gorp! Sing Halleluia!!), one more week of teaching (grateful), and an Opera Workshop performance for my kids (scary). Feel sorry for me? Don't. Nearly everything in the list is a very good thing. The bad thing is that it's all happening in the next fourteen days. But the life of a musician is definitely a feast-or-famine proposition, and I'm grateful for the feast.

Dessert: Anything else?
Since TinyTuna received maybe the BEST advice book ever, I'll leave you with some sage advice from Nancy Drew's Guide to Life:

Cover your face immediately when confronted with an explosion.
Obviously, it is good to avoid explosions in general.



Real Friday's Feast Answers
Appetizer: Name a trait you share with your parents or your children?
The ability to be wickedly funny or just plain wicked.
Soup: List three qualities in a good leader, in your opinion.
Listen. Learn. Lead. In that order.
Salad: Who is your favorite television chef?
The Swedish Chef. Bork!Bork!Bork!
Main Course: Share a story about a gift you received from someone you love.
What. Ever. Move along.
Dessert: How do you react under pressure?
Depends who is exerting the pressure and for what reasons.

A Big Pile of Random

It's a Friday Feast Tuna-style, so I'm making up my own questions and then answering them.

Appetizer - Garlic Bread: Where the hell have you been?
Bu-sy. When I'm at work I'm spending out the budget. This translates to typing, non-stop, from the time I get there until the time I leave. It's deadly dull, but critically important that I get this done ASAP.

Appetizer - Cheese Sticks: OK, fine. Why don't you write at home?
Two reasons. First, I'm tired. I'm sick of computers. I'm so tired of looking at computers I don't even read anything. I come home, I stare for awhile and then I go to bed. Or, I come home and clean.

Appetizer - Antipasto: CLEAN? YOU'RE STILL CLEANING?
Yeah. Go figure. It's becoming an illness. Not that I'm necessarily making enormously perceptible progress. But I am making progress. I'm cleaning, organizing, and, yes world, even downsizing. The lucky recipients of my purge happen to be my students, who flock to my studio to rifle through the pile of free music. The neverending project is long and tedious, and well, neverending. But there is no denying that the more I do, the better it gets, and when all is said and done, it's a very good thing.

Soup - Minestrone: Wazzup with American Idol?
Yeah. Mandisa is gone which kind of blows. Sadly, country wasn't her style, but in all honesty, it wasn't most people's style. It wasn't even Billy-Bob-Bucky's style, and he's the one with the cowboy hat. Next week is songs by Queen. I feel like I should write Freddy Mercury an apology letter ... and he's dead. Be afraid. Be very, very afraid.

Soup - Chowder: Anything else to report reality-wise?
All the other shows seem to be percolating along, but nothing is really stand-out spectacular. Race is fine. Survivor is too. Model is OK. The Donald is passable. But none of it strikes me as "must see" TV. Yet another casualty of my too-busy, too-tired world.

Salad: What's the haps with TinyTuna?
TinyTuna is currently fixated on the itty bitty fact that tomorrow she is going to be twelve. She asked if being twelve means you get a cell phone (no) or a laptop computer (no). I asked if being twelve means you instantly become delusional. Poor child had the misfortune of being born to a mean mother.

Main Dish: What's the haps with GreenTuna?
Aside from the budget spending and the house cleaning, I'm looking at two singing gigs this weekend (Brahm's Requiem -- very yummy), taxes not yet done (lazy!), a Good Friday Mozart Requiem gig (can't go wrong there), a something or other to sing gig on Holy Saturday night, oh yeah, I have to sing something on Palm Sunday that I can't find (sadly typical), a TBA high, fast and loud piece to sing on Easter (twice), TinyTuna's family birthday party on Easter Sunday (Easter Gorp! Sing Halleluia!!), one more week of teaching (grateful), and an Opera Workshop performance for my kids (scary). Feel sorry for me? Don't. Nearly everything in the list is a very good thing. The bad thing is that it's all happening in the next fourteen days. But the life of a musician is definitely a feast-or-famine proposition, and I'm grateful for the feast.

Dessert: Anything else?
Since TinyTuna received maybe the BEST advice book ever, I'll leave you with some sage advice from Nancy Drew's Guide to Life:

Cover your face immediately when confronted with an explosion.
Obviously, it is good to avoid explosions in general.



Real Friday's Feast Answers
Appetizer: Name a trait you share with your parents or your children?
The ability to be wickedly funny or just plain wicked.
Soup: List three qualities in a good leader, in your opinion.
Listen. Learn. Lead. In that order.
Salad: Who is your favorite television chef?
The Swedish Chef. Bork!Bork!Bork!
Main Course: Share a story about a gift you received from someone you love.
What. Ever. Move along.
Dessert: How do you react under pressure?
Depends who is exerting the pressure and for what reasons.