Monday, November 27, 2006

The Quick Brown Fox Jumped Over The Lazy Tuna

And how was your weekend?

Mine was a total MPF. But in this case ... Mince. Pie. FREE.

This, of course, was a very good thing, as the Tuna Trio (Gram, Tiny and myself) joined up with the house of Scout (parents, brother and one set of Aunt & Uncle) for Thanksgiving afternoon dinner. To jump to the end of the story, the meal and the company were delightful and everybody left full and happy and full of pleasant conversation.

I, of course, had threatened TinyTuna to within an inch of her life that she needed to behave and put on the charm. She demanded I spend a considerable amount of time with her hair and a curling iron, and I thought that was a fair trade-off. As expected, she was her usual adorable self. That is, until they showed up with the pie (PIE!) and said since the pie was warm, they didn't put whipped cream on before they served it, so they just brought us a brand new can. Well, that was the end of sweet and charming. Her eyes bugged out of her head like she was a cartoon, she grabbed the can and proclaimed that it was hers. Luckily, they thought she was cute and funny, so I didn't have to explain that she was raised by wild animals who deprived her of the better things in life, like whipped cream in an aerosol canister.

Sunday afternoon we did the Thanksgiving go-round again with the Tuna clan, and Scout passed with flying colors. Embarrassing family stories started coming out of the woodwork nearly immediately, but that couldn't be deflected onto other family members who were conveniently out of town.

And now it's time to get down to business. I've rid the page of the bad Halloween picture that, for lack of a better inanimate scapegoat, will take the blame for my lack of postings. With the end of the semester looming and tidings of comfort and joy blaring in every grocery store aisle, there's always plenty to talk about.

Like tap class. Today I walked in all biggety and proud for being on time and not only knowing where I last tossed my tap shoes, but finding both of them and remembering to bring them both with me to class. My good deeds were instantly blown out of the water by another lady who just had an entire dance floor installed in her basement so she could practice.

Dammit.

The Quick Brown Fox Jumped Over The Lazy Tuna

And how was your weekend?

Mine was a total MPF. But in this case ... Mince. Pie. FREE.

This, of course, was a very good thing, as the Tuna Trio (Gram, Tiny and myself) joined up with the house of Scout (parents, brother and one set of Aunt & Uncle) for Thanksgiving afternoon dinner. To jump to the end of the story, the meal and the company were delightful and everybody left full and happy and full of pleasant conversation.

I, of course, had threatened TinyTuna to within an inch of her life that she needed to behave and put on the charm. She demanded I spend a considerable amount of time with her hair and a curling iron, and I thought that was a fair trade-off. As expected, she was her usual adorable self. That is, until they showed up with the pie (PIE!) and said since the pie was warm, they didn't put whipped cream on before they served it, so they just brought us a brand new can. Well, that was the end of sweet and charming. Her eyes bugged out of her head like she was a cartoon, she grabbed the can and proclaimed that it was hers. Luckily, they thought she was cute and funny, so I didn't have to explain that she was raised by wild animals who deprived her of the better things in life, like whipped cream in an aerosol canister.

Sunday afternoon we did the Thanksgiving go-round again with the Tuna clan, and Scout passed with flying colors. Embarrassing family stories started coming out of the woodwork nearly immediately, but that couldn't be deflected onto other family members who were conveniently out of town.

And now it's time to get down to business. I've rid the page of the bad Halloween picture that, for lack of a better inanimate scapegoat, will take the blame for my lack of postings. With the end of the semester looming and tidings of comfort and joy blaring in every grocery store aisle, there's always plenty to talk about.

Like tap class. Today I walked in all biggety and proud for being on time and not only knowing where I last tossed my tap shoes, but finding both of them and remembering to bring them both with me to class. My good deeds were instantly blown out of the water by another lady who just had an entire dance floor installed in her basement so she could practice.

Dammit.

Monday, November 13, 2006

Dance Like No One's Watching

Last week was "parent observation week" at TinyTuna's dance studio. This is done the last week of each quarter, and allows the parents to come in and sit through their kid's dance classes and see what they are doing and how they are progressing. Being the fine, upstanding, loving, conscientious parent that I am, I attended exactly none of her classes. It was a long week, I had conflicts, and frankly I never really planned on going because I trust her teachers and their work ethic. I know they make TinyTuna work hard, and they don't let her get away with any of her usual nonsense, which I appreciate.

In keeping with my current slacker theme (please see: conflicts, long weeks and add other excuses here), I have missed the last two weeks of tap class. I actually entertained the notion of being a dirty rotten tap skipper for the third week in a row, until I picked up TinyTuna from dance class tonight.

"I HAVE GREAT NEWS!" She said, as she got into the car.

"Wow. What's that?" I asked.

"Well, I asked Mark if I could come for parent observation THIS week since you didn't go to class LAST week, and he said YES!"

"Uh.... I don't think that's what parent observation means."

"HE SAID I COULD COME!!!"

So, in 15 minutes, TinyTuna will be observing my progress in tap class. I can't swear, I can't make inappropriate comments, and I can't do anything that I usually do to cause my usual trouble because I have to be a grown up in front of my child. GramTuna, meanwhile, can hardly control herself, and in between guffaws she informed me she was being a bad parent and had no intention of coming to my class tonight.

Thank God.

Dance Like No One's Watching

Last week was "parent observation week" at TinyTuna's dance studio. This is done the last week of each quarter, and allows the parents to come in and sit through their kid's dance classes and see what they are doing and how they are progressing. Being the fine, upstanding, loving, conscientious parent that I am, I attended exactly none of her classes. It was a long week, I had conflicts, and frankly I never really planned on going because I trust her teachers and their work ethic. I know they make TinyTuna work hard, and they don't let her get away with any of her usual nonsense, which I appreciate.

In keeping with my current slacker theme (please see: conflicts, long weeks and add other excuses here), I have missed the last two weeks of tap class. I actually entertained the notion of being a dirty rotten tap skipper for the third week in a row, until I picked up TinyTuna from dance class tonight.

"I HAVE GREAT NEWS!" She said, as she got into the car.

"Wow. What's that?" I asked.

"Well, I asked Mark if I could come for parent observation THIS week since you didn't go to class LAST week, and he said YES!"

"Uh.... I don't think that's what parent observation means."

"HE SAID I COULD COME!!!"

So, in 15 minutes, TinyTuna will be observing my progress in tap class. I can't swear, I can't make inappropriate comments, and I can't do anything that I usually do to cause my usual trouble because I have to be a grown up in front of my child. GramTuna, meanwhile, can hardly control herself, and in between guffaws she informed me she was being a bad parent and had no intention of coming to my class tonight.

Thank God.

Sunday, November 12, 2006

Unconscious Mutterings

I say ... And You Think:


1. Nick :: Of Time

2. Focus :: Camera

3. Police :: State

4. Miles :: To go before I sleep

5. Earn :: Money

6. Twice :: Burned

7. Razor :: Blade

8. Personality :: Disorder

9. Dumped :: This list cracks me up

10. Reliable :: Old Horse



Oh my oh my. This might nearly be the GreenTuna's Unconscious Mutterings Teenage Angst Version 1.0, were it not for a lovely and obviously well needed dose of poetry. Suffice it to say once your mind starts going in a certain direction - whatever that direction may be - it's hard to change course. And no, I'm not particularly angst-ridden; it's just the way it worked out. Today, maybe it's best to leave the words to the experts.

Unconscious Mutterings

I say ... And You Think:


1. Nick :: Of Time

2. Focus :: Camera

3. Police :: State

4. Miles :: To go before I sleep

5. Earn :: Money

6. Twice :: Burned

7. Razor :: Blade

8. Personality :: Disorder

9. Dumped :: This list cracks me up

10. Reliable :: Old Horse



Oh my oh my. This might nearly be the GreenTuna's Unconscious Mutterings Teenage Angst Version 1.0, were it not for a lovely and obviously well needed dose of poetry. Suffice it to say once your mind starts going in a certain direction - whatever that direction may be - it's hard to change course. And no, I'm not particularly angst-ridden; it's just the way it worked out. Today, maybe it's best to leave the words to the experts.

Sunday, November 05, 2006

Unconscious Mutterings

I say ... And You Think ::

1. Theft :: Robbery

2. Storage :: Never Enough

3. Pick :: A little, Talk A Little

4. Los Angeles :: California

5. The one :: The Chosen

6. Accent :: Twang

7. Rivalry :: Sports

8. Process :: Procedure

9. Streets :: Have no Name

10. Museum :: Smithsonian


Generally when I do these things the first answer that comes to my addled brain usually has something to do with a song. So for those of you who are going to be humming U2's Where the Streets have No Name, you're welcome, and for those of you who will be singing Pick A-Little, Talk A-Little from Music Man and blurting out BALZAC! in your best Hermione Gingold voice as if you had an advanced case of Tourette's Syndrome, I'm sorry.

Welcome to my World.

Unconscious Mutterings

I say ... And You Think ::

1. Theft :: Robbery

2. Storage :: Never Enough

3. Pick :: A little, Talk A Little

4. Los Angeles :: California

5. The one :: The Chosen

6. Accent :: Twang

7. Rivalry :: Sports

8. Process :: Procedure

9. Streets :: Have no Name

10. Museum :: Smithsonian


Generally when I do these things the first answer that comes to my addled brain usually has something to do with a song. So for those of you who are going to be humming U2's Where the Streets have No Name, you're welcome, and for those of you who will be singing Pick A-Little, Talk A-Little from Music Man and blurting out BALZAC! in your best Hermione Gingold voice as if you had an advanced case of Tourette's Syndrome, I'm sorry.

Welcome to my World.

Thursday, November 02, 2006

One Of Those Times When Using My Indoor Voice Would Have Been A Really Good Idea

Thursdays are long, LONG days. Thursday is day two of teaching up north, which means nine hours of instruction without a break. Seven of those hours I am planted on a hard, uncomfortable piano bench: playing, encouraging, threatening, praising, and berating...whatever is needed. The other two hours I am in a classroom lecturing and demonstrating. Although I love teaching, by Thursday night, I'm one tired soprano.

And then what do I do? I make the hour drive home and go to choir practice.

I'd tell you I do this because of my grand and glorious dedication to the Lord and to church music, but I can guarantee a large number people would leave comments calling me a big fat liar. Although somewhere in my list of motives this is true, a big reason I go to church choir because Scout is there. Since we are both way too busy for our own good, I'm generally willing to go sing for another hour and a half with the promise of a little company and a tall beverage post-rehearsal. And for that, I love The Lord.

Tonight Scout and I actually sat next to each other, which proved to do nothing but get me into trouble. Me. But Scout? Never. Boy Scouts do no wrong, but Sopranos are trouble with a capitol "T" that rhymes with "P" that rhymes with damn proud of it too. At one point, Scout had me laughing so hard in the middle of MY solo, I couldn't make it through the last page of the piece.

Bad, bad Scout.

Towards the end of rehearsal, the choir went into the church to go through Sunday's piece. As I was chatting with Mensch, we noticed the basses are walking over to OUR side of the church. When we started protesting about the intruders, the director looked at me, and then Scout and said, "But...I thought...I thought you would like..."

I looked at Scout down at the other side of the row and said, "Well, sure I'd like...if he were over here next to me!"

The director started shaking his head and said (in reference to tonight's rehearsal), "Oh no! I've seen what happens when you two are together."

Without thinking, I shot back, "Oh no you HAVEN'T."

Based on the howls of the women around me, I guessed I said that a little too loudly.

Whoops.

One Of Those Times When Using My Indoor Voice Would Have Been A Really Good Idea

Thursdays are long, LONG days. Thursday is day two of teaching up north, which means nine hours of instruction without a break. Seven of those hours I am planted on a hard, uncomfortable piano bench: playing, encouraging, threatening, praising, and berating...whatever is needed. The other two hours I am in a classroom lecturing and demonstrating. Although I love teaching, by Thursday night, I'm one tired soprano.

And then what do I do? I make the hour drive home and go to choir practice.

I'd tell you I do this because of my grand and glorious dedication to the Lord and to church music, but I can guarantee a large number people would leave comments calling me a big fat liar. Although somewhere in my list of motives this is true, a big reason I go to church choir because Scout is there. Since we are both way too busy for our own good, I'm generally willing to go sing for another hour and a half with the promise of a little company and a tall beverage post-rehearsal. And for that, I love The Lord.

Tonight Scout and I actually sat next to each other, which proved to do nothing but get me into trouble. Me. But Scout? Never. Boy Scouts do no wrong, but Sopranos are trouble with a capitol "T" that rhymes with "P" that rhymes with damn proud of it too. At one point, Scout had me laughing so hard in the middle of MY solo, I couldn't make it through the last page of the piece.

Bad, bad Scout.

Towards the end of rehearsal, the choir went into the church to go through Sunday's piece. As I was chatting with Mensch, we noticed the basses are walking over to OUR side of the church. When we started protesting about the intruders, the director looked at me, and then Scout and said, "But...I thought...I thought you would like..."

I looked at Scout down at the other side of the row and said, "Well, sure I'd like...if he were over here next to me!"

The director started shaking his head and said (in reference to tonight's rehearsal), "Oh no! I've seen what happens when you two are together."

Without thinking, I shot back, "Oh no you HAVEN'T."

Based on the howls of the women around me, I guessed I said that a little too loudly.

Whoops.