The Devil in the Details

If March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb, it's my guess that February is best characterized as a rabid Tasmanian Devil hopped up on Gatorade.  Translation:  February kicked my butt.

It used to be (in the good old days) that December was the busy month.  School holiday parties, and then Christmas vacation and visiting family.  Several years later May got shoved into the busy-month category.  Now there were winter school concerts and spring school concerts, and if you lump the first week of June in with May, you can include some end-of-the-year activities.  Now it seems as if all the months want in on the action.  From the second week of January until yesterday there was an event every single weekend. 

We started with State Honor's choir out of town.  TeenTuna was selected for this group based on an earlier audition last fall.  She was awarded the opportunity to go out of town and rehearse for three days straight and sing a concert.  The choirs were amazing and the experience was fabulous.  GramTuna and I threw in a quick trip home on Saturday morning of the weekend extravaganza so I could sing a gig and turn around and come back again.  Good times.  TIRED TIMES.

The next weekend was District Solo & Ensemble.  Time to sing for the judges again.  Despite the fact that it really was an all-day affair, everything went well and all judges were duly pleased.  The reward for doing well at Districts is doing it all over again at the State level this April.

The next weekend?  Sadie-Hawkins dance.  If you don't think there isn't just a tiny bit of stress in that event, then you obviously don't live with a teenage girl.  Luckily the gang went to the dance in herd formation, and once again, a good time was had by all, OMG drama notwithstanding.

It's so funny....I actually have to refer back to my Google calendar to remember all this because it may have only been two weeks ago, but heck, last weekend might well have been last year.  SO, the weekend after Sadies was a little trip to New York City.  The high school choir was selected (along with several others) to perform Carmina Burana in Carnegie Hall.  Add to the fact that the school was scheduled to perform it the Tuesday before they left with yours truly singing the soprano solo work.  We got to dress rehearsal, sang the entire work, and then they canceled the performance due to snowpocalypse number I've-lost-count.  Luckily the weather cleared up enough two days later for the kids to have a nice lllooooong busride to NYC.  Unlike her trip five years ago to NYC and Carnegie Hall (and yeah, what teenager makes a RETURN APPEARANCE to Carnegie before she's 16??) when we went along to hear the concert, I lovingly drove her to school, tossed her stuff out of the car, and told her I'd see her on Monday.  My kid is growing up.

Immediately after the return from NYC there were school auditions for the select choral group, and auditions for the spring musical, neither of which were insignificant events in the life of a teenager.

The final huge event was the high school talent show.  Drama!  Nerves!  Buy New Clothes!  Everything has to be perfect!  Wow.  I hadn't been to a high school version of the talent show and really had no idea what to expect.  TeenTuna was singing and I was playing, which is our usual MO.  The talent show included rock bands, dancers and singers doing a Lady Gaga medley.  We were second in the 2nd half, and as the first act started (some rock-type song ... I guess?) I was so worried people wouldn't be quiet.  We were just a singer and a piano.  But when the lights came up, they quieted right down, and off we went.  The song -- very funny and cute -- seemed to be just the right choice.  The audience laughed in the right places, and when we got loud and crazy (the actual musical direction says "rip shit up") the crowd went wild.  To say that TeenTuna had the time of her life would most likely be an understatement.  It was more than she could have ever hoped for, and frankly, the perfect wrap-up to six weeks of insanity.

Now it's March and we've survived the beast of February.  This week I'm on break from teaching, and as I wished all my kids fun and restful breaks, several of them asked me what I would be doing over break.  I told them I was going to only work 40 hours over break and not 60 hours.  I told them I looked forward to zero hour-long commutes in lousy weather.  I hoped I could catch up a bit on my sleep.  I really have a lot of work to do this week, including blocking and choreographing everything for my workshop class and getting a large chunk of music under my belt, but somehow, someway, it will get done.  After all, if the Tasmanian Devil can do a grapevine exit stage left at the end of February and we're all still standing, there's hope.

Here's to a kinder, gentler March.  ReadySetGO.

The Devil in the Details

If March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb, it's my guess that February is best characterized as a rabid Tasmanian Devil hopped up on Gatorade.  Translation:  February kicked my butt.

It used to be (in the good old days) that December was the busy month.  School holiday parties, and then Christmas vacation and visiting family.  Several years later May got shoved into the busy-month category.  Now there were winter school concerts and spring school concerts, and if you lump the first week of June in with May, you can include some end-of-the-year activities.  Now it seems as if all the months want in on the action.  From the second week of January until yesterday there was an event every single weekend. 

We started with State Honor's choir out of town.  TeenTuna was selected for this group based on an earlier audition last fall.  She was awarded the opportunity to go out of town and rehearse for three days straight and sing a concert.  The choirs were amazing and the experience was fabulous.  GramTuna and I threw in a quick trip home on Saturday morning of the weekend extravaganza so I could sing a gig and turn around and come back again.  Good times.  TIRED TIMES.

The next weekend was District Solo & Ensemble.  Time to sing for the judges again.  Despite the fact that it really was an all-day affair, everything went well and all judges were duly pleased.  The reward for doing well at Districts is doing it all over again at the State level this April.

The next weekend?  Sadie-Hawkins dance.  If you don't think there isn't just a tiny bit of stress in that event, then you obviously don't live with a teenage girl.  Luckily the gang went to the dance in herd formation, and once again, a good time was had by all, OMG drama notwithstanding.

It's so funny....I actually have to refer back to my Google calendar to remember all this because it may have only been two weeks ago, but heck, last weekend might well have been last year.  SO, the weekend after Sadies was a little trip to New York City.  The high school choir was selected (along with several others) to perform Carmina Burana in Carnegie Hall.  Add to the fact that the school was scheduled to perform it the Tuesday before they left with yours truly singing the soprano solo work.  We got to dress rehearsal, sang the entire work, and then they canceled the performance due to snowpocalypse number I've-lost-count.  Luckily the weather cleared up enough two days later for the kids to have a nice lllooooong busride to NYC.  Unlike her trip five years ago to NYC and Carnegie Hall (and yeah, what teenager makes a RETURN APPEARANCE to Carnegie before she's 16??) when we went along to hear the concert, I lovingly drove her to school, tossed her stuff out of the car, and told her I'd see her on Monday.  My kid is growing up.

Immediately after the return from NYC there were school auditions for the select choral group, and auditions for the spring musical, neither of which were insignificant events in the life of a teenager.

The final huge event was the high school talent show.  Drama!  Nerves!  Buy New Clothes!  Everything has to be perfect!  Wow.  I hadn't been to a high school version of the talent show and really had no idea what to expect.  TeenTuna was singing and I was playing, which is our usual MO.  The talent show included rock bands, dancers and singers doing a Lady Gaga medley.  We were second in the 2nd half, and as the first act started (some rock-type song ... I guess?) I was so worried people wouldn't be quiet.  We were just a singer and a piano.  But when the lights came up, they quieted right down, and off we went.  The song -- very funny and cute -- seemed to be just the right choice.  The audience laughed in the right places, and when we got loud and crazy (the actual musical direction says "rip shit up") the crowd went wild.  To say that TeenTuna had the time of her life would most likely be an understatement.  It was more than she could have ever hoped for, and frankly, the perfect wrap-up to six weeks of insanity.

Now it's March and we've survived the beast of February.  This week I'm on break from teaching, and as I wished all my kids fun and restful breaks, several of them asked me what I would be doing over break.  I told them I was going to only work 40 hours over break and not 60 hours.  I told them I looked forward to zero hour-long commutes in lousy weather.  I hoped I could catch up a bit on my sleep.  I really have a lot of work to do this week, including blocking and choreographing everything for my workshop class and getting a large chunk of music under my belt, but somehow, someway, it will get done.  After all, if the Tasmanian Devil can do a grapevine exit stage left at the end of February and we're all still standing, there's hope.

Here's to a kinder, gentler March.  ReadySetGO.

OSCAR! OSCAR

 

It's that time again.  There are six more days until the 2010 Academy Awards which means it's time to dive into the Oscar Pool and make your picks.  

!! CLICK HERE TO VOTE RIGHT NOW !!

As past Oscar Pool winners can attest (*cough*GramTuna*cough*), actually seeing any of these movies prior to voting is not a requirement, and in fact is often a detriment.  Sometimes it can muddy the tea leaves and make you all sympathetic to what you actually LIKE instead of what everybody on God's green earth knows is going to win.  So feel free to vote by studio, favorite actor or actress, or degrees of Kevin Bacon.  Whatever works for you, works for the pool.

As always, we are voting on EVERY. SINGLE. CATEGORY.  That's right.  Best Best Boy.  Grippingest Gripper.  Outstanding achievement in gaffing.  You're just lucky we don't vote on all the scientific categories that some D-listed celeb awards earlier at the undisclosed location.  Other than that, everything is up for grabs.  Documentary, Documentary Short, Animated Short ... all there.

Voting is free, prizes are imaginary, and, of course, live-Oscar blogging will be had next Sunday.  C'mon, go vote.  Optimus Prime would want you to.

OSCAR! OSCAR

 

It's that time again.  There are six more days until the 2010 Academy Awards which means it's time to dive into the Oscar Pool and make your picks.  

!! CLICK HERE TO VOTE RIGHT NOW !!

As past Oscar Pool winners can attest (*cough*GramTuna*cough*), actually seeing any of these movies prior to voting is not a requirement, and in fact is often a detriment.  Sometimes it can muddy the tea leaves and make you all sympathetic to what you actually LIKE instead of what everybody on God's green earth knows is going to win.  So feel free to vote by studio, favorite actor or actress, or degrees of Kevin Bacon.  Whatever works for you, works for the pool.

As always, we are voting on EVERY. SINGLE. CATEGORY.  That's right.  Best Best Boy.  Grippingest Gripper.  Outstanding achievement in gaffing.  You're just lucky we don't vote on all the scientific categories that some D-listed celeb awards earlier at the undisclosed location.  Other than that, everything is up for grabs.  Documentary, Documentary Short, Animated Short ... all there.

Voting is free, prizes are imaginary, and, of course, live-Oscar blogging will be had next Sunday.  C'mon, go vote.  Optimus Prime would want you to.

But first, a number

This afternoon, prompted by a Facebook post, I visited the website This Day in Music to find out what song was at the top of the charts the day I was born.  After setting my birthday, it gave me the option of displaying the hit song in the U.S., the U.K. and Australia.

Somehow I thought I would be familiar with the results and give a big nostalgic aww when it popped up on the screen.  Why?  I don't know, except that I think that I should know all songs everywhere at all time.  It's a hazard of the biz, I think.   The results of course, were not at all familiar.  Two of the three I did a total, HUH? and the third, well, to my credit, yes indeed I was familiar with Elvis.

The number one song in the United States was a little ditty called Stranger on the Shore by Mr. Acker Bilk.  Yeah.  Never heard of it.  Or him.  And, Acker?  Well, this hip song was a piece for clarinet and orchestra.  Yes, indeed.  The number one song in the United States on the day I was born was a piece for CLARINET.  Mr. Acker Bilk (nee Bernard Stanley Bilk) was so nicknamed because Acker was British slang (yep, he's a Brit too) for "friend."  He took up the clarinet during his stint in the military, and practiced out of sheer boredom.  Stranger on the Shore was originally called Jenny (after his daughter), but the name was changed when the song was used for a BBC television series.  He's still kicking at 80 years old, and after listening to this tune a couple times, I have to admit, it's very charming.



The number one song in the U.K. was Good Luck Charm by Elvis Presley.  It had hit the top of the charts in the states about a month earlier, and is one of those very middle of the road songs. Not too raucous, not too slow and shmoopy.  My personal opinion is that it's also a little dull too in that musically predictable way, but heck, what wasn't in those days?  Well...maybe a jazz clarinet song by some British guy.  Good point.  It was recorded in 1961 and hit the charts in 1962, which was just about the time Elvis was crafting the image of a movie star that happened to sing instead of a singer who happened to be in movies.



The third and final hit is courtesy of the Australian charts. Leave it to the gang down under to launch to the top a sort of Spanishy Mexicany instrumental piece whose lone lyrics Si Senor are peppered throughout the piece, until the very end when he chooses to end it with what can only be described as possibly unfortunate, probably insensitive and definitely bizarre utterance: I theeenk.  Was he not sure?  Whatever the answer may be, it didn't seem to slow him down any.  He got career advice from Beatles' manager Brian Epstein, he came to the States and starred in episodes of Daniel Boone and Mannix -- an unlikely combo in and of itself.



So there you have it. Three songs as different as they could be. Considering they were all hits on MY birthday, the fact that they are unusual, bizarre, and just plain different should not be surprising whatsoever.

I theeeenk.

But first, a number

This afternoon, prompted by a Facebook post, I visited the website This Day in Music to find out what song was at the top of the charts the day I was born.  After setting my birthday, it gave me the option of displaying the hit song in the U.S., the U.K. and Australia.

Somehow I thought I would be familiar with the results and give a big nostalgic aww when it popped up on the screen.  Why?  I don't know, except that I think that I should know all songs everywhere at all time.  It's a hazard of the biz, I think.   The results of course, were not at all familiar.  Two of the three I did a total, HUH? and the third, well, to my credit, yes indeed I was familiar with Elvis.

The number one song in the United States was a little ditty called Stranger on the Shore by Mr. Acker Bilk.  Yeah.  Never heard of it.  Or him.  And, Acker?  Well, this hip song was a piece for clarinet and orchestra.  Yes, indeed.  The number one song in the United States on the day I was born was a piece for CLARINET.  Mr. Acker Bilk (nee Bernard Stanley Bilk) was so nicknamed because Acker was British slang (yep, he's a Brit too) for "friend."  He took up the clarinet during his stint in the military, and practiced out of sheer boredom.  Stranger on the Shore was originally called Jenny (after his daughter), but the name was changed when the song was used for a BBC television series.  He's still kicking at 80 years old, and after listening to this tune a couple times, I have to admit, it's very charming.



The number one song in the U.K. was Good Luck Charm by Elvis Presley.  It had hit the top of the charts in the states about a month earlier, and is one of those very middle of the road songs. Not too raucous, not too slow and shmoopy.  My personal opinion is that it's also a little dull too in that musically predictable way, but heck, what wasn't in those days?  Well...maybe a jazz clarinet song by some British guy.  Good point.  It was recorded in 1961 and hit the charts in 1962, which was just about the time Elvis was crafting the image of a movie star that happened to sing instead of a singer who happened to be in movies.



The third and final hit is courtesy of the Australian charts. Leave it to the gang down under to launch to the top a sort of Spanishy Mexicany instrumental piece whose lone lyrics Si Senor are peppered throughout the piece, until the very end when he chooses to end it with what can only be described as possibly unfortunate, probably insensitive and definitely bizarre utterance: I theeenk.  Was he not sure?  Whatever the answer may be, it didn't seem to slow him down any.  He got career advice from Beatles' manager Brian Epstein, he came to the States and starred in episodes of Daniel Boone and Mannix -- an unlikely combo in and of itself.



So there you have it. Three songs as different as they could be. Considering they were all hits on MY birthday, the fact that they are unusual, bizarre, and just plain different should not be surprising whatsoever.

I theeeenk.

To the Class of 1980

Then...
We didn't walk five miles in the snow uphill both ways to go to school. We caught the school bus which stopped (oh so conveniently) two houses up the road. If were late and saw the school bus race by, we could run about two blocks, down the hill and up the hill to the next bus stop. The bus? Waited for us.

Now...
Kids have a better likelihood of walking to school in the snow. It is possible for some to catch the school bus, but it is no longer a guarantee. First of all, you have to live far enough away from school to warrant school bus transportation. Living a mile or a mile and a half away from school is not far enough. You walk or make your parents drive. Prefer to ride your bike? In some school districts that is also forbidden. You walk or have your parents drive you. Next year in several school districts there won't be buses at all. There just isn't the money. You walk or make your parents drive.

Then...
We went to class, came home and did homework. We all took the same basic roster of classes. Our senior year might include an advanced placement course or two, which we took in order to pass out of a college class (or two), thus saving us a wee bit of tuition. Our tests consisted of real pieces of paper requiring real answers. Fill-in-the-bubble Scan-tron sheets were reserved for state-wide or nation-wide tests only.

Now...
You go to class, you come home and do homework. You are issued a planner in which you write all your homework assignments. Many students attempt to pass out of an entire year of classes as soon as they hit high school. They are required to take a comprehensive exam and must score very high in order to do this. Many take the test, few pass. Advanced Placement courses are highly popular beginning sophomore year, not so much as a tuition saver, but because the grades are more heavily weighted than a "normal" class, and it is felt that AP classes are make an applicant more attractive for college. The only test in high school which does NOT consist of multiple choice bubble-filling is a written essay for English and perhaps for history. You never get to keep a test to learn what you answered correctly, and it's rare that you even get one back to look at it.

Then...
We had school-wide pep assemblies in conjunction with football or basketball games. We might also have a single assembly to highlight the school play.

Now...
You have assemblies in conjunction with homecoming week in the fall. You also have an entire day dedicated to the concept of "excellence" -- where invited guests spend the day with you speaking on concepts that relate to tolerance, acceptance and general good behavior toward peers and adults alike.

Then...
We had an informal school dance every Friday night after a home football or basketball game.   Plus Homecoming.  Plus Sadie Hawkins.  Plus Prom.

Now...
There are three dances PERIOD during the school year: Homecoming, Sadie Hawkins and Prom. They are ticketed events. You have to register yourself and your guest. You have to abide by a strict code of conduct. You may not leave the venue at any time and then return.

Then...
We talked to each other during the day in school, and we called each other at night on the telephones. 

Now...
Cellphones and Facebook. And although there is plenty of phone use out there, it is overwhelmingly NOT used for calling. It serves three main functions: as a communication device (TEXT ONLY), as a watch and as a camera.

Then...
Big concerns would include a date for a formal dance, a big exam, and maybe what wewere doing over the summer. Kids moved in herds with like-kinds, and those that didn't fit in (or felt as if they didn't fit in) hung out together outside, usually smoking in the woods.

Now...
Kids are worried about everything. The formal dance, the next exam, every single grade on every single assignment, the musical, the play, the drama behind the musical and the play, being accepted for who they are, what they believe and how they choose to live. And every single fear, drama or moment of angst is played out on the Internet for the whole world to see.  Kids still move in herds, but "friend" everyone online.  And although I'm sure kids still smoke, I really don't think it's cool like it used to be.

I'm not sure I'd tell you that I had an idyllic high school experience, but I would tell you quite honestly that it was fine. I know there were some who were outcasts, some who were popular and some who were just plain miserable because they weren't what or whom they thought they should be. I'm not sure if I was lucky and just managed to avoid the angst-filled teenage heartbreak, unhappiness, and stress, or if I was just oblivious to how I should have been feeling and acting, but looking back on it all, I feel as if I avoided the worst of it. I'm sure the answer lies somewhere in the middle. I had a little bit of luck and a whole lot of not caring about the rest. I had a small band of friends and yes, we moved around in herds. I surrounded myself with people that didn't make me feel as if I needed to change who I was.

An interesting and somewhat uncomfortable result of my semi-nomadic high school experience has manifested itself twice over these almost thirty years. The day of my high school graduation as I sat watching people receive their diplomas, I realized that I had no idea who more than half of my graduating class was. I was closer to people in the graduating classes before mine, and as I heard name after name, I kept thinking, "Who? Who? Who is that?" I was a little embarrassed, but like most things in high school, it didn't bother me for long. I knew my people, and I was fine with that.

Jump to today. With the exploding popularity of Facebook (*waves*) I am friends with lots of my high school peers. Some of my Facebook friends now were my very close high school friends then. Others were people I had limited contact with, and still others were in the super popular or out-there fringe groups (as rated on the high school scale of acceptability), neither of which I had much contact with at all. But I friended them all, because...well....why not? We're all grownups now, and having friends is a good thing.

But you know what? I probably shouldn't say this, but I will anyway. Thirty years later, I still don't know who a lot of you are. Maybe I don't remember (which in my case seems to be a common thing) or maybe I never really knew you way back when. It's embarrassing to have to admit it, and I'm sorry.

But what's nice is having the chance to meet you -- some for the first time, some once again -- with the perspective of a nice chunk of adult life lived. We are all on entirely different footing now, with children and grandchildren of our own. We have lived and loved and lost, and are, frankly, much more interesting people now than we were then. I look forward to seeing pictures and hearing what my classmates are up to nowadays. Not so much because they were my friends from back then, but because they are my friends now. And if I tell you that I don't remember you from the class of 1980, please don't be offended. The cocoon I inhabited in high school was of my own making and had nothing to do with any of you. It's always fun to reminisce about the good old days, but I'm even happier to have the opportunity to get to know you in the here and now.

To the Class of 1980

Then...
We didn't walk five miles in the snow uphill both ways to go to school. We caught the school bus which stopped (oh so conveniently) two houses up the road. If were late and saw the school bus race by, we could run about two blocks, down the hill and up the hill to the next bus stop. The bus? Waited for us.

Now...
Kids have a better likelihood of walking to school in the snow. It is possible for some to catch the school bus, but it is no longer a guarantee. First of all, you have to live far enough away from school to warrant school bus transportation. Living a mile or a mile and a half away from school is not far enough. You walk or make your parents drive. Prefer to ride your bike? In some school districts that is also forbidden. You walk or have your parents drive you. Next year in several school districts there won't be buses at all. There just isn't the money. You walk or make your parents drive.

Then...
We went to class, came home and did homework. We all took the same basic roster of classes. Our senior year might include an advanced placement course or two, which we took in order to pass out of a college class (or two), thus saving us a wee bit of tuition. Our tests consisted of real pieces of paper requiring real answers. Fill-in-the-bubble Scan-tron sheets were reserved for state-wide or nation-wide tests only.

Now...
You go to class, you come home and do homework. You are issued a planner in which you write all your homework assignments. Many students attempt to pass out of an entire year of classes as soon as they hit high school. They are required to take a comprehensive exam and must score very high in order to do this. Many take the test, few pass. Advanced Placement courses are highly popular beginning sophomore year, not so much as a tuition saver, but because the grades are more heavily weighted than a "normal" class, and it is felt that AP classes are make an applicant more attractive for college. The only test in high school which does NOT consist of multiple choice bubble-filling is a written essay for English and perhaps for history. You never get to keep a test to learn what you answered correctly, and it's rare that you even get one back to look at it.

Then...
We had school-wide pep assemblies in conjunction with football or basketball games. We might also have a single assembly to highlight the school play.

Now...
You have assemblies in conjunction with homecoming week in the fall. You also have an entire day dedicated to the concept of "excellence" -- where invited guests spend the day with you speaking on concepts that relate to tolerance, acceptance and general good behavior toward peers and adults alike.

Then...
We had an informal school dance every Friday night after a home football or basketball game.   Plus Homecoming.  Plus Sadie Hawkins.  Plus Prom.

Now...
There are three dances PERIOD during the school year: Homecoming, Sadie Hawkins and Prom. They are ticketed events. You have to register yourself and your guest. You have to abide by a strict code of conduct. You may not leave the venue at any time and then return.

Then...
We talked to each other during the day in school, and we called each other at night on the telephones. 

Now...
Cellphones and Facebook. And although there is plenty of phone use out there, it is overwhelmingly NOT used for calling. It serves three main functions: as a communication device (TEXT ONLY), as a watch and as a camera.

Then...
Big concerns would include a date for a formal dance, a big exam, and maybe what wewere doing over the summer. Kids moved in herds with like-kinds, and those that didn't fit in (or felt as if they didn't fit in) hung out together outside, usually smoking in the woods.

Now...
Kids are worried about everything. The formal dance, the next exam, every single grade on every single assignment, the musical, the play, the drama behind the musical and the play, being accepted for who they are, what they believe and how they choose to live. And every single fear, drama or moment of angst is played out on the Internet for the whole world to see.  Kids still move in herds, but "friend" everyone online.  And although I'm sure kids still smoke, I really don't think it's cool like it used to be.

I'm not sure I'd tell you that I had an idyllic high school experience, but I would tell you quite honestly that it was fine. I know there were some who were outcasts, some who were popular and some who were just plain miserable because they weren't what or whom they thought they should be. I'm not sure if I was lucky and just managed to avoid the angst-filled teenage heartbreak, unhappiness, and stress, or if I was just oblivious to how I should have been feeling and acting, but looking back on it all, I feel as if I avoided the worst of it. I'm sure the answer lies somewhere in the middle. I had a little bit of luck and a whole lot of not caring about the rest. I had a small band of friends and yes, we moved around in herds. I surrounded myself with people that didn't make me feel as if I needed to change who I was.

An interesting and somewhat uncomfortable result of my semi-nomadic high school experience has manifested itself twice over these almost thirty years. The day of my high school graduation as I sat watching people receive their diplomas, I realized that I had no idea who more than half of my graduating class was. I was closer to people in the graduating classes before mine, and as I heard name after name, I kept thinking, "Who? Who? Who is that?" I was a little embarrassed, but like most things in high school, it didn't bother me for long. I knew my people, and I was fine with that.

Jump to today. With the exploding popularity of Facebook (*waves*) I am friends with lots of my high school peers. Some of my Facebook friends now were my very close high school friends then. Others were people I had limited contact with, and still others were in the super popular or out-there fringe groups (as rated on the high school scale of acceptability), neither of which I had much contact with at all. But I friended them all, because...well....why not? We're all grownups now, and having friends is a good thing.

But you know what? I probably shouldn't say this, but I will anyway. Thirty years later, I still don't know who a lot of you are. Maybe I don't remember (which in my case seems to be a common thing) or maybe I never really knew you way back when. It's embarrassing to have to admit it, and I'm sorry.

But what's nice is having the chance to meet you -- some for the first time, some once again -- with the perspective of a nice chunk of adult life lived. We are all on entirely different footing now, with children and grandchildren of our own. We have lived and loved and lost, and are, frankly, much more interesting people now than we were then. I look forward to seeing pictures and hearing what my classmates are up to nowadays. Not so much because they were my friends from back then, but because they are my friends now. And if I tell you that I don't remember you from the class of 1980, please don't be offended. The cocoon I inhabited in high school was of my own making and had nothing to do with any of you. It's always fun to reminisce about the good old days, but I'm even happier to have the opportunity to get to know you in the here and now.

Unconscious Mutterings

I say ... And YOU THINK:


1.  Food :: Delicious
2.  Death :: End
3.  Cafeteria :: School lunch
4.  Need :: Want
5.  Born :: Free
6.  Stitch :: In time
7.  Badly :: Poorly
8.  Blocks :: Wood
9.  Chuck :: Throw
10. Spiral :: Staircase

WHAT A WEEK.  Which has nothing to do with this list, but I thought I'd say it anyway.  This is a very interesting list of mutterings, because as I look over it, many of my answers don't necessarily reflect my own beliefs, yet they really were my answers in this free association exercise.  Do I think all food is delicious?  No, but there aren't many I don't like, so maybe?  At the same time, I've had plenty of dishes of lousy food, yet I always associate it with something yummy.  I certainly don't think death is the end, although I don't know what happens next.  It's the end of the current, though, as it moves to something different and unknown.  I have eaten in plenty of cafeterias, and not all of them located inside a school.  Yet, "cafeteria" always makes me think of schools and school lunches and ugh...pizza, french fries and rolls (see above:  Food.  Not so delicious)  I think needs are often confused with wants, at least that's the gospel I preach around here.  It's difficult but so important to separate the two.  "Born Free" is a song I learned to play on the piano when I was young.  Of course, that means I played it for hours on end, torturing everybody.  I remember the movie too, with Elsa the lion.  "Stitch" I could have easily answered "that which I used to do a lot but have no time at the present which sometimes makes me bummed."  However, in the interest of space, I went with "in time." One should never chuck blocks when feeling badly, and finally, spiral staircases are great in theory and look extra snazzy, but honestly, unless you live in a lighthouse or other tall cylindrical space, are dizzying, difficult to maneuver, and wholly impractical.

Happy Sunday.  Mutter along HERE.

Unconscious Mutterings

I say ... And YOU THINK:


1.  Food :: Delicious
2.  Death :: End
3.  Cafeteria :: School lunch
4.  Need :: Want
5.  Born :: Free
6.  Stitch :: In time
7.  Badly :: Poorly
8.  Blocks :: Wood
9.  Chuck :: Throw
10. Spiral :: Staircase

WHAT A WEEK.  Which has nothing to do with this list, but I thought I'd say it anyway.  This is a very interesting list of mutterings, because as I look over it, many of my answers don't necessarily reflect my own beliefs, yet they really were my answers in this free association exercise.  Do I think all food is delicious?  No, but there aren't many I don't like, so maybe?  At the same time, I've had plenty of dishes of lousy food, yet I always associate it with something yummy.  I certainly don't think death is the end, although I don't know what happens next.  It's the end of the current, though, as it moves to something different and unknown.  I have eaten in plenty of cafeterias, and not all of them located inside a school.  Yet, "cafeteria" always makes me think of schools and school lunches and ugh...pizza, french fries and rolls (see above:  Food.  Not so delicious)  I think needs are often confused with wants, at least that's the gospel I preach around here.  It's difficult but so important to separate the two.  "Born Free" is a song I learned to play on the piano when I was young.  Of course, that means I played it for hours on end, torturing everybody.  I remember the movie too, with Elsa the lion.  "Stitch" I could have easily answered "that which I used to do a lot but have no time at the present which sometimes makes me bummed."  However, in the interest of space, I went with "in time." One should never chuck blocks when feeling badly, and finally, spiral staircases are great in theory and look extra snazzy, but honestly, unless you live in a lighthouse or other tall cylindrical space, are dizzying, difficult to maneuver, and wholly impractical.

Happy Sunday.  Mutter along HERE.

Late Night with Me.

Windows Movie Maker and a couple thousand pictures of a trip to England two years ago is going to be the death of me.

A fun, creative death,
But a death all the same.

My learning aids here consist of Google, the tubes of the Internet, and a complete lack of fear when it comes to figuring out technology. I wholeheartedly subscribe to the point and click, "I wonder what that does" educational system.

Late Night with Me.

Windows Movie Maker and a couple thousand pictures of a trip to England two years ago is going to be the death of me.

A fun, creative death,
But a death all the same.

My learning aids here consist of Google, the tubes of the Internet, and a complete lack of fear when it comes to figuring out technology. I wholeheartedly subscribe to the point and click, "I wonder what that does" educational system.

Hey, Let's Start Another one!

One of the greatest philosophical and culinary divides in the world.
You're either a Whip person or a not-Whip person. 
Personally, I'm all about the whip.

Let's get it rolling.  How about you?

Hey, Let's Start Another one!

One of the greatest philosophical and culinary divides in the world.
You're either a Whip person or a not-Whip person. 
Personally, I'm all about the whip.

Let's get it rolling.  How about you?

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forte

Last night, like I have for (nearly) every single night since November 1, 2009, I sat down and dumped out some brain matter in my little corner of the blogosphere. As I do most nights (if I remember), I crossed posted it to Facebook, and allowed Twitter to pick up the feed as well.

And then I went to bed.

This morning I woke up, took my kid to school at the crack of yesterday (oh zero-hour, how I love thee...NOT) and then went into work for a few hours. A few comments popped up on Facebook, which was fine and dandy and mid-morning I left to drive north to teach.

Teaching was wonderful. The kids are still fresh and excited. They were happy for music and happy to sing. They were excited about what we plan to do this semester, and we had a few more new faces. It was a great morning. I drove up north singing, and I drove back singing. I know it's early in the semester when everything is still good, but I was lifted up all the same, equally grateful for music, students, and my opportunity to be involved in the musical, creative, and educational process.

I settled back in at my desk and booted up several programs and windows in my usual anal-retentive precise order:  Email, new webby library catalog, old DOS-like library catalog and Firefox (blog, gmail, facebook, twitter).

Oh my. 

It seems that while I was off whistling a happy tune, there was QUITE the discussion about my post from yesterday.  Well, I was in such a good mood, I decided to let all the parties get it out of their system, and then I'd go back and deal with it later.  I'd let "later" be tomorrow, but it's already tomorrow, and I know if I don't tackle this now, I won't sleep.  So here goes.

I like to think that one of my strengths is to write from a fairly non-confrontational point of view.  That isn't to say that I don't have an opinion -- of course I do -- but for better or for worse, I have never particularly been a "my way or the highway" kind of person.  In fact, one of my baby blogs that dealt with political issues was called "Waffles of Compromise" because I felt as if I could usually see the positive aspects on either side of a debate.  You might think it's more waffle-ish and less compromise, and you might be right.  Or not.  (SEE?)

At any rate, I entirely stand behind what I wrote, but I feel compelled to reiterate a few points that I think have gotten lost in the shuffle.

Yes, I had (and still have) a problem with statements about cursed nations, pacts with the devil and the repression of "Napoleon the 3rd, or whatever."  I have to wonder, how long will it be before I am blamed along with the entire female population for some calamity or other because we're cursed because Eve talked to the serpent and ate the apple?  As troubling as those thoughts are, one of my big concerns is the timing of  these statements.  I had, indeed, heard that he and his organization had sent relief.  Wonderful.  As he should.  As we should. As everybody should.  But what would compel anyone to assist with one hand and rebuke with the other?  And as for the tired, "they took my comments out of context," all I can say is, I've heard that "bad editing" excuse from plenty of reality television type people.  Yes, there is such a thing as editing.  But they can only edit what you say.  And, to the best of my knowledge, although Mr. Robertson has issued statements on the "pact with the devil" statement, I have yet to hear a plausible explanation how on this earth a tragedy of this magnitude could be considered "a blessing in disguise."

The point of my post yesterday was to encourage everybody to action; to DO and DO and DO some more for those who are hurting.  This is not the time for sermons or speculations or suppositions.  There is so much to do, there is so much need out there, there is so much hurt that needs healing.  If Mr. Robertson has sent all the aid he claims and has organized support groups to go over there and take an active part in compassionate assistance, that's great.  But his terribly mistimed, unnecessary and ultimately hurtful statements have drowned out any good work he may have done and any good intentions he may have.  As one commentator stated online, "Oh Pat... you are like the weird uncle we wish nobody would listen to."

I have read two excellent and well-balanced articles on the Mr. Robertson in light of the Haiti tragedy that can be found HERE and HERE.  I think this says it the best:

"To suggest that Haiti's extreme poverty or epic tragedy is a result of God or the devil is not for you or me to say. It is our responsibility to communicate the character of a loving God who calls us to care for orphans and widows, to feed the hungry, to welcome the stranger, clothe the naked and look after the sick."

I'm OK with debate, and I'm perfectly fine with differences of opinion.  I am quite certain that we all have more things in common with each other than differences.  But now is the time for action.  Now is the time to DO.  Be the living spirit of the compassion.  Be the helping hands of love.  Save all the rest for another day.

I love you all.

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forte

Last night, like I have for (nearly) every single night since November 1, 2009, I sat down and dumped out some brain matter in my little corner of the blogosphere. As I do most nights (if I remember), I crossed posted it to Facebook, and allowed Twitter to pick up the feed as well.

And then I went to bed.

This morning I woke up, took my kid to school at the crack of yesterday (oh zero-hour, how I love thee...NOT) and then went into work for a few hours. A few comments popped up on Facebook, which was fine and dandy and mid-morning I left to drive north to teach.

Teaching was wonderful. The kids are still fresh and excited. They were happy for music and happy to sing. They were excited about what we plan to do this semester, and we had a few more new faces. It was a great morning. I drove up north singing, and I drove back singing. I know it's early in the semester when everything is still good, but I was lifted up all the same, equally grateful for music, students, and my opportunity to be involved in the musical, creative, and educational process.

I settled back in at my desk and booted up several programs and windows in my usual anal-retentive precise order:  Email, new webby library catalog, old DOS-like library catalog and Firefox (blog, gmail, facebook, twitter).

Oh my. 

It seems that while I was off whistling a happy tune, there was QUITE the discussion about my post from yesterday.  Well, I was in such a good mood, I decided to let all the parties get it out of their system, and then I'd go back and deal with it later.  I'd let "later" be tomorrow, but it's already tomorrow, and I know if I don't tackle this now, I won't sleep.  So here goes.

I like to think that one of my strengths is to write from a fairly non-confrontational point of view.  That isn't to say that I don't have an opinion -- of course I do -- but for better or for worse, I have never particularly been a "my way or the highway" kind of person.  In fact, one of my baby blogs that dealt with political issues was called "Waffles of Compromise" because I felt as if I could usually see the positive aspects on either side of a debate.  You might think it's more waffle-ish and less compromise, and you might be right.  Or not.  (SEE?)

At any rate, I entirely stand behind what I wrote, but I feel compelled to reiterate a few points that I think have gotten lost in the shuffle.

Yes, I had (and still have) a problem with statements about cursed nations, pacts with the devil and the repression of "Napoleon the 3rd, or whatever."  I have to wonder, how long will it be before I am blamed along with the entire female population for some calamity or other because we're cursed because Eve talked to the serpent and ate the apple?  As troubling as those thoughts are, one of my big concerns is the timing of  these statements.  I had, indeed, heard that he and his organization had sent relief.  Wonderful.  As he should.  As we should. As everybody should.  But what would compel anyone to assist with one hand and rebuke with the other?  And as for the tired, "they took my comments out of context," all I can say is, I've heard that "bad editing" excuse from plenty of reality television type people.  Yes, there is such a thing as editing.  But they can only edit what you say.  And, to the best of my knowledge, although Mr. Robertson has issued statements on the "pact with the devil" statement, I have yet to hear a plausible explanation how on this earth a tragedy of this magnitude could be considered "a blessing in disguise."

The point of my post yesterday was to encourage everybody to action; to DO and DO and DO some more for those who are hurting.  This is not the time for sermons or speculations or suppositions.  There is so much to do, there is so much need out there, there is so much hurt that needs healing.  If Mr. Robertson has sent all the aid he claims and has organized support groups to go over there and take an active part in compassionate assistance, that's great.  But his terribly mistimed, unnecessary and ultimately hurtful statements have drowned out any good work he may have done and any good intentions he may have.  As one commentator stated online, "Oh Pat... you are like the weird uncle we wish nobody would listen to."

I have read two excellent and well-balanced articles on the Mr. Robertson in light of the Haiti tragedy that can be found HERE and HERE.  I think this says it the best:

"To suggest that Haiti's extreme poverty or epic tragedy is a result of God or the devil is not for you or me to say. It is our responsibility to communicate the character of a loving God who calls us to care for orphans and widows, to feed the hungry, to welcome the stranger, clothe the naked and look after the sick."

I'm OK with debate, and I'm perfectly fine with differences of opinion.  I am quite certain that we all have more things in common with each other than differences.  But now is the time for action.  Now is the time to DO.  Be the living spirit of the compassion.  Be the helping hands of love.  Save all the rest for another day.

I love you all.

The Greater Tragedy

I subscribe to a couple of email news alert sites: CNN, NPR and the New York Times. I'm sure they pretty much overlap each other, but that's alright. At least I'm sure to receive the latest news when extraordinary circumstances warrant it.

The downside to being "in the know" is, frankly, being "in the know." While I'm grateful for the notification, I will admit that every time I see one in my in-box, the very first thing that runs through my head is, "now what?" I've learned that news-bulletin newsworthiness is in the eye of the beholder. Topics range from political stuff on both the international and domestic stage (which frankly are of varying degrees of importance), to national news alerts (which are mostly important) to major sports scores (world series winners, etc.) to miscellanea (generally not terribly important when you get right down to it). Last week was definitely hot in number of emails received focusing on the less than important (Simon Cowell leaving American Idol!), but with each and every email I muttered, "Lord, now what?" read the email and then deleted it, usually without a second thought.

 

Today I got back from lunch and a CNN news alert was waiting for me in my inbox.  After the obligatory mutterings, I opened it up and read that the estimate of lives lost in Haiti was "hundreds of thousands."  For a minute I thought I read that wrong.  HUNDREDS of THOUSANDS.  Not just thousands.  Hundreds of Thousands.  My stomach dropped, my heart broke and I just shook my head.  I couldn't believe it.

It's interesting what people choose to do and say in any given situation, but especially, I think, when trouble or tragedy strike.  I hesitate to call it a "parent thing" or a "woman thing" but to me -- as both a parent and a woman -- my very first inclination is to find out what I can do to help.  The discussion can come later.  The same holds true for any finger-pointing, deconstruction of events, or the ridiculously pious, generally unnecessary, yet often mandatory recitation of lessons learned.  No, I say!  DO first.  DO and DO and DO and DO some more.  TALK about it later.  Much later.

 

 

Today, on the heels of HUNDREDS of THOUSANDS, and in the midst of my gut reaction to wonder what I could DO for people who were hurting and desperate for help,  and reading the many Facebook and Twitter messages about organizations and opportunities to assist came a lone voice.  And this lone voice decided that in the midst of tragedy centered in the heart of a city destroyed, in a country filled with mothers and fathers and children -- all fellow inhabitants of this wonderful, fragile planet earth -- that what they needed was a good religious spanking.  And the horrible feeling in my stomach grew as I wondered what kind of person chooses a rambling, nonsensical half-baked story about the French occupation, Napoleon and compacts with the Devil as a way to chastise an entire country who has lost HUNDREDS of THOUSANDS of people, and whose needs at present are focused on food, water, medical assistance, care and compassion. What kind of person blames first? In the face of any natural disaster, what kind of person blames at all?

If you told me it was a religious man, I'd like tell you that I couldn't believe it.
But the overwhelmingly sad and horrible part is, I can believe it,
which makes it all the worse.

The Greater Tragedy

I subscribe to a couple of email news alert sites: CNN, NPR and the New York Times. I'm sure they pretty much overlap each other, but that's alright. At least I'm sure to receive the latest news when extraordinary circumstances warrant it.

The downside to being "in the know" is, frankly, being "in the know." While I'm grateful for the notification, I will admit that every time I see one in my in-box, the very first thing that runs through my head is, "now what?" I've learned that news-bulletin newsworthiness is in the eye of the beholder. Topics range from political stuff on both the international and domestic stage (which frankly are of varying degrees of importance), to national news alerts (which are mostly important) to major sports scores (world series winners, etc.) to miscellanea (generally not terribly important when you get right down to it). Last week was definitely hot in number of emails received focusing on the less than important (Simon Cowell leaving American Idol!), but with each and every email I muttered, "Lord, now what?" read the email and then deleted it, usually without a second thought.

 

Today I got back from lunch and a CNN news alert was waiting for me in my inbox.  After the obligatory mutterings, I opened it up and read that the estimate of lives lost in Haiti was "hundreds of thousands."  For a minute I thought I read that wrong.  HUNDREDS of THOUSANDS.  Not just thousands.  Hundreds of Thousands.  My stomach dropped, my heart broke and I just shook my head.  I couldn't believe it.

It's interesting what people choose to do and say in any given situation, but especially, I think, when trouble or tragedy strike.  I hesitate to call it a "parent thing" or a "woman thing" but to me -- as both a parent and a woman -- my very first inclination is to find out what I can do to help.  The discussion can come later.  The same holds true for any finger-pointing, deconstruction of events, or the ridiculously pious, generally unnecessary, yet often mandatory recitation of lessons learned.  No, I say!  DO first.  DO and DO and DO and DO some more.  TALK about it later.  Much later.

 

 

Today, on the heels of HUNDREDS of THOUSANDS, and in the midst of my gut reaction to wonder what I could DO for people who were hurting and desperate for help,  and reading the many Facebook and Twitter messages about organizations and opportunities to assist came a lone voice.  And this lone voice decided that in the midst of tragedy centered in the heart of a city destroyed, in a country filled with mothers and fathers and children -- all fellow inhabitants of this wonderful, fragile planet earth -- that what they needed was a good religious spanking.  And the horrible feeling in my stomach grew as I wondered what kind of person chooses a rambling, nonsensical half-baked story about the French occupation, Napoleon and compacts with the Devil as a way to chastise an entire country who has lost HUNDREDS of THOUSANDS of people, and whose needs at present are focused on food, water, medical assistance, care and compassion. What kind of person blames first? In the face of any natural disaster, what kind of person blames at all?

If you told me it was a religious man, I'd like tell you that I couldn't believe it.
But the overwhelmingly sad and horrible part is, I can believe it,
which makes it all the worse.

How Can I Keep From Singing?

Tonight PBS showed an incredible documentary about the Young @ Heart Chorus.  As you can see, they are a senior citizen choir, and then some, with the average age being 81 years old.  This particular choir doesn't just sit around in rocking chairs singing Stephen Foster's "Old Folks at Home."  Their repertoire is contemporary pop, rock, alternative and blues, sung without apology.  The conductor is known to be somewhat of a taskmaster and perfectionist.  But why not?  He wanted correct pitches and rhythms, and there was no reason to coddle his choir.  I think after four scores and several years, they were old enough to hear the truth, and there was no age limit on expectations.

It was amazing to watch this group of people rehearse (and rehearse and rehearse and rehearse) and then perform.  Of course, it wasn't just a matter of old folks getting on stage and wailing out a couple of tunes.  This choir had other issues they had to face.  More than once in this documentary, a choir member was taken to the hospital.  And yet the choir sang on.  Some died.  And yet the choir sang on.  To hear an elderly woman sing Sinead O'Connor's "Nothing Compares 2 U" in memory and tribute to a fellow choir member who had passed the day before, the words suddenly become less about an angry, angsty and hurt breakup, and more about loss and honoring a memory.

It's been seven hours and fifteen days

Since you took your love away

I go out every night and sleep all day

Since you took your love away

Since you been gone I can do whatever I want

I can see whomever I choose

I can eat my dinner in a fancy restaurant

But nothing

I said nothing can take away these blues

`Cause nothing compares

Nothing compares to you

In one of their performances, they crank out a version of  "I Feel Good"made famous by James Brown.  You cannot help but feel the fun, the joy and the celebration of life.

Speaking as one who eats, drinks, and breathes music as both performer and teacher, there is something indescribably wonderful and magical about singing and the human voice.  It's an instrument that exists within us day in and day out.  It is an extension of our physical and emotional selves, and is an integral part of our culture.  It explores and defines emotions, generations and genders.  It sings the stories of history, and provides commentary.  It makes us laugh and cry and think.  It allows us to look back in remembrance, and forward in hope.  It celebrates everything we are and hope to be.  My joy in being a performer has nothing to do with fame, applause, high notes and sparkly gowns.  It's is the opportunity to be the voice and soul of both poet and composer.  The joy of being a teacher is equally great, because through my work I am able to help others find their voice.  It is a wonderful and humbling activity to help others discover that unique love of musical expression.

All you have to do is turn on the television to discover there has been a real resurgence in the vocal arts.  If you look beneath the surface desires of fame on American Idol, if you see past the unpredictability of reality competitions like America's Got Talent, and if you can forgive the out and out silliness of Glee, they share a great and common bond.  It is the simple and profound love of singing, the joy the comes in expressing yourself in song, and the community that comes in sharing music with others. It doesn't matter if you're eight or eighty eight, everyone has a song.

And it's all very, very good.

How Can I Keep From Singing?

Tonight PBS showed an incredible documentary about the Young @ Heart Chorus.  As you can see, they are a senior citizen choir, and then some, with the average age being 81 years old.  This particular choir doesn't just sit around in rocking chairs singing Stephen Foster's "Old Folks at Home."  Their repertoire is contemporary pop, rock, alternative and blues, sung without apology.  The conductor is known to be somewhat of a taskmaster and perfectionist.  But why not?  He wanted correct pitches and rhythms, and there was no reason to coddle his choir.  I think after four scores and several years, they were old enough to hear the truth, and there was no age limit on expectations.

It was amazing to watch this group of people rehearse (and rehearse and rehearse and rehearse) and then perform.  Of course, it wasn't just a matter of old folks getting on stage and wailing out a couple of tunes.  This choir had other issues they had to face.  More than once in this documentary, a choir member was taken to the hospital.  And yet the choir sang on.  Some died.  And yet the choir sang on.  To hear an elderly woman sing Sinead O'Connor's "Nothing Compares 2 U" in memory and tribute to a fellow choir member who had passed the day before, the words suddenly become less about an angry, angsty and hurt breakup, and more about loss and honoring a memory.

It's been seven hours and fifteen days

Since you took your love away

I go out every night and sleep all day

Since you took your love away

Since you been gone I can do whatever I want

I can see whomever I choose

I can eat my dinner in a fancy restaurant

But nothing

I said nothing can take away these blues

`Cause nothing compares

Nothing compares to you

In one of their performances, they crank out a version of  "I Feel Good"made famous by James Brown.  You cannot help but feel the fun, the joy and the celebration of life.

Speaking as one who eats, drinks, and breathes music as both performer and teacher, there is something indescribably wonderful and magical about singing and the human voice.  It's an instrument that exists within us day in and day out.  It is an extension of our physical and emotional selves, and is an integral part of our culture.  It explores and defines emotions, generations and genders.  It sings the stories of history, and provides commentary.  It makes us laugh and cry and think.  It allows us to look back in remembrance, and forward in hope.  It celebrates everything we are and hope to be.  My joy in being a performer has nothing to do with fame, applause, high notes and sparkly gowns.  It's is the opportunity to be the voice and soul of both poet and composer.  The joy of being a teacher is equally great, because through my work I am able to help others find their voice.  It is a wonderful and humbling activity to help others discover that unique love of musical expression.

All you have to do is turn on the television to discover there has been a real resurgence in the vocal arts.  If you look beneath the surface desires of fame on American Idol, if you see past the unpredictability of reality competitions like America's Got Talent, and if you can forgive the out and out silliness of Glee, they share a great and common bond.  It is the simple and profound love of singing, the joy the comes in expressing yourself in song, and the community that comes in sharing music with others. It doesn't matter if you're eight or eighty eight, everyone has a song.

And it's all very, very good.