An audition day is a great and terrible thing. All of the practicing you have done is about to come to a head. Everything you have worked for comes down to ten minutes in front of five people. It is the best day and the worst day of your life.
You wake up groggily, having often spent a sleepless night tossing and turning in your hard bed. A great deal of pillow-punching often occurs, as do wild thoughts of hopping a train to Alberquerque.
Breakfast awaits in the form of soggy cereal and curdled milk. After ironing your wrinkled dress shirt, and wrestling on your pantyhose (a bout that ends in a knockout after three minutes), you open up your instrument case. Just as you are about to play the first note, your parent bellows up the stairs, "Time to gooooo!!" You carefully pack up your instrument, then start downstairs only to trip over your high heels and end up with a run in your stocking.
In the car, your parent misreads the directions and turns left when he/she should have turned right. You arrive at the audition exactly four minutes before your warm-up time, and throw yourself out of the car before it has stopped. Your hair elastic breaks.
Squinting at the directional signs (which all appear to be written in some combination of Swahili and pig-latin), you locate the registration room, feverishly sign your name and then look about for a ladies room. The only one in the building turns out to be three flights of stairs up, so you gather up your things and slog up the stairs. Apparently fifty other girls have had the same idea, and there is a traffic jam in the bathroom. After a good deal of pinching and scratching, you fight your way to a mirror and quickly repair the damage. It is all broken again on the way out of the door, but at this point you have about eight minutes left of your warm-up time.
The practice rooms send out a din to equal three herds of cattle stampeding, but you find the one room that is empty. It is located between a screeching soprano and a groaning clarinet. You quickly unpack, and run through the most difficult spots in your piece. There is an air-conditioning vent blowing ice-cold air (in December?!?), so you have to keep re-tuning.
Two minutes before your audition time arrives, you pack up and head out the door. The building is a labrynth, and your walk turns into a trot and then a full-speed-ahead gallop as you race to the audition room. You arrive panting, hair streaming and skirt flapping, only to find that three people are standing outside the door as calm and collected as caterpillars. They eye you coldly. You ask if the judges are running late, and three heads condescend to nod to you. Subdued, you find the nearest available corner and stand in it, running through your piece in your head.
An unidentified person leaves the audition room, and Caterpillar A goes in. Strains of an impossibly difficult concerto come through the door. Caterpillar A comes out, smiling smugly. Your heart sinks. Caterpillar B disappears through the door. One of the most complex pieces known to man is heard through the door. You swallow convulsively. Positive thoughts, you tell yourself. Caterpillar B smiles smugly as he exits. Caterpillar C is lost from sight, and shortly you hear an impossibly difficult concerto and one of the most complex pieces known to man. You stagger and reel. Caterpillar C has left, and it is now your turn.
The door creaks as you enter. The room is small, filled with many august personages who sit staring at you through pince-nez. They inquire your name. You reply, and announce your piece. They nod graciously, and you wipe your sweaty palms on your skirt. You take a deep breath, and begin. Your sound is thin and wavering, you screech appallingly on the high notes and miss most of the difficult parts. The piece seems to drag and rush by turns. Finally you are finished. The August Personages nod again, and you leave the room.
Greatly in need of comfort and refreshment, you head toward the spot where you last saw your parent. You find instead a being with clenched jaws and bloodshot eyes. It greets you with sighs of relief, and immediately pounces with a million questions of "How did it go? Did the part in measure so-and-so go right? Did you remember blah-de-blah in measure thingummy? Who was before you? What did they play? I've been sweating it out here waiting for you, I'll tell you that much!" Somehow you survive the grilling.
You head home, and collapse on the bed falling into an exhausted sleep. And you know what? The worst part is yet to come. Waiting and waiting and waiting.
To be truthful I must confess that what I have written above is not at all accurate. Mostly. Everyone at the auditions was so helpful and friendly--it was way less scary than I was expecting. And I know that the Lord will have me wherever He wants me and wherever I will give glory to Him. And that's all I need. :)
Showing posts with label Humor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Humor. Show all posts
December 6, 2011
November 25, 2011
A Guide to Christmas Decorating Safety
Statistics show that over 83% of household accidents happen in the bathroom. The other 17% occur during Christmas decorating.* Over 25% of emergency room visits during the period of Nov. 12th through Jan. 7th are because of an accident when decorating for Christmas.*
Decorating for Christmas is a wonderful pastime, but it is important to have a thorough knowledge of the perils that lurk in order to have a safe decorating experience. The Commission of Christmas Decorating Safety (CCDS) has compiled this manual of rules and regulations to help the ordinary consumer follow safe Christmas decorating procedures.
Section A: Stockings
1. Stockings are not allowed to be hung from a mantel, radiator, bedpost or bookshelf. They must not weigh over 2 pounds 2.5 ounces when filled. The Department will ration exactly 2.5 lumps of coal to each household for each bread-winner to dispose of as they see fit. Each lump of coal weighs exactly 7 ounces.
2. Stockings must not be made from socks, shoes, nightcaps, long johns or any article of clothing that consumers habitually wear. It is dangerous to the public health.
3. There must be a regulation pamphlet by the milk and cookies that will direct Santa Claus to the stockings. He often forgets about them, and the Department will not be held responsible for any more lawsuits regarding this matter.
Section B: Presents
1. The Department has allotted 3 presents per person. Those who have more presents than the allotted amount must donate them to the Persons that Spread the Wealth Association (PSWA), where they will be distributed to those that are less fortunate.
2. Presents may not be wrapped using tape, ribbon, or scissors. These are serious safety hazards to the white panda bear, and anyone found using them will be prosecuted.
3. No wrapping paper may be used that is colored with snowmen, gingerbread men, reindeer or Santa Claus as these shapes are discriminatory against those racial groups.
Section C: The Tree
1. All Christmas trees must be over the height of 1.3 feet and under the height of 5.7 feet. This enables the maximum amount of people to help decorate the tree. Any tree smaller than 1.3 feet is a shrub. There is a considerable risk of injury/contagious disease/death from overbalancing when decorating any tree taller than 5.7 feet. Any trees that do not meet the height requirements will be towed away at owner's expense.
2. All ornaments must be made of artificial plastic. Wood, paper, fabrics, glass and metal are not allowed. There are to be no sparkles, glue or artificial substances of any kind attached to them. Such substances can be easily swallowed by small goldfish and are extremely dangerous to their health. Ornaments may not be hung on the top branches or the middle branches. If they are hung in the restricted areas they are an extreme risk for falling on small children's heads. No ornaments are to manufactured in the shapes of snowmen, gingerbread men, reindeer, or Santa Claus, as these shapes are discriminatory against those racial groups.
3. Christmas trees may not have lights. They could be mistaken for alien signals and the Department has issued strict orders against any communication with the outer worlds.
4. Absolutely NO tinsel may be used for decoration on the tree as it is very sharp. One gentlemen was taken to the emergency room last year because a piece had severed his foot. Blood poisoning spread and his entire leg had to be amputated. NO TINSEL!
This manual will be updated every 6 hours to comply with proper regulations.
*Statistics are fake. Please do not pay any attention to them as they are used merely for promotional purposes. Thank you!
Decorating for Christmas is a wonderful pastime, but it is important to have a thorough knowledge of the perils that lurk in order to have a safe decorating experience. The Commission of Christmas Decorating Safety (CCDS) has compiled this manual of rules and regulations to help the ordinary consumer follow safe Christmas decorating procedures.
Section A: Stockings
1. Stockings are not allowed to be hung from a mantel, radiator, bedpost or bookshelf. They must not weigh over 2 pounds 2.5 ounces when filled. The Department will ration exactly 2.5 lumps of coal to each household for each bread-winner to dispose of as they see fit. Each lump of coal weighs exactly 7 ounces.
2. Stockings must not be made from socks, shoes, nightcaps, long johns or any article of clothing that consumers habitually wear. It is dangerous to the public health.
3. There must be a regulation pamphlet by the milk and cookies that will direct Santa Claus to the stockings. He often forgets about them, and the Department will not be held responsible for any more lawsuits regarding this matter.
Section B: Presents
1. The Department has allotted 3 presents per person. Those who have more presents than the allotted amount must donate them to the Persons that Spread the Wealth Association (PSWA), where they will be distributed to those that are less fortunate.
2. Presents may not be wrapped using tape, ribbon, or scissors. These are serious safety hazards to the white panda bear, and anyone found using them will be prosecuted.
3. No wrapping paper may be used that is colored with snowmen, gingerbread men, reindeer or Santa Claus as these shapes are discriminatory against those racial groups.
Section C: The Tree
1. All Christmas trees must be over the height of 1.3 feet and under the height of 5.7 feet. This enables the maximum amount of people to help decorate the tree. Any tree smaller than 1.3 feet is a shrub. There is a considerable risk of injury/contagious disease/death from overbalancing when decorating any tree taller than 5.7 feet. Any trees that do not meet the height requirements will be towed away at owner's expense.
2. All ornaments must be made of artificial plastic. Wood, paper, fabrics, glass and metal are not allowed. There are to be no sparkles, glue or artificial substances of any kind attached to them. Such substances can be easily swallowed by small goldfish and are extremely dangerous to their health. Ornaments may not be hung on the top branches or the middle branches. If they are hung in the restricted areas they are an extreme risk for falling on small children's heads. No ornaments are to manufactured in the shapes of snowmen, gingerbread men, reindeer, or Santa Claus, as these shapes are discriminatory against those racial groups.
3. Christmas trees may not have lights. They could be mistaken for alien signals and the Department has issued strict orders against any communication with the outer worlds.
4. Absolutely NO tinsel may be used for decoration on the tree as it is very sharp. One gentlemen was taken to the emergency room last year because a piece had severed his foot. Blood poisoning spread and his entire leg had to be amputated. NO TINSEL!
This manual will be updated every 6 hours to comply with proper regulations.
*Statistics are fake. Please do not pay any attention to them as they are used merely for promotional purposes. Thank you!
November 22, 2011
Dish Therapy
June 12, 2011
Conversation Over Hot Dogs
Conversation this evening while my little brother was teaching me how to fry a hot dog.
11-yr-old Bro whispers to 13-yr-old Sis: "I'm teaching Betsey how to cook a hot dog. I can't believe she doesn't know how to do this!" Aside to me: "I'm gonna do this once for you now, so that you can know how to do it later, and won't have to ask me."
Pans rattle. Single hot dog squelches out of wrapper and into pan.
Bro: "Now, you always have to butter the pan, because otherwise, um, you know, it gets a little crazy."
A few minutes pass, then:
Bro: "Oh, wow, it's actually smoking. Guess I cooked it a little too much! Betsey, do you mind burnt hot dogs?"
Me: "No, I kinda like 'em. It gives them texture."
Bro: "Good, 'cause this one is definitely burnt."
So here I sit, eating my hot dog that's burnt on one side and raw on the other. Brothers are awesome.
11-yr-old Bro whispers to 13-yr-old Sis: "I'm teaching Betsey how to cook a hot dog. I can't believe she doesn't know how to do this!" Aside to me: "I'm gonna do this once for you now, so that you can know how to do it later, and won't have to ask me."
Pans rattle. Single hot dog squelches out of wrapper and into pan.
Bro: "Now, you always have to butter the pan, because otherwise, um, you know, it gets a little crazy."
A few minutes pass, then:
Bro: "Oh, wow, it's actually smoking. Guess I cooked it a little too much! Betsey, do you mind burnt hot dogs?"
Me: "No, I kinda like 'em. It gives them texture."
Bro: "Good, 'cause this one is definitely burnt."
So here I sit, eating my hot dog that's burnt on one side and raw on the other. Brothers are awesome.
May 9, 2011
Survival of the SAT
Scene 1: A Dark and Dreary Saturday Morning
The alarm blares at 6:05, and my hand gropes its way out of the blankets to shut it off. I roll out of bed, rubbing my eyes and grumbling under my breath. I am not an early morning person. The sun hasn't come up yet, and I'm too tired to turn on a light, so I dress in the dark. Rizzo whines, and I let him out the door. I stumble to the bathroom and flick the light switch, yawning as I pop my contacts in. After I brush my hair and take the shine off my nose, I head upstairs to eat.
Mom greets me with an equation: a triangle's area is 1/2 base times height. I nod, and bite into a muffin. As I sip my milk, she regales me with the fact that the area of a circle is pi times r squared, while the circumference is two times pi times r. Three number two pencils sit atop my admission ticket on the table, hugging my calculator. The calculator will be my greatest ally in math. The clock says 6:43, so I shove my shoes on and head out to the car, audible equations following me. As I turn the key I remember that "Mozart makes babies smarter"; why not me? so I run in and grab my Mozart Piano Concertos CD. If anything it'll relax me.
Scene 2: A Dark and Dreary Test Center
It was an hour drive, maybe a little more. Fortunately there was no traffic, except around the fallen tree on the city street. I found the test center after getting upset at Google Maps for saying it was the first right, instead of the third. I found a parking lot, and was unpleasantly surprised by the sight of meters in it (how many quarters for 4 hours?), and then pleasantly surprised by a little sign on the meter that said "Monday-Friday". Sweet, now instead of spending my entire worldly goods on a meter I might have enough for an ice cream later, if I survive. I notified my parents I had arrived, and walked through the door.
There was a green sign: "SAT Reasoning Test This Way", with an arrow that pointed straight to a man sitting at a desk. I stood in line, and waited my turn.
He got to me and barked "Name?"
"Elizabeth Karako."
He thumbed through his lists. "Start with a C?"
"K, please."
He found it, and made a check. "Room 434, take the elevator to the 4th floor and exit to the right. Haveaniceday." Was he being funny?
Scene 3: A Big and Scary Test
I found the room just as the man said. I opened the door and found myself confronting 23 pairs of eyes, at 23 desks. (Identified SAT test-takers, all in same boat.) The only pair of eyes that wasn't looking at me was messing with something at a podium. (Identified SAT test-proctor, may or may not be friendly. Exercise caution.) There was one table left, in the back corner, so I headed there as quietly and as quickly as possible. I shoved my provisions box and my purse under the desk, and sat down, breathing hard. It was as quiet as a hearse in there. I tried to breathe more quietly, and silently unpacked my pencils, calculator and admission ticket. Hmm, wonder why the guy downstairs didn't want this? I surveyed the room, and noticed one brave soul was wearing a Steelers jersey. Ah, a fellow fan. Thank goodness for some light in this dark place. Glancing down, I noticed that my provisions box was halfway out in the aisle, so I got up to fix it and promptly tripped over my own feet. I hit the floor with a thud to wake the dead, and 23 heads swiveled towards my direction. The proctor must have been deaf. Pretending I was unaware of 23 burning gazes, I nonchalantly picked up my box and sat down. Silence reigned for 2 minutes, then the proctor seemed to notice that the time was 7:43, two minutes before the start of testing.
"Has anyone here not checked in?"
A long arm clothed in black and gold stretched its full length and silently pointed at me. 22 heads swiveled my way, again. Mr. Steelers fan, you are no friend of mine.
"Have you checked in?"
"Um, not up here. Was I supposed to?"
"Yes dear, please bring your admission ticket to me."
I fumbled it off of the desk and walked the long road up to the podium.
"Your ID please?"
I turned around, trudged back and obtained my driver's license, then slogged the weary miles to the podium. 23 pairs of eyes followed me the whole long way. I swear that aisle was longer than going to the moon and back.
Formalities completed, I collected my paperwork and marched back to my seat. I collapsed in my chair and had just enough time to take three deep breaths when Mr. Proctor started his SAT speech.
As a result of that speech, I can't tell you any more of what happened that day, or I will be hunted down and arrested by the ETS. Suffice it to say, those were the worst 4 1/2 hours I have ever been through in my life, and I am being propped up by life-saving machines as we speak. But, I survived.
The alarm blares at 6:05, and my hand gropes its way out of the blankets to shut it off. I roll out of bed, rubbing my eyes and grumbling under my breath. I am not an early morning person. The sun hasn't come up yet, and I'm too tired to turn on a light, so I dress in the dark. Rizzo whines, and I let him out the door. I stumble to the bathroom and flick the light switch, yawning as I pop my contacts in. After I brush my hair and take the shine off my nose, I head upstairs to eat.
Mom greets me with an equation: a triangle's area is 1/2 base times height. I nod, and bite into a muffin. As I sip my milk, she regales me with the fact that the area of a circle is pi times r squared, while the circumference is two times pi times r. Three number two pencils sit atop my admission ticket on the table, hugging my calculator. The calculator will be my greatest ally in math. The clock says 6:43, so I shove my shoes on and head out to the car, audible equations following me. As I turn the key I remember that "Mozart makes babies smarter"; why not me? so I run in and grab my Mozart Piano Concertos CD. If anything it'll relax me.
Scene 2: A Dark and Dreary Test Center
It was an hour drive, maybe a little more. Fortunately there was no traffic, except around the fallen tree on the city street. I found the test center after getting upset at Google Maps for saying it was the first right, instead of the third. I found a parking lot, and was unpleasantly surprised by the sight of meters in it (how many quarters for 4 hours?), and then pleasantly surprised by a little sign on the meter that said "Monday-Friday". Sweet, now instead of spending my entire worldly goods on a meter I might have enough for an ice cream later, if I survive. I notified my parents I had arrived, and walked through the door.
There was a green sign: "SAT Reasoning Test This Way", with an arrow that pointed straight to a man sitting at a desk. I stood in line, and waited my turn.
He got to me and barked "Name?"
"Elizabeth Karako."
He thumbed through his lists. "Start with a C?"
"K, please."
He found it, and made a check. "Room 434, take the elevator to the 4th floor and exit to the right. Haveaniceday." Was he being funny?
Scene 3: A Big and Scary Test
I found the room just as the man said. I opened the door and found myself confronting 23 pairs of eyes, at 23 desks. (Identified SAT test-takers, all in same boat.) The only pair of eyes that wasn't looking at me was messing with something at a podium. (Identified SAT test-proctor, may or may not be friendly. Exercise caution.) There was one table left, in the back corner, so I headed there as quietly and as quickly as possible. I shoved my provisions box and my purse under the desk, and sat down, breathing hard. It was as quiet as a hearse in there. I tried to breathe more quietly, and silently unpacked my pencils, calculator and admission ticket. Hmm, wonder why the guy downstairs didn't want this? I surveyed the room, and noticed one brave soul was wearing a Steelers jersey. Ah, a fellow fan. Thank goodness for some light in this dark place. Glancing down, I noticed that my provisions box was halfway out in the aisle, so I got up to fix it and promptly tripped over my own feet. I hit the floor with a thud to wake the dead, and 23 heads swiveled towards my direction. The proctor must have been deaf. Pretending I was unaware of 23 burning gazes, I nonchalantly picked up my box and sat down. Silence reigned for 2 minutes, then the proctor seemed to notice that the time was 7:43, two minutes before the start of testing.
"Has anyone here not checked in?"
A long arm clothed in black and gold stretched its full length and silently pointed at me. 22 heads swiveled my way, again. Mr. Steelers fan, you are no friend of mine.
"Have you checked in?"
"Um, not up here. Was I supposed to?"
"Yes dear, please bring your admission ticket to me."
I fumbled it off of the desk and walked the long road up to the podium.
"Your ID please?"
I turned around, trudged back and obtained my driver's license, then slogged the weary miles to the podium. 23 pairs of eyes followed me the whole long way. I swear that aisle was longer than going to the moon and back.
Formalities completed, I collected my paperwork and marched back to my seat. I collapsed in my chair and had just enough time to take three deep breaths when Mr. Proctor started his SAT speech.
As a result of that speech, I can't tell you any more of what happened that day, or I will be hunted down and arrested by the ETS. Suffice it to say, those were the worst 4 1/2 hours I have ever been through in my life, and I am being propped up by life-saving machines as we speak. But, I survived.
January 3, 2011
Christmas Card
Ah, the Christmas Card. That special time of year when the entire family gets together to document yet another passing year. It's a time filled with love and peace, hope and gentleness; special family moments created together. There is complete cooperation--from the oldest granny to the smallest baby. No tears, bunny ears, or bruises are ever present, and no voices are raised. Everything is accomplished quickly and everyone looks lovely, leaving a beautiful photograph that will be cherished forever.
Yeah, right!
View of the dog's rear, BB gun "accidentally" fired (although whether it was even supposed to be loaded was in question), demanded bathroom breaks, wardrobe malfunctions, "I'm so cooooold!!", "How come she gets to do that, I want to!" punching (yes it happens, *sigh*), not enough time before the self-timer dings, too much time before the timer dings, blah blah blah blah blah. What's a photographer to do???
Final product--shot 537. Whooosh. :-)
October 7, 2010
Tale of a Broken E String
It all started on Sunday night. The air was cool and crisp, the sun was bright, and there was a faint breeze. Happy tourists roamed the streets of downtown Branson looking for frivolous nothings to spend money on. In short, it was a very pleasant fall evening. Thus, no one had an inkling of what was to come. *play scary music*
The 'rents had dropped me off in front of Dick's Five and Dime to do my stuff for an hour before church. I was really looking forward to playing on such a gorgeous evening, and getting paid for it! So I opened my case, threw some "seed money" in, and got to it. Before long I was attracting smiles and dollars. It was all going swimmingly until I heard a small put. What on earth is a put, you may ask? Well, the exact nature of this put cannot be exactly described, unless one happened to be standing right there when it happened. Suffice it to say it was a definite put. I thought nothing of it until my bow crossed strings to play on the E, and instead of an E, there came out a B flat! (Right now you may be thinking that I have excellent ears to be able to tell so exactly the different notes, but in order not to spread falsehoods, I shall now confess: I used my handy little tuner. So now you know the whole truth you may go back to reading the saga.) Supressing an expression of extreme distaste, I put my violin down and proceeded to tune it back up. But, as I was twisting the peg to turn the B flat into an E, the string broke! And there was no doubt about it either, it was definitely and completely broken. So I packed up.
Fast forward to Monday afternoon. Dad had driven me up to Springfield for symphony practice, and I asked him to take me up early so I could get a new E string from Hoover Music. No problem, since he and John could also seize the moment and go drool over guitars. So I walked in the door, and up to the string counter where I see perfect strangers. Normally this wouldn't be a problem, except that I had never seen any strangers at Hoover. Every other time I've walked in, it's always been the same people there. Well, talking to strange customer service people is a hurdle that must be crossed, so I swallowed and asked for a Pirastro E string. "Full size?" one of the strange men asked, and I answered "Yes, please." So far, so good. I perched my violin on the counter, and waited. It seemed to be taking a rather long time, and the man had another man helping him. What's all this? I wondered.
Finally, the man approached me and inquired, "So, uh, what type of Pirastro do you want?"
I stared at him speechlessly, thoughts swirling around in my head. What type? There are types? It's an E string, for crying out loud! He must be trying to trick me, although I don't know why, since I'm here to buy something. Maybe he's an evil genius trying to trap helpless young violinists into, uh, into something, I'm sure. "Gee, I don't know," I said finally, "uh, the package had gold lettering on it, does that help?"
The man went back and thumbed through the packages again with his helper.
Finally the evil accomplice came up to me waving no less than three packages with gold lettering. "Is it any of these?"
I gazed helplessly, searching my brain for some kind of recognition. None came. "I honestly can't remember," I said. "My last one was a Dominant, but my teacher wanted a Pirastro this time...." my voice trailed off.
Mr. Evil Genius asked me if I remembered the wrapping on the string itself. I shrugged helplessly. There was an awkward silence.
"It was green," my Daddy interjected suddenly, "it was green."
The evil accomplice asserted that that would be the Pirastro Olive. Sure, I guess I'll take it. I mean, it's just an E string, right? Oh, and can you please put it on for me?
"Sure, now would you like it wrapped around, or just hooked through?"
For the second time, my jaw opened and closed speechlessly. "Whatever you feel like doing," I finally blurt out.
"All right, but in order to do that I'll need the violin out of the case."
"Ohh, right. I guess that would help."
Both Mr. Evil Genius and his evil accomplice smile, and then evil accomplice threads my string. He tunes it, then I pack up and make my escape.
So, yup. There is the tale of the broken E string. Enjoy your day! :-)
The 'rents had dropped me off in front of Dick's Five and Dime to do my stuff for an hour before church. I was really looking forward to playing on such a gorgeous evening, and getting paid for it! So I opened my case, threw some "seed money" in, and got to it. Before long I was attracting smiles and dollars. It was all going swimmingly until I heard a small put. What on earth is a put, you may ask? Well, the exact nature of this put cannot be exactly described, unless one happened to be standing right there when it happened. Suffice it to say it was a definite put. I thought nothing of it until my bow crossed strings to play on the E, and instead of an E, there came out a B flat! (Right now you may be thinking that I have excellent ears to be able to tell so exactly the different notes, but in order not to spread falsehoods, I shall now confess: I used my handy little tuner. So now you know the whole truth you may go back to reading the saga.) Supressing an expression of extreme distaste, I put my violin down and proceeded to tune it back up. But, as I was twisting the peg to turn the B flat into an E, the string broke! And there was no doubt about it either, it was definitely and completely broken. So I packed up.
Fast forward to Monday afternoon. Dad had driven me up to Springfield for symphony practice, and I asked him to take me up early so I could get a new E string from Hoover Music. No problem, since he and John could also seize the moment and go drool over guitars. So I walked in the door, and up to the string counter where I see perfect strangers. Normally this wouldn't be a problem, except that I had never seen any strangers at Hoover. Every other time I've walked in, it's always been the same people there. Well, talking to strange customer service people is a hurdle that must be crossed, so I swallowed and asked for a Pirastro E string. "Full size?" one of the strange men asked, and I answered "Yes, please." So far, so good. I perched my violin on the counter, and waited. It seemed to be taking a rather long time, and the man had another man helping him. What's all this? I wondered.
Finally, the man approached me and inquired, "So, uh, what type of Pirastro do you want?"
I stared at him speechlessly, thoughts swirling around in my head. What type? There are types? It's an E string, for crying out loud! He must be trying to trick me, although I don't know why, since I'm here to buy something. Maybe he's an evil genius trying to trap helpless young violinists into, uh, into something, I'm sure. "Gee, I don't know," I said finally, "uh, the package had gold lettering on it, does that help?"
The man went back and thumbed through the packages again with his helper.
Finally the evil accomplice came up to me waving no less than three packages with gold lettering. "Is it any of these?"
I gazed helplessly, searching my brain for some kind of recognition. None came. "I honestly can't remember," I said. "My last one was a Dominant, but my teacher wanted a Pirastro this time...." my voice trailed off.
Mr. Evil Genius asked me if I remembered the wrapping on the string itself. I shrugged helplessly. There was an awkward silence.
"It was green," my Daddy interjected suddenly, "it was green."
The evil accomplice asserted that that would be the Pirastro Olive. Sure, I guess I'll take it. I mean, it's just an E string, right? Oh, and can you please put it on for me?
"Sure, now would you like it wrapped around, or just hooked through?"
For the second time, my jaw opened and closed speechlessly. "Whatever you feel like doing," I finally blurt out.
"All right, but in order to do that I'll need the violin out of the case."
"Ohh, right. I guess that would help."
Both Mr. Evil Genius and his evil accomplice smile, and then evil accomplice threads my string. He tunes it, then I pack up and make my escape.
So, yup. There is the tale of the broken E string. Enjoy your day! :-)
August 21, 2010
Phone!!
The latest back-to-school accessory: the cell phone. Teens of all ages are picking one up as they head off to serious academic studies. With features such as a 1.3 mp camera, 3G web browser, and full text messaging capabilites, this accessory has everything one needs for a successful school year. Some packages even include a small combination safe for protection against younger siblings. No stylish teen will be without one this coming fall.
Kudos to my little bro John for taking the photos without chopping my head off. :-)
July 24, 2010
Summer
Crickets. Icy popsicles sliding down the back of one's throat. Heat. Running around in bare feet on the sweet, green grass after dark. Sunshine. Brightly-colored swimsuits hanging over the deck rail to dry. Juicy hot dogs in soft buns drizzled with ketchup and mustard (how burnt the dogs are depends on who's cooking, over here). All of these things say summer. Below are some fun things we enjoy during summer......
1) TP Dad's study
We did this one day while he and Mom were out grocery shopping. I hung loops from the ceiling, while the others strung it all over his radios and bookshelves. As a finishing touch Britt hung a sign that said "Beware" right in front of the door. It was marvelous, and turned out beautifully. :-)
2) Have water fights with hoses
Lately as a relief from the heat, we've taken to going outside after lunch and having water battles. Everyone puts on swimsuits, (and if we're really into it we'll put on goggles) and form sides. Usually it's Britt and John against Suzy, Chrissy, and I. Each team gets a hose that is attached to a spigot and two or three buckets. The larger team gets the handicap of the short hose with bad water pressure, while the smaller team gets the long hose with the super-strong spray nozzle. The hoses are on opposite sides of the driveway, with the trucks forming nice "cover". Then the battle is on!! Everyone has loads of fun squirting hoses and dumping water buckets over heads. The water from the hoses is nice, cold well-water, so you really cool down. Sometimes we'll be really sneaky and sabotage the other team's water supply.
3) Read
Every afternoon we have naptime, or siesta hour, or quiet time, or whatever you like to call it. Everyone picks out books of their choice, lies down on their beds, and reads for an hour or two. Sometimes they'll even fall asleep! Favorite reads this summer: The Happy Hollisters (Suzers), Tom Swift (John), Hank the Cowdog (Britt), Little Women (Chrissy), and MurderIntheClosetWithaKnife (me).
4) Form a broomstick band in the living room
If we're really wild, we'll put in our favorite CD and turn up the volume. Broomsticks and our small stools are used for stand microphones and guitars, while the side tables are pushed together for a drum set. Then we'll have our lead singer, chorus line, and the ever-popular silent, but dancing, drummer. Or we'll have competitions, to see who can rock it up the silliest. It usually lasts for about an hour, until all our energy is spent. Then we have to expend more energy to clean up!
5) Make a river
In past summmers we've dug rivers on the backyard hill. It consists of a small trough, about a foot wide that runs down the hill, ending in a large, shallow pool at the bottom. Then we place the hose at the top, and watch the water course down. Some rivers have been super elaborate, with tiny waterfalls, tunnels, turns, pebble pools, and obstructions. Then we race acorns down, or stage desperate survival attempts with same acorns. The ones that don't make it are thrown into the woods as being too puny. One year we were determined to dig a pool at the end deep enough to wade in, until Mom caught us digging by the propane tank and put a stop to it.
6) Cover as much of the house as possible with huge tents
We'll raid the linen closet for blankets and sheets, take all the available seating, and use all the available floor space to build tents. Our design has evolved through the years, starting with the unreliable use-heavy-blankets-to-make-it-as-dark-as-possible model held together with safety pins, to the present streamlined use-light-sheets-with-ceilings-high-enough-to-kneel-in model that involves strategic use of flat surfaces and weights. Every person has their own apartment and business building, completely furnished. The best ones have "electricity" which basically uses small lamps with long extension cords. They will stay up for as many as 3 days while we sleep in them, until Mom declares that she cannot live with her house like this any longer and will we please put it all away before she has a nervous breakdown.
Five children in a house with lots of odds and ends can usually come up with a lot to do. As long as we clean up afterwards, in the summertime we can pretty much do whatever. The school year, however, is a different story. :-)
1) TP Dad's study
We did this one day while he and Mom were out grocery shopping. I hung loops from the ceiling, while the others strung it all over his radios and bookshelves. As a finishing touch Britt hung a sign that said "Beware" right in front of the door. It was marvelous, and turned out beautifully. :-)
2) Have water fights with hoses
Lately as a relief from the heat, we've taken to going outside after lunch and having water battles. Everyone puts on swimsuits, (and if we're really into it we'll put on goggles) and form sides. Usually it's Britt and John against Suzy, Chrissy, and I. Each team gets a hose that is attached to a spigot and two or three buckets. The larger team gets the handicap of the short hose with bad water pressure, while the smaller team gets the long hose with the super-strong spray nozzle. The hoses are on opposite sides of the driveway, with the trucks forming nice "cover". Then the battle is on!! Everyone has loads of fun squirting hoses and dumping water buckets over heads. The water from the hoses is nice, cold well-water, so you really cool down. Sometimes we'll be really sneaky and sabotage the other team's water supply.
3) Read
Every afternoon we have naptime, or siesta hour, or quiet time, or whatever you like to call it. Everyone picks out books of their choice, lies down on their beds, and reads for an hour or two. Sometimes they'll even fall asleep! Favorite reads this summer: The Happy Hollisters (Suzers), Tom Swift (John), Hank the Cowdog (Britt), Little Women (Chrissy), and MurderIntheClosetWithaKnife (me).
4) Form a broomstick band in the living room
If we're really wild, we'll put in our favorite CD and turn up the volume. Broomsticks and our small stools are used for stand microphones and guitars, while the side tables are pushed together for a drum set. Then we'll have our lead singer, chorus line, and the ever-popular silent, but dancing, drummer. Or we'll have competitions, to see who can rock it up the silliest. It usually lasts for about an hour, until all our energy is spent. Then we have to expend more energy to clean up!
5) Make a river
In past summmers we've dug rivers on the backyard hill. It consists of a small trough, about a foot wide that runs down the hill, ending in a large, shallow pool at the bottom. Then we place the hose at the top, and watch the water course down. Some rivers have been super elaborate, with tiny waterfalls, tunnels, turns, pebble pools, and obstructions. Then we race acorns down, or stage desperate survival attempts with same acorns. The ones that don't make it are thrown into the woods as being too puny. One year we were determined to dig a pool at the end deep enough to wade in, until Mom caught us digging by the propane tank and put a stop to it.
6) Cover as much of the house as possible with huge tents
We'll raid the linen closet for blankets and sheets, take all the available seating, and use all the available floor space to build tents. Our design has evolved through the years, starting with the unreliable use-heavy-blankets-to-make-it-as-dark-as-possible model held together with safety pins, to the present streamlined use-light-sheets-with-ceilings-high-enough-to-kneel-in model that involves strategic use of flat surfaces and weights. Every person has their own apartment and business building, completely furnished. The best ones have "electricity" which basically uses small lamps with long extension cords. They will stay up for as many as 3 days while we sleep in them, until Mom declares that she cannot live with her house like this any longer and will we please put it all away before she has a nervous breakdown.
Five children in a house with lots of odds and ends can usually come up with a lot to do. As long as we clean up afterwards, in the summertime we can pretty much do whatever. The school year, however, is a different story. :-)
January 1, 2010
Adventure with Contacts
"So, young lady, how are you with sticking stuff into your eyes?" asked the doctor.
"Uuuuuum, I'm not really sure," I answered nervously.
"Well, I think you're gonna love them." He ushered me into a tiny room, more of a closet really, and pointed to the sink in the corner.
"Wash your hands."
While I busily swished and scrubbed, lathered and rinsed, he pulled down flat trays, thumbing through little blue-and-white packages. Apparently what he was looking for was there, for he tossed two little blue-and-white packages on the counter.
"Here you are, and the ladies will be right in to help you with those," the doctor said.
After pointing me to a chair, he left the room/closet while I pulled out miles and miles of white paper towels--not real ones, just those cheap, thin excuses for paper towels--to dry my hands. I had disposed of the excuses for paper towels, and seated myself in the chair, when a lady in a white lab coat walked through the door.
After the usual pleasantries, formalities, and how-do-ye-dos, we settled down to business. She pulled up a magnifying mirror, and I took one look.
I am supposed to stare into that thing while I put contacts in? I thought. You've got to be kidding. I can see all the way up my nose! I am going to die.As it turns out, I wasn't going to die. Not yet, anyway. The lady told me to open my little blue-and-white packages. There was a little white arrow in a corner of each, which obviously meant to pull the wrapper up there. I pulled, and it wouldn't open. So I stuck my nail under the wrapper, and it still wouldn't open. Not because of the wrapper, but because of my violinist nail, which is really not a nail at all. (If that makes any sense at all.) Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, I was able to open up the package, and was staring down into a little tub of water with what seemed like the top of a jellyfish inside. The lady told me to take off my glasses, and I obeyed. Then she told me to take out the little top-of-a-jellyfish-that-was-really-a-contact and place it on the tip of my finger.
"What contact?" I asked.
"It's right in there, can't you see it?"
"No," I said.
The lady then told me to put my glasses on, take the contact and place it on the tip of my finger. I put my glasses on, so far so good. I then tried to take the contact out of the solution and place it on the tip of my finger. No go. Mr. Contact wanted to stay in the solution, and when I got him out, he wanted to stay plastered to my finger, and not raise up in a nice little bowl. Or he wanted to pretend he was a flying saucer and tilt lopsidedly all over my finger. I finally ended up giving Mr. Contact a nice little talking to, and then he settled down.
Then the lady told me to take my fingers, pull my top eyelid up, take my other hand and pull my bottom eyelid down, and place the contact in my eye, creating a gruesome spectacle.
My goodness, I thought, I've got to make myself look like that and do all those things at the same time? Oh well, the price of beauty, I guess...
So, for the price of beauty, I endeavored to make myself look like that and do all those things at the same time. And, guess what, it did not work. Big surprise! I mean, who on earth expects a person to make themselves look like that and do all those things at the same time on the first try? Absolutely no one. Except, of course, perfectionists. Who are really disillusioned people. But that's getting off subject.
So I tried again. And a third time. And a fourth. And a fifth, and a sixth, and a seventh, and an eighth, and a ninth, and so on. After about the fifteenth try, the lady suggested I try the other eye. So I did that for about twenty tries, and then switched eyes again. During this time I had received lots of helpful advice from the lady, my mom, and the eye doctor. I had also received a couple of "whoa, you look wierd"'s from my middle sister. Not to mention I had used up about fifty tissues in dabbing at my tearing eyes and running nose. I had also sprinkled about five gallons worth of contact solution all over the table, and on my face. But I was not going to give up. We Karakos may be a sinful lot, in fact we ARE a sinful lot, but we are not quitters. So I kept pulling, and poking, and blinking, and rubbing, and finally I managed to pop one contact in my eye.
"Whoa," I exclaimed. "I can SEE!!"
"All right," said the lady, "See, that wasn't so bad. Now we just have to get the other one in."
Being able to see a little bit, even if it is only out of one eye, helped a lot. I got the second contact in after about fifteen tries! New record! Fireworks, confetti, skywriting, parades, and general happiness prevailed. I was ecstatic. I could see EVERYTHING!! There was no line around my vision that dictated the boundaries of my sight. There was just clearness everywhere. I mean, sure it felt like I had flexible frisbees in my eyes, and the world was focussing like a stuck record, but I could see. That is the main point of this whole story. It's like, DUH, if I can't see, it's end of story. In fact, there would be no story.
In the midst of my celebration, I heard this voice penetrate the mists of happiness:
"Now, we just have to see you take them out."
"I'm sorry, I think I heard you incorrectly. Did you just say I had to take these OUT???"
"Mm-hm."
"But, but, but, but, but, I just worked so HARD," I wailed.
I was informed that I would still have to take them out, so it was no use pretending I was a broken boat motor. So, with a sigh, I sat back down and prepared to undo all my hard work.
And, staying with the usual trend of this story, it took about forty tries on each eye before I was able to pluck a contact out. I had received advice from everyone listed above, with the addition of a new lady, and a couple more "whoa you look wierd"s. And then I had to put it back in, so I could at least walk home without tripping over the floor. Fortunately I succeeded after about three tries that time. After I had collected my little bottle of solution, my purse, my former eyes, and all my various paraphenalia, I staggered out of the door, and into the great big world. For the first time in 10 years, I was walking in public without my glasses on, and able to see. So, doing what any normal person would do who had been unable to wear them for ten years, I headed straight for the sunglasses department. I picked out a pair of big, white, sparkly sunglasses without looking at the price tag, and bought them. Then I strutted out of the store, a new person.
And so, dear readers, the moral of my story is that if at first you don't succeed, try try again. And always remember that no matter how much it may seem to the contrary, YOU are the boss of your contacts.
The End
Note: This event occured in early August.
"Uuuuuum, I'm not really sure," I answered nervously.
"Well, I think you're gonna love them." He ushered me into a tiny room, more of a closet really, and pointed to the sink in the corner.
"Wash your hands."
While I busily swished and scrubbed, lathered and rinsed, he pulled down flat trays, thumbing through little blue-and-white packages. Apparently what he was looking for was there, for he tossed two little blue-and-white packages on the counter.
"Here you are, and the ladies will be right in to help you with those," the doctor said.
After pointing me to a chair, he left the room/closet while I pulled out miles and miles of white paper towels--not real ones, just those cheap, thin excuses for paper towels--to dry my hands. I had disposed of the excuses for paper towels, and seated myself in the chair, when a lady in a white lab coat walked through the door.
After the usual pleasantries, formalities, and how-do-ye-dos, we settled down to business. She pulled up a magnifying mirror, and I took one look.
I am supposed to stare into that thing while I put contacts in? I thought. You've got to be kidding. I can see all the way up my nose! I am going to die.As it turns out, I wasn't going to die. Not yet, anyway. The lady told me to open my little blue-and-white packages. There was a little white arrow in a corner of each, which obviously meant to pull the wrapper up there. I pulled, and it wouldn't open. So I stuck my nail under the wrapper, and it still wouldn't open. Not because of the wrapper, but because of my violinist nail, which is really not a nail at all. (If that makes any sense at all.) Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, I was able to open up the package, and was staring down into a little tub of water with what seemed like the top of a jellyfish inside. The lady told me to take off my glasses, and I obeyed. Then she told me to take out the little top-of-a-jellyfish-that-was-really-a-contact and place it on the tip of my finger.
"What contact?" I asked.
"It's right in there, can't you see it?"
"No," I said.
The lady then told me to put my glasses on, take the contact and place it on the tip of my finger. I put my glasses on, so far so good. I then tried to take the contact out of the solution and place it on the tip of my finger. No go. Mr. Contact wanted to stay in the solution, and when I got him out, he wanted to stay plastered to my finger, and not raise up in a nice little bowl. Or he wanted to pretend he was a flying saucer and tilt lopsidedly all over my finger. I finally ended up giving Mr. Contact a nice little talking to, and then he settled down.
Then the lady told me to take my fingers, pull my top eyelid up, take my other hand and pull my bottom eyelid down, and place the contact in my eye, creating a gruesome spectacle.
My goodness, I thought, I've got to make myself look like that and do all those things at the same time? Oh well, the price of beauty, I guess...
So, for the price of beauty, I endeavored to make myself look like that and do all those things at the same time. And, guess what, it did not work. Big surprise! I mean, who on earth expects a person to make themselves look like that and do all those things at the same time on the first try? Absolutely no one. Except, of course, perfectionists. Who are really disillusioned people. But that's getting off subject.
So I tried again. And a third time. And a fourth. And a fifth, and a sixth, and a seventh, and an eighth, and a ninth, and so on. After about the fifteenth try, the lady suggested I try the other eye. So I did that for about twenty tries, and then switched eyes again. During this time I had received lots of helpful advice from the lady, my mom, and the eye doctor. I had also received a couple of "whoa, you look wierd"'s from my middle sister. Not to mention I had used up about fifty tissues in dabbing at my tearing eyes and running nose. I had also sprinkled about five gallons worth of contact solution all over the table, and on my face. But I was not going to give up. We Karakos may be a sinful lot, in fact we ARE a sinful lot, but we are not quitters. So I kept pulling, and poking, and blinking, and rubbing, and finally I managed to pop one contact in my eye.
"Whoa," I exclaimed. "I can SEE!!"
"All right," said the lady, "See, that wasn't so bad. Now we just have to get the other one in."
Being able to see a little bit, even if it is only out of one eye, helped a lot. I got the second contact in after about fifteen tries! New record! Fireworks, confetti, skywriting, parades, and general happiness prevailed. I was ecstatic. I could see EVERYTHING!! There was no line around my vision that dictated the boundaries of my sight. There was just clearness everywhere. I mean, sure it felt like I had flexible frisbees in my eyes, and the world was focussing like a stuck record, but I could see. That is the main point of this whole story. It's like, DUH, if I can't see, it's end of story. In fact, there would be no story.
In the midst of my celebration, I heard this voice penetrate the mists of happiness:
"Now, we just have to see you take them out."
"I'm sorry, I think I heard you incorrectly. Did you just say I had to take these OUT???"
"Mm-hm."
"But, but, but, but, but, I just worked so HARD," I wailed.
I was informed that I would still have to take them out, so it was no use pretending I was a broken boat motor. So, with a sigh, I sat back down and prepared to undo all my hard work.
And, staying with the usual trend of this story, it took about forty tries on each eye before I was able to pluck a contact out. I had received advice from everyone listed above, with the addition of a new lady, and a couple more "whoa you look wierd"s. And then I had to put it back in, so I could at least walk home without tripping over the floor. Fortunately I succeeded after about three tries that time. After I had collected my little bottle of solution, my purse, my former eyes, and all my various paraphenalia, I staggered out of the door, and into the great big world. For the first time in 10 years, I was walking in public without my glasses on, and able to see. So, doing what any normal person would do who had been unable to wear them for ten years, I headed straight for the sunglasses department. I picked out a pair of big, white, sparkly sunglasses without looking at the price tag, and bought them. Then I strutted out of the store, a new person.
And so, dear readers, the moral of my story is that if at first you don't succeed, try try again. And always remember that no matter how much it may seem to the contrary, YOU are the boss of your contacts.
The End
Note: This event occured in early August.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)