Fifty Dollars in an Envelope
Apr. 7th, 2006 01:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bliumchikToday was my very first singing performance on a stage in front of, you know, people. Old people, as a matter of fact. It was the annual Local Women's Day concert, which is never actually held on Women's Day unless it falls on a Friday.
I was going to skip school entirely (legitimately - dad wrote a note!) but I didn't want to miss our triple-lesson drama rehearsal for Running Up a Dress. I arrived at school at eight in the fucking morning (and before Ms Surbey I might add). The drama class (minus Zoe, Poppy and Ev, who weren't in that scene and/or had orchestra, and Liv, who was habitually late - they all turned up when school actually started) was sitting around chatting. Shortly after the arrival of Ms S, we went and got hot water from the staff common room for tea, coffee and milo. Some of us (coughme) hadn't brought mugs, so we borrowed glasses from the cupboards.
Do you have any idea how difficult it is to drink tea from a glass? For one thing, the spoons weren't long enough, so I had to stir my sugar with the other end of a knife. Also, glass gets very, very hot. Thus I carried my spoils back to the hall using a tea-towel, which sort of ruined the decadent-romantic-poet look I almost had going with my unorthodox tea-drinking habits and my funny hat. By the way, never drink the milk in the staff common room. Trust me. It's suspicious. And by suspicious I mean manky. But also just plain suspicious. It supports my theory that the teachers are actually alien robots in disguise - THE MILK IS JUST A PROP!1!!!
Ahem. Anyway, it was a productive rehearsal, I am once again astounded by the contents of the Back Room, and Ms S is going to teach Zoe how to iron a shirt, since her current stage-ironing attempts involve standing at the wrong end of the "ironing board" (trolley) and prodding it industriously. Poppy and Ev are strangely synchronised. Twice during the one scene they spontaneously performed symmetrical movements on no communication whatsoever. Maybe they are alien robot zombies too?! *shifty eyes*
Assembly stretched into recess, and 131500.com informed me that I was so late I ought to have bunny ears and a gold pocket watch, so I rushed around like a madwoman to buy lunch, get my leetle leave-early slip, put my excess baggage into my locker, go to the toilet, find out whether or not the Japanesefoodeatingyum was actually happening in Modern History, and get to the bus stop on time. I changed into my jeans on said bus (without removing my stockings, because that would involve flashing everyone), and applied nail polish, which I notice has all worn off my right hand already thanks to those damned steel strings.
As it turned out, I got there early and without mishap. The place was easily recognisable by the gaggles of old ladies in lawn chairs. The stage was a pokey little barn-door set-up, although the speakers were pretty good. I had time to finish changing in the bathroom, and upon exiting same was informed that I was up after the Spanish Group. Oooh, nice, I thought. They've brought in some of thos epeople with the red and black skirts and the clappy things.
But no. The Spanish Group consisted of about seven ladies in their 60s (on average), apparantly wearing whatever they could find in their wardrobes that was red, flowery or had ruffles. The music started. It was the Macarena. Now, at this point I asked myself, say, is not the Macarena Italian? I asked this pressing question of Carla too. She raised an eyebrow and considered the conundrum. "Yeah." she finally said. The next song was in fact spanish. And the dancers reminded me quite a lot of a five-yearold girl who goes to preschool with my brother - her style of dancing is to shuffle her feet, holding onto her skirts and swinging them around, and skip in a circle. I wondered if the Spanish group had been kindapped by ALIENS and replaced by ROBOTS!!! Eventually I worked out that they weren't actually called the Spanish group because they were learning to dance Latin dances. They were actually a group that was learning the Spanish language, and their performance was more or less the equivalent of our Languagte Festival, where we dig up anything vaguely related to the country whose language we are learning and wave it around in the air going "Look! Look! Croissants!"
My own performance was tolerable - I only lost the thread of a song once, and my voice seemed okay. I may have wobbled a bit because I honestly couldn't tell whether or not I was singing into the microphone. No feedback, you see. But the girls at the Shack's stall told me later that they could hear me, so apparently I was. Afterwards the woman in charge came up and handed me an envelope, which to my surprise contained a fifty dollar note, and also a leetle thank you card. I'd sort of forgotten about that bit. Carla claimed that her first performance was paid for with a lollipop. Well, she was eleven. I want a T-shirt that says "Will play guitar for candy". That would be cool.
I was going to go back to school, but there wouldn't have been that much time left, and I honestly couldn't be bothered. So Carla gave me a lift home. Turns out she lives just around the block. Her car has a little kilometre-counter thing like taxis have. Apparantly if she drives somewhere for her job she can switch it on and get reimbursed by 50 cents per kilometre.
I got home in glee at my very first singing paycheck, and promptly stepped on a slightly dead mouse. Eee, says I. Miaow! Says my kitty, proudly. My attempts at CPR were in vain, she seems to ahve broken its neck. So I buried it in the backyard. I'm reminded of the joke: "Waiter, what's this dead mouse doing in my soup?" "Not a lot, sir."
PS everybody this meme is still open - numbers 10 and 14 aren't doing anything yet!
I was going to skip school entirely (legitimately - dad wrote a note!) but I didn't want to miss our triple-lesson drama rehearsal for Running Up a Dress. I arrived at school at eight in the fucking morning (and before Ms Surbey I might add). The drama class (minus Zoe, Poppy and Ev, who weren't in that scene and/or had orchestra, and Liv, who was habitually late - they all turned up when school actually started) was sitting around chatting. Shortly after the arrival of Ms S, we went and got hot water from the staff common room for tea, coffee and milo. Some of us (coughme) hadn't brought mugs, so we borrowed glasses from the cupboards.
Do you have any idea how difficult it is to drink tea from a glass? For one thing, the spoons weren't long enough, so I had to stir my sugar with the other end of a knife. Also, glass gets very, very hot. Thus I carried my spoils back to the hall using a tea-towel, which sort of ruined the decadent-romantic-poet look I almost had going with my unorthodox tea-drinking habits and my funny hat. By the way, never drink the milk in the staff common room. Trust me. It's suspicious. And by suspicious I mean manky. But also just plain suspicious. It supports my theory that the teachers are actually alien robots in disguise - THE MILK IS JUST A PROP!1!!!
Ahem. Anyway, it was a productive rehearsal, I am once again astounded by the contents of the Back Room, and Ms S is going to teach Zoe how to iron a shirt, since her current stage-ironing attempts involve standing at the wrong end of the "ironing board" (trolley) and prodding it industriously. Poppy and Ev are strangely synchronised. Twice during the one scene they spontaneously performed symmetrical movements on no communication whatsoever. Maybe they are alien robot zombies too?! *shifty eyes*
Assembly stretched into recess, and 131500.com informed me that I was so late I ought to have bunny ears and a gold pocket watch, so I rushed around like a madwoman to buy lunch, get my leetle leave-early slip, put my excess baggage into my locker, go to the toilet, find out whether or not the Japanesefoodeatingyum was actually happening in Modern History, and get to the bus stop on time. I changed into my jeans on said bus (without removing my stockings, because that would involve flashing everyone), and applied nail polish, which I notice has all worn off my right hand already thanks to those damned steel strings.
As it turned out, I got there early and without mishap. The place was easily recognisable by the gaggles of old ladies in lawn chairs. The stage was a pokey little barn-door set-up, although the speakers were pretty good. I had time to finish changing in the bathroom, and upon exiting same was informed that I was up after the Spanish Group. Oooh, nice, I thought. They've brought in some of thos epeople with the red and black skirts and the clappy things.
But no. The Spanish Group consisted of about seven ladies in their 60s (on average), apparantly wearing whatever they could find in their wardrobes that was red, flowery or had ruffles. The music started. It was the Macarena. Now, at this point I asked myself, say, is not the Macarena Italian? I asked this pressing question of Carla too. She raised an eyebrow and considered the conundrum. "Yeah." she finally said. The next song was in fact spanish. And the dancers reminded me quite a lot of a five-yearold girl who goes to preschool with my brother - her style of dancing is to shuffle her feet, holding onto her skirts and swinging them around, and skip in a circle. I wondered if the Spanish group had been kindapped by ALIENS and replaced by ROBOTS!!! Eventually I worked out that they weren't actually called the Spanish group because they were learning to dance Latin dances. They were actually a group that was learning the Spanish language, and their performance was more or less the equivalent of our Languagte Festival, where we dig up anything vaguely related to the country whose language we are learning and wave it around in the air going "Look! Look! Croissants!"
My own performance was tolerable - I only lost the thread of a song once, and my voice seemed okay. I may have wobbled a bit because I honestly couldn't tell whether or not I was singing into the microphone. No feedback, you see. But the girls at the Shack's stall told me later that they could hear me, so apparently I was. Afterwards the woman in charge came up and handed me an envelope, which to my surprise contained a fifty dollar note, and also a leetle thank you card. I'd sort of forgotten about that bit. Carla claimed that her first performance was paid for with a lollipop. Well, she was eleven. I want a T-shirt that says "Will play guitar for candy". That would be cool.
I was going to go back to school, but there wouldn't have been that much time left, and I honestly couldn't be bothered. So Carla gave me a lift home. Turns out she lives just around the block. Her car has a little kilometre-counter thing like taxis have. Apparantly if she drives somewhere for her job she can switch it on and get reimbursed by 50 cents per kilometre.
I got home in glee at my very first singing paycheck, and promptly stepped on a slightly dead mouse. Eee, says I. Miaow! Says my kitty, proudly. My attempts at CPR were in vain, she seems to ahve broken its neck. So I buried it in the backyard. I'm reminded of the joke: "Waiter, what's this dead mouse doing in my soup?" "Not a lot, sir."
PS everybody this meme is still open - numbers 10 and 14 aren't doing anything yet!
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
... Exclimation marks, so many ...
Date: 2006-04-07 02:37 am (UTC)Firefly! Kayley's umbrella! I knew you were an awesome person already but this just makes it even more so!
And going now! Ta!
Re: ... Exclimation marks, so many ...
Date: 2006-04-07 09:31 pm (UTC)Re: ... Exclimation marks, so many ...
Date: 2006-04-08 05:22 am (UTC)Re: ... Exclimation marks, so many ...
Date: 2006-04-08 05:29 am (UTC)Re: ... Exclimation marks, so many ...
Date: 2006-04-09 03:45 am (UTC)^_^* I just check your blog. Honest. Those cameras? Not mine. That man taking photographs? Not mine. Those leetle cleverly camoflauged green elves spying on you from the bushes? Also not mine.
*discreet hand motion**elves scatter*
I mean -- what elves?
Re: ... Exclimation marks, so many ...
Date: 2006-04-09 03:49 am (UTC)Don't worry, I'm sort of getting used to this sort of thing happening.
Re: ... Exclimation marks, so many ...
Date: 2006-04-09 04:07 am (UTC)Re: ... Exclimation marks, so many ...
Date: 2006-04-09 04:08 am (UTC)Re: ... Exclimation marks, so many ...
Date: 2006-04-09 04:18 am (UTC)Oh? I can do fangirl. I can do it well. But that'd be stalkerish.
(Don't be alarmed. I fangirl many people, most friends, some characters.)
(You might be my first non-known person however. Er. Ignore that.)
Re: ... Exclimation marks, so many ...
Date: 2006-04-09 04:21 am (UTC)And given my latest streak of coinvidences, you're probably going to turn out to be someone I've met XP
Re: ... Exclimation marks, so many ...
Date: 2006-04-09 04:32 am (UTC)You live in Sydney? How quaint. I used to live in Sydney.
How this turns out hmm? Does this mean you're not totally freaked out by the fact I've been stalk -- *lurking* at your journal?
Re: ... Exclimation marks, so many ...
Date: 2006-04-09 04:34 am (UTC)stalkread the journals of enough people I've never met not to think it's weird.Re: ... Exclimation marks, so many ...
Date: 2006-04-09 04:54 am (UTC)Oh-ah, collective stalkers. *has image of porcelin dolls lines up on a shelf* Er-kay, no more caffine.
Re: ... Exclimation marks, so many ...
Date: 2006-04-09 06:05 pm (UTC)bondagedoom.Re: ... Exclimation marks, so many ...
Date: 2006-04-10 02:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-04-07 07:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-04-07 09:29 pm (UTC)