Sunday, March 13, 2005
My headache rules.
For some reason I decided to get out my recorder (which I haven't played since I was, er, about 14!) and try to jam with my brother on his guitar. The only problem is that I don't remember any of the finger positioning, and so I spent like an hour playing boring-as-hell easy stuff before I (stupidly) moved on to Bach's Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring, which is like the Holy Grail of sheet music for me. If I can EVER be able to play that piece all the way through, AT TEMPO, I will be an amazingly clever individual. There are so many fucking F sharps in that piece that I had to physically go through with a pen and label them in order to get through the first page.
That and I am a) officially tone-deaf, and b) officially musically talentless. Everything I try to do takes so fucking long, it's like explaing things to a very slow monkey -- one of the ones that's not going to get to evolve into a human being.
I can whistle, I can carry a tune (I refuse to say I can sing because of my brother's tactful comment that "you stay on key, but it just doesn't sound good), but I cannot hear a C for the life of me. What IS a C, really? My brother can identify the notes made by car alarms and construction machinery in the lane, but I don't know a C from an F flat (the F stands for FUUCK!!).
Whatever. I sing so much better than Ashlee Simpson it's not even funny. She got absolutely zero of her sister's talent (though a more than generous share of her mental vacancy), almost none of her beauty, and none of her 'inappropriate for gospel music' breasts. Her parents apparently were drunk when they were trying to spell her name, and she doesn't even have Nick Lachey to show for it! God that was catty. It is completely the result of having spent a half hour of my life that I will never get back watching the Ashlee Simpson Show. How tiresome.
Okay, so this is the part where I ask my readers for a little honest advice. I was walking around my neighbourhood the other day when I saw a sign advertising auditions for a play. I emailed the address and got back a message telling me they were holding final auditions on Tuesday beginning at 10:00, at the director's home. I looked up their production company online and they are indeed registered with Ticketmaster for a show in a well-known theatre on the east side of town in June. I called the guy and set up an audition.
My question is, do you think I should go? Is it suspicious that he's holding auditions in his home? Should I be worried because aside from the Ticketmaster site, I couldn't find anything else on the net about their company?
I don't want to find myself in a hairy situation, but I also don't want to miss out on the possibility of auditioning for an interesting play just because I'm hesitant about the audition venue.
Oh, and let it be noted that I have a paranoid fear of being raped and killed, thus I am quite capable of blowing things way out of proportion.
Just let me know if you think I have any objective reason to worry.
Back to good old Jesu.
Oh, and thanks Gage for the help about video. I don't know how I can get a site to host my video though. How do I find out if my ISP supports that?