Dreaming, Dying, Laughing, Crying

I'm not sure what topic to blog about. Students criticizing my muscled physique? My almost nervous breakdown auditioning? My too-good-to-be-true-therefore-cruel dreams? My anger at the government for taking thousands of dollars from me? A student accusing me of smoking? Instead of picking one, I'll touch on them all, since I know you're all just dying to know about each.

Might as well start at the beginning. Last night I went to a professional audition for Beauty and the Beast. This is a show that I've wanted to do for some time now. A few years ago it was my favorite musical ever (Les Mis has since taken over, but I still like B and the B a lot). Anyway, for some reason I still get really nervous at auditions, especially professional ones. I generally have no problem for performances. Give me an audience of eight hundred and I'll be a little nervous, but more excited, and things will go fine. But auditions? Especially professional ones when I feel intimidated because some people are originally from NY, or LA, or some exotic place, and descend upon my little town to make me scared. They are terrible. With this one, it didn't matter that I've worked with both the artistic director/choreographer and music director twice before. I still got that feeling that required lots of deep breathing to still the nerves and shaking knees before launching into my thirty second song.

I don't know whether I skipped something or the music director didn't play it fast enough. Whoever's fault it was, the song went okay but not as well as I would have liked. I plowed right on, even though the accompaniment seemed to be off in spots. Wasn't sure what they thought. I was in a group of six or seven, and after each singing our song we went out into the hallway to see if they would call our names for anything else. Three names were called, including mine. Ok, that's a good sign. We go back to learn some simple movements, and then show how quickly we learned them for the choreographer. For me, it's pretty much a train wreck. They weren't hard, they were actually within my ability. But to learn the moves in three minutes, then do them from memory was more than my artistically challenged brain and body could manage. I stumbled through, then was done.

So my acute nervousness is over. Now it's on to the not as sharp but usually present wondering about whether I will get cast as something, and what it'll be. Last time I auditioned for this director, I wasn't even called back, but still was given a role with some speaking parts. This time I really don't know what the deal is. It could be anything from nothing to a large role, though the latter is a slim chance. The only thing going for me to get a large role would be my age and height. Aiming high, it would be really fun to have a shot at playing Gaston, or at least understudy the role. But I'd be content with playing a lowly villager, or something in between.

I go home, and eventually to bed. There I have fitful but pleasant dreams, in which I dream I've been cast as Gaston. Cruel, cruel, cruel, I tell you. I really don't think the director thinks I'm good enough for such a role, and I'd probably have to convince myself as well, even though I may have slightly more confidence than I think he and others have in me. After all, it would be a risk to cast someone like me as Gaston in perhaps the biggest show this theater has done this year, as I've heard the royalties alone for this show are 25,000 dollars. So anyway, to have such dreams is really like dreaming I've won Powerball or something, only to wake up to reality. I eventually wake up to reality, and the fact that I'll probably have to anxiously wait a week and a half or so before I get a phone call and find out anything.

At least I have my students! They are the bright spot of the day, and I enjoy telling them the story about how nervous I get auditioning. I use it as part of an inspirational speech to encourage those of them who get nervous about things like public speaking. After all, I was pretty much as anxious about such things as them at their age, but I've gotten to the point where speaking in front of a group is not that big of a deal for me (with some exceptions, of course. Speaking to a bunch of historians about my thesis, for example, would likely terrify me more than any audition.) So they can take heart, and puzzle with me over why I still get nervous at auditions.

The next to last class of the day I was scheduled to step out for five minutes in order to speak to an AP History class about the summer history program I've been involved with, in case any of them might be interested. I tell the class I'll be gone for five minutes while they work on something, and a student spontaneously asks "Mr. _____, you need a smoke?" (He wasn't offering a cigarette, but suggesting that was the cause for my absence.) Of course everybody laughed, and I confessed that was the reason I was going. After all, see my shaking hands? I left, then popped my head back in two seconds after leaving to tell him that was a good one, which also amused a few. I then give my spiel to the AP class, which was all girls! (And people suggest women are not getting opportunities at the highest levels of education? I think this will be said of boys in a few years. It seems there is a problem with boys being lazy, and not pushing themselves enough academically.)

The last class of the day I talk about my audition, and many of them say they think I would make a good candle. Some then beg me to spread out my arms and upward like a candle, and I do, to great amusement. I confess to them that I dreamed last night about being cast as Gaston, to which one female students responds, "But he's supposed to be jacked!" I don't think she meant this as an insult, but just as an observation, although I made sure she knew it came across as such. I pretended to be hurt, and tell the class the time had ended for insulting the teacher. Sigh. I guess instead of dressing up I'll have to start wearing wifebeaters to class to show her how fit I really am to play the role of a well-muscled man. Apparently she doesn't know what is hiding under my tie and shirt. On second thought, it's probably a good thing she doesn't...

In other news, I have been working on my taxes recently, and am chagrined to learn that I will be paying thousands of dollars in income tax! This is a first for me. I paid a few hundred last year, which was bad enough, but I was only employed in a "real" job for three months. This year I seem to be giving my lifeblood to the U.S. government. Thousands of dollars!!!!!!!!!!! And my tax return seems to be a mere pittance. Death and taxes are now more of a reality than they ever were before.

Confessions of a Chalkboard Novice

While reading a recent blog of someone else, I was reminded of one glaring fault of mine as a teacher. I'm pretty much perfect in every way as a teacher (hateful/loveable, funny/dull, hard/easy, etc., etc.), but for this fatal flaw. I have not yet learned to conquer it, but am hoping someone out there might be able to give me some tips to save me. After all, I think I'm probably just this one skill short of receiving teacher of the year somewhere, making lots of money, and retiring from the classroom to hit the lecture circuit.

This weakness has to do with writing on a chalkboard. Yes, my friends, I have not yet mastered the art. Specifically, I have not figured out how to use chalk and not make those terrible squeaking sounds associated with chalk hitting the board in the wrong way. I've been told to write on the edge of the chalk, until it forms a sort of tip, and then use the tip. The advice I've been given has only had limited effect. Even when I'm at my best, and carefully write, I still make the occasional squeaky/annoying noise. This produces sharp pangs of guilt over my deficiencies as a professional educator. I clepped out of chalkboard writing 101, yet I am still lacking in one of the most basic skills. I need help. I'm close to despondent. Maybe a shrink could assist. Is there some way this could be seen as a blessing in disguise? A strength that only looks like a weakness? The best excuse I can concoct is that it keeps students awake, even while they grimace outwardly and growl inwardly at my incompetence.

Even with this as an excuse, I don't feel quite right. Thankfully my administrator's have not observed my deficiency. I think I have coincidentally managed to conduct lessons without the use of the chalkboard while they have observed. Thank goodness, or else I might have been fired for incompetency some time ago. And surely my beginner chalkboard skills factored into fellow teachers not recommending me for some award. I'm sure the squeaks on the board penetrate the walls into classrooms next door, annoying fellow teachers and inspiring biting gossip and criticism about me while they are at lunch and I'm not.

I have tried to combat my problem. I bought a white board, which eliminates the noise. But it's only so big, and often I have to write much more than be fit on a white board. What can be done? I'm close to despair. Someone, please help.

Valentine's Day Surprise

Before I get to tell about my Valentine's day surprise, here are a couple other tidbits from the school front that some may enjoy.

During rehearsal recently, the rather blonde girl who played Anne messed up on her lines a little. She didn't seem to realize what she said. Instead of saying something about the Nazis coming, she called them "Yahtzees." And she didn't miss a beat, until I pointed out to her that she should make sure she calls them "Nazis." (Can't have people confused, thinking huge sets of dice might come and capture you in your sleep.)

Another Anne moment. It looks like she's getting into a modeling career. Probably she'll be rich and famous some day (so I make sure I get in my two cents by telling her when she has lots of money to remember our school and donate some millions to us, unlike one very rich movie star who graduated from this school and has not given a penny, despite its desperate needs. She is horrified to hear this, and agrees to remember us. So we should be all set soon.) She's getting into some program where she'll be going down to NYC about 3 times a month for the next five months or so. Anyway, one night she comes into the auditorium a little scared about someone yelling inside a building near where she entered. Our lovely city has some pretty sketchy characters. Then she started to think about what it would be like in NYC. I told her if she thought our city was bad, it would be ten times worse in New York. But she doesn't seem to worry about it for long. In fact, she suddenly blurts out, "I like the bums." Apparently this cheers her up a bit.
"Huh?" I ask, not sure what provoked this.
"I like the bums. I feel sorry for them and give them quarters." Don't know why she thought this bit of info was important to tell me about, but she did. "What about the bums in [our city]?" I ask. "Oh, I don't see any bums around here" she replies.

Now on to Valentine's day. The school did a thing where you could buy carnations for anyone and have them given during homeroom. So I get a red carnation from an anonymous individual. They spell my last name wrong, so they can't know me too well. Then they leave a message: "I'm waiting, call me." And there was a phone number with it! Can you believe it?

My assumption is this is some jerk friend of a student of mine who put my student's phone number down to try and embarrass them. There's no way I'm calling the number, although I am curious about the whole thing. Anyway, I shared the news with most of my classes, to their great amusement. Most wanted me to call the number right away, but I squelched that idea. And a female teacher in the department thought someone should call the number, just in case it's some single female teacher just waiting for Mr. Perfect. Guess she'll wait awhile longer...

Going Crazy and Nightmares Becoming Reality

This last week has been one of the busiest of the year, if not my life. It's because of my role as advisor/director of the theater group at my school. This has been production week. I put in over thirty hours on it, outside of school hours. I've been living on Dunkin Donuts coffee. So much so that I actually enjoyed not having to get one Friday morning, because I was able to get more sleep than usual. How crazy is that? I didn't know I'd ever reach the point where I was feeling sick of DD coffee, but it happened. Of course, I'm quite sure I'll be back to enjoying my usual large coffee next Friday morning.

Thursday we had a school performance of the show, for which about 230 middle school students were bussed in. It went quite well, with the exception of a few sound glitches. The sound system in our school's auditorium is in desperate need of replacement, but no one has felt it necessary to spend tax dollars to do so, so it hasn't happened. So the Jazz Band director kindly offered the use of their sound equipment (speakers and amplifier), so we got that set up. It greatly improved things, and was a relief to have a sound system we didn't have to worry about cutting out on us in the middle of the show.

Then came the next performance, our first public show. The sound worked great! The lights did not. I was calling the show via walkie talkie in the balcony. I communicate with my light guy, my sound guy, and my stage manager, telling them when to play/hit cues, when to change set, etc. About fifteen minutes to intermission my light guy tells me we have a problem. The light board just went black. So I rush down to try and figure out what went wrong. Then I run backstage to see if some button has been pushed which might have made the light board go kaput. While I'm backstage, the lights on stage go black. Uh oh. I am about as panicked as one can get on the inside, while I try to maintain composure and stay as calm as possible for my stage crew. This is the stuff of nightmares. The lights go in the middle of a show, and I have no idea what to do!!!

My actors were great. They maintained composure, and just plowed on with the scene as if nothing had happened. They said their lines in the dark! We got some auxiliary lights up shortly, then were able to bring some of the others up without the light board. Fortunately the blackout happened just before intermission. During intermission I was able to diagnose the problem. At least I'm pretty sure I know what it was. The light board had simply come slightly unplugged from the surge protector it was in. We plugged it back in, turned it on, and it worked like normal the second act.

And I woke up this morning to find my hair has all turned white. I heard great stress could do this, but never thought it would happen to me...