Greetings.
Yesterday, my choir teacher, Mr. Privett, was away at a festival with the boys. (Lucky guys. But the girls' festival is next week so yay!) So it was a sub and our accompanist, Mrs. Tate, who had to teach the class. Well obviously the sub, who is a math teacher on campus, cannot conduct the class and Mrs. Tate has to play the piano. So she asks for student conductor volunteers who have been taking conducting classes with Mr. Privett to come up and direct the class. Both an alto (I have been demoted/promoted/moted to alto because they're super quiet and I'm super LOUD) named Alex Bell and I volunteered and, despite the protests of some of the class, Mrs. Tate let Alex try. I never saw her at the classes, which I have been taking in anticipation of this moment, so I pointed this out. Then her friend, Candy White, snaps at me, "She's been taking it at lunch! Leave her alone!" So I apologized and let her get on with it.
She. Was. Crap. Seriously! She just flopped her hand about and half the time she didn't even do that. And, to make matters worse, she got TIRED after two songs. TIRED! DON'T VOLUNTEER FOR SOMETHING IF YOU'RE JUST GOING TO GIVE UP HALFWAY THROUGH. So she asked, "Anyone else want to try?" I raised my hand and the entire class practically begged, "Please, let Harmony Margaret do it! Let HM! Go up there, HM!" and things of that nature. So I went up there and Alex and Candy deliberately sat in the tenor section. So we got through one of the songs, a gospel by Moses Hogan, and we were going over some of the alto parts because some of the girls don't know it when Alex and Candy decide to be very disrespectful and move over to the basses. They won't stand or sing because "We're not altos, we're basses" and then try to sing low and then burst out laughing at their failed attempt. I try not to make waves so I ignore it and continue to work with the altos.
Mrs. Tate, on the other hand, got fed up with Alex and Candy and told them to move back. They move begrudgingly back to the empty tenor section in time for the next song, another gospel (Mr. Privett loves gospels, as do I) by a local composer. I have everyone stand up and everyone does except for, of course, Alex and Candy. I ask them politely to stand. Alex looks at me like I'm the world's biggest poo stain on her shoe and says, "I'm sick." I'm thinking to myself YOU WERE HEALTHY ENOUGH TO DISRUPT THE REHEARSAL but, again, I didn't want to make waves, so I ignored it. We kept working and at one point apparently they were cursing at me or something and two other girls, I'm not sure who but a couple of people say it was to acquaintances of mine, Delta Nielson and Ariel Bow, decide to stick up for me. Apparently, objects were thrown, but I didn't see it because I was working with the altos again. The sopranos have the easy part, the melody, and unless they asked for it, I left them alone. A couple asked for a few notes but mostly they sat quietly and listened to the altos or, in some cases, put Alex and Candy into their places.
Now, I didn't see the incident, but most of the other sopranos did. And they reported it to Mr. Privett after school when he returned from his outing with the boys. And BOY did he lecture us to death today. Not just Alex and Candy, THE ENTIRE CLASS. Apparently, the boys had an incident yesterday as well involving a guy in a truck in the parking lot where they all had lunch. And now I'm stuck going to the Dean to report what happened. (I'm not in trouble, but Mr. Privett needs my help. Mr. Privett also took me aside today and told me that he was sorry and that I should not have had to have been in a situation where I was disrespected. I felt so loved.) But all the girls from yesterday (except Alex and Candy) said I did a great job conducting the class and that Alex and Candy were complete b*****s to me. (Bennie and Joss didn't say the b-word, as did some of the girls, but the majority said the b-word)
I have never felt so loved by my choir. I thought everyone hated me. Now I know at least TWO confirmed haters.
Hugz
HM
Showing posts with label Mr. Privett. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mr. Privett. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Cinco de Mayo
Greetings.
Happy Cinco de Mayo, peoplez! I learned today why Cinco de Mayo is such a big deal to Mexicans. Apparently, they won an impossible battle against the best army in the world at that point, the French, in only a few hours. Seriously, the battle started at, like, seven in the morning and ended around four. Amazing! Suck it, France.
Today is also Bennie's anniversary. But not with Stan. No, she was fake married by the Spanish teacher for Cinco de Mayo, a popular booth at our food sale day. And guess who stopped by today? Her "husband", Roland Glibb. Roland used to go to our school, Horizon High School, home of the Argonauts, until he transferred. He considers me his little sister and, despite his little sisters wishes, he's going into the armed forces as a Marine. (Semper Fi. Candidly, I don't really support the war, mainly because I have never been sure what it is about, but I support the men fighting in it. They are just doing their duty.) He now works for a carpet cleaning company and I hardly ever get to see him. So when he stopped by, we sat out on my front lawn (because no one else was home) and talked for about half an hour. It was nice to talk to him.
I also talked to my cousin today. Ginger Overstreet is my dad's sister's son's daughter. The irony: she's a year and six days older than I am. Yet I'm like her second aunt twice removed or something. We just say cousin because that is SOOO much easier. Anyways, she comes to visit us almost every summer and ever since last summer, when she met Roland at my birthday party, we haven't spoken much. She talks to him more than she does to me. She doesn't text, email, Facebook, MySpace... nothing. It's not easy, and she's my cousin, and I love her very dearly, but she taught me a lot. I was always the more sheltered of the two of us; private school, strict self-discipline, very rigid morals. She's not loose like, I don't know, a stirpper or anything, but she had a lot more worldly experience than I did. (But, then again, so did Mother Teresa.) I miss talking to her...
Okay, I'm done moaning about my familial problems with Ginger. (Love you, cousin!) Now I shall moan about choir. We're performing "Don't Stop Believing" from GLEE. Fine. Kudos to Mr. Privett. But he gave the solo to a girl, Louisa Tyler, who, although she is a very nice girl and a good singer, can't sing this particular song. She puts the sound "ee" on the end of each word and she doesn't open her mouth enough to enunciate properly for this song. I am still pissed about Mary June getting the TWO solos and with Louisa getting a solo that I performed better than she, I am just not happy. I am seriously considering not doing choir next year. I am tired of being second best, tired of NEVER getting the parts in plays or solos that I want/deserve. There has only been ONE time that I received the part that I wanted and that was after working eight years with the same theater company. I am SICK of not getting what I deserve fairly. It's always the director's favorites who get the good parts (don't you even TRY to contradict me, Claire) and I get the supporting roles. I SAVE everyone else in the show and it always, except once, has gone unnoticed. I don't get leads. If it's because of my weight, then they are basing their decisions on appearances and not by the quality of the work I produce. And, though everyone does it, it doesn't make it any less wrong.
Ugh, I am just so frustrated, I want to punch something!
Punchez,
HM
Happy Cinco de Mayo, peoplez! I learned today why Cinco de Mayo is such a big deal to Mexicans. Apparently, they won an impossible battle against the best army in the world at that point, the French, in only a few hours. Seriously, the battle started at, like, seven in the morning and ended around four. Amazing! Suck it, France.
Today is also Bennie's anniversary. But not with Stan. No, she was fake married by the Spanish teacher for Cinco de Mayo, a popular booth at our food sale day. And guess who stopped by today? Her "husband", Roland Glibb. Roland used to go to our school, Horizon High School, home of the Argonauts, until he transferred. He considers me his little sister and, despite his little sisters wishes, he's going into the armed forces as a Marine. (Semper Fi. Candidly, I don't really support the war, mainly because I have never been sure what it is about, but I support the men fighting in it. They are just doing their duty.) He now works for a carpet cleaning company and I hardly ever get to see him. So when he stopped by, we sat out on my front lawn (because no one else was home) and talked for about half an hour. It was nice to talk to him.
I also talked to my cousin today. Ginger Overstreet is my dad's sister's son's daughter. The irony: she's a year and six days older than I am. Yet I'm like her second aunt twice removed or something. We just say cousin because that is SOOO much easier. Anyways, she comes to visit us almost every summer and ever since last summer, when she met Roland at my birthday party, we haven't spoken much. She talks to him more than she does to me. She doesn't text, email, Facebook, MySpace... nothing. It's not easy, and she's my cousin, and I love her very dearly, but she taught me a lot. I was always the more sheltered of the two of us; private school, strict self-discipline, very rigid morals. She's not loose like, I don't know, a stirpper or anything, but she had a lot more worldly experience than I did. (But, then again, so did Mother Teresa.) I miss talking to her...
Okay, I'm done moaning about my familial problems with Ginger. (Love you, cousin!) Now I shall moan about choir. We're performing "Don't Stop Believing" from GLEE. Fine. Kudos to Mr. Privett. But he gave the solo to a girl, Louisa Tyler, who, although she is a very nice girl and a good singer, can't sing this particular song. She puts the sound "ee" on the end of each word and she doesn't open her mouth enough to enunciate properly for this song. I am still pissed about Mary June getting the TWO solos and with Louisa getting a solo that I performed better than she, I am just not happy. I am seriously considering not doing choir next year. I am tired of being second best, tired of NEVER getting the parts in plays or solos that I want/deserve. There has only been ONE time that I received the part that I wanted and that was after working eight years with the same theater company. I am SICK of not getting what I deserve fairly. It's always the director's favorites who get the good parts (don't you even TRY to contradict me, Claire) and I get the supporting roles. I SAVE everyone else in the show and it always, except once, has gone unnoticed. I don't get leads. If it's because of my weight, then they are basing their decisions on appearances and not by the quality of the work I produce. And, though everyone does it, it doesn't make it any less wrong.
Ugh, I am just so frustrated, I want to punch something!
Punchez,
HM
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Really Old Yeller
Greetings.
Why is it that whenever Ally's email is over quota, I have a crisis that I need to talk to her about? (Neither of us are phone people.) Dad yelled at me again about me getting a job. Now, I had had a TERRIBLE, AWFUL, NO GOOD, VERY BAD DAY. And him yelling at me just sent me over the edge. I almost, ALMOST, hit him or threw what I was holding (my heavy history and Spanish books, keys, sunglasses, Joseph's gift card to Game Stop) at him, but I didn't. I threw them into the dining room; I knocked over two chairs, 'cause I threw my backpack too. Then I shouted, "I'm going to my room!" and stalked there. I'm proud of myself. I didn't slam the door. Immediately I called Bev and asked if I could stay with Nana and Gramps.
So that's where I am now.
Nana, Gramps, and I went to dinner and they told me all sorts of stories about Bev and Uncle Sam. Bev was married to this guy before she met dad; his name was Raphael. Let's just say they didn't part on amicable terms. Anyways, she went to live in Uncle Sam's apartment building, which was, like, 100 years old and had three million cockroaches in it. Nana said that when you opened the cupboard, they fell onto your head. Bev confirmed it. I thought that Nana was exaggerating... Anyways, Nana was dying laughing when she remembered that, when that big earthquake hit Chico, where Bev and Uncle Sam had lived for a while, all the new buildings fell down around that old one. Gramps said (this was what made Nana laugh) that all the cockroaches had linked their arms together and made the building stand. He reasoned that there were enough of them to do it. Nana just laughed.
I like staying at Gramps and Nana's house. I'm really tired of Dad yelling. Bev yells too, but not as often. This is the third month in a row that I have sought shelter at Nana and Gramps's house. Maybe I should just stay here. Bev and Dad have Bentley.
I called Joseph on the way to their house. I cried most of the time. He was really quiet. When I told him that I wanted to move to Gramps and Nana's house, he said, "HM, please don't move." I think that's the closest he's ever come to saying that he really cares about me a whole lot. The second place one was during freshman year. Bev got offered this big promotion in another city and we almost had to move. When I told my friends we might be moving (this was before Joss, mind you), Bennie almost started to cry and Freddy and Joseph got really quiet. Freddy said, "Please, HM, don't go."
Joseph said, "Yeah, HM. We'd miss you."
I feel better. I still haven't talked to my dad. Nor do I care to right now. He doesn't seem to be able to get this through his head: THERE. ARE. NO. JOBS. But leave it to Dad to be ignorant of this one key point.
I'm tired of being second best. I can't get anything I'm qualified for. I never get the leads in my plays (except one, but after eight years, pfft, might as well be forever), I can't get a solo while the choir's rich snobby president, Mary June Laramie, (I know it doesn't sound snobby, but she is) gets two that I wanted and probably more since our choir teacher, Mr. Privett, hasn't announced all of the solos yet, and I get straight A's yet I still get yelled at. Bentley messes up more than I do; he doesn't do his homework, he slacks off, and he's rude to me. Yet he has not been yelled at in weeks and he has NEVER been yelled at bad enough to call Nana and Gramps. I'm seriously sick and tired of coming in second, of not being good enough. And you know what the cruel part is?
I can't do a thing to change it. Mr. Privett chooses the solos, there's always someone less talented yet yet prettier than me for the leads, and Dad will always yell at me because Bentley has taken over my role as "the good one". I can't find a job. I'm only sixteen! I get straight A's, I care for my friends, I do my homework, I cook, I take care of Bentley, I drive him EVERYWHERE, and what do I get? A FREAKING "YOU NEED A JOB, HARMONY MARGARET WALKER!"
Here's a thought, Dad: If I'm working my butt off at a job, who's going to do the driving, cooking, and slaving that I so conveniently do?
Eat that, Dad.
Hugz (and a chokehold for Dad)
HM
Why is it that whenever Ally's email is over quota, I have a crisis that I need to talk to her about? (Neither of us are phone people.) Dad yelled at me again about me getting a job. Now, I had had a TERRIBLE, AWFUL, NO GOOD, VERY BAD DAY. And him yelling at me just sent me over the edge. I almost, ALMOST, hit him or threw what I was holding (my heavy history and Spanish books, keys, sunglasses, Joseph's gift card to Game Stop) at him, but I didn't. I threw them into the dining room; I knocked over two chairs, 'cause I threw my backpack too. Then I shouted, "I'm going to my room!" and stalked there. I'm proud of myself. I didn't slam the door. Immediately I called Bev and asked if I could stay with Nana and Gramps.
So that's where I am now.
Nana, Gramps, and I went to dinner and they told me all sorts of stories about Bev and Uncle Sam. Bev was married to this guy before she met dad; his name was Raphael. Let's just say they didn't part on amicable terms. Anyways, she went to live in Uncle Sam's apartment building, which was, like, 100 years old and had three million cockroaches in it. Nana said that when you opened the cupboard, they fell onto your head. Bev confirmed it. I thought that Nana was exaggerating... Anyways, Nana was dying laughing when she remembered that, when that big earthquake hit Chico, where Bev and Uncle Sam had lived for a while, all the new buildings fell down around that old one. Gramps said (this was what made Nana laugh) that all the cockroaches had linked their arms together and made the building stand. He reasoned that there were enough of them to do it. Nana just laughed.
I like staying at Gramps and Nana's house. I'm really tired of Dad yelling. Bev yells too, but not as often. This is the third month in a row that I have sought shelter at Nana and Gramps's house. Maybe I should just stay here. Bev and Dad have Bentley.
I called Joseph on the way to their house. I cried most of the time. He was really quiet. When I told him that I wanted to move to Gramps and Nana's house, he said, "HM, please don't move." I think that's the closest he's ever come to saying that he really cares about me a whole lot. The second place one was during freshman year. Bev got offered this big promotion in another city and we almost had to move. When I told my friends we might be moving (this was before Joss, mind you), Bennie almost started to cry and Freddy and Joseph got really quiet. Freddy said, "Please, HM, don't go."
Joseph said, "Yeah, HM. We'd miss you."
I feel better. I still haven't talked to my dad. Nor do I care to right now. He doesn't seem to be able to get this through his head: THERE. ARE. NO. JOBS. But leave it to Dad to be ignorant of this one key point.
I'm tired of being second best. I can't get anything I'm qualified for. I never get the leads in my plays (except one, but after eight years, pfft, might as well be forever), I can't get a solo while the choir's rich snobby president, Mary June Laramie, (I know it doesn't sound snobby, but she is) gets two that I wanted and probably more since our choir teacher, Mr. Privett, hasn't announced all of the solos yet, and I get straight A's yet I still get yelled at. Bentley messes up more than I do; he doesn't do his homework, he slacks off, and he's rude to me. Yet he has not been yelled at in weeks and he has NEVER been yelled at bad enough to call Nana and Gramps. I'm seriously sick and tired of coming in second, of not being good enough. And you know what the cruel part is?
I can't do a thing to change it. Mr. Privett chooses the solos, there's always someone less talented yet yet prettier than me for the leads, and Dad will always yell at me because Bentley has taken over my role as "the good one". I can't find a job. I'm only sixteen! I get straight A's, I care for my friends, I do my homework, I cook, I take care of Bentley, I drive him EVERYWHERE, and what do I get? A FREAKING "YOU NEED A JOB, HARMONY MARGARET WALKER!"
Here's a thought, Dad: If I'm working my butt off at a job, who's going to do the driving, cooking, and slaving that I so conveniently do?
Eat that, Dad.
Hugz (and a chokehold for Dad)
HM
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