Naughtiness
The conductor of Master Chorale has been shuffling us around like gangbusters recently. Last week the "second row sopranos" (my group) were in the third row on the opposite side of the room, and last night, we were in the fifth row sandwiched between the third row altos and the fourth row basses. As I am the last soprano in the row, I was next to an alto. Not just any alto. I was next to my favorite troublemaking alto, with whom I've sung (and misbehaved) in Pacific Women's Chorus.
"How on earth did this happen?" she asked, realizing that we were next to one another.
"Lack of knowledge on the conductor's part," I replied.
She pinched my bottom. I squealed. It was an awesome rehearsal.
Highlights included substituting the word "pants" for "dance" in the English translation of Gonoud's Ainsi que la brise légère from Faust (e.g., Long live the pants! Let us pants on!) and doing an impression of semiautomatic weaponry at the end of Alfven's A Maiden is in a Ring Now.
I'm really hoping that our position in the back row kept the powers that be from noticing our shenanigans. If not, at least we got to have one silly rehearsal.
When I got home, I read aloud two chapters of Pat C. Wread's "The Thirteenth Child" while Mr. 42 recovered from a persistent and violent case of the hiccups.
Tonight, I have a voice lesson (still swooning over my Schuber lied) and then Mr. 42 and I are going to go see They Might Be Giants at the Belly Up in Solana Beach, which is hands-down my favorite live venue in San Diego, because it is intimate and the sound engineer is not entirely deaf. Such fun!
Right. Time to go track down some orders and try to avoid causing interdepartmental mayhem.
Love to all,
Lib
Mun42
"How on earth did this happen?" she asked, realizing that we were next to one another.
"Lack of knowledge on the conductor's part," I replied.
She pinched my bottom. I squealed. It was an awesome rehearsal.
Highlights included substituting the word "pants" for "dance" in the English translation of Gonoud's Ainsi que la brise légère from Faust (e.g., Long live the pants! Let us pants on!) and doing an impression of semiautomatic weaponry at the end of Alfven's A Maiden is in a Ring Now.
I'm really hoping that our position in the back row kept the powers that be from noticing our shenanigans. If not, at least we got to have one silly rehearsal.
When I got home, I read aloud two chapters of Pat C. Wread's "The Thirteenth Child" while Mr. 42 recovered from a persistent and violent case of the hiccups.
Tonight, I have a voice lesson (still swooning over my Schuber lied) and then Mr. 42 and I are going to go see They Might Be Giants at the Belly Up in Solana Beach, which is hands-down my favorite live venue in San Diego, because it is intimate and the sound engineer is not entirely deaf. Such fun!
Right. Time to go track down some orders and try to avoid causing interdepartmental mayhem.
Love to all,
Lib
Mun42