SUBSTITUTE TEACHER FROM HELL!!!

I think the 1st prize for the most nightmarish gig from hell would have to go to substitute teachers. That has to be the most hopeless and thankless job around. When I was in grade school we had this lady sub one day and she introduced herself as follows: "I'm Mrs. Gross and by now you know that sometimes I can be." Poor woman. Poor fool. She was done for. We proceeded to make her life a living hell. Perfectly nice kids transformed into monsters who can't listen and feel no sense of remorse because our REAL teacher was gone for the day. YIPPEE! Another sub we had introduced herself as "Mrs. Dove...just like the bird." Note to substitute teachers: Keep your introduction free of interpretations about your name! It makes you look like, how shall we say, a gooney bird!

I subbed at a school in NY which was basically full of rich kids whose parents were in Europe. As a result these were ornery rotten spoiled kids who felt neglected by their parents but of course I'm guessing. I'm just one simple soul on planet Earth. What do I really know of people's lives? But I digress. As I entered the school I heard teachers literally screaming to get the attention of their classes. I ascended in the elevator to my particular level of hell. I was teaching a class of about 20 beginning violin students who were in the process of having sword fights with their bows as I entered the room. I should have turned on my heel and gotten the hell outta there. I proceeded to try to get something accomplished and establish order. It was a total disaster. It reminded me of how in 3rd grade we had this pretty young teaching assistant and she started to cry when we wouldn't be quiet. Her name was Miss Burnheart and we of course called her Miss Heartburn. Kids have that subtle way with humor. Anyway like Miss Heartburn I had zero power and no respect from these rotten spoiled kids. Maybe starting to cry and assuming the fetal position would have gotten a reaction.

Suddenly the door opened and silence fell on the room. My leaden eyes dragged themselves wearily over to the door and there stood the principal in all her glory...my knight in shining armor here to save the day. It was so humiliating to need help controlling these kids. I think I just sighed. Now remembering it I can laugh which is good. Someone who resembles my mom once told me about this group of women laughing and one who was not laughing and was totally unsmiling said, "It's good to laugh." I don't know why I had to add that but I did so that's just how it goes with my blog. Anyhoo back to the principal. She stared at the frightened class and said, "This is NOT how we treat a guest in our school. (Isn't it?!) I am very disappointed in what I am seeing!" I just kind of blinked at her and she stayed for a little while to establish order and then the ordeal was over. The pack of little violin monsters put their swords away and galumphed on to their next victim.

What a double standard going on in that school. 'This is not how we treat a guest at our school?' Well then what was all the shouting about when I entered the building and the teachers shrieking for order in their classrooms? They're rehearsing the school play, "Deathtrap"? Clearly this principal was the only authority figure these kids recognized and I wonder how she even managed that. Shock treatments? Threatening to call Tommy's parents in Zurich to tell them how horrible he's being? Oh well. As they say, it ain't my problem.

I was a really dutiful good kid so I always looked with shock when I'd see a bad ass. When I was in 7th grade there was this girl who'd come in to orchestra, throw her violin case across the room and leave. She had stickers on her violin which basically says, "I don't give a shit." She was what I call a violin owner rather than a violinist. She'd say to this one guy, "Chad. Suck a fart outta my butt." and storm out of the room. I was STUNNED. What a bad bad girl! Wow. That's a bad ass. That's what it looks like, folks. Not your typical orchestra nerd. I admired her confidence. She thought she was the bomb and we believed it too. I guess there's always that confident girl in school and it's like, "How does she DO it?!" She doesn't even have to be pretty or even good at violin(!) which she WASN'T(!!)but her confidence makes everyone skulk in the corner when she enters the room and just kind of stare in awe at her raw power.

When I did my one woman show, "So Many Ladies" one of my favorite characters was a burned-out substitute teacher. Even her ugly brown outfit said it all. This lady was damaged goods. She was like, "I've got a wicked hangover so don't TEST it!"..."This class is about to board a rocket ship for planet POP QUIZ!"..."A. I teach 'cause I wanna give back. Secondly, they don't pay me enough to learn this shit." It felt so good to be that damaged and just stare without smiling into a laughing audience who had become my class. The more I didn't smile, the more they laughed which says it all. It was all so delicious. If you're curious the highlight video is on YouTube with all the other zany characters. Enjoy!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AQTlOfbuMgI

DUST IN THE WIND

So I guess it would be a nightmare gig to have to give mammograms for 20 years but that's no excuse for the comments the technician made to me at my recent mammogram. Picture this and you don't have to be a lady to do it...your boob is in a vice and being x-rayed and the lady goes, "So do you have breast cancer in your family?" Let me preface this by saying I was called back in for another look as they say but it's often because the digital photography plays tricks on the eyes or something so I wasn't even going there yet to the "C" word if you know what I mean. Well this lady sent me there on the express train! The next thing she talked about was how she had gotten her own photos back from her mammogram and they were very worried in the lab about things they saw on them and she just said, "Well I guess after 20 years of doing mammography it was just my turn!" WHAT? Where did they get this lady?! Besides this was about ME not about HER! For ONCE! This was MY boob in question. For ONCE! I want to just focus on ME. As Nancy Reagen said, "It's MY turn!" It's like lady, if we're at a cocktail party you can talk about yourself and your boobs and your mammogram career and any other darn thing all you want but in here when it's NOT about you so BUTTON IT! Tell me about your cat but leave your horror stories at home. My boobs have their own story to tell and they're gonna tell it sistah in their own words! The thing is I know she meant well. She was telling me her story because it turned out well and she didn't have cancer. I understand that. STILL! Her impulse on what to say was, how shall we say, stinking. It's like that sketch where the woman sees someone who's disabled and tries to make small talk saying in a sing-songy voice, "So how'd you get in the wheel chair?"

Long story long I tried to remain calm and went back to sit in the waiting area waiting for the results. My tactful technician came out a little while later and said, "The radiologist looked at the photos and said, 'There's nothing more I need to see'" What does THAT mean?! His worst fears are confirmed?!!! Then she went on to say, "Everything's fine! We'll see you next year!" I was like thank god and let me get the hell out of here! As I was getting ready to leave the song "Dust in the Wind" was playing in the waiting area. Nice touch. How great for ladies waiting for their mammograms which might tell them they have cancer to listen to this downer of a song saying "All we are is dust in the wind". If you've forgotten how the whole song goes I've printed it below for your pleasure. Mammograms are a gift you give yourself once a year after you reach a certain age...39+1, 45-5, 100-60, 15+5+5+5+5+5 Love math. Good times...

I close my eyes, only for a moment, and the moment's gone
All my dreams, pass before my eyes, a curiosity
Dust in the wind, all they are is dust in the wind
Same old song, just a drop of water in an endless sea
All we do, crumbles to the ground, though we refuse to see

Dust in the wind, All we are is dust in the wind

Don't hang on, nothing lasts forever but the earth and sky
It slips away, all your money won't another minute buy

Dust in the wind, All we are is dust in the wind


Hope you have great day!

Prunes, Pills and Diapers

I've been watching my share of "Golden Girls" episodes these days. The "Golden Girls" is like comfort food. It's like nestling into a big pink pillow. I love the colors of the show, the crazy get-ups those gals wear which always leave me gasping and the writing is dern funny. You just gotta love it! No I don't have DVDs of the show so I'm subjected to the ads the Hallmark channel thinks are right for the "Golden Girls" audience. It's all pills, prunes and diapers. Is that what we come to in life? You need the prunes to loosen things up but then you need a diaper to catch it all and a pill to mask the pain of the whole process? Yowza.

I was supposed to go to a Met HD broadcast this morning of "Der Rosenkavalier". Sadly I'd be coughing my way through the whole opera and I don't want to contaminate an audience which is 99.999% senior citizens. If you want to feel good about yourself just go to one of those broadcasts and sit in the seats where you have to step over the railing to get out of your seat. You'll feel like Nadia Comenici as you fling your leg up and launch yourself over the bar. It makes me treasure what youth I have left! Oh no. Now I'm crying...

So anyway I once was in a yoga class which was all older ladies and me. I did something like touch my toes and I heard gasps of approval. This one lady said, "Wow! You're great!" "And YOUNG," I could have added. Age isn't kind they say. I know a lady who got up from a slot machine in Vegas and broke her hip reaching for her walker. There's a lot wrong with that whole picture starting with the slot machine. I don't know. I just hate to see people attached to slot machines with those cards which are literally draining money out of their bodies.

On to brighter topics! A group of people and I were having dinner at the Harley Davidson Cafe (in Vegas, baby, VEGAS! but I ain't no gambler). P.S. long story long the waiter brought us our food and walked by later asking, "How'd it come out?" My friend replied, "I'll have to let you know." GROSS! Good times in Vegas though you gotta admit! YOU GOTTA ADMIT! OH YEAH! It's nice to go with a group because you're a little bit insulated from some of the creepy aspects. (What creepy aspects?) What's NOT creepy about all the glittering casinos which look different on the outside promising fantasy(!), ye olden times of Excalibur(!), a pirate adventure at Treasure Island(!), or travel to New York or Venice or Paris(!) and the inside is just rows of slot machines and gambling tables and the stench of stale smoke. It's like, "Fooled you! It's STILL HELL!!!" Hell will always look the same I guess. HOWEVER I do love the tile work at the Wynn casino and the red chandeliers at Encore! Gorgeous!

I don't understand why people bring their kids to Vegas. You walk down a street littered with fliers of big boobed women. This can't be good for a child or most adults for that matter. It reminds me of this funny night club act in NY. The singer starts his lounge show about midnight and says, "Christmas is for children and nothing makes me sadder than to see so few children in the audience here tonight."

Speaking of children and getting back to my nightmare gigs from hell theme...
This isn't really a nightmare so much as funny. I played a concert recently which had an 11-year old soloist. The orchestra started playing and was clearly too slow like an elephant galumphing through this light Mozart Concerto. We weren't really that slow but I'm painting a picture if you follow my drift or paintbrush(!) these blogs are so creative! Thanks for reading by the way! Hope you're having a wonderful day:)

So where was I? Our child soloist came in and promptly took off like a bat outta hell. Everyone in the orchestra was like, "WHOA! What?!" We all caught up...eventually. This 11-year old was like "This is how it's done, baby. Eat my dust!" She did a very good job. Her whole family sat in the front row right in front of the piano. They sat in the front row right in front of the piano for the rehearsal too. That's what support looks like. That's also what suffocation looks like. Before she came on stage I looked at her mother's face. It was like looking into the face of utter terror. It was like someone facing a firing squad. Poor mothers. That's how it goes with showbiz! How nerve-racking that they have no control when their child has to perform.

I was recently invited to a 6th grade band concert. Thinking of any grade school ensemble reminds me of the All-City Orchestra I played in growing up. It was composed of 300 out of tune violins. The sound when everyone started playing was like a huge hovercraft taking off or a gigantic humming bird taking wing. 300 different versions of each note that was played. It was incredible! You could float a piece of paper over the top of whirring jumble of sound.

KEN CAKE!

Why shouldn't Ken have a cake? He's so pretty and delicious with his sweet pouty lips and lesbian haircut. He could almost be a woman...a very handsome woman who just so happens to be strong, masculine, short finger-nailed and good with tools! But I digress...but from what? Don't you need to digress from something? You said it! (What?)

Anyway, it's New Year's Day 2010. My resolution is to believe in my ideas! I have to say I almost gave up on my dream of making the Ken cake. My sister was talking about making a Barbie cake and how she did it. Just then it was like WHAMMO(!) and I was like BINGO! What about a KEN cake?! Seriously! I mean WHAT ABOUT IT?! Has it ever been done?! From that little whisper of a dream came a trip to Target and the doll aisle. Ken is actually the only option I had. There was only one blond dreamy Ken doll left to choose from after all the hard scrabble holiday scavenging. What happened to Mod Hair Ken? You know with the glue-on sideburns? What about Magic Earring Ken? Shouldn't they have Mullet Ken? I mean if they're trying to break this gay thing that Ken kind of has or not even kind of has...he HAS it! Big time! GAY!!!! A mullet would un-gay him for sure. A mullet milords and miladies is only gay on a lady. But again, I digress.

I guess any Ken doll is fine for a little girl. She just needs a guy to escort Barbie to the big GAY-la! But when is it Ken's turn? If he could talk to me he would probably say, "Britt, I'm tired of wearing those boring old tuxedos all the time escorting Barbie hither and yon. (Hither and YON? What?) She doesn't even notice what I wear! Why oh why can't I be the pretty belle of the ball for once!? Where's my yummy gown?" Well Ken, your dream has come true!

I got one of my nieces a Ken doll and she didn't have any guy clothes for him. She brought him out wearing a dress. I acted as the voice of Ken and said, "I don't know WHO I wanna kiss!" My sister groaned. Oh dearie me. I can be such a troublesome auntie!

My New Year's resolution is to follow my instincts! See things through! (Just a minute the phone rang...fun! Gotcha!) So back to seeing things through. As I stood in the Target aisle exhausted, fighting a cold, fighting the end of 2009 doldrums I grasped what little confidence I had and I grabbed that Ken and I held him tight! Oh so tight!!! Yes this dream of this cake may be a farce and it may fail and I may be laughed at and made to be a laughing stock and maybe his erect body won't stay erect in the cake like the proud little sentinel I know he is and blah blah blah a million other things racing through my mind so flash forward...

I purchased the bronze adonis Ken doll and proceeded to Safeway where I gazed at the cake mixes in complete befuddlement. No. A cake mix would NOT do this time around. Not for Ken. Not my Ken. He's better than that. What's more he would appreciate my efforts if I made a cake from scratch. Luckily I had just received the Barefoot Contessa cookbook for my birthday which had a SINFUL coconut cake recipe. Yes. This was my mission if I chose to accept it. I grabbed a container of multi-colored sprinkles and leapt into the other aisles to procure the other LOW CAL (Ha!) ingredients I would need to make my dream come true...to make Ken's dream come true. Nothing no nothing would stop us now...

So I ended 2009 with a gamble and it paid off. It paid off BIG TIME! Ken was more beautiful than I even could have dreamed (or is it dreamt? Is that a word?) Everyone at the party devoured him after the stroke (or many strokes...just kidding! GROSS!) of midnight. I had wrapped him in sanitary cling wrap and the rest I guess as they say is history. His lips shimmered in the moonlight as the blade cut into his cake skirt. Anyway you can imagine the rest. Oh. He was good. He was THAT good.

I don't know who'd I'd be if I hadn't attempted this Ken cake and SUCCEEDED beyond my wildest dreams! It's one of the most wonderful things I've ever done! Can you tell I'm a drama queen? Well Ken, takes one to know one! Meow! Thank you 2009 for ending so SWEETLY!