Stupid thing to be irked by

Person who I don't know writing in journal I shouldn't read (because it is precious and irks me) mangling Joni Mitchell lyrics.

Sure is hard to leave you, Carey. Hard. Not 'horrid.' There are too many syllables in 'horrid.' And 'horrid' is not remotely a Joni-Mitchell-lyric kind of word. It's too Britishy.

Of course, who am I to talk... I thought it was 'Carey get out your cane/ And I'll put on some silk' when it's actually 'silver.' And my dad always sings 'Come on down to the mermaid castle' instead of 'cafe.'

BLOOMINGDALES!

My high school musical experience was dominated by Mrs. T, who directed the band (symphonic, we didn't do the marching thing) and the various choruses with the same enthusiastic mediocrity. She had a doughy face, short mouse-colored hair that persistent rumor held to be a wig, a sizeable bust, and a protrubant abdomen precariously balanced on matchstick legs. She emphasized the disparity with black knit leggings and a variety of voluminous jewel-tone blouses.

Her real gifts were as an accompanist and a tour organizer. Whenever people hear that I went to Germany and Scandinavia with high school music groups, they assume that we must have been good, and I have to explain that we emphatically were not - we just had Mrs. T and her worldwide network of friends. I have some fond memories of T-Tours, but the primary feelings I had during them tended to be exhaustion and embarassment. The groups hosting us were invariably better trained, better rehearsed, and more selective.

As a director, however, Mrs. T. left a good deal to be desired. She'd hand out music, and first have us 'sightread' it at about half tempo, which was a joke because even in the allegedly most selective chorus only about a third of the members could read music. Then she'd bang out each part successively. At all subsequent rehearsals, we'd just 'run' the piece, never reviewing parts unless we asked for clarification, never observing or discussing niceties like dynamics, intonation, or cut-offs. The only time I can remember her laying down the law is when we made our yearly assault on the Hallelujah Chorus, which always formed the finale of the Winter Concert. Mrs. T did impress upon us the importance of observing the measure-long rest before the final hallelujah - by always telling the same story of how, years ago, at a concert, some airheaded girl had spent the piece discussing jeans with the girl beside her, and during the rest told the audience, "...so THEN we went to BLOOMINGDALE's..."

This, of course, led to a rehearsal tradition of yelling "BLOOMINGDALES!" during the rest.