Four Sundays ago, I’m in rehearsal with this trio. See, I’m singing a song with three other ladies in this Christmas Spectacular Spectacular Dealio Thingy.
We’re on the business end of our rehearsals now, the point at which most directors get so cranky I once decided to forego calling my director Joshua by his real name in favor of a more descriptive label:
Or if you’re Cajun, “Gestapeaux Boudreaux.” Whatever.
So we’re seated in the Fellership Hawl with Director Donna plinking out parts on the keyboard.
(Keyboard, translated into 80s: “Synthesizer.”)
It’s December, people. I expect certain things to have taken place by the end of every summer.
A. I expect to have slam-dunked at least three plates of some form of tasty marine life that arrives, still steaming, in it’s original exoskelton(s).
2. I expect to get so close to fireworks that my hair, eyebrows, and lung tissue are all slightly singed by falling ash by the time the world’s noisome children return to the educational system.
4. I expect all flies to go back to hell, go directly to hell, and not pass Go or collect Fly Currency.
Well, two outta three ain’t bad.
Here’s the dirt. It was a dark, and stormy night.
Actually, it was a bright and sunny morning. But you’d rather read this blog than work, so I’ve flowered it up a bit.
Where was I? Oh yes, dark and stormy blah blah blah.
We were all sitting ’round a keyboard/synthesizer listening to the demo on a small boom box perched on the keyboard’s slippery top near the Automated Percussion button-osity.
Okay, the music’s really not that difficult. Let’s just go over each of your parts. (Playing chords and singing) Light a caaaaaaaaaaaaaaandle….
(attempting to sing with two other ladies) Light a can-duhuhuhlllll….
(Very sweetly) Okay! That was good. Let’s try it again and hit the correct note.
I hit the correct note, I just totally got flat. So it was the correct note minus a half step.
Okay. Um, again… Light a caaaaaaaaaaaandle…
(Enter drunk fly.)
Light a….. AAAAAACK! (swatting furiously with choir book)
Is that a fly?!
Oh my goodness!
(Grumbling) Hate those dang things.
(buzzes around as if drunk on church Kool-Aid and the smell of really short people in costumes hoovering Halloween candy.)
Okay, again… Light a– (Boom box moves West/Northwest half degree and activates canned synth riff suspiciously resembling Europe’s “The Final Countdown.”)
What was that? (Looks at us in surprise/fascination) Man, I’m losing my voice.
Fly. Fly attacking!
(All four women simultaneously duck beneath incoming fighter-jet-sounding swoop of drunk fly as Donna pokes keyboard/synthesizer buttons)
Light a heeeeeeeeeeeart….
Light the woooooooorld–
Do-mo arigato, Mr. Roboto!
Oh my gosh?!
(Prods keyboard buttons again; keyboard, offended, goes sulkily silent)
Aaaaaaaaaaack! I’m being dive-bombed by the fly! (fly vibrato) Helelelp meeyeeyeee!
Hey, I’m losing my voice. It’s getting lower. Wanna hear?
Claudette, dance director extraordinaire:
(poking head out of dance dressing room) Hey, does this blue smock go with this green skirt?
(Sounding like a mortuary answering machine) Swing looooooooooow, sweeeeeeeet chari-uh-utt….
No. You look like a Missionette gone terribly wrong.
(On a tirade) Grrrr! I’m gonna kill that stupid thing! Whack! WHACK WHACK!
Okay. This… this is like the Three Stooges.
(Deeper voice) Fee, Fie, Fo, Fum…..
(Opening riff of Van Halen’s “Jump”)
(Pounding keyboard keys into submission) Okay, all together now! Light a caaaaaandle…
Light a caaaaaandle….
Very good! (Claps hands in delight).
Well, praise the Lord and pass the chips.
Needless to say, our big rehearsal for the Christmas Spectacular Spectacular Dealio Thingy is tonight and methinks we’ll all be ready to go.
I don’t know that happened to the fly.
Perhaps he will die.