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August 21, 2001

fly me to the moon

Faithful readers will recall that I followed the advice of my deaf-mute therapist, Dr. Keller, who recommended I deal with depression and sobriety by "getting high on life".    Either that or he told me to "go fly a kite," I'm really not sure.   But, in any case, I joined a choral group and performed everything from Broadway tunes to Rigoletto.   I could have been singing Rigor Mortis for all the "high" I registered.   But I got through it and learned some lessons in the process. 

 What did I learn?   For starters, I learned that every single person in the choir (about seventy or so) was sent by his therapist to particpate in this singing group.   How else can one explain an entire alto section that managed to avoid eye-contact with me for eight months?   Do all baritone sections take frequent breaks to the pay-phone to call their mothers?    I made exactly two friends the entire season and one of them has since been incarcerated for Belting An Aria Without A License. 

You would not believe the things these people think are funny.    An example: 

             First singer:   "That's not a C , it's a C-sharp."

            Second singer:   "Oh, yeah!   You and what army!"

            Third singer:   "I'm going to the bathroom.   I have to pianissimo."

I find myself frequently slapping my forehead with one hand and dragging that hand down my face, pulling incredulity with it. 

So, have I found singing to be a substitute for, say, a single-malt scotch?  Not really.   It's more like flying a kite.

©  2001 by the beastmaster