First, I must say, the gymnasium/auditorium did not smell like taquitos and stale Marlboros this time. Just stale Marlboros. However, as I was sitting there thinking to myself, “Hey, it doesn’t smell so bad in here this time,” L~ turned to me with her nose all wrinkled and her eyes all squinched in a mean girl squinch and said, “Why does it smell like old shoes in here??!??”
See, I was trying. I was really trying to find the good in the whole situation. You know, that situation in which I am sitting in bleachers with four kids and no husband, waiting for the fifth child’s choir concert to get started in a gymnasium that smells like stale Marlboros and old shoes.
Anyway, I was trying to find the good. Really.
With that said, I just spent over an hour of my life listening to sounds that I would only expect to hear in the wild. During rutting season. What I’m saying is, I don’t know what that choir teacher is actually teaching, but it ain’t singing. Words to songs, sure. But singing? Not so much.
The real kick in the pants is that it was an entire concert of 80s tunes, so pretty much all of my happy adolescent memories involving music are now flat. And minor. And guttural.
They got the beat, but they don’t got the pitch. Cripes, the only way most of those boys could have achieved any pitch whatsoever would have been to hand them all a baseball.
I would think it would go without saying that seventh grade boys who are only in choir because they have to be and not because they want to be should not be allowed, let alone forced, to sing Footloose in public. Or the shower. I cannot imagine anyone dancing to what they did to that song tonight, except maybe a horny walrus. Kenny Loggins and Kevin Bacon would have openly wept.
I, on the other hand, texted my husband that the army could have flushed Manuel Noriega out much, much more quickly had these kids been around to sing through those loud speakers.
You probably think I am being horribly, horribly mean. All I can say to that is, you. weren’t. there!
To be perfectly fair, the girls weren’t that bad. I mean, none of them would make it to Hollywood week, and I sincerely hope none of them have aspirations to join the cast of Glee (unless they enjoy rejection), but they weren’t horny walrus bad. They at least sang, whereas the boys just phoned it in. With tin cans and cheap string.
And the girls definitely get an A+ for their 80s outfits. Hey, I even saw one who had pegged her jeans! I was impressed.
But speaking of A+? This concert was mandatory for all the kids in choir and counted for a huge part of their grade. How is she going to grade them? I mean, on what is the grade based? Performance? The mind boggles.
And George, if you’re out there, Tewt The Newt’s ears aren’t bleeding because they withered and fell off first.