The jury is out.
10:43 p.m.
Yesterday when I was cleaning off the counter to make the place appear tidy for the reception after the chamber orchestra concert, I discovered an envelope from the government demanding my quarterly income tax payments for my investment income. I had been wondering if I had in fact received one this year and, if so, what had become of it. Well, now you know. I missed the first payment of March 15. This morning I remedied the situation and also sent a post-dated cheque for June 15. I hate taxes.
My students performed their final juries today. They all did quite well, in my books at least, but I wasn�t marking them. The one girl who has the least good voice actually did not crack under pressure as most of them do, and remembered all the things I had told her, and did them. I was so proud of her. My most talented student was sick and had a hard time hearing herself, so she tended to be out of tune quite a bit, even though her tone quality had not suffered. My baritone was fabulous. The student I would love to fail actually performed very well. She will definitely not fail at this point.
However, she was the star performer in the jazz ensemble concert tonight, singing standards too low in her range to be really effective. With a microphone, you hear all the breathiness, and she just doesn�t have the technique to create any kind of presence in the sound. Oh well. I�ve done my job.
Since we�re still on the subject of this particular singer, I must relate a funny occurence (sort of) from her jury this morning. Hubby was on with the colleague whom he was not all that keen to have as a colleague last spring, and for which the colleague seems to hold an insurmountable grudge. The concert hall was set up with a table in the middle at which the jurors were to sit and write comments while the various student musicians did their thing on the stage. The jurors require copies of the music being performed, and this is usually provided by the students in the form of photocopies, which then end up in the recycle box at the end of the day. I see this as a terrible waste of resources and instead, since I�m coming to their juries anyway to give moral support, bring my own scores open to the appropriate pages and hand them to the jurors.
For this girl�s jury, I noticed that Hubby was sitting at the table and his colleague was sitting at the rear left (or right, depending where you�re standing) of the hall. In other words, they were not sitting together. I had brought my scores, which were obviously one copy too few, and I just said: Sorry, this is what you get. So Hubby divided up the scores so that the colleague had the first two to look at and he had the second two.
Since Hubby was not on the juries in the afternoon, I went to the other prof and asked him if there was a problem with just one score, and he said: No, of course not; he and the colleague in question would both sit at the table. Does anyone else see something fishy with this picture? So, for the afternoon juries, I provided my scores, as usual, open to the correct page, and after each piece was performed, the colleague closed the score, and practically threw it onto the chair behind him. Some of my scores are quite ancient and in very delicate condition, and he just tossed them like they were so much garbage. For the last student, my baritone, I provided one score and three photocopies, my own copies, and had to ask several times, actually using the colleague�s name finally to get his attention, and then asking him again before I left, to give me back my photocopies instead of just putting them into the recycling pile afterwards. Talk about uncollegiality!
Why is it that every dealing Hubby and I have with this guy just makes us all that much more frustrated with him? Okay, he�s here, he got the job, and we are making a real attempt to work with him and be neighbourly. But he will not meet us halfway, and instead is downright rude, not meeting our eyes, not greeting us when greeted, never making any attempt to be friendly or even civil. And yet our mutual colleague asks (rhetorically, possibly) why everyone can�t just get along. We can�t get along because the asshole in question refuses to be anything else.
Okay, I got that off my chest. Thanks. Tonight we were at the jazz ensemble concert, as previously mentioned, which went quite well. They are playing better than they have in the past, possibly because there aren�t a zillion electric guitarists this year. The concert was not overly long and I got home at a decent hour. However, instead of getting to bed early as I was hoping to do, I fear that Hubby has invited Grandpa Mike (that�s a term of endearment, he�s no one�s grandfather) over for a blues jam session. If I wear ear plugs, maybe I can get some shut eye nonetheless.
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