SassyBlonde

Wow-- shouldn't have stayed up so late last night-- teaching's going to be a little hairy today. :P

So during one of my lessons today, one of my kids and I were talking about Halloween costumes for tomorrow. I told him that I was going to be Medusa and he just kind of shrugged and went on with his lesson.

At the end of his lesson he was telling his mom about my costume and couldn't exactly get thename out right, so he turned to me and said "Is it Medusa or SEDUCE-a?"

His mother and I just exchanged blank looks and the completely lost it laughing.

Now you have to understand, she's a very prim and proper lawyer-type, which makes her next statement even more hilarious--

She wiggled her eyebrows and said to me, "Well you know... 'Hey baby, wanna see my snake?'"

At this point we were laughing so hard we were crying, and all the while my student is standing there looking completely bewildered.

So-- funny teaching story from today. As I was driving up to my student's house today, I happened to look up across their extensive lawn to the house and noticed that their upstairs windows had the curtains pulled back.

Now, those of you that know me have heard about this kid's dad-- every time I come to teach and he's there, he answers the door in is workout shorts-- that's all. NOT THAT I MIND. (Other than the fact that I'm friends with his wife and I'm very married myself. ) He's a hunk of an older man, but still-- a little too close for comfort, if you know what I mean.

Anywway, back to my story...

Talking to my friend C tonight on IM:

C: I'm hoping I mentioned to you I have a student that I discovered that can't read music too well and she's been playing for years?
Sassy: Yup
C: so I didn't prepare her lesson yesterday and COMPLETELY forgot her duet book
Sassy: Doh
C: so I thought we'd try one more time at this concerto movment
C: it's in a Suzuki book
C: so we are going along and things are going really well
C: I was happy
C: so . .
C: we get to the 'middle' section
C: and you have to remember I've taught this piece for 15 years . . .
C: it says espressivo e tranquillo
C: so I ask the million dollar questions
C: what do you think this means?
C: she's a teenager . . . and says
C: with espresso and tranquilizers!
Sassy: Oh.My.God.:-P
C: I have NEVER laughed so hard in my life at an answer
C: I had tears in my eys
C: and then she says "What?"
C: That's not correct?
C: So I explain that the coffee is an upper and tranquillzers are the opposite
C: (I said) so . . . do you think that was what Seitz (the composer) was on?

Dude. I love my job. :P :)

Very rarely in the course of teaching do I ever witness a hilarious moment as a complete spectator. One of my students' brothers had a friend over today for the afternoon. Really nice kid but a little high strung.

Both he and the kid brother are about seven years old, and were romping around the house as I conducted the music lesson. As I left, the kid brother and his friend came outside to run around in the yard, which had just fallen into that lovely silent winter darkness that I love in the areas far out of town.

As I was walking to my car I heard a whoop of excitement from the kid brother, who told his friend to stand in front of a pile of parachute material on the front lawn.

Having been by last week to teach a lesson, I recognized this pile as one of those fan-inflated balloons (like the Pontiac dealership will have in front of the store every so often) shaped like a nine-foot snowman.

As I was piling all of my instruments into the car I was startled by a long, high pitched scream from the little friend, who looked like a carbon-copy of the Home Alone kid screaming when I turned around. The kid brother had failed to realize that his friend was deathly afraid of clowns, which, if you're not really paying attention, is exactly what this inflatable thing looked like.

The last I saw of the friend he was tearing down the road as fast as he could go into the night, screaming all the way. Too funny.

It's not often that I get on here and bitch about the parents of the kids I teach, but this has to be said.

I had an interesting experience with one of my students today-- showed up at his house to teach and he answered the door but said, "My parents have a rule that no one except family can come in the house if they're not here, so I'm sorry but you'll have to wait until my Dad gets back. I'm really sorry, 'cause I know I'm supposed to have a lesson."

I just looked at him and smiled, and told him of course it was all right, and that it was good that he followed his parents' rule. In a way I was really proud of him-- most kids I teach aren't given tools and information to protect themselves in this way, and even so, some of them might not follow their parents' directions.

When I talked to his father later that night (who was exasperated because of the missed lesson), I told him I was proud that his son had held up the rule. It's just a good thing, even though they and I both know I'm a safe person to leave him with. After all, look at all of the child abductions that are carried out by someone the family knows. I have to say, I wish more parents used this rule with their kids-- I think they'd get in a lot less trouble for it.

Hubby and I have decided to completely revamp our teaching studios and the policies therein.

Why you ask? Because we're tired of being treated like the maid.

Having found out I have no students this afternoon, to Ikea I go!!! They just opened a new one in College Park, about five miles from here, and I've been containing myself for too long!!!!!! Anybody want anything while I'm there?

Sorry I'm so slow posting. Working on a new layout for my music studio page.

Back to the grindstone.

K. kids, I'm done here for tonight. Whatever posessed me to need to redo the studio site right-the-hell-now I'll never know.

Sleep now, code more tomorrow. Feh. 'Night.

Oh I remember. Because the site is f&%ing ugly. 'Night.

So, Hubby and I are revamping our teaching studio and changing a few rules. So far, out of 72 students, we've had only ONE parent agree with the changes, and blessings to her for sure. We always knew she was sane.

Most of the more egregious parents fit into the group known around here as Potomac Moms. Loosely translated, that means fake-boobs-fake-hair-fake-smile-has-a-nanny-that-raises-my-extremely-bright-but-under-appreciated-children-who-are-allergic-to-everything-including-air-so-that-I-can-do-stressful-things-like-going-to-the-spa-to-be-prepped-for-my-ultimate-job-which-is-FAKE-MOM-because-I-can't-stand-the-sight-of-my-own-children-if-they're-not-otherwise-physically-restrained-so-they-won't-be-a-danger-to-my-nice-house-car-clothes-shoes-because-I-have-no-sense-of-reality-whatsoever.

My favorite responses so far have been:

- "But surely you can make an exception for us, right?" (from the lady who "forgot" the date of her son's high school graduation) Inner response: Screw you. Outer response: *smile* I'm afraid there are no exceptions. For. Anyone. Period.

-"Well, you know little Johnny can only have his lesson on Tuesdays between six and six-thirty in our homes. We know you have something scheduled then, but..." see above. Inner response: Johnny can also learn to practice and pay attention before you start making demands of me, thanks. And by the way-- HE HAS NO MUSICAL TALENT WHATSOEVER. Outer response: I simply don't see how that's an option. I didn't give it as one, after all?

-"And you still aren't teaching on Saturdays? You could make so much more money that way!!" Heh. Inner response: NOT. FREAKING. LIKELY. I'd lose my sanity and you'd still call me up to cancel five minutes after you're supposed to be here and I'd have to kill you. Slowly. As far as the money-- judging by your life, millions of dollars still won't keep your husband in your bed and out of the maid's, so I'll pass. Outer response: Well, Saturdays are reserved for my other gigs, like the Kennedy Center...

I think the hardest thing for parents to accept is that their children are ordinary. Average. Not exceptional.

So many parents of kids that I teach simply cannot accept the fact that their children will never be the next Heifetz or Marcellus. They act like letting them discontinue lessons would somehow destroy their future and doom them to a life of anonymity.

Duh. The kid never had a chance.

(This rant has been brought to you by the number 13 and the letter F)

Oy. Spring Break is right around the corner. Thank God.

This time of year you can virtually smell the hormones emitted by all of the frustrated middle-schoolers who troop through our studio. Good GOD I'm glad I'm not a parent.

Oy. Today is our first real day of Spring Break. We had such big plans for what we wanted to do-- the beach? the museums downtown? hiking? picnic?

In the end we decided to stay home and get out the air mattress and veg out in front of the boob tube. Oh yes, a LOTR marathon, even.

I'm so tired of being poor.

When you go to school to be a musician, it seems rebellious and romantic. You firmly believe that you will never bow to the material whims of the capitalist world, that you will live on bread and water, sustained by your art. And your also-idealistic-friends buoy you up in the student lounge with converstaions of the artistic merit of post-modern jazz theory.

Then you graduate.

And you are forced to coddle, wheedle, and connive the children of Lexus-driving, silicone-and-collagen-ridden, nanny-hounding bottle-blonde trophy wives, who see you as nothing more than a glorified baby-sitter who can enhance their childrens' "natural talents" (or more likely total lack thereof) with a nice resume item like "plays the clarinet". Not to mention it keeps the little rugrats out of their parents' hair, because they can't stand to have to deal with their own progeny for more than the fifteen minutes it takes to drive them anywhere.

All because you really need those checks for the rent, and somewhere along the way, you have become the the bitch of the Almighty Dollar.

Oy, I need a beer. If I could afford one.

Let me explain something. I have no problem teaching kids-- it's just that every time I drive over to Bethesda to teach (which, thankfully, I now officially never have to do again) the hatred literally starts to boil up inside me. (Tums, anyone?)

Who are these people that can afford $800,000 homes on one salary? Where the hell are they all coming from? How in the hell can anyone afford to buy a house in the D.C. area on a reasonable salary with freaks like this around?

Not to mention the fact that the parents of the kids I teach over there are largely way more than one step removed from reality. And they treat me like the maid most of the time.

AND NEVER ASK THEIR CHILDREN TO GET UP OFF THEIR FAT ASSES FOR LONG ENOUGH TO MAKE MY INDIGESTION WORTHWHILE!

I am so glad I'm going back to school. Feh.

Bar none, one of my favorite sounds I've ever heard in my whole life?

Three hundred six-year-olds giggling hysterically all at once.

I need to take a moment here to talk about someone I loved dearly who passed away this week-- Dr. Gerald Loren Welker. He was the Director of the University of Alabama School of Music and the conductor of the Wind Ensemble and Contemporary Ensemble when I was in school there, and inhabits most of my most vivid memories of that time.

If it wasn't for this man, I wouldn't be a musician, pure and simple. He was one of the most flamboyant and inspiring musicians I've ever known, and his charismatic presence and conducting style inspired everyone around him, particularly an impressionable and idealistic thirteen-year-old from suburban Birmingham. His inspiration and guidance is one of the main reasons I persevered in music when I could have easily taken another path, and his demand for musical excellence made me strive to excel far harder than I could have on my own. I grew up with his children in the Alabama music system, children who have gone on to have wonderful musical careers of their own. He introduced me to composers like Messaien and Birtwistle, and taught me to love the ideas they and other new music composers championed, which planted the seed for some of the projects I'm involved in today.

"Write yourself a note," he would say. " 'Dear Me, don't be a goober, Love, Me." in his deep and resonant voice. He had the tall, lanky and fluid swagger of Jack the Pumpkin King, with a face like a devil and wild hair. He always smelled of pipe tobacco, a smell that I can't experience today without being flooded with memories of him. His good humor let you make a mistake without taking it personally while making a point to improve on it. His smile was infectious.

Dear Me, I'm Good Enough, I'm Smart Enough, and Doggone It, People Like Me.

Though I hadn't seen him in a few years, he always held a very special place in my heart. He was one of my favorite teachers and his musical touch still resonates through the playing that I do every day. He will be sorely missed, but always fondly remembered.

Spent the better part of today playing for hubby's school musical with all of his students. Jesus fuck I'm tired.

His kids aren't bad, per se, but pit orchestras are notoriously like a bull in a china shop and my ears and brain are just fatigued to hell. Not to mention I ate too much mango at dinner and now you could tap me for maple syrup. Feh.

I promise to be more interesting tomorrow-- there's a lot I want to talk about, but I'm to tired to spell check at the moment, and my typing skills are shot, so I'll hook up with you peeps after a little snooze. 'Night!

I really can understand why some creatures eat their young. Honestly.

I've spent the better part of this week recording and editing one of my students' recital projects for a class at school. I can honestly tell you after this long slog that no one should ever have their high school music prowess recorded for posterity.

First of all, it's a veritable certainty that the freak-out factor is going to make you sound like at least a fraction of an ass. Apparently when the mic goes on we revert to some caveman-like state of being where a large portion of whatever refinement we've been striving for goes right out the window. Zip, boom, bonjour.

Second, seriously-- is anyone ever going to seriously listen to this shit? Good Lord, I hope not. I recently dug up a few recordings of me playing back then (you have to remember, I'm twelve years removed from this at this point) and I REALLY needed a beer after hearing all of that. I think it may be something better left alone.

Sure, I know it's necessary, it's for a grade or an audition spot or whatever, but for the love, who needs that kind of mental and emotional flagellation?

Now I know the horrors that my music teacher went through trying to listen to all of us while recording our audition tapes. I know how far this or that kid has come since starting with me, but the judges of this tape have nothing to compare her to except Jeanne Baxstresser. So I sit there wanting to tear my hair out when she loses her composure and craps all over her performance. Again. Take 37 please. This time, count. Don't sneeze in the rests. Stop sighing when you miss something. It's F-sharp, not F-natural. Breathe. It'll be okay.

Praise the Lord and pass the beer, it's over for now. I just hope she gets an A. I don't get paid enough for this.

Right. I swear to God, how do people like this get teaching jobs? Not the brightest bulb in the box, right? Good grief.

Dear Lord, save me from the sins of greed and avarice and shoe obsession. Lo, I have coveted these lovely Biba shoes for many moons. We rejoice for the blessing of the sale rack at Neiman Marcus Last Call, because the 75% discount sticker allows my house downpayment to be that much less traumatized. People, I love shoes, but I really REALLY want to buy a house. Soon.

Let's get one thing straight-- I may be a music teacher, but deep down I have a wild creeping aversion to having people in my house. Yeah, I know. It's kind of counter-productive, considering that they have to come to my house for lessons, but still. Most times I even have random people in my house on my day off, since Mr. Sassy usually teaches on days I don't. In fact, at this very moment a very fuzzy and smelly parent is gracing my couch watching Star Trek: Voyager and sort of drooling down his shirt.

Honestly, I realize that these people pay my bills, but for the last couple of years my single major goal in life has been to scrimp up enough money so that D and I can buy someplace where the kids and their parents have to come in the side (or back, or basement, or studio in the back, whatever) and never see our actual living space, or bother the cats, and to be blunt, so I can walk around in my underwear and sleep late on Saturday without worrying that when I come out of my room I'll run into some kid's dad in my skivvies because D forgot to tell me he had a make-up lesson. And also so I don't have to carry on inane conversations with the weird parents of these kids while I'm trying to write press copy or scrub the toilet. The Muse knows exactly who I'm talking about.

Oh Lord, save me from my own need for shoes. I really need a house.

Hallelujah. I just finished teaching my seventh student of the day, and I swear, the only thing keeping me going has been the thought of going out tonight.

I love teaching, but man it really starts to get dicey by the time for my fifth student of the night, and if you're the seventh, well God help you and everybody else. It always pains me when that happens, too, because I start to feel like I'm not giving the kid the best of my abilities, but I guess when your parents have you so busy that the only time you can have a music lesson is 7pm on a Tuesday, then the breaks are the breaks. I've only got so many spoons for collateral.

I remember when I was in college, we would always pray for the best lesson spot with our teachers. My first one, you always wanted the spot in the middle of the morning, after he'd had his coffee and before lunch. After lunch, well, let's just say he did his lunches old school. With my second teacher that problem wasn't a concern, although you were much more likely to get his unvarnished self during that same time frame-- he'd had just enough coffee and wasn't starting to get stir-crazy yet.

I can totally sympathize now with their changes in attitude during the course of a day. The first few lessons are always great because I'm chock full of energy and going pedal to the metal (see, note to self parents-- schedule your kids early in the afternoon!) By just before dinner time I start to get kind of disinterested: my ears have started to hurt from being assaulted by the sounds of a manic barnyard and I'm hungry and tired. By the time I get to that last lesson of the day I'm just worn out. My longest lesson day just happens to fall on the same night as the open jazz session at Heidelah's bar, and sometimes that's the only thing that keeps me sane through the last hour or so. (Sane? you ask? Seriously. Sometime I'll have to record one of my beginner saxophone kids and post a clip here. It's like being assaulted by an angry amplified mule. I kind of end up looking like this kid's teacher by the end of it.)

That being said, I love teaching kids, I realIy do. There's something so great about the energy they return for your investment of time and energy-- when a kid really gets into learning music it's electric when they come in and really play something spectacular in their lesson. Beaming faces, proud parents, and a sense of achievement that they can really totally take credit for-- no one else can do the work for them, so when they get something right they can take all the credit.

And at the same time, after five hours of lessons there's nothing for it like a burger and a beer, so I'm for the bar. Whoop!

By and large, I like teaching my students. Most of the time it's fun to see them accomplishing new things and learning, trying out new ideas and flexing their musical muscles. It's always so rewarding to hear a student make an artistic breakthrough, to see that look on their faces when the light goes on and they realize they've made someone react simply by the sounds they've created.

For every artistic breakthrough, though, there's a kid who has a complete artistic breakdown, and most of the time it has nothing to to with ability: it has to do with discipline.

I've talked before about the Catch-22 of musicians needing discipline. It's the one ingredient that any successful musician has, whether they're trying it on as a vocation or an avocation. Either way, though, you can't be a good musician without it. Kids with no discipline don't end up as musicians that really know what they're doing, they just dick around and hate themselves when they grow up for being amateurish. I have no vested interest in that-- I want my students to understand what is required for them to become artistically viable musicians, whether they end up only playing for their own pleasure or for a paycheck someday. If they honestly decide that the instrument, and music, is not for them, then fine, but I want them to try as long as they study with me, and the difference in very obvious in the two situations. It's also very obvious if the kid just doesn't like me, and that's fine too.

This week I had another kid in the long procession of disciplinary failures. What usually happens is that during some random lesson I'll begin to test the student's ability to take criticism and disapproval about their practice habits if they've been bad so far. I'll set them up on a practice schedule-- so many minutes, so many times during the course of the week, and I'll talk to their parents about it at the end of the lesson to make sure they know what I'm requiring of their child. Nothing insane, small goals like fifteen minutes of work a day, but I'm firm about it. If the kid doesn't have the self-motivation to do it at their age, then I enlist the parents to help them along and get them on the right path. The next step usually involves consequences-- no practicing, they get sent home and owe their parents the money for the lesson, in work, trade, or cash, whatever makes the biggest difference then and will have the biggest long-term effect.

Most kids I have to have "the talk" with never make it past the first step, and this kid was no exception. We had the talk at her last lesson and I let her mom know the deal, and both of them seemed on board when they left. In classic fashion, though, I got a phone call the day before the next lesson letting me know they weren't coming and that they wanted to talk to me about whether or not they would be continuing lessons. The problem, apparently, was that the kid was now saying she didn't like the sound of the clarinet-- that it hurt her ears, and she wanted to quit.

Ummm... bullshit flag.

What happened was that the first time this kid's parent had to make her work at it, she decided that she didn't like having to work. It's not as if she's ever practiced before in any serious way. After all this time she can't even remember the notes. She never has her assignments done, and her parents are paying me an enormous amount of money that is completely going to waste because this kid isn't doing the work, which is seriously less time than she spends on the phone texting her friends after school. Twenty minutes a day, five days a week.

I guess what bothers me so much is that this is a trend with a lot of parents. I'm sorry baby, you might have to do something unpleasant? You don't have to then. It's okay for you to quit.

Bull. Complete and utter crap.

When the going gets tough for these kids, they'll drop everything because no one ever required them to persevere. It's pervasive-- I watch it on their faces. Rather than think through a problem, they wait for someone to give them the answer. Rather than requiring them to work, their parents make it easy by making excuses for them and not requiring them to be responsible for their choices. And when they grow up, they'll expect someone to make it easy for them, and life will punch them in the face. It's not just about quitting music lessons-- these are kids that will quit all kinds of things for the rest of their lives because it's "too hard" or they were "too busy" or their mom said they didn't have to. It drives me crazy.

It's not that I mourn the loss of this one particular kid-- I don't. It's a relief not to be pissed off for one more half-hour lesson every week, and I have a waiting list of kids wanting to get going with lessons. I just hate having to kick somebody out that revolving door when they haven't even tried.

At least they had the good grace to read the guidelines and not request a refund (I don't give refunds, ever, because if they're going to waste my time it's at least going to buy me a new pair of shoes.)

So here's the thing:

I've missed you guys.

I've had some pretty heavy things going on in my life this year, things which basically have changed the face of my entire existence in one way or another. And I haven't really felt comfortable talking about that here, in public, for anyone and everyone to read. More importantly, there are very good reasons why I can't and shouldn't.

And frankly, it's killing me.

Because if you're still reading this, then I've probably known you, or had you as a reader, for long enough that you're probably wondering what the hell happened to me.

Because if you're still reading this, you're probably one of the people whose opinions and love I value enough that I'm going to need your help in the next year.

Because frankly, I need an outlet more in-depth than Twitter and less personal than Facebook.

So here's the other thing:

On March 1st, this blog is getting a makeover. I'll be moving it to a new server, shaking up the layout a little, and converting it to a new CMS, though the site address won't change. The ranting and raving and silliness will stay the same, only there will be some things that I don't want to share with everybody, some things that I may need to share and say, but only within certain circles. I'm tired of keeping it all pent up and I've done that for long enough.

If you're still reading this blog, and you're been a loyal reader or friend or even a long-time lurker, email me at (sassy{at}sassyblonde{dot}net) with the title of this post in the subject line or comment on this post and request an access key. I'd love to have you in the circle.

Til then, I'll be cleaning house and doing some renovation, and I'll see you on March 1st.

UPDATE: So, snow and circumstances being what they've been around here, I'm going to have to ask you guys to wait around a little longer, which actually ends up being appropriate for a lot of reasons. I've gotten all your emails and comments, and if you can hang tight for a few more weeks, I'll have the next phase ready on April 1st.