If I had a nickel for every bad note I heard in a day...
Better yet, if I had a tape recorder for every bad note I heard in a day...
I have taken to calling answering machines as proof. I leave sneaky, small-voiced messages: "Listen to this. These are the...(gasping for breath) orchestra kids...(squeak, sqwak, screeeeeech) practicing for...class."
I try to be quiet, though. I don't want the little ones to know how entirely unformed their skills are, lest they get discouraged and give up as I once did.
Then there are the voice instructors who love to hear themselves "jazz jazz ja(like a new player trying to pick out a song on the guitar)zz jazz jazz." They are all the time singing to themselves things like, "e-yo-e-yo-e-yo" or "oy-yoy-oy-yoy-oy-yoy."
I'm so tempted to pump the volume on my NPR and rap whatever Ira Flato says during Science Fridays. I'm equally interested in being a human beatbox for Gary Eichten. What up, GAREEEE?!
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