Monday, March 25, 2013

Delilah, Sinner That I Am

                                                    Delilah,my new alter-ego

While most of the rest of Utah sat in church, or spent the remainder of the day playing boring games like Mormonopoly with their children,  Jared and I snowboarded. Some of his LDS relatives who live here were horrified. Of course I got the blame. Others took it less seriously. His Uncle Joel has started addressing and referring to me as Delilah and warning Jared to watch out because I'm plotting to chop off his hair (he's let it grow a bit past missionary standards) when he's asleep.  I somewhat like the sound of Delilah.  If I happened to become Mormon and go through the temple, I wonder if I could get the  Powers That Be to give me Delilah as my new temple name? Probably not. I've heard it doesn't exactly work that way and that they don't take requests.

We weren't really the only people on the slopes today. That would've way  cool. There were just enough tourists and/or  fellow sinners to maintain wait time in the lift lines.

I'm actually more of a skier than a snowboarder. I snowboarded for the first time about fifteen months ago and found it an easy enough transition from skiing. I opted to snowboard rather than ski because my pseudaunt has snowboarding equipment in my size here in Utah. I would have needed to pay rental fees for skiis. When in doubt, I'll go for the freebies.  Jared kept all his snow gear at his grandparents' home when his parents moved to California, so he could have skied or snowboarded. It was nice of him to have kept me company. His parents now have a vacation home in Utah in addition to their regular house in California, so he'll eventually move his stuff over there. He wanted to stay there for this trip, but his parents were probably worried that I would sneak over there with him and temptation might give way to fornication or some similar evil. It wouldn't have, but I understand their concerns. Furthermore, he's a slob and would not have cleaned up after himself.

We're both staying at his grandparents' home at an undisclosed Utah county location. If we were determined to fornicate, opportunities abound. I'm  much more honest, true, chaste, benevolent, virtuous, a doer of good to all men, and a follower of the admonition of the Apostle Paul than for which most people give me credit.  Nothing has happened that couldn't have happened without any fireworks in front of either of our parents.

I probably should retire to bed soon so that my lovely pseudo-eleven-year-old voice will be at its best for tomorrow's recording session. The music producer is finding that he struck gold. Most eleven-year-olds don't sight-read vocally as well as I do. He doesnt have to teach me the songs. He just throws the charts at me and I sing them.

In terms of an audio, I'm considering the logistics. My equipment sucks, as I explained earlier, but its not as though it does not do justice to my voice or anything like that. Finding a suitable song is a dilemma. It would sound like auditory pornography if I sang something sexy.  On the other hand, I don't want to sing anything from Annie (I don't have one of those bowl 'em over Andrea McArdle voices, anyway) and I'm not partial to Disney songs. I don't think anyone wants to hear me singing hymns. I'll think about it and come up with something suitable. It won't happen right away, but it will happen.

Bon soir, anyone who's psycho enough  to still be awake, or has to work nights.



  1. Clear everything with the folks first and audio clips only. You must have a good voice if you're in a recording studio.

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  3. I will find a way to get it done. Seriously, though, I have a dolce voice of a much younger person. I sing like a sixth- or seventh-grader with a sweet voice, not like a phenomenal middle-schooler whose singing would cause people to say , "Wow! Can you believe she's only eleven, (or twelve or whatever)."

    My piano playing is more impressive than my singing. I'll try to record a snatch of that someday as well. You wouldn't want too much of it, because unless you're really into it, you only want to hear so much piano by itself, classical or otherwise.

    However good I am, though, my mom is ten times better. My dad plays piano a little and took lessons as a kid, but doesn't play even as well as I do. He is a guitar virtuoso, though, and has filled in for numerous lead guitarists in emergency situations when he was younger and not curing lymphoma and leukemia (and a little melanoma research as well) because he was such a quick study and could learn anyone's lead licks in time for a concert. (I can't pay guitar at all. I don't have the fingers for it.)