|the site of the incident for which I will go down in history in the annals of my medical school and possibly elsewhere|
I made it through one more performance of Grease today. No disasters occurred. Kenickie didn't have to rescue me from being dropped on my head and possibly severing my spinal cord. No one forgot any crucial lines or entrances. The orchestra didn't screw up today, as they did last night. Fortunately their screw-up happened in one of my solos and not in an ensemble number, though I might have employed the same tactic to fix it as I did last night with my solo.
It was in the reprise (incidentally, many musicians do not know that the correct pronunciation of this word is actually the French pronunciation: ( /re /PREEZE/) of the Sandra Dee number that I don't know what the conductor was doing, but he certainly wasn't conducting anyone. The drummer was doing his own thing, basically beating the hell out of his drum set on what should have been a very mellow song. Saxes, of which there are too many for this production, were blaring away. The pianist had quit p;aying. The guitarist and bass player were following me, but the drummer and saxes were too loud for them to be heard.
I stood up from the bed where I was supposed to be sitting during the song and walked over to the orchestra pit. I sat on the piano bench, and the pianist scooted over (barely enough for me to reach the keys, but at least I'm skinny and could fit on the bench) and whispered, "Let's start this one over." I didn't even wait for the pianist but started in on the piano into myself. They all followed, and it went so well that the director had me wander over to the orchestra pit and play the song again as I sang tonight. I think the drummer's problem was that he really didn't know what the song was that he was supposed to be playing. He did fine the second time through and during today's matinee. The "conductor" has been shooting me daggers with his eyes since then, but who gives a flying rat's rectum? I'm not even getting paid for this.
The director just said it seemed more spontaneous with Sandy playing the song as she sang it. It also gave me a quicker exit off the stage to get into my black leather outfit for the finale.
My grandma heard from my Uncle Michael about my computer woes and bought a much more expensive Mac than I ever would have purchased for myself. She paid for it in Salt Lake City, and I showed the people at my local Apple store my ID and walked out with it late this morning. My dad is probably upset with her but what can he do? She's his mother. She told him if he doesn't start to treat his children better, he's going to turn into his father. There was no more stinging insult than she could have directed at him.
My uncle Jerry, who's not technically my uncle but is my dad's best friend, is a musician. He's wealthy. My parents aren't actually paupers, but compared to him, they are. He appreciates the value of a quality instrument for a musician who is skilled enough to benefit from its use. To help keep peace in our family, as in so I won't file papers to sue my father on Tuesday morning, he's buying me a new violin. He has given me a $20,000 dollar limit. I will not come close to approaching that limit because I do not need such an expensive violin and I will not take advantage of someone's generous nature. I'll stick with the $7,000 dollar model I had picked out in the first place. My Uncle Jerry will be here by mid-morning on Saturday so that we can go to purchase my new instrument. I could possibly get a slightly better deal in the city, but there's something to be said for buying locally when the item one wants to purchase is available locally. I'll get much better service from the local dealership if I buy their product (my uncle has already ordered it, so it will be in stock), and I don't necessarily have time to be running to the city if I have an issue with my violin right before a performance.
My mother will be quick to kick over the two grand when it's Uncle Jerry she's giving it to and not me. She's being shamed into doing what she should have done in the first place -- not to buy me a seven-thousand-dollar violin, but to give me the at-least-two-thousand-dollars that I should have gotten from my old violin and to sign over my account to me so that I can access the rest of my money to have a nice instrument.
I have performances Tuesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights, so there is a light, however dim, at the end of the tunnel. I have been able to block out all my hours for class, labs, faux medical practice, lectures, study groups, individual studying, performances, and sleeping. I still haven't quite figured out when I'm supposed to eat. I took a few minutes to gobble down a sandwich while I typed this.
I may very well be fighting off a bug of some sort. With the schedule I've been trying to maintain, such would not be unusual. Please send prayers, positive vibes, or anything else that might be of benefit in my direction so that if I do become ill, the worst of it does not hit until after the final performance on Saturday night. As far as striking down the set on Sunday, I could not possibly care any less and would probably claim to be incapacitated even if such were not the truth just so I could play my new violin.
I love you all (this includes Grandma, Becca, Uncle Michael, Uncle Jerry and Judge Alex in addition to those of you who have posted here) and appreciate your kind words and support more than you can know.
I mentioned in a comment that I fell asleep on a cadaver. It's true. I was looking down at the cadaver's thorax before I made an incision, and the next thing I knew, a professor and classmate were lifting my upper body off the chest of the cadaver and walking me out of the lab. That is an incident I'm not likely ever to live down. It will probably follow me from my internship to my residency to any fellowships I complete to my eventual practice. C'est la vie. At least I didn't kill anyone. He was already dead.