Dead Week is finally over, and that means that exam week is upon us.
To ease myself into exam week, I spent most of the weekend lying in bed and watching Netflix instead of studying, which may or may not have been a good life choice, especially when I discovered that three of my five exams are on Wednesday and I’m not sufficiently prepared for them.
I also eased myself into exam week by attending Festival of Carols.
Festival of Carols tickets go on sale as early as Halloween (or at least it seems that early) and they always go alarmingly fast. I didn’t have tickets secured because by the time I had realized it was Christmas season, the tickets were completely sold out. However, by grace of the Alma gods, there are always those people that get tickets held for them and then never pick them up. Then people like me who never quite realize that it’s holiday time can swoop in and take them.
I did just that on Sunday afternoon.
Sundays are always a fun time to go to concerts; it’s the day where family members come, and most of them are elderly retired people. I had the opportunity to sit next to an older lady with a red hat that exclaimed, “Oh, look how large it is!” when a bass drum was wheeled onto the stage to assist one of the songs.
Festival of Carols always brings out my inner musician. In middle school I played the tuba (I know. Don’t hate.) and the trumpet. I’ve played the piano nearly my whole life, at one point in seventh grade I dabbled with the harp, and in high school I played the marimba (the big black xylophone) and I picked up the cello. I also compulsively bought a guitar last spring semester and named it Clementine. So my inner musician is decently close to my heart.
Festival of Carols, however, brings out my inner choral musician. You know, the inner musician that wins American Idol: Shower Edition.
This inner choral musician could not be quelled. I spent the rest of the weekend singing wherever I went, which was mostly the PMA house (where everyone sings) and Chapel (where everyone still sings) and my room (where I don’t have a roommate and can sing happily by myself).
So yesterday, after singing all weekend, I ventured into the music building and introduced myself to Dr. Nichols, who most people affectionately call Doc.
I edged my way into his office and shook his hand after introducing myself. I told him I was a junior, had never had any sort of vocal training, and was definitely one hundred percent interested in Chorale. I told him I had been in three musicals: Guys and Dolls, Anything Goes, and Fiddler on the Roof.
After telling me that he was excited that I was an out of state student and that those were lovely musicals and he was sure that I would be fabulous, he sat down at the piano and started to play something I didn’t recognize. He then looked at me, obviously as if to say, Why aren’t you singing yet? When I still didn’t sing, he said, “Fiddler on the Roof?”
Hang on there a minute. I was in Fiddler on the Roof in seventh grade.
He then started to play Hark the Herald Angels Sing and I jumped right into it, and halfway through the song I realized I was wearing my ugly Christmas sweater from the eighties to prepare for my RA Christmas party later that night and was sufficiently embarrassed, and as soon as I noticed this, I realized that, not being a soprano, I wasn’t quite hitting the high note that I needed to be hitting. Doc also realized this and had me sing some scales that got lower and lower and lower until I felt a little bit like a boy trying to reach puberty.
Then he enthusiastically shook my hand again and told me that I was in Chorale.
Here lies the ultimate question: with my busy life, busy job, and busy schedule, do I need another thing to add to my crazy life? Especially during exam week, of all times?
Answer: probably not.
But to my inner musician, the one that constantly wins American Idol: Shower Edition (much to the chagrin of my suitemates), the answer is yes, I needed to join Chorale.
So I joined Chorale. What will you do with your exam week?