Note to the note: It was at a table of five other clarinet players. *shudder* Clearly, the whiskey was very much necessary. As were the ribs.
Scene: Six clarinetists having dinner at Chili's in north Texas, the night before the annual Clarinet Conference Day at the university at which Ysabel is currently employed as an adjunct faculty member. Note that Ysabel will be the guest clinician for the middle school masterclass at said conference, as well as performing in one of the recitals.
Characters: three college music students; university clarinet teacher; conference guest artist - clarinet teacher at prestigious east coast music school; Ysabel
Yin:
So, at dinner I found myself sitting next to one of the students in my college music literature class. The conversation, inevitably, turned to the class (he started it). Actually, I believe he started it by asking me if I was going to teach more classes in the fall, to which I responded, "That's one of those 'wait and see' type of situations." And then he proceeded to tell me that he hoped I would be asked back because he enjoys my class a lot and is learning quite a bit. Awwwwww. I mentioned how - as a fairly green college educator - I find myself in the position of feeling ultra paranoid that I am not teaching the class well. Or well enough. And then it was confirmed by somebody else sitting at the table that the consensus is that I am a much more effective teacher than the man who previously taught that course - who is probably at least thirty years my senior. Huzzah! My student went so far as to say that he has told his friends that if they had to take a class from an adjunct teacher, that they better hope it is either from me or just one other person, because we are the only two great adjunct teachers in the school. And then I clapped my hands in glee and said, "Yay! That makes me feel all warm and fuzzy!" (for real...oy) and then I took another swig of my cocktail. Hooray for self-affirmation! Hooray for drunken self-affirmation!
Yang:
Twenty minutes later into the dinner, I asked the university clarinet teacher if there would be coffee at the "hospitality room" (reserved for guest clinicians) at tomorrow's conference. Mister East Coast Big Name Clarinerd then proceeds to look at me and say, "Oh honey. You're not allowed in the hospitality room." Say whaaat?! To which I had to put my fists on my hips and said, "Actually, I am a Guest Artist tomorrow - not a student. I know I look like I'm twelve, but I'm actually almost thirty years old." For f*ck's sake. When does it stop? Perhaps I should just stop panickingly plucking out my gray hairs in my car as I spot them in my rear view mirror. Sheesh.
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In completely related news: Oy vey, I am teaching a middle school masterclass tomorrow morning. As if I don't get enough of that during the week. Is 10:00 am on Saturday morning too early for some more whiskey?
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In totally unrelated news, but you all knew it was coming: Oh. Mah. Gawd. Can I just jump into my television screen and make LOST babies with Sawyer already? Jeebus. I love that show so hard. For serious.
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Also note: When you are drunkenly blogging on a Friday night, you may or may find yourself having this inner monologue:
'Yin and yan' .... Wait, is that right? That's not right. I think it's 'yang.' Yeah, it's not 'yan.' Yan is the guy who can cook with a wok. So then it has to be 'ying and yang.' Wait, that doesn't sound right either. Is it 'yin and yang'? But you can't have a 'g' on one and not the other. Right? Is that right? I mean, if one of them has a 'g' at the end, then the other should too. Right?
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