Auditonus Horribilis

Humiliation comes in many forms.

On Tuesday, I completely and utterly screwed up my audition with my failure to sight-sing. I've never had a strong aural sense, and I was actually one and half tones OUT and quite possibly in the wrong key.

Suffice to say, I didn't get the job.

There were other horrible moments of course- like when I tried to take a 'shortcut' before Glenferrie Rd and ended up shrieking hysterically at a particularly stubborn red light with only four minutes before the audition. Like when I started my Mazurka with an extremely heavy bang, having not played on a grand piano for years. Like when I mucked up what should have been a basic 3/4 rhythm in the harmonisation, and almost missed 'Do' by a semitone in the lyric singing. And how was I to know that the interviewer's pet hate was people who play without shoes?

I felt vaguely disappointed at the end, but it wasn't exactly what you'd call crushing. I knew from the start that I could never compete with the psycho-technical-tertiary-level-music-people and the audition also reinforced the fact that I have lost any performing ability I once had.

Plus, it was end-of-exams. And after a night of bar-hopping, I didn't even think about it.

Woot!

When You Know The Notes to Sing...

Today, I booked myself in for an audition.

It's for the job I'm stuck in the middle of applying for- and when they first advertised it, they required applicants to possess a 'comfortable singing voice'.

I said I did.

I lied.

Thus, I am quite in a predicament.

Singing the shower? Fine. Singing in choirs? Great. Singing by myself? Teaching others how to sing? Not so crash hot. And by 'not so crash hot' I mean disastrous.

Of course, there are still tons of things I'm crap at in my current job. Resistors, trimpots and capacitors are my downfall. But this audition...it requires me to learn Solfege. Y'know, that 'Do, Re, Mi' stuff Maria does with the children in The Sound of Music?

Easy, right?

Hell no.

I'm used to the SAME syllable being applied to my notes. Like "LA". Or "DOOOO". And I tried the other day, and I kept going, "Re....no...MI...no...LA? TI? AAAAAAARGGGGGGHHHHHH."

Plus, the Von Trapp children all appeared to have perfect pitch and a perfect ear for aural work, not to mention the ability to break into spontaneous harmony. Brats.

For the audition, I need to:

- perform two contrasting piano pieces at an 8th Grade AMEB Level
- accompany myself and sing along to a piece they've given me
- accompany myself and sing along in Solfege to three different melodies they've given me
- tranpose 'Waltzing Matilda' into any key up to 2 flats and 2 sharps, whichever one they choose
- sightread a piece of music in any key/tempo
- improvise a harmony
- make a chordal arrangment for a given melody
- sight-sing in Solfege

SO AS YOU CAN SEE, I AM SCREWED.

On the other hand, my utter humiliation should only be confined to a small room of a couple of interviewers.

You Might Be in Law School If...

To help combat my current bout of law-school-induced depression, I visited one of my Facebook groups, "You Might Be in Law School If..."

I almost cried at the painful accuracy of this list. And I felt slightly better.

Kris, I dedicate this post to you. Even though I have unashamedly ripped it off Facebook:

You know you're in Law School if...

You know all sorts of sneaky and creative ways to steal from clients thanks to your Professionalism and Ethics class.

You consider dropping out of law school approximately every hour, but after that first semester you realized you were already in too much debt to be anything other than a lawyer.

You aspire to one day own Blackacre.

Substance abuse becomes you.

The drama in your life now rivals that of high school.

You make adverse possession jokes.

You can name without hesitation at least three people who make you want to throw things when you see them raise their hands in class.

You think IRAC and CREAC are just code for saying the same thing over and over.

You are truly and deeply unnerved by the thought of some of your classmates becoming attorneys.

You think tequila shots are essential to ordered liberty.

You wonder if that one professor who always seems angry and irritable and treats students’ minds as his personal playground is actually a sociopath or just didn’t get enough hugs as a child.

Sometimes during disagreements you are tempted to 12(b)(6) the offending friend or family member.

You know and understand the complicated epistemological and metaphysical differences between a conspirator and an accomplice.

You know and understand the complicated epistemological and metaphysical differences between coffee and red bull.

You can’t remember if you decided to come to law school because you wanted to help people and make a difference in the world or because you hate yourself.

You think whoever first introduced the Socratic method into the law school curriculum should have his face lit on fire and then beaten out with a rake.

You can’t think of any legitimate reason why a law student would need access to certain public records, but you can think of a whole lot of illegitimate ones.

After the first semester you realized that “briefing a case” need only consist of looking it up on Lexis or Westlaw.

You’ve given yourself carpal tunnel from all the spider solitaire you play in class.

When someone is expressing their frustration or anger about something that is in any way related to the law, you can’t be sympathetic because you’re too busy figuring out in your head if they have a cause of action.

You hear about the death of an elderly friend or relative and wonder if they died intestate.

You have considered changing career paths to hot dog vendor, stilt walker, or career alcoholic.You're pretty sure the reasonable prudent man is a friendless tool who still lives with his mother.

...

You may not be surprised to know that I also joined the Facebook group, "I've Thought About Dropping Out Of Law School At Least Ten Times Today."

The Horrors of Contract Law

Y'know, whenever I watched "JAG", the wonderfully clean-shaven, square-jawed American lawyer Lieutenant Harmon Rabb never got caught up in little things like contract law cases.

He was always defending Marines under fire, or arguing on exculpatory evidence, or heightening the sexual tension over eight seasons with Colonel Mackenzie...but I don't recall him ever fussing over something like contracts.

Probably because contracts don't really make for exciting TV.

Of course, half the time I was mostly admiring how handsome he looked in his nicely starched and iron white Navy uniform, but I did pay attention to the storylines. Let's be honest- half the reason I went into law was because of that show.

Anyhow, I had my first written exam for Contracts B today and it was, hands-down, the WORST exam I've ever sat.

I knew NOTHING.

NOTHING.

Nada.

Squat.

I got to the Policy question, took one look at 'good faith in termination' and 'legitimate interest in affirmation' and almost cried right then and there.

I had a look at Question One and also almost went into hysterics.

I didn't even touch on remedies. Or damages. And that was one third of the course, as somebody on the train helpfully pointed out to me.

I'm relying heavily on the supplementary exam. Assuming there is one.

Just to make things worse, cute guy from 'X, Y, Z' happened to be sitting exactly two rows to my right and one seat up, and let's just say that was a terrible distraction. After the exam finished, he rested his head on the table, and that was pretty much how I felt at that moment.

I went into the city afterwards to meet up with my sister for dinner at the Leveson, which is famed for its Parma- it's meant to be rated #1 in Melbourne. And it was- it had actual chicken breast in it, which is a far cry from the horrors of the food court parmagianas I've encountered in my takeaway travels.

To get through the utter pain of failing Contract law, I steadily made my way through one parma, side salad, chips, lemon lime bitters, Turkish bread/dips, and a chocolate cake with white chocolate ice-cream and raspberry caramel, finished off with a cappucino (full cream...I don't know how my sis drinks that skinny stuff.)

It helped. Somewhat.

Except I've just discovered that you need 45% minimum to sit a supplementary exam.

This isn't like Chinese last semester, where they scaled the marks WAAAAY up (I wouldn't have passed otherwise). This is bad. Very, very bad.

BAD.

Had I the energy to weep, I would. But I can't be stuffed. The only good thing is that I've got a basic knowledge now, so repeating it shouldn't be as bad the first time round.

The only thing that would cheer me up right now is my square-jawed American hero, David James Elliott.

And possibly some Prozac.