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August 15, 2002 a deep, wet sound The new choral director looked like a schoolboy with an unruly pituitary gland.  He sat at a child's desk and the skewed proportions distracted me.  I had chosen for my audition "America, the Beautiful." "More legato!" shouted the musical mantis, his knees crammed beneath the tiny desk.  The director did not seem to appreciate my jerky, ska-like rendition of the patriotic classic.  I attempted to smooth the delivery but, instead, pictured myself inside a giant's throat using his uvula for a punching bag.  I sputtered with a deep, wet sound, like Mel Torme gargling something hip and wholesome. When the audition was over, I winked at the director and shot him a pistol-fingered adios.  Although the evidence was against me, I couldn't help feeling I was on a roll.  And I planned to keep on rolling.  From sea to shining sea.

©  2002 by the beastmaster