Feis dad goes to the opera

Last weekend I traded in my dancing shoes for a pair of Z-Coils and spent three days in San Diego as a chaperone with my oldest daughter’s band and choir class. Yep, feis dad became band dad for a weekend.

At first, I thought I was trading up. No accordion music. No curly wigs. No obscenely bright dresses.

Then came the night at the opera.

You haven’t experienced pain, real pain, until you’ve gone to an opera with over 120 extremely tired middle-schoolers. Actually, the kids were probably the best part of the experience. They were well behaved and most took it in stride. This was accomplished by a stern lecture on opera etiquette by their band director … and the fact that they slept through most of the show. As did the adult chaperones.

We had all gotten up early that day for music camp and an afternoon at the San Diego zoo, so everyone was exhausted by the time we got to the opera. But you can’t blame it all on the zoo (not even with all those darn hills).

Some amount of responsibility must fall on anyone who has ever been involved in producing an opera. Come on, singing a story? Really? And to Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet?? In French??? And did I mention it was three-and-a-half hours long? It took the actor/singers thirty long minutes to die in the final act. I could hear the nearby kids mumbling, “Just die already!”

An opera on Shakespeare? Get real. Shakespeare is bad enough when you have to read it. But singing it? And in French. Why French? If I recall my history correctly, Shakespeare was English and opera is an Italian thing. Maybe the producers thought it would give it an “artsy” feel?

Sorry, just because you sing the story in a different language doesn’t make it any better. Watching Knight Rider reruns dubbed in German doesn’t really add anything to an already bad show. Maybe a few hundred years ago this would have been fun, but now we’ve got Xbox and Youtube.

All this said, I tried to watch it with an open mind. Maybe I was wrong? It’s happened before. Maybe I would be pleasantly surprised …

Nope.

I would say it held my interest for about … say ten seconds. Now, I know what a lot of you are saying, that I lack sophistication, class and proper hygiene. All of which is true. But in my defense, just because something used to be popular centuries ago doesn’t mean it’s still worthwhile and we should continue to support it.

Let me give you a few examples:

The practice of sacrificing virgins to appease an angry god. Yeah, the guy who thought this one up was a real Einstein. It’s like burning your best crops before you get to eat them. Aren’t you glad we don’t do this anymore? Instead of a night at the opera, we could have gone to a “Night Sacrificing Virgins into the Volcano of Death,” which would have been a real bummer for those who were selected for this honor (though the bus ride home would have been less crowded).

The practice of Castrato. Not too many years ago, the Europeans castrated young boys before their voice changed in order to preserve their ability to hit those really high notes. Yeow. It hurts even writing about it. And these kids didn’t really have a choice in the matter. This was decided by their parents who had been brain washed to think it was an honor or they wanted to get rich off their kids possible fame. Where did this fame come from? You guessed it. The opera. And I thought it was painful just watching it. And the worst thing about all this? These boys weren’t able to pass down their incredible voices to future generations. Yesh. Talk about a no-win situation.

The practice of watching The Lawrence Welk Show every Sunday night. I personally remember this ritual. We’d finish dinner early, just so we wouldn’t miss anything. My grandmother would take her spot on her chair, gently place her full set of dentures down on the TV tray and watch the show in complete rapture for an hour as Lawrence, the Champagne Lady and the polka accordionist strutted their stuff. I’d have to watch in silence, all the while thinking that when I grow up, I was never going torture my kids in the same way. The good news: I’ve been able to keep my promise. The bad news: I’m still the one being tortured. Unfortunately, The Lawrence Welk Show has been replaced by American Idol, which my kids love and is far worse than anything Mr. Welk could dish out.

As you can plainly see, some of the old ways are best kept in the past. Just as there is no reason for virgin sacrifice in today’s world, the same can be said for the opera. And at $50 for the nose bleed seats, this isn’t the cheapest way to get a good nap (this distinction is held by any episode of The Bachelor or Bachelorette).

Now, I’m not saying these people aren’t talented. I’m sure the lead woman performer could break glass with her voice. Which she seemed to try to do repeatedly. But, again, is this something we want to encourage? I can make extremely disgusting sounds with my hand and armpit, but you don’t see me doing it up on a stage for a bunch of people in Tuxedoes do you? And listening to her hit those high pitches was like having a root canal. Without Novocain. On the wrong tooth.


To be fair, there are a few positive aspects of going to the opera.

- Twenty-minute intermissions between acts

- They sell beer. Drinking alcohol would probably make the whole thing a lot more fun (though, being a chaperone, I wasn’t allowed to indulge this time)

- The sets were fairly cool (what I could see from four freakin’ stories up)

- And, finally, no accordion music

Hmmmm… I guess it wasn’t that bad after all …

Here’s a clue: I don't have a clue

Last weekend I drove my two dancing daughters to Albuquerque for a feis all by myself. Let me say that again for those who didn’t grasp the significance of the last sentence. ALL BY MYSELF. No feis mom along. Nada. Zip. Zero.

I believe this was a huge accomplishment in my life. Sort of like my first time wearing big boy pants and leaving the comfort of my diapers behind (which, truth be told, wasn’t that long ago). Yep, I did it all by myself.

That being said, I’m surprised nobody died.

Nevertheless, what amazed me most was that people were coming to me, asking questions about the feis. Me. Yeah, right. I haven’t a clue.

This is how I usually ride out a feis.



As you can see, even without feis mom here, I had a chance to “rest my eyes” for a few minutes while another feis mom helped my DD’s with their hair. I think it worked out for the best. For some reason, they weren’t keen on my idea of using duct tape to secure their slinky wigs of doom. Go figure.

Anyway, after I helped get them ready (by not helping) for the feis, we moved down to the ballroom and I immediately took up the following position:



Now, any sane person would look at me intently playing ATV Race on his daughter’s iPod Touch (I can’t afford my own since I just bought two new solo dresses) and think, “This guy doesn’t have a clue,” right? Then why in the heck would people bother to ask me questions?

One guy, possibly even more clueless than me, started asking me about taking pictures during the feis. If he’s reading this, I have to apologize. Up to this point in my life, I hadn’t won a single game in ATV Race and I was hot on the tail of the leader. So, I tried to answer his questions and still race at the same time, with about 95% of my concentration going toward the race. The conversation lasted about two minutes, with me mumbling some sort of answer while twisting convulsively to trying to speed around the ATV in front of me. The whole encounter didn’t turn out well and he went away unfulfilled. Again, sorry, but you should know better. I haven’t a clue.

But he wasn’t the only one. Other people (who evidently thought I had a clue) were asking me for directions, opinions on the judges and whether or not so-and-so danced better than another so-and-so. FYI. I can’t tell the difference between a slip jig, hornpipe and the macarena and to me a “good” dance is anytime someone doesn’t fall down. That’s about the limit of my expertise on the subject. Again, I haven’t a clue.

If this wasn’t crazy enough, a feis mom who I know well (and who should have known better) asked me, “How long do you think the awards will take?” I gave her an incredulous that said, “You’re asking me?” She quickly recovered from her significant lapse of judgment and decided she might do better by asking someone (or something) with more of a clue … like the pool boy or a chair.

Other than those pesky questions, I think the weekend went fairly well. My daughters made it to all their dances and they even placed in a few. Although I’m convinced their success was mainly due to my attention to detail, my dancing advice and my over abundance of energy, the next time I’ll let my wife do the honors. I might take the weekend and do something a little less stressing … like running a marathon or donating a kidney.

Proof of Jessica

I've received a stack of email higher than Lyndsay Lohan after a night out partying asking for proof regarding Jessica Simpson. Feis dad readers found it difficult to believe that 1) she can sing, 2) she was once a brilliant physics student and 3) she lost that brilliance. Curiously, no one had trouble believing I had once been her backup dancer.

I'll address each question individually, starting with the hardest first.

1) Can she sing? Well, that's a matter of opinion. Unfortunately for Jessica, the majority of the opinion says "no." Those offering a different view tend to be adolescent boys, unmarried men and feis dads. This being said, I can not offer any substantial proof that she can actually sing. I have seen her perform and she looks good doing it, but I haven't a clue as to whether the words escaping her mouth isn't anything more than an awful screeching.

2) Was Jessica once a brilliant physics student? Yes. When I met her in college, she was on top of her class. She was acing all her tests and all her professors loved her (she was a favorite among the TA's). Here's one of the many examples of how she could easily solve a physics problem.



Jessica nails the test: A+

3) Did Jessica lose her brilliance? Most definitely. Once she began "singing" and dating Nick, her brain power dropped faster than the stock market did two years ago. Here are some of her test results (which are now infamous on the internet) showing just how low she had become.












As you can see, Jessica no longer had the brain power to solve complex mathematical problems, or talk without sounding like a complete idiot. For some reason, she also kept signing her name as "Peter" which no one could ever figure out why.

What does all of this mean? I haven't a clue. I can't seem to put two comprehensive sentences together at a time (though I blame my loss of cognition on over exposure to accordion music and curly wigs).

-- feis dad

feis dad confession # 2

Due to the overwhelming number of questions emailed to me regarding the last post, I thought it might be prudent to provide the answers:

1. Yes, it is true. Although I’m ashamed to admit it, I did “experiment” while I was in college. And on more than one occasion.

As many of you know, I attended an engineering school in which 98% of the students were male and 1% were female. The other 1% could never be determined. Anyway, I was a nerd who felt awkward around women. So … naturally, I “experimented.” Usually, this was done during class with other students and a TA.

My first taste of experimenting was during Chemistry 101 lab when I conducted numerous experiments on fluids, gases and solids. I also took a materials class where I experimented with concrete, steel and wood.

Being more of a theoretical student I wasn’t good at all this experimenting and my lab reports really stunk.


Mad Scientist feis dad

And that’s about all the “experimenting” I’ve done. I’m glad to finally get that off my chest.

What? Come, on. Were you expecting something else?

2. Yes, I admit that a long time ago, Jessica Simpson and I were more than just friends.

We met while I was in college after a long day experimenting (see above) in my Chemistry lab. I bumped into her at the engineering library. She was studying quantum physics and we hit it right off.

I enjoyed the depth of her understanding of the origins of the universe while she liked the way I looked in my T-shirt and my graceful way of moving.

As you can imagine, one thing led to another and yep … you guessed it. I became her backup dancer when she decided to drop advanced physics for a “singing” career. We had a great time dancing together until NICK came along. And we all know how well that worked out.


Jessica and feis dad -- perfect dance partners

We’re still friends, and sometimes she calls me to discuss higher order equations, but that’s about it.


Anyway, there you have it. That’s my story and I’m sticking with it (at least until I dream up something better).

--feis dad

Feis Dad Confession # 1

Okay, Okay, I can't keep this to myself anymore. Now, with the fourth possible woman coming clean on having an affair with Tiger Woods, it's time for my shameful admission. Sometimes you just have to admit to something so you can be free from the guilt.

I've known Tiger Woods for about five years. Jessica Simpson, another close friend of mine, introduced us and we've been best buds ever since.


Jessica Simpson, Tiger Woods and Feis Dad having a great time together

And it's been a good five years. You know, when he comes to play golf, he calls me up and we hit the bars for a good time. He talks about golf, I talk about curly wigs. All of which makes it even harder to admit that, I, feis dad, have NOT had an affair with Tiger Woods. From the past few days headlines, I guess I'm one of the few.

--fes dad

'Twas the Night Before Oireachtas

'Twas the night before Oireachtas, and all through the room,
Not a dancer was stirring in the pre-party gloom;

The poodle socks were placed in the dance bags with care,
Right next to curly wigs made from 20 lbs of fake hair;

The ceili dancers were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of recalls danced in their heads;

And feis mom in her school polo, and I with my school cap,
Had just settled down for a much needed nap;

When out on the dance floor there arose such a clatter,
That I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter;

Away through the lobby I flew like a flash,
Stubbed my big toe which left a large gash;

The Oireachtas dance floor was cast in a glow,
Bright lights illuminating as t’were part of a show;

Then, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a man dressed in black, holding a pint of Guinness beer;

With feet of flames moving so fast-ly,
I knew in a moment it must be Michael Flatley;

In with our team of ceili dancers he came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

"Now, Tuleagh! Now, Jennifer! Now, Lexi! Now, Delaney and Kayley!
On, Natalia! on Lauren! on, Dani and Sydney!

To the stage! To the stage! To the podium, please stand!
Now first place! First place! I want you to land!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
The dancers went to work, their jumps meeting the sky;

Each dancer was so graceful and neat,
As they did cuts and kicked their seat;

And then, in a rush, I heard on the floor,
The banging and pounding of two shoes doing more;

As I drew in my breath, and was turning around,
Out on the floor St. Mick(ael) came with a bound;

He was dressed all in leather, from his head to his feet,
And his pants were so tight, my wife was in for a treat;

With a beautiful adult dancer held in each arm,
Who couldn’t resist his smooth Irish charm;

His eyes – how they sparkled – his ego so grand,
He believed himself the best dancer in the land!

His mouth was drawn up in such a wide grin,
That I knew in my heart our team would win;

He performed a solo from Lord of the Dance,
While feis moms from all over watched his pants;

His shirt split open revealing a large round belly,
That shook and rolled like a bowlful of jelly;

He was becoming chubby and plump, a right fat old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, ‘spite the weight I’d gained myself;

A wink of his eye and a nod of his head,
Told the team they had nothing to dread;

For their dancing and team spirit, he sure was proud,
And to make sure they listened for the cheers from the crowd;

During his finale, one last big jump,
He fell to the floor with a horrific thump;

Then he sprang to his feet and gave the team a wave,
For all the practice, hard work and energy they gave;

With a grand flourish he danced to the door,
Got stuck from all the pints he drank like a bore;

Then I heard him exclaim, ere he got unstuck,
"Happy Oireachtas to all, and to all good luck!"

Close up view of True Feis Dad

Okay, last time we saw how to recognize a true feis dad at a feis or performance. Now, let's take a closer look. All feis dads carry emergency equipment to get them through. Using my special X-ray and close up cameras, I'm able to highlight some of this equipment for you. Here's our typical feis dad all decked out in his feis survival gear, so let's start with number 1 and go all the way to number 9 (if you dare).



Number 1: The iPod. This is basic feis dad survival equipment. Feis dads can download all their favorite tuneage (AC/DC, Kiss, The Partridge Family’s Greatest hits, and Air Supply) to their iPod and tune out all of that accordion music. I think this feis dad’s playing some awesome Tiffany tunes!



Number 2: Earplugs. A true feis dad expects the best, but plans for the worst. He's horrified by the possibility that his iPod’s batteries might die or feis his dancing daughter would snag it from him while she’s waiting to dance her special. If anything happens to his iPod, he reaches into his pocket and stuffs his trusty earplugs into his ears for some peaceful silence. Sometimes, he might put his earplugs in before the iPod, because you can only take so much Air Supply before you blow chunks.



Number 3: Favorite Magazine. Two things at a feis that a real feis dad wouldn’t be caught dead without: his favorite magazine and his favorite underwear. Fortunately, we won’t go into the second thing. You’ll spot feis dads carrying magazines about cars, trucks, motorcycles, mountain bikes, football, baseball, the SI swimsuit edition, and the lyrics to Air Supply’s greatest hits. He might even read them if he gets really bored.



Number 4: See-thru-curly-straw. As we saw in the last post, some feis dads like to partake in a barley pop or similar drink to help pass the time. And we all know, feis dads LOVE to have fun. What could be more fun than a see-thru-curly-straw? Nothing. The more twists, turns and curls the better. Feis dads can watch these things for hours! Who would have thought 95 cents could bring so much pure amusement?



Number 5: Bellybutton lint. Eeeww. That’s just gross. Using my special X-ray camera, we can see what’s under feis dad’s shirt. Now, this nice piece of shirt lint may not be something feis dad intends to bring to the feis with him, but it’s going to be there, and there's nothing you can do about it. You can pick the fuzz-fruit in the morning and by noon, it’s grown baaaaackk. But please, for everyone else's sake, don’t pick it at the feis, that’s bad feis etiquette (pick it during dinner instead).



Number 6: Free drink tickets. Every feis dad worth his salt carries a couple of these bad boys with him all the time (he carries double the normal amount to a feis). They’re good for whatever drink you want, as long as it’s one of the two kinds they carry at the feis: beer and box wine.



Number 7: Official Star Trek Collector’s Key Chain. Okay, let’s just admit it right now. Most feis dads are closet Star Trek geeks. We all know at least ten Klingon phrases including how to say, “hello,” “Where’s the bathroom,” “Do you want fries with that?,” and “When’s the feis going to be over?” This key chain also has lots of cool stuff like flashing lights and shiny buttons. Finally, it has neat sounds effects like the “swish-swish” of a starship door opening and twelve different fart noises (even in Klingon). Woohoo! The only thing this puppy won’t do is impress women and beam you up before the feis is done--"beam me up, Scotty!"



Number 8: Nintendo DS. This isn’t actually the feis dad’s own DS. He borrowed it from his son, by slipping it into his sock before leaving for the feis. This gadget comes in real handy during those loooongg boring stretches during a feis (mainly the entire time your children aren’t dancing). The only problem with the DS is that the batteries only last 8 hours (four hours shorter than a normal feis).



Number 9: Pocket Etch-a-Sketch. This is your DS backup for when the batteries die. Try drawing a box, then a circle, then a circle in a box. It’s tons of fun!



So, now you know what a typical feis dad brings to a feis. But all feis dads are different. Anyone else have any other things they like to bring to a feis? Just let me know, and I'll post them here.

--feis dad