In a land called Hanna-lee

Mary Travers is dead. I'm listening to old recordings of Peter, Paul and Mary and it just makes me well up inside. We had this old PBS special of their taped on a Beta tape - you remember Beta, don't you? Before VHS was everywhere? - and I played that tape over and over again, learning every word to Puff the Magic Dragon and In Right Field, and I swear that I practiced my whistling (much to the consternation of my parents) along with Peter and Paul. Summers in college, driving somewhere listening to Lemon Tree. When John Denver died, and everyone was playing "Leaving on a Jet Plane," it just twisted up my insides and made me hurt. Those beautifully simple voices that reach out to us and put their hands on our hearts. As singers, we should aspire to such honesty and artistry.

Keep singing, Mary. The seraphim will take a break for you.

Miss Hannigan

"Little girls, little girls, everywhere I go I can see them...."

I'm doing my best, y'all. I have hormonal drama, I go to the gym. I have singer drama, I post my rant, and I go to the gym. I try not to blame too many other people for my own problems, I try to ask for help when I need it, I try to help others out when I can. And I go to the gym.

But may the good Lord give me strength, I nearly ran over whole crowds of tweeny-boppers who were clogging the sidewalk, listening to their iPods and texting and walking in huge groups as to completely block the whole sidewalk and the grassy area between the sidewalk and the street, so I practically had to leap out into traffic to avoid running into these kids, and they are so clueless SO ABSOLUTELY CLUELESS that they look at me like I'm an axe murderer when I'm about to run into them and they finally look up from their Sidekick.

I like kids. I babysit for my friends' kids. I coo and google at babies and toddlers. I have changed diapers, I have cleaned up vomit, I have been a camp counselor and a teacher and a music director for high school kids. So why do I feel more like Miss Hannigan than Grace Farrell when I see these sullen children with their bellies hanging out and their dangling headphones blocking my path? I'm just trying to get my run on. I know they have their own universe of pre-teen drama, I remember that and, unfortunately, there are pictures to remind me if I get too righteous.

Didn't your momma tell you to be courteous on the street? If she didn't, I will happily hook her up with Miss Jean and they can have a prayer meeting about that.

Air raid

Have you seen "Dazed and Confused?" It's one of those quintessential movies about the tortures of high school. A veritable 'who's who' of movies with Matthew Mcconaughey, Ben Affleck, Tony Rapp (of RENT fame), Milla Jovovich, and that crazy Mississippi girl, Parker Posey.

No one does crazy like Parker Posey. She relishes the nutty in a way that makes most people cringe. "House of Yes" was pretty bonkers, but also pretty amazing. She was quirky and weird in "You've Got Mail" as Tom Hanks' bizarre book-publishing girlfriend. But where I think she really excels is as the power-hungry upperclass(wo)man in "Dazed and Confused." Every time she yells, "AIR RAID!" the freshmen have to drop to the ground. She's at this kegger out in the woods and sees a freshman girl cozying up to an upperclass boy, saunters over and demands that the girl hit the deck. When the girl doesn't, she promises, with this fantastic smile on her face, that this girl will regret having defied her. And you know she means it, and you kind of want to be there when it happens.

This is how I feel about audition season. Somewhere, there is a nutty person with a power complex who says, "if we require two letters of recommendation, that's too easy. Let's require one letter, but two copies. We will not indicate this. They have to mail one copy in, the other one comes with them to the live audition TWO MONTHS LATER and if they don't have everything on the list, we don't let them in the door. Five arias is too simple - let's attach specific date restrictions so they have to be sure that their arias fall within specific 50-year ranges. OH, and let's have them learn a completely new piece that's written within their lifetime so they can worry whether or not the pianist can play it."

It's like hazing. It's like bid night at the University of I Want To Please Be A Singer, and there are all these seniors holding fire hoses and pouring warm Southpaw on you on the front lawn and telling you to like it. They're making you wrestle in the mud with other singers who are actually nice people, and none of you would act this way if you were on the street or in a civilized environment. They herd you into small spaces and make you wait like the bulls on my cousin's Angus farm, waiting to go into an even smaller space so you can do what you're trained to do. And maybe, just maybe, you live to go into the pasture another day and you don't end up as someone's dinner.

I would feel better if Parker Posey were at my auditions. Just one of them. At least then I would have some levity about the situation. Instead, there are very serious-looking strangers who write really nice blogs and I want to like them and I want them to like me and moreover, to hire me. But I'm so nervous about whether or not my Spanx are hiding everything and if they noticed that I'm really a whole FOOT taller than the soubrette who just left the room.

And if Parker Posey doused me with spiked punch and demanded that I hit the deck, I would so do it. Gladly. Because there would be levity. Today, there is no levity. Today I have all these forms covering my dining room table. I have pissy people calling my phone and demanding that I send them the supplemental materials and I tell them that my photos are arriving tomorrow and that my materials will be in the mail on Wednesday, even though the deadline is more than three weeks from now.

I'm trying to keep my grip. I will not be hazed like a freshman on bid night. I will not run screaming from frat row. Nosir. Because I've got my big girl shoes on and I'm here to kick some ass and take some names. Get out of my way, quit creating your own drama, and put down the jello shots because I am NOT doing any more of those just to show you I can. I am here to sing. I am not a trick pony. Deal with yourself.