Allison works at Catholic elementary school. This year, the staff party was to be hosted at the priest's house, featuring BYOB, caroling, and a tacky "small fee" for the employee's guests. The event was well hyped amongst the staff, including the principal who vowed to bring a pinata filled with tiny bottles of booze. The whole evening sounded like quite a spectacle: a priest's house, nuns, elementary school teachers, alcohol, and singing, a once in a lifetime opportunity, certainly not something I wanted to miss. This was just the awkward adventure I've been looking for, so I agreed to go, with great anticipation. As the night came near, however, I began to chicken out. Although I knew at some level it would be wonderful, actually being there in that moment was terrifying. I wasn't sure how to tell Allison that maybe I didn't want to go anymore, but when the day arrived, she didn't even bring it up with me. I thought maybe she similarly thought twice about bringing a "plus one," but as it turned out she rethought attending altogether, skipping out on the event. Cue the clucking sound effects, we both chickened out. It would have made an interesting blog post, however.
Meanwhile, for weeks, my friends Greg, Spencer, Allison, and I (with looser commitments from Katy, Amber, and Tanya) had been planning to go caroling around town tonight. The phrase "Christmas band" had even been tossed around, much to my delight. It wouldn't just be singing, but involve lame instruments like the triangle. We all enjoy singing Christmas tunes, so what better idea than to bring it to the people!
The reason that the concept of caroling is so appealing to me is because I find it entirely presumptuous. (And perhaps a tad assumptuous.) Who has the gumption to knock on doors under the belief that people want to hear what you have to sing? If you're performing for the public, the unwitting audience would probably figure you have talent or practiced beforehand. (In our case, they would be figuring incorrectly, bwahaha.) Combine that with the fact that caroling is such an antiquated practice, more of a Dickensian activity, that people would respond in a fairly startled manner. "People actually carol? I thought that disappeared with polio."
We aren't good. We're okay, I suppose, but we try to harmonize a lot because it makes us laugh, and it tends to fall flat -- pun intended. It's one thing if you practice harmonies and get them sounding good, but when you're like us and prefer to try to do them spontaneously and hope they work out, that only proves successful 1/4 of the time. The other 3/4 of the time, listeners tend to cringe at the dissonance. In the grand scheme of things, however, these wince-worthy moments just add to the comedy, especially seeing as it makes it seem like we think we're good if we're attempting harmonies in the first place. This mentality is emphasized by the fact that we point our index fingers or move a flattened hand up and down to mime the chords we are attempting, much like professional singers.
I looked at caroling as more of a social experiment than anything, which is exactly the mindset you'd want from a musical performer you're listening to, right? First, I was curious how many people would actually allow us to sing to them. Second, I was curious as to how long they would be willing to listen to us. I assume that at best, people will smile and politely clap for two songs then thank you for stopping by, but this limit was one I wanted to push. We had two plans, the first being to turn our songs into medleys thus not breaking between them, instead staggering our breathing (just like real singers) and keep going, watching as our audience found a courteous way to get us to leave. The second plan was when someone made an excuse like, "Thank you, but I need to get back to fixing dinner," that we would plead, "Wait, we just have five more songs," and ignore eir request.
Furthermore, caroling is about the freebies. Someone's bound to be gracious toward our presence and offer us some tea or cookies, perhaps even some figgy pudding, whatever the hell that is.
Sounds like quite an evening, right? I prepare the lyrics, but as nightfall approaches, Allison and I still haven't called the others about going, putting off making the funny event a reality. For what it's worth, they didn't call us either, meaning they were in a similar situation. I felt myself chickening out again, but I was determined to actually make a fool of myself this time. Then, Allison announced she was getting cold feet (appropriate, considering the temperature was chilly), and asked if I would mind if we didn't actually go. No, actually, I wouldn't mind, I said, taking the excuse handed to me. Again, it would have made for a funny adventure and an equally amusing blog post, I reckon, but to actually go through with it would take some nerve I don't seem to have. Bah humbug.
New Year's resolution: Follow through on crazy ideas for hilarity's sake.
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