back-logging

My psyche returned to me this morning, after the Physiology final. Don't you worry, the old noggin was working during the exam. It was my temporal-spartial-memory-thingy that took an early vacation. Now that it's back, it's telling me that I never recounted the unique experience of participating in the memorial service for Anatomy. The event is a rite of passage for first year medical students, the conclusion of a whirlwind tour through the human body, in celebration of those who gave us their remains and confer in us a different way of seeing. I, for instance, will never look at beef the same way again.

Humor aside, the event was very nice. Lots of flowers, and professors reading poetry and choking up on the podium. What wasn't so nice was the ad nauseum stream of musical contributions from the student body, of which I was also guilty. In my defense, I channeled every fiber of blackness within me into finding the right voice and expression for "Wayfaring Stranger". I think everyone was pretty much surprised that the quiet asian kid who sat in the back could sound like a 200 pound member of the Tuskegee Singers. Thank god for DayQuil, although it did make me forget 2 lines of lyrics. I thought about scatting, but decided to spare further insult to the quiet diginity of the spiritual I was butchering, and decided, instead, to lift lyrics from various dramatic points in the song. Unfortunately, the lyrics were printed. Appart from a few raised eyebrows from stupid Dental students, I escaped unscathed. I didn't think Barbara would mind.

I don't have nice words for the school's a cappella group, however. I felt like crying, for all the wrong reasons. They need to retire, or at least spare the old folks in the old-folks home who can't physically get away everytime, and captive audiences like students at the memorial service. Seriously, what's with the pitch pipe? They didn't need it, since everyone in the group made up his own starting pitch anyway.

Adding insult to injury, the ceremony ended on a low note, or should I say, a very badly sung high note that became a low note because the Dental soloist stopped trying. It didn't help that his guitar was sharp, the piano was flat, and the trumpets were playing a different tune. It's bad to criticize such sincere efforts, since the act is morally equivalent to making fun of mentally retarded children. I know. But really people. Really. Have mercy on the rest of us, cadavers and all, please!