Photo: Tomayto, tomahto.
I received the most disturbing call ever. There I was, minding my own business, when my son's father called. The conversation made no sense to me then, and makes less sense to me now.
SS: Did Oren call you? (lots of background noise)
Me: No. What's up? ...hello?
SS: He didn't call you and tell you about the *muffled noise*?
Me: What? I can't hear you.
SS: Did he tell -- about -- th -- stra?
Me: You're breaking up, what?
SS: OREN JOINED THE ORCHESTRA AT SCHOOL.
SS: He wanted to play the violin, but they were out of those, so we got a viola.
Me: ....a WHAT?! I'm sorry, WHO?
SS: Here, talk to him.
Oren: Hey, Mom.
Me: Hi buddy. So... the ORCHESTRA? And... the VIOLA? ...really?
Me: So you've always wanted to play the viola? I didn't even realize you were aware of the viola. The only thing Mom is sure of is that the viola is NOT a violin, but it walks and talks like one.
Oren: Pretty much.
Me: You really want to play that?
Oren: I don't know, but I've always wanted to be in orchestra.
To which I wanted to reply, HAVE WE MET?
It's like I woke up today and realized I have an overachieving Asian child. To me, children who play the viola (THE VIOLA) should also be doing calculus for fun and making me breakfast. Thanks to Wikipedia, I have found out that the viola is basically the middle note of the string section; it's used to round out the harmony, and add richness and depth to the music. I think that's a lovely description--and if an adorable, 9-year old Chinese girl was playing it for me, I might actually weep from joy. But when I think about my goofy, brown, 10-year old halfbreed playing the viola, it just makes me weep. From unbelievable laughter. And the strange pride that comes from discovering your child is a person for the very first time.
If I had to assign an instrument to Oren, the viola would make the bottom of the list, right next to the flute, piccolo, and ALL string instruments; Oren seems like more of a--I hate to say it--tuba kid, or even percussion of some sort. Maybe the keyboard, but I don't think the $38 Casio I have in mind gets a lot of stage time in the orchestra. So the viola threw me off--WAY off. I was kind of in shock. I called my mother four times. I thought the sky was falling.
Of course I think it's amazing--that HE'S amazing for even coming up with this shit! the fucking VIOLA!--but I was just so surprised. Oren could have called up and said MOM I'M GAY AND ADDICTED TO INHALANTS, and I would have been all DUDE I'M IN THE MIDDLE OF BLOGGING, CAN I CALL YOU BACK and then I would have forgotten. But THIS? The ORCHESTRA? Around this time last year he was playing football, albeit begrudgingly. (Favorite football convo I had with him: "Hey Oren, how's football?" Answer: "Daddy likes it!") Maybe he's finally jumping into the Nerd category with both feet; I hope so. I mean, he is a little computer geek who looks up to the ultimate computer geek (the Esq). I'd much rather that than some fey, Abercrombie-wearing, Jeep-driving, backwards cap-sporting douchebag football player. Not to be too specific.
In other sky-falling news, Snotty has a new hairdo. It's kind of like Katie Holmes' old haircut (old=3 months ago), the one she had before she and Tom Cruise started looking like creepy twins. LIKE THEY WEREN'T CREEPING US OUT ALREADY. The Esq's sister (KJ) and I got our hair done yesterday at the Bellevue Gene Juarez (something I said I would never do, which is a testament to how accurate this sentence is: everything I say I will never do is done within six minutes after public declaration), and then had dinner at Joey's (another something I said I would never do--I rest my case) which was pretty good; I will be going back for the gorgonzola toast, for sure. When it arrived, the toast was the shape of a cake-slice and the size of a Buick; I felt like we were at Claim Jumper's. After the first tentative bite, however, I was inclined to take that toast to the ladies' room and rub it all over my body--I just couldn't find a little Mexican spectator to stand by the door.
The last time I was in Bellevue, LIKE FOR REALS, was when my viola-loving offspring was still chillaxing in utero. There's no need to go there, really. Unless you want to spend a ton of money and feel shiny for a few hours; now I understand why Bellevue exists. I had a lot of fun with KJ, though, and if you're looking for a killer haircut, JAKE at Bellevue Gene Juarez was the NIT to my SHIZ.
Anyways, I have bangs. BANGS (Me 3-months ago: I WILL NEVER EVER GET BANGS). I'll need to become a Flat Iron Warrior in order to keep this haircut viable. Will upload pics later on, but right now, I have a date with my mother, my two nephews, and the Seattle Science Center. Viva la science!