Why I'll Be Receiving At Least 17 Votes From The Kitchen Ladies If I Ever Go On American Idol

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I just felt obligated to write down the lyrics to the song which now gets me very generous helpings of egg at breakfast from the cafeteria ladies. That is, at least the ones who were there in the dining hall on Thursday afternoon at 1:30, as Geoff Neuss' W-code Chemistry class burst in sporting aprons and safety glasses stolen sureptitiously from the lab, running in time with the backup chords I was playing on my red accordion (which, like my sparkly purple fairy wings, tends to come in disproportionately handy):

I remember the day when you had us enthralled
Saying that water was the simplest alcohol
Over the year you made us all avid learners
Though some of us are terrified of Bunsen burners

Geoff
What is there left
to live for
now that you're moving on, what would I
give for
One more evaluation
Finished in the quiet room at the break of dawn

Something stirred in my imagination
When you got so excited about oxidation
Just as at home on the blackboard as you are climbing the scree
You're exothermic with a massive enthalpy

chorus (Geoff...etc)

When I walked into class I said "Hey everybody let's look"
I'm learning about ketones from the guy who wrote the textbook
It was like a foreign language that I couldn't translate
But now I know the formula for calcium carbonate

Geoff
what is there left
to live for
now that you're moving on, what would I
give for
one more evaluation...
Data extrapolation...
one more evaluation...
Data extrapolation...
At the break of dawn

Really we were just trying to one-up the A-code Higher level Chemistry class, who gave him balloons and a cake. Unfortunately as soon as I belted out the final note I had to dash off to the CAVRA night exercise, which is a test of both your navigational skills and your will to live. I guess I've just seen far too many of those PBS Sunday night mystery programs, because I kept expecting to see a dead body in the dim circle of light provided by my head torch, and I shrieked at the green iridescent hovering dots of light which suddenly clustered in front of us until I realised that a flock of mountain sheep does actually look that creepy at midnight. We all filled our flasks with coffee, ot that I needed anything to keep me more awake once we finally got to the top of the mountain. Everyone else appointed me, with my notorious lemming-like sense of direction (follow everyone else, and hope we don't all fall off a cliff), to lead them up Fan Nedd - our daunting, invisible black mountain - on just a compass bearing after we had already lost our path, and I believe that my hands were shaking the whole time because I was cold and NOT because all faith and trust and responsibility was placed in one tiny red magnetic compass needle. Also when we finally reached the top I felt suddenly about twenty stone lighter because it was a steep uphill and NOT because on the way up everyone was questioning me and doubting me and begging for water and telling me that we should be going up not down here and that we were completely lost. The thing about CAVRA is that I always do feel as if I deserve the emergency-ration Snickers/German Snickers knockoff which actually tastes better, which they always give us afterwards if all of us have successfully survived. Unfortunately the customary post-hike stopoff at a fish-and-chip shop (really, why wouldn't you join my service?) didn't really work out when we left at two in the morning. A bit like kitchen service...I'm glad it's over. I realised just how underappreciated the kitchen ladies are when Rosh and I volunteered for evening kitchen service on Friday. We did find incredibly sophisticated and mature ways to entertain ourselves, like competing to see which side got more plates (I won! Ha ha!) and doing tricks with the white mesh hats, but picking dessicated mushrooms off the plates of other people's plates of half-finished stroganoff falls somewhere between organising the sock drawer and a 110-minute double code of Maths on the fun scale. Not only do they all still have the chorus of my song stuck in their heads, but because of my 45 minutes of service all our kitchen ladies now know my name, a very useful connection to make on ham and cheese omelette day. It's sort of impossible to escape my voice right now, whether you are a kitchen lady, or a guest at the wedding I'm performing at in the Arts Center on Saturday, or the Crown Prince of Holland, who is visiting the school again and - flattery of flatteries - actually requested me! Or you could be just lucky enough to catch me and Natalie on the dance floor at sosh, her in my sailor outfit and red plaid heels and me in long black satin gloves and the ubiquitous purple sparkly fairy wings, launching into a spirited rendition of Dancing Queen when Melissa requests it in audiobox. Though it's August and I would like to stick with an 'a' alliteration, my entire month can just be summed up as Bikinis, Blackberries and (power) Ballads. And, naturally - I thought to myself while floating on my back in the Bristol Channel with Bjorn yesterday, gazing up at the pure paint-tube blue cloudless sky - all these sadly finite moments of total and complete Bliss.

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