Comments on: Veganomicon GiveAway#4: Talent Show

By: vince

vince — Mon, 21 Jul 2008 19:24:20 +0000

MAN EVERY ONE SHOULD OF BEEN WEARING TIGHT SPANDEX

By: SOG knives

SOG knives — Fri, 18 Jul 2008 10:48:40 +0000

SOG knives…

Interesting ideas… I wonder how the Hollywood media would portray this?…

By: Gucci Accessories

Gucci Accessories — Wed, 21 May 2008 21:13:44 +0000

Gucci Accessories…

I found your site on technorati and read a few of your other posts. Keep up the good work. I just added your RSS feed to my Google News Reader. Looking forward to reading more from you….

By: Harmony

Harmony — Sat, 27 Oct 2007 18:34:51 +0000

I didn’t even get to be in the talent show.

When I was about eight my sister, who was six, and I decided to try out for our school talent show. We were to sing “Somewhere Out There” from American Tale in a duet. We made our own mouse costumes using contruction paper.

We sang our song and were unceremoniously cut.

By: Allie (farmtobelly)

Allie (farmtobelly) — Sat, 27 Oct 2007 04:41:49 +0000

Not a talent show…but dance class…when I was about 4 years old.

Keep in mind, this is all on tape. It’s on one of those little tapes that you have to stick in a bigger one to be able to play, but for some reason my parents still have the technology to do that.

So in dance class there is this song playing called “tightrope walking” or some shit like that…and there is this straight tape line across the floor that we have to pretend to tightrope walk across. All of our parents are sitting there. Being four and not having much in the way of fine motor skills all of the kids are wobbling a little bit. Just a little bit though. Of course, here comes my turn. And wait, I wobble. Wobble some more. And fall on the floor. Then all you see is my mom’s friend is laughing and camera shaking because my mom is laughing so hard. Yeah, I think I’m pretty much the only kid ever to fall off an imaginary line. Needless to say, I’m not much of a dancer now.

By: RebeccaDG

RebeccaDG — Fri, 26 Oct 2007 18:40:19 +0000

When I was 15, I signed up to play the piano for our area homeschool competition. This was the last year I was eligible. I had been practicing the same piece for almost a year and as the competition drew closer, my teacher and I were frantically trying to smooth out the remaining sloppiness inherent in my musicianship.
So the day arrives. I’m sitting in the audience, listening to the kids ahead of me. They are good, admittedly. They probably all practice like they’re supposed to. They most definitely study out of pro-creationism textbooks. I know that many of the girls are only allowed to wear long skirts and dresses. One such girl is sitting next to me looking nervous and wearing thin white gloves to keep her fingers warm. She has been my arch rival for the last 4 years or so.
Well. I’ll show her. I’ll show them all. Sure I hate performing, but I can do this!!
Oh shit. it’s my turn. White-glove girl and I exchange false pleasantries, and I stumble up to the judges table, sheet music for my Rachmaninoff prelude in hand. They glance at my music, say something encouraging, and I lurch up to the piano.
I sit. I glance at my mother, smiling sweetly back at me from the packed audience. Here goes nothing.
I begin. Wow, these keys are heavier than I’m used to. I think the bench is too close. Hell, I missed those notes again. Do you think the judges noticed I totally botched that? I complete the first section with my usual glitches.
Moving on to the flowing dramatic middle portion, I realize I have just played the wrong section, which sounds suspiciously like the part I’m supposed to play. Shit. I’m playing the same part in circles. Shit.
I stop playing. I grimace at the judges. They ask: do you want your music? Um. Sure. Thanks.
If there’s one thing I do worse than practicing, it’s reading music. I retrieve the music. I begin again. I screw up again. And again.
I take a deep breath, stand up, look out at the sympathetic audience (well, except for my arch rival) and proclaim:
“Sorry, I can’t do this. Thanks very much.” I take a bow, and leave the stage, feeling oddly euphoric.
I should mention, I now make my living as a piano teacher. Go figure.

By: Post Punk Kitchen Blog: Show Us Your Mitts! » Blog Archive » Giveaway 4 Results: Another Day In Paradise

Fri, 26 Oct 2007 17:56:26 +0000

[…] were so many heartbreaking talent show stories, but sweetshop’s had all the elements of a compelling […]

By: VejGurl

VejGurl — Fri, 26 Oct 2007 07:37:50 +0000

I just remember what song we “performed” in the story I mentioned above: “Hangin’ Tough” by New Kids on the Block (hush, I was eight!). I came out for the “Fat Lady sings” part, waved my hand in the air like I just didn’t care for the next few “Oh”s then got rolled across the stage.

By: Tanya (punkypower)

Tanya (punkypower) — Fri, 26 Oct 2007 00:33:31 +0000

So for fourth and fifth grade, I did the same thing.

I did Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar on Me.” Despite the fact I took dance class as a toddler, I seemed to have no idea that dancing was meant to be to the rhythm and NOT about the words.

Let’s just say my act included sugar packets and bubbles.

I guess I was ahead of my time for interpretational dance, huh?

By: Megan

Megan — Thu, 25 Oct 2007 13:18:42 +0000

I tried out for the elementary school talent show in fourth grade with two friends and this girl who I have no idea how she got into my group. She was friends with another girl in the group from Hebrew school. She was heavy and awkward with very large glasses. We decided to do a dance to Walk Like an Egyptian. We practice all weekend long, and then planned to all don bed sheets as togas for costumes. One of our group members, a recent immigrant from Eastern Europe, showed up with some sort of cartoon bed sheet instead of a white one. I knew we were in trouble.
We put our song in the tape deck and all did completely different dances since no one seemed to remember to choreography the same. We were so untalented that we weren’t even allowed to perform in the talent show. This was all about 20 yrs ago before everything in elementary school was all touchy feely “we’re all special.” We were special alright… in a different way.