Pondering My Return to Bassoon.....

Much to my surprise, I received today an IM from a composer in the music school, asking if I would like to teach a master class for young, aspiring High School bassoonists. Oh, the little faggots! (Haha, you think I am being mean to gays, but I'm actually just playing on the German word for bassoon...I know, I'm too clever) Unsure how to answer, I asked how much it paid and, upon his response of, "I'm betting quite a bit," I agreed to have him hand my information off to the proper administrators.

But what, exactly, am I to do at this master class? I mean, I have been to more than my fair share and know pretty much the ins and outs of the program, but how I am supposed to teach them about an instrument I very rarely touch any more? More so, how am I supposed to inspire them?

Of course, this opportunity ties directly into my position as a bored poster shop employee. Having yet failed to resolve my issues with the corporate office, I am as unsatisfied a poster-hawker as possible. In fact, I'd be willing to say that I am as unsatisfied with the poster shop as I have been with my dealings in the music school, which are in great part responsible for my distaste of bassoon. Let's just say that both have similar sized administrations and both operate on such an uncontrollably bureaucratic level that getting anything done is impossible.

I guess I just have to look at these two situations as being remarkably similar and try to learn from each. My newfound knowledge of soul-selling, born of both this poster shop and my all-too-long tenure as a student phoner, plays into both. Once again, I am in desperate need of money (and housing, which is beside the point, but I figured I'd slip it in, hoping that someone will respond and be able to give a place to live next month....please). This financial desperation has proven itself capable in the past of destroying my sense of conscience. I will gladly solicit donations while you try and eat your dinner, another factor in the breakdown of the American nuclear family we all hold so dear. I will merrily convince you that the heinous bag you hold in your hand is stylish, if only to make my daily sales goals. Hell, I put up with every last bit of you administrative crap (until I find a new job/scholarship). I'll even take advantage of high school students. I will somehow convince them I am an authority on bassoon and that I know what is best for their playing.

Then again, it's not like this is the first time I have done this. I have taught master classes in the past, and love teaching private lessons. Surely I should continue on with these, given the fact I, for the most part, enjoy them. I know that am gonna do it and, for the mast part, I'd say I am excited/nervous about doing it. I just have to pray that this, in no way, makes me want to start playing bassoon again. As I desperately attempt to narrow down my life choices and filter out all the potential bad ones, I cannot afford to once again rationalize to the point that I believe music to be a suitable career. Then I'd just be screwed.