Olympiad in MHK

This week, one of my students got to the regional Olympiad in MHK. Our trips to the January refrigerator are devoted to today's column. “Ours” - because to deliver a young genius to the venue, it is morally supported (and this is my second hobby) and then it was entrusted with seeing back.

The municipal (that is, city) stage of the regional Olympics took place at our school. Tasks are nowhere more boring. Evaluation criteria are horrified. The question, for example, is: “Whose picture? Name the author. " Reproduction in the size of a lighter and, of course, in a monochrome b/b. You call the author - and that’s all, nothing more is required of you. But this is only 3 points. If you also tell the author’s biographical data (suddenly you will see you yourself to come up with additional questions and answer them), then get not 3, but 5 points. And if you also add the features of the era with a fright - get all seven. You sit, put points, then send somewhere to be checked.

In short, one of my students passed.

The final takes place in a super -circular Perm school, where you bring your clothes in your clothes with your own hand. Nevertheless, the cleaning lady is fussing nearby, but the children say to her: “step away, you interfere,” and she will obey in silence.

On the fourth floor - registration of participants in the regional Olympiad. Children from the region from city schoolchildren can be distinguished at first sight. City - subtile boys in Skinny with covered ass and broad shoulders in shirts with an unbuttoned upper button. Girls - in long scarves and with hair of different lengths and colors. Clusted lips. Eyes with squint. They immediately ask where the dining room is, is there Wi-Fi and "Che, when everything is at all." Regional - in woolen sweaters. Patiently stand, wait. They are all lower in tall, long hair is taken with colored elastic bands. They are all from the road.

“Go to meet someone,” I say to yours.
“No,” she answers and for some reason goes into herself.
All urban rub along the walls. The guys from the region have already met and discuss something.

After a couple of minutes, everything is already on the same level - behind the desks, one at a time. The audience is filled with colored reproductions, bottles of mineral water and cups. Suddenly the door opens and a ninth grader looks into it (it seems) - in a vintage dress and with a thin cigarette and an iPhone in his hand. She quickly examines the sitting and does not comment loudly to the place: "So that's how they look." I prefer to turn away, and the organizers rush to the door to drive it away.

Teachers are asked to take a walk for three hours. For decency, they call to disassemble the questions of the Olympics on an unplanned round table. They have one classic: Leonardo, Raphael, Tchaikovsky, classical music. Not a word about the XX century! Neither the photographs of Arbus, nor Salinger, nor Picasso, nor Dali, nor Pollak, nor Bitles. Nothing. I understand that this is wildly uninteresting to me. It is only necessary to name the works of masters, but for this you do not need to think - it is enough to know. In the wording, not a word about “invent” or “compose”. Only "name". Boredom.

There are only women-teachers around. I feel like a woman. First, you probably have to buy a hygiene.

We talked with one colleague. She is from Kudya. There have been no MHK in their school for two years. Closed. But her student prepared independently: at home she read books, watched a movie, looked for reproductions of paintings on the Internet - and now she got it. My such zeal does not show, but they do not need to fight for their subject.

After three hours, regional schoolchildren, first of all, run up to their teachers. City respectable and decorously seeds to the toilet.

Summing up and closing the Olympics was set the next day. Young musicians perform. Represent the new piano - the pride of the edge. Then the baby comes out (I want to believe, the great pride of the edge than the piano) and begins to dive on the cello. I fall into a stupor. I have never seen such babies so easily "make" adult musicians.

The second wave of cultural shock rolls when the names of the winners are announced. Who, you would think, turned out to be the best? The same girl from Kudya, who has no mHK item for two years at school. I'm waiting for her to come out now, and I will remember her, but she left home yesterday. And we have nothing left: to smile a couple of times for a group photo and take a calendar with the image of the beauty as a souvenir.

Maybe you really don't need any MHK? All the same, soon a lot should change. Now, in the subject, the ultimate frankness in art, but it will pass even faster than we think, and something new will begin. It would probably be nice if we became more fresh, would become robots. There would be no MHK, music, literature and stories - we would have considered everything well, worked in factories, sold machines, would go for the weekend in Tokyo (although not, to Turkey). The girls would read Bronte when it was bored. The boys are Akunin, if it were dreary. Children are Lindgren, when it would be necessary to laugh. And everything would be fine. And they would drink all ginger ale.
“But it's too much ... boring,” my Olympice unexpectedly lost.