Yup, just record all the random shit that pops into my head, as so many bloggers do from Fashion Week, the Super Bowl, the Curiosity landing on Mars, and my favorite, the GOP convention. The convention graced us with its presence here in Tampa, last summer, and had the gall and hypocrisy to troll up and down in their stretch limos on Nebraska Avenue, looking for not constituents, but the hos and the crack, while trumpeting and fum-fawing about “family values” and all of their other platform-type argle-bargle. Those limos looked like a Hollywood Premiere, or maybe Prom Night; same diff. It was also typical of the GOP to blame the lack of enthusiasm and the ultimate loss of Mitt Romney to Tropical Storm Debbie. Then, they blamed the Republican Governor Chris Christie of New Jersey for not showing up at some rally or another, because he stayed at home to help his state after Hurricane Sandy. Sheesh.
We need to do away with these bastards on the grounds of sheer hideousness, never mind their space-ship politics, although they have some seriously warped ideas about everything and no rational arguments.
Trying to figure out our own HARTline bus schedule was a nightmare. Plus, there were so many trucks with bullhorns hollering “VOTE FOR ROMNEY,” it reminded me of the old-timey campaigning on the hustings, when LBJ would race around Texas and drum up votes. These guys just competed with the boom boxes, making everything unintelligible and louder. But, I digress.
Blogging In My Head
11:30 pm: Uninstall and re-install HP software for the 85th time. While doing so, stumble across all the shit Uninstall left behind. Boot into Safe Mode and zap all the HP shit. Whilst doing so, discover that all the PATH statements still have that goddamned JAVA . Delete from strings and save. Reboot and pray. Yay! It worked; still have the touch!
Startin' to hate these guys, too. Perfect install, eleventy-billion times. This white elephant scans, but won't save, so I save it as a screen-shot and it's great. And don't talk to me about the Martians at Customer Support.
Mel Bay has a book for every single instrument ever made; zithers, balalaikas and probably krumhorns and bagpipes. Here's a joke. Q: Why do bagpipers walk when they play? A: To get away from the sound. My dad's rolling around in his urn in the 8th Air Force Cemetery, right now.
12:30 am: Still looking for that stupid song, the gag won't work without the song. $%$^(#
12:32 am: Starting to feel crappy. Test sugar.. HOLY SCREAMING SHIT!!! 335 WTF???
12:33 am: Make a sandwich; eat sandwich. Why in the hell are those birds cheeping on Hulu+ oh, it's the Cheep-Cheep commercial. Some shit about insurance? Who knows. At least it's not those fucking bears.
12:40 am: JC pops up. Blink, blink. He fumbles for his shoes. “You okay?” I ask. “Yea, gotta pee.” I say, “my sugar was 335!!!!!!!!!!! AAAAARRRRRGGGHHHH!! But I ate a sandwich” JC, not being quite awake, says, “That's nice.” He trundles off to pee.
2:00 am: Binge-watching the 4th season of the “Good Wife” on Hulu+ I feel like a bat, up all night and then sleep until 3 or 4 pm. Ick. I always think of my stand partner “Somnambula.” This was when I was a touring musician and spent 9 or 10 months of the year on the road. When I first met “Somnambula,” we were playing in an orchestra that was like the “101 Strings,” or the “Cascading Strings,” or as we called it, the “Castrating Strings.”
We played all that schlocky kind of music, light opera, operetta, or crap like the “Yellow Rose of Texas” where we had a 100-voice choir that shouted it's way through these masterpieces. Anyway, we were playing some idiot waltz, and damned if “Somnambula” didn't just fall asleep in the middle of an oom-pah-pah measure (violas were the pah-pahs; if anyone EVER practiced this crap, they needed to go back to remedial viola school. One of my roommates, another violist, told me about a violist on another tour who DID practice that shit. She and I were like OOOOOH NOOOOO!) Beethoven you practice. You sight-read this crap.
Anyway, “Somnambula's” switch went to “off” and stayed there for about 16 measures. I could see him out of the corner of my eye and he looked like a still life. Then, his switch went to “on,” and damned if he didn't come right in where he was supposed to. I got used to it. Every viola player I have ever known has had a screw loose somewhere, including me. “Somnambula” would be all bright-eyes and wide awake at 4 am, but during the day? Forget it. Once, he didn't make the bus call, and the bus captain went back into the hotel to look for him. My dear, belated friend Spencer said “He's probably hanging by his toes in a closet somewhere.” I still laugh.
4:10 am: I have a “practice studio” kind of set up in the back of the apartment. My preference would be in the living room, but JC has his computer and TV there. This will work, I can open the back door and watch the birds and possums and raccoons. Not so much tedium awaits, it's building stamina and running patterns. Ugh.
4:22 am: Pick out JC's clothes for tomorrow (today, really) and set out copies of his medical release, so he can go back to school. Living a riveting life, but I like to do things for him.
4:25 am: Pondering on how to mess with the NSA some more. New trick. You have to have 2 cell phones, but one has to be a throwaway prepaid. Call that one, leaving it open and hide it somewhere: dumpster, trash can, close or far in your city. Talk on your phone, using lots of cryptic numbers, and phrases. Parts of adverts and catalogues are perfect for this. Do this enough times, someone will show up at your door. Let them know you've been receiving coded messages on your dental fillings. It really helps if you have a couple of your windows covered over with tin foil, as I do, because of the heat factor, but this will work just as well.
5:02 am: When did advertisers decide that “idiot music” was the norm? Da-de-da-de-da-de clapclap Da-de-da-de-da-de clapclap (repeat 87 times in the key of Happy) It sucks so bad; it's worse than Mozart. Well, maybe not. Even I can write better music than that and I stink on ice. “A Prius for Everyone,” is the flamingest worst. It sounds like music composed by a bastardized Atari and a Mattel Jack-in-the-Box.
5:03 am – 3:00 pm Sleep and badly. Sugar still a pain in the ass. Fasting sugar is 158. WTF? Still, I have a dr appointment scheduled and blood work to be done. Getting old isn't for weenuses.
3:00 pm to 6:00 pm: Hunt for stupid reference in one of the “Asleep at the Wheel” tunes on YouTube, where during a vamp, 2 of the fabulous guitarists throw around this deathless badinage; Guitar player 1: “Look, Mel Bay has a book on Learning to play the Guitar in 3 days!” Guitar player 2: “Let's buy it!” All gleefully said, as they hammer through some of the finest Texas Swing and I can't find this GODDAMNED SONG. I have Mel's Uke book and even his Balalaika book, but I'll be damned if I can find this stupid song! Without the book, my very carefully scanned and arty(!?) cover will have no meaning, kinda like my life, right now. Just kidding.
7:00 pm – 9:00 pm: Oh boy, chili dogs and “World's Dumbest ________ .” This show is guaranteed to run forever, because there is no shortage of stupid in this world. And even when you can see the outcome from 2000 miles away, they go right ahead and do it anyway. Some commit serial stupidities; 3 or 4 times. Unreal.
9:00 pm – 11:00pm: Trying to kill the Boss in “Death of Chivalry” quest. Here comes the fail-boat, toot-toot! After I die for the 3rd time, I say “the hell with it,” and decide to watch season 4 of “The Good Wife,” on Hulu + for awhile.
09/19/2013
2:00 am: Off to bed; JC is going to have surgery on his wrist tomorrow and I am going with him. I know he's scared; he has a low threshold to pain and it is worrying him. So, I'm going to keep him company and distracted, because I do love him so.
P. S. I finally got the dr. authorization for my Cymbalta, today. 7 weeks. Unreal.
2 comments:
A moment in life... Very dramatic.
Though, what do you have against Mozart? I mean, he's not my favorite composer, but I like some of his stuff. You sound as if you detest him.
@Eden,
I just saw this and am so sorry it's almost 2 months late. I didn't mean this to sound so dramatic; it was meant to sound over the top. My "thing" with Mozart hearkens back to my days as a viola student in university. Mozart is tedious and is passionless. There are moments when he ALMOST gets there and then just stops. He also had the tendency to re-write the same piece over and over and over again. After having majored in Music Performance and having played in symphonies for many, many years and then having spend many more years in opera, rock, hip-hop and pop music, I know what I like and don't like. I realized at the age of 18, when in my second semester, my viola professor wanted me to play a Mozart Viola Sonata, instead of the Second Bach Cello Suite, how much I really hated his music. Little came of my trying to practice and my professor grudgingly conceded that I was better off with the Bach. The one piece that comes close to being masterful is also one of his last: Requiem. There is absolutely no comparison between Mozart and say, Beethoven, who with his genius and foresight, brought classical music from the Classical era to the Romantic era in 16 measures in the 3rd movement of his Eroica symphony. A towering work of genius. So, lots of people love Mozart. He doesn't need my accolades.
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