#IWSG – SEPTEMBER, 2016 CHECK IN – HOW DO YOU FIND TIME TO WRITE IN YOUR BUSY DAY?

This is a really great question because, my other muse, music has come roaring back into my life, and this is what I've been focusing on for a while. Rehearsals started up again for the Tampa Bay Symphony with some wonderfully interesting music, in Dvorak's 8^th Symphony, Edward MacDowell's “Woodland Suite” and Richard Strauss's Horn Concerto; the not-inconsiderable string parts for any of us by any means. Strauss enjoyed writing neo-Romantic music and writing it as difficult as he possibly could. Once, a flute player was complaining to Herr Strauss that a passage in “Ein Heldenleben” (A Hero's Life) was unplayable. He looked at the part, and then looked at the score to see that the 1^st violins had the same passage. “Liebchen, do not worry," he said, "it is unplayable in the 1^st violins, too.” When I lived in Michigan and basically lived in my car, driving from symphony to symphony, we played that thing in the Lansing Symphony. There is a “battle scene” and if any viola player played more than 2 out of four correct 16^th notes in the entire passage, I'd be surprised. The thing sounded like chaos, but it didn't sound any better played by the Cleveland Orchestra. Strauss just wrote some crazy stuff!

Okay, so, Richard Strauss's string parts didn't look as horrible as "Faerie's Aire and Death Waltz" by Fibich (it's a parody piece, like the "Viola Fight Song), but his string parts are pretty formidable. Herr Strauss was also one of the founders of BMI, which is why I'm not showing any excerpts here. ALL of his music is still under copyright!

Because I do have “essential” (there's that word again) tremor, I have to “work out” daily, with scales, intervals, string crossings, hand-framing, and a bunch of other gobble-de-gook that string players get, but is meaningless to a non-fretted string player, who uses a bow. Doing so enhances seems to enhance the muscle memory, or embed it in my pea brain. It's a good daily routine, but unlike a physical work-out, I'm not trying to get ahead necessarily, but just maintain my groove. It also makes it easier to read the music and run the patterns.

Viola Clef. The viola is the only instrument that uses this clef. We all play in Soprano (violin) clef and occasionally, some dimwit writes a part for us in Bass Clef or Tenor Clef. We tend to go on strike if this happens. My better 2/3 thinks we should all just add a 5th lower string to the violin (that would sound tubby and woody and awful) and we should just get rid of this clef all together. Somewhere, Beethoven is laughing, because he actually found a use for violas! (We also had a joke that violas only played in 3 positions, 1st, 3rd and EMERGENCY! I don't know why that is, because I "memorized" my fingerboard, and it's a lot easier to crawl around in 1/2 steps than to take leaps, although I can do that accurately, too! ;-)

It also requires discipline, which then I can turn around and apply to writing. I try for an hour a day. Sometimes, it gets so crazy around here, I'm lucky if I get five minutes. With all of the hoo-ha of getting passports, work visas for Japan (which got pretty hilarious I thought) and trying to get the SSA to put my money in the right account, so I can pay my bills while overseas (I'm beginning to suspect the government is incompetent) and deal with “new” insurance rules that I believe are designed to kill us off in a more spritely manner, I'm flabbergasted that I'm sitting here at 10:36 pm on September 6th, writing this for September 7th, 2016, after I just returned from a rehearsal and being gone all day. I guess planning is not my long suit, most of the time.

But, it's the discipline and not all of what I write during that hour, or one-half hour or five minutes is always good, or half-way good. It's a lot of dross and ends up in the Virtual Paper Shredder. Music is the same way. You have to be your own worst critic before you'll be any good at all. Luckily, there are tons of people in both Arts who are willing to assist! Happy #ISWG'ing!

#A-TO-Z CHALLENGE 2016 GENERAL - LIFE, HUMOR AND MUSIC NO THEME

This year I'm going without a theme. In years past, I've always gone to something like, “Music” or “Humor” and it wasn't entirely successful. This year, I'm just tossing the theme out the window and will write about some of the things that are still going on in da 'hood, and some music and humor. Just not in any particular order, or with any formal idea in mind.

Part of this is, I suspect, pure laziness, and part of it is that I've been trying to work with an idea for a “serialized novel” that seems to have some legs to it, so the focus is there for the time being.

I do however, always enjoy doing the A-to-Z Challenge and writing (I hope) short, and pithy little posts, so we'll see where we end up, shall we?

I may write about some of my fabulous bus trips in and around Tampa's 'hoods, which are every bit as horrifying as they sound. Last week, we had our “Safety First” kinda bus driver, which was a hoot, because this cat will NEVER make the bus kneel when I need to get off. Since I have very little depth perception, I've been lucky that I haven't bashed my teeth in on the pavement falling out of the bus. I have to REMIND him to make it kneel, although he can see I've got a cane and dark glasses. During our last encounter, there had been a messy accident at the intersection of MLK Blvd. and Nebraska Avenue.

It was just Alex's and my luck, too, that they parked this big, honkin' Fire Truck with it's butt sticking out across the two southbound lanes. They could have pulled up closer to the smashed up cars, but I'm guessing there was leaking gasoline. Thankfully, no one was injured. The police had a fine time directing traffic, though. There was a bit of dancing going on, 'cause Nebraska Avenue.

Five cop cars and a giant-ass Ladder Fire Truck showed up to block the south-bound lanes of Nebraska. We sat there while this idiot dithered about what to do; go left over the median, beside a semi, which just helpfully stopped, straddling both lanes of Nebraska, just north of the intersection and put out a bunch of hazard cones, 'cause Nebraska Avenue, which would have been totally okay, as the cops were directing traffic and would have let us through, or go up on the curb a little bit on the right-hand side of the semi, which would have been okay, because one other bus had already proven it could be done.

But, noooooo. This guy had to fuss and fume around like we were in some perilous situation that would end in a fiery death, if we moved so much as an inch. Some guy on the bus had driven big things in the Military and was trying to coerce the driver into (gasp!) taking a right turn, just before Nebraska and going around the Auto Parts Store, but the driver wasn't sure he could do that, without... tipping over the bus, I guess? On a normal 90° turn? So Military Guy was frustrated. The whole bus was. There were several women who were just coming off shift from the Hospital and I'm sure they were ready to get off their feet. I'd had a long day at Clinical Research and was tired; my essential tremor was misbehaving (stress and lack of sleep does that) and besides, “Mr. Safety First” was a misnomer and he was pissing me off.

A Hartline bus at the Marion Transit Center. When there are twenty buses coming and going all at once, it's like this giant bus ballet, with buses screeching and whooping, farting, speeding up, slowing down and stopping on a dime and it's really something to be a passenger. It could be a GREAT carnival ride.

So, the driver called the Bus Supervisor; some cat that drives around in a little official car, supervising buses, I guess. And he did so, because I think he figured he was about to lose control of the situation. I had already loudly suggested that one of us get off the bus, walk 50 feet to the cops and tell them we were either being kidnapped, or held for ransom. It got a laugh from everyone but the driver. So, the Supervisor showed up and “led” the bus, after talking to the driver and after giving a talking to Military Guy. The Supervisor led the bus to the same exact 90° right turn, that the bus driver could have turned down an hour previously, without the help of the Supervisor. The Supe then led us past a left-hand 90° turn, which would have put us out on MLK and closer to our destination. As we crept past this turn, I hollered out, “What!?! Is that turn too tight for ya?” I was really acting up. Shame on me. Not.

The bus came to a halt. The Supe got on the bus, and started chewing out Military Guy, again. I guess Mr. Safety First had tattled on the phone to the playground recess Teacher, like we were all in 3^rd Grade, but he got the wrong miscreant. I 'fessed up, and said “I wouldn't be so irritated if this schlemiel would kneel the bus like he's supposed to, every single time I get off this damned bus!” The Supe looked daggers at the Mr. Safety First and just got off and got back in his little buggy car and led us off to our destination, home.

The Supe's car. It totally doesn't look street legal to me, but hey! What do I know; they're probably cutting corners, to save money.*

Sure enough, I had to ask Mr. Safety First to make the bus kneel, AGAIN, before I could get off of his stupid bus. Some people may think I'm making a big deal out of this, but it's truly hard to see other people with canes who have physical disabilities and then have to remind this guy to lower the bus for them. Certain disabilities tend to cause militant behavior in the person with the disability and for good reason. I can't always rely on people respecting the stick and the glasses. So, I'm wary.

Anyway, this is a big longish for an A-to-Z post, but it's a Not-Theme Reveal, so I thought I'd indulge myself. I am looking forward to the A-to-Z Challenge of 2016, whatever it is I write on; I'm going to do my best to make it fun!

_________

*Totally kidding. That was for (Believe it! Or not) "Bus Fest" a few years ago!

REBLOG: IF THIS DOESN'T BRING TEARS TO YOUR EYES, YOU'RE MADE OF ROCK

FROM THE BLOG OF AUTHOR COLIN FALCONER

IF THIS DOESN'T BRING TEARS TO YOUR EYES, YOU'RE MADE OF STONE

“We all need to play the music that we hear inside. To do that, some of us have greater mountains to

climb than others. For the Landfill Harmonic, it’s a mountain of trash.” 

Landfill Armonic - Orquesta Reciclaje via NPR

Having known from a very, very young age, that music would be a part of my life, I am always gleeful when I run across things like this. I think that without music, as Beethoven would say, "life would be a mistake." I've tried to act upon this in every way possible, I mean, look at me, I ended up a viola player. The butt of jokes in symphony orchestras the world over.

A funny thing happened during this journey, apart from the getting sick, homeless, having a complete bastard of an ex-husband, Bill Nunnally (you really didn't think you were going to skip mention in this post did ya, ya tar-hearted meany-pants philanderer and liar extraordinaire? You're in for the long haul and you know you deserve it, Lithia, but enough about you. This took a whole 2 seconds of typing.)

The music never died. It just won't quit. In case I think it's gone, I have these friends? Angels? People who have come to know me, yet have never clapped eyes on me and yet understand that ours is a shared passion. The passion to make music. To that end, we have the Recycled Philharmonic. How awesome is this? After all, before Pablo Casals learned to play cello on his gourd that his dad crafted for him in Puerto Rico, when little Pablo was, like 3 years old, way back in antiquity, people were beating on hollow logs with sticks and then jamming said sticks into hollow gourds.

This was actually in the Weekly World News. Y'know the rag that used to feature Bat Boy, so there may be some veracity issues. . .

A Short History of Music, You Won't Find in Any Book:


Oog, or Ogg got the bright idea of tying a few pieces of yak hair to the top of the stick and affixing it to the bottom of the gourd. Voilá! He had him the first proto-type plucked instrument. A bent stick with eohippus tail hair became a bow and pretty soon, the whole cave was stringing away.

I am not sure how long it took Oog and Ogg and crew to discover that by shortening the string length of their now-bowed instruments would change pitch, but I'm guessing it didn't take long. As far as organized groups of like sounds and all that, I didn't take music anthropology in college, I was too busy studying the viola and playing things like Bach's "Unaccompanied Cello Suites" transcribed for viola. The piece Bebi is playing "Unaccompanied Suite #1 in G Major, Prelude" is the first juried piece I played in university. It is absolutely thrilling to hear it played again and so well. His interpretation is well-nigh flawless. 

Music and the arts are the things that differentiate us from the animals; although, I wonder sometimes. We have cats and elephants painting and I believe I saw dogs doing interpretive dance, although I would argue against that as an art form. It's more like the Emperor's New Clothes school of Arts, like the Concerto for Vacuum Cleaner and Symphony Orchestra I once was forced to sit through as a student, because our music professors were working out their hostility issues, or something.

Anyway, this is a love letter to all of those musical people; the musicians with notes in their hearts and beats in their souls, and it's not from me. I'm just a conduit. I was inspired by something ancient and something from so long ago it is an atavistic feeling, but most shared things such as this usually are. Thank Colin Falconer for this lovely find. I must go now; I have a viola that is yearning for some Bach, Sibelius, but absolutely no Mozart!

You can find the Landfill Philharmonic on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/orquestadeinstrumentosreciclados.cateura

There is also a Kickstarter for funding here: http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/405192963/landfill-harmonic-inspiring-dreams-one-note-at-a-t

HOMELESS CHRONICLES IN TAMPA - #ROW80 BLUES

Yeah, yeah, I know. But in some alternate universe, there IS a #ROW80 a-boil, right now!

This is probably the least, or most, reasonable reason (sic) for creating a post, depending on your point of view, but as I am so damned sick and tired of talking about me, me, me, rather than mi, mi, mi, fa,sol, la, ti, do, this will work in lieu of DaTScans, drooling, eyesight with no depth perception, but 2 of everything, and general dementia and hallucinating. In other words and other circles, a typical violist.

So, I got dem #ROW80 blues... in E minor, no less. The enharmonic, or relative key is G Major, with 1 sharp (#) and Brahms' 4th Symphony and Tchaikovsky's 5^th Symphony are written in E minor. I always enjoyed playing these pieces, because the viola parts are tough. Unlike Amadeus freakin' Mozart, who sucks, oh so precociously and preciously and is so terrifically boresome, that the entire viola section falls into a stuperous coma. Beethoven fixed that, when he jumped from the Classical to the Romantic era in his 3^rd Symphony (the “Eroica” not the “Erotica” as some idiot typesetter put in a program once, along with all of the orchestra's names misspelled. I underwent a sex change and was “Marc Wallach”) in the 3^rd movement in about 16 measures. Plus, according to some historians, Ludwig and I share the same birthday, just not the same year, har har. Vivaldi (who also taught Paganini; perhaps the greatest violinist ever) is a sweet ride and so is Haydn, but Mozart is the lamest of the lame in my book, with the sole exception of his "Requiem" which I haven't played, but sung Alto, and loved. Unjustified hero worship, in my not-so-humble opinion. Thank god, he's pretty avoidable.

My house is a Mozart-free zone and zero-tolerance does apply. Violators will be subjected to the Biebster for 80 hours. No exceptions.

In mentioning different genres of music that I have played, it should be mentioned that I was classically trained and in the Galamian school of Pedagogy. Ivan Galamian was a noted pedagog in string teaching for violin and viola. I studied with one of his students for a number of years, but strictly classical repertoire. That previous paragraph meant nothing to anyone unless you were trained in the Suzuki method of playing violin, viola, cello or string bass. You know, with the tapes on the fingerboard? The idea was anyone who was possessed of a tin-ear and completely tone deaf could play a non-fretted string instrument. Trust me. You can't. You can however, piss off the rest of us and embarrass your parents.

Over the course of my career in music, however, I had the opportunity to learn and play every other kind of music and in just about every kind of venue. I've even played on top of a swimming pool for a political fund raiser, which was interesting. Not something I'd care to repeat, though.

               I got dem Row80 blues...

               nuthin' here for me to do...

               I got dem Row80 blues,

               'cause A to Z is done and gone as well...

               Row80 has me singin' the blues in the key of Hell...

               'Cause C# is a bitch of a key to sing

               Next tah-ime, I be a-singin' the Row80 blues,

               I'm-a goin' for the key of B minor, or maybe F minor

               With accidentals 'n' double-sharps 'n' double-flats...

               'n' that'll show them violinists... They can be a-singin' the blues...                  

               Cause they like to play ever' thing in e♭major, the most boring key on earth, ever...                                                                                                                                                    

               'n' they lubs dem a whoooole lotta Mozart. I got dem Row80 blues... 

San Francisco Symphony and Corky Siegel Blues Band, 1971

These seem dated to me now, although I love playing Blues more than most other genres, because of being able to "bend" the notes.

Leonard Bernstein: Symphonic Dances from West Side Story

On the other hand, "Symphonic Dances from West Side Story" remains one of my favorite pieces to listen to and play. The Broadway production and movie had no violas, but the Dances do and the parts are difficult indeed. Still my favorite; I've played them as recently as 2006, with Maestro Coppola and they are still hard and awesome. Not dated one bit. Oh, yeah, the violas have to yell "Mambo!" in this. 

I played with Bernadette Peters several times and her music books travel with her, as with all headliners, to all the local venues and it is a tradition that the local backup players sign the backs of the books. This way, I've kept up with my Detroit friends and other friends over the course of my career. Violists are also a bored lot and we're notorious for silly jokes. One of her standard tunes is “Glow Worm,” and there is a passage where the violas are supposed to sing “Glow Little Glow Worm, Glow.” The printed instructions read “Sing.” A bit further on, they read “Play.” Some wag went over this piece of music with a pencil and wrote, “play” then “play and sing” then “sing and play” and then, “walk and chew gum.” My stand partner and I, a youngster from the Cincinnati Conservatory spent half a day getting over the snorts and giggles from this. Of course, during that night's performance we had forgotten and started laughing all over again. It doesn't help either, that these artists love to showcase the players by seating us on risers. Well, they told us to have fun.

The usual setup for one of these "show" orchestras is something like this. I'm not in this picture. I've probably been expunged from all publicity shots and sent to Valhalla or witness protection for violists, or something. Frankly, there's too much lame dripping off these folks. They're probably playing some Mozart, or "Babes in Toyland," Heaven Forfend!

So, from classical to rock; from hip-hop to heavy metal, I've pretty much played it all and I think that my favorite type of music to play is either something like the second movement of Grieg's Cello Sonata, adapted for viola in A minor, which has some awesome passage work in the upper register, or Rachmaninoff's “Vocalise” for Viola and Piano. This also has some great passage work in the upper registers, but the lower notes can be played on the “C” string, in higher positions, which really resonate on my viola. There are also the Max Bruch Unaccompanied Viola Suites, which just flat out rock.

Ma looks drunk; I look stoned. I'm not, just in my bliss, playing my viola. I am 16 here.

Contrary to what people may think, it's actually harder to play long, slower passages and interpret them musically, then to play fast passage work. That's like just plain ol' band music. I played in the Stage version of Mel Brooks' “The Producers,” which was a hell of a lot of fun, but it was just a bunch of 16^th notes for about 80 pages. I played it for several weeks, so I was able to get a gander at the goings-on onstage. My favorite part is of course, the song “Springtime for Hitler,” where we get to depict WWII in 4 minutes, or 10. I forget which.

Beethoven's viola, which he played in various orchestras in his birthplace, Bonn, Germany. He was probably bored to death of Mozart and thought, "Mein Gott, we must have some decent viola parts around here. I shall write them! Wolfgang is an idiot!"

As we were packing up our instruments backstage, I mentioned to one of the percussionists who was stowing all of his drums, mallets, triangles and what-nots, “You know, nothing says Nazis like Bongos.” I also liked the part where Matthew Broderick tells his boss to stuff it, and shouts out, “Certified Public Assholes.” That wasn't in the 1968 movie. When I played gigs like that, we never ran through a full performance with the cast, until we opened. So, here I am in the orchestra pit, cackling like a hyena. There's always so much stuff going on in these things, you can pretty much get away with anything.

Once, I was eating Skittles out of a 1 pound bag and I dropped the bag during a performance of the New York Gilbert and Sullivan Player's (NYGASP) “Mikado.” However, just then the Grand Pooh-bah (Lord High Everything Else) was up on stage doing his shtick, and everyone was laughing, so no one heard all the Skittles skittering around. This same group also had an infamous pair of violinist brothers; Italians. One was concertmaster, and the other sat Principal second violin. Between a sound check and a show in some town or another, they went off and proceeded to drink wine with their spaghetti.

I was sitting kind of behind them; the pit was small, and we couldn't sit in our usual horseshoe shape. I was also the whole viola section. The conductor had decided years before, that he didn't need 2 or 3 and kept me employed, so I was squished between the cellist and the 2nds. Well, there was a fair amount of dialog and the concertmaster, kept nodding off, then he would catch himself and sit up with a start. After about the 4^th time, I figured, he was going to drop his bow or violin, when he almost did just that. So, I looked the other way. My friend, Spenser, on cello, who was sillier than I am, started laughing and I was going to laugh, too, so I looked over at the wind section. Just in time to see the 2^nd clarinettist yank his mouthpiece out of his instrument and bop himself right between the eyes, with the thing. Creepin' Jesus.

"Who dropped the Skittles?" "Skittles, Shmittles! Why is the 2nd clarinettist unconscious?"

All of this has nothing on the extravaganza that used to be held annually at my church, Trinity Catholic Church in Brandon, Florida. The orchestra itself was a crackerjack orchestra, the conductor, not so much. But, he was the “Internationally known Father Whatsis” as he had played before Pope John Paul II in Rome. Translation: he sucked. He sucked so bad that one year, when we played “Sleigh Ride” for the eleventy-billionth time that year, he managed to confuse the orchestra so badly, the brass and woodwinds ended 2 measures AFTER the strings did. I am still trying to figure that out. I've played in concerts where the orchestra has gotten lost, but we somehow managed to end at the same time, but this is the only time I've played a piece, and a totally easy, no-shit-everyone-knows-this-turkey type of piece and we couldn't end at the SAME TIME?

Next year, let's stick to the "Typewriter Concerto," hmmmm? We didn't even have room for the Griswolds' Family Christmas this year! "Maybe we can ditch the Gumby Christmas Trees and the Elvis-Abe Lincoln-Serial Killer, too. That whole shtick is creeping me the hell out." "You can't say Hell in church." "Heck, then. Creeping me the Heck out. Besides, we don't even have a plastic baby Jesus."

Meanwhile up on the stage, Gumby Christmas trees and Snowmen Elvises, who could pass for either Abraham Lincoln or serial killers were cavorting with tone-deaf kids, elves and the Griswolds' Family Christmas on a huge screen, sans sound. Occasionally, one of the poinsettias would be knocked into the orchestra pit and we would be dodging soap bubbles (“snow”) and flying plants. The entire pageant was devoted to the secular, because the “Internationally known Father Whatsis” would get lost in “Ave Maria.” There was always something on stage that had me crying rivers of tears in hysterical laughter, every year, without fail.

I was always 1^st chair viola and had a fine selection of stand partners over the years: “Somnambula,” the narcoleptic, who played with me on several tours, “Sir” Francis Drake, who was afraid of his own shadow and Lou, who used a whole 2 inches of bow and bitched about EVERYTHING. “I loathe this song, completely loathe this song. Have I told you how much I loathe this song?” He would say before each and every tune. Still, people lined up to play this thing, because it was like being on an acid trip; the orchestras themselves were awesome. We all played for a living. This was like a busman's holiday and it did pay well.

But, the not ending at the same time reminds me of when I was in Detroit, and we were playing Respighi's “Pines of Rome,” and I think the 2^nd violins were hung over, or still drunk. “Pines of Rome” is one of these pieces that has divisi in the strings and the sections, 1^st, 2^nd violins, violas, celli and bass are not unison, meaning that each section is broken up, for a richer texture. Sometimes, that texture is mud. This was shortly after the epic fist-fight in the viola section; talk about an orchestra with issues. Anyway, the 2nd violins got lost and the conductor started screaming, “2nds! When you run out of notes, stop playing!” I'm guessing they had some slow readers over there.

I know people who will try and play 2 lines at once. You're not showing off. You're "failing." Badly. Stop it.

I've been fortunate that way; usually, the section that's getting it's ass chewed out is the section I'm NOT playing in at the moment. I'm either really good or I fake really well. The jury is still out on that one. Actually, a friend and a fine violist who coached me for a few years when I first came to Tampa, helped me distill it this way: We never really master our instruments. The best we can hope to do, is to learn how to disguise and minimize our flaws. I think she hit that just right. I also learned from her that we're all basically self-taught; our teachers can show us proper technique, but we do the work. A teacher's most important function is to inspire us and make us want to learn.

#ROW80 POST 10 – LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, IT'S SHOTIME BOXING!

Here is a little-known fact about me. I love boxing. Love, love, love it. I think it is perhaps the purest of sports; you not only have to be physically at your best, you have to be able to out-think and psych out your opponent. You also have to study your opponent and take advantage of your opponent's weaknesses, and be able to study yourself and mitigate your own weaknesses. It's a whole lot like music, in fact.

Playing any instrument professionally is about showcasing your strengths and hiding your flaws or mitigating them. There's also a pattern to everything; scales, 2nds, 3rds, 4ths, 5ths, 6ths, 7ths, octaves. You drill yourself over and over until it's instinct. Boxing is just like this. Playing a piece of music, especially a solo, has a beginning, middle, and an end. There is a period of feeling it out, or introduction, a climactic section and then a coda. Boxing also resembles this.

Well, boxing doesn't look like THIS, but you get the idea.

One night, I went to a boxing match and ran into the conductor of one of the orchestras I was playing in at the time. I said, “What are you doing here?” He looked at me, and said “I could ask you the same thing.” Oops. We agreed that we were both rabid boxing fans.

My father's mother lived for boxing, or so she told us. This was back in the days of Howard Cosell and Muhammad Ali, and I was more captivated by their traveling sideshow: Cosell: “You are being bellicose, Muhammad, you know that right?” Muhammad: “Well, if I'm that, it must be good!” and on and on. Great stuff. Then, he stepped into the ring and I was transported. My father watched the fights on Saturday nights. “We used to listen to boxing on the radio.” I just thought that was stupid, then, but I can understand how he could imagine it now. I've listened to many a summer baseball game on the radio and enjoyed the hell out of it.

This pretty much sums up their relationship.

The thing is, boxers are a really different breed of cat. They are probably the most accessible of athletes, and will talk your ear off given half a chance. They are also very, very smart. I've talked to Antonio Tarver, shortly after he took the title from Roy Jones, Jr., who at the time was my boy. But once knocked out, Roy was extremely easy to knock out from then on. It is almost axiomatic, that once a fighter has been downed, they develop that “glass jaw” and it pretty much stalls their career.

Like anything I'm fascinated with, I studied it carefully, but won't bore the daylights out of you with all the various minutiae I discovered. There's tons of it; stats, history, schools of fighting, blah, blah. Favorite fighters and favorite coaches. I met Angelo Dundee, a former trainer of Ali, who was working a fight in Tampa and he very graciously talked to me for a few minutes. He signed my “Heroes” book, along with Antonio Tarver and Mark Biro and several others. These people are amazing.

In researching this, I found out they've had 3 bouts together. Jones lost every one of them. Stop, Roy. Just stop.

I would be remiss if I didn't mention the ring walks by the combatants. Probably the most memorable was the ring walk of the bout between Marco Antonio Barrera v. Prince Naseem Hamed. MAB is a CPA in Mexico City, with all the flash and panaché of a CPA. But damn! The man could box and he could hit and brawl and there was no quit in him.

Marco Antonio Barrera, staring at his shoes apparently; looking rather amused.

The Prince Naseem was some jumped-up Arabian guy from the U.K. who traded on his Arabian ancestry; he was like something out of "Scheherazade" or "1001 Arabian Nights." Every fight of his was bizarre, tingle-tangle orientalism. Dancing harem girls, camels, guys with scimitars. But, he had one every fight up until this night, due to the fact that he had the most non-traditional boxing style I had ever seen. He punched people backing up. He switched to south-paw in the middle of combinations. There's no denying that he could punch like a mule, he was just and elusive boxer. He decided to try and start his head games on ol' Marco with this entrance: 

This was on HBO and Larry Merchant became even more catatonic than usual when he saw this. Marco started laughing and shook his head, which is not a good sign for the Prince. This has got to be the most hilarious ring walk I have ever witnessed. And oh yeah, Marco beat down the Prince in the 4th round, when Naseem quit on the mat. It was his 1st loss, and he wasn't heard from again.

The broadcasters are something else again. I always listen carefully, because I know I'm going to hear some kind of shit that is hilarious. One night on HBO, Roy Jones, Jr., as color analyst, said “How do I know why this guy isn't up to his game? Maybe his eyelashes are tangled.” Roy was quickly replaced with George Foreman, he of the 8 children all named George. He was barely understandable, but funny as hell. I'm surprised he didn't try to sell his George Foreman grill. He was also the oldest man to hold a Heavyweight Belt. He didn't fight so much, as just lean into his opponent and slug him in the liver a couple of times a round. It must have been like hitting a tank.

I still think he was a little better than Larry “Prozac” Merchant. This guy could put a crack addict to sleep in about 2 sentences. “I... think... we... … can... safely... say... … that... Lennox... Lewis... … is … … one … … of …. the … … sport … … kings ….... is... the.... finest... exemplar... ever. Okay, is Lennox a horse? Are we talking about Polo? Horse racing? My God, what in the hell are we talking about? He gave a eulogy on the death of Princess Di and I think he's still giving it.

Larry Merchant. The drugs have either worn off, or are just kicking in. Anyway, what has been seen cannot be unseen.

Over at SHOtime, they had the notorious name-botcher (Ring Magazine's description, not mine, but apt) Dr. Ferdy Pacheco. The late Dr. Ferdy lived in Tampa, as did the late Angelo Dundee. Dr. Ferdy painted and he painted quite well. Too bad he wasn't so good with boxer's names. He was Muhammad Ali's doctor at one time as well. A nice man, but boy, the fighter Betthavean Scottland became “Beethoven Scott” or something close to it. He was usually in the ballpark, so no one ever complained.

There's a new batch of folks over at SHOtime, sort of. Brian Kenny, Al Bernstein, who's a retread and 2 other guys I never heard of before. Tonight I heard something that I just live for. Once upon a time, several years ago, on the old USA Tuesday Night Fights, a guy, last name of Clancy and Sean O'Grady were calling the fights. I can't remember who was fighting, but one of the fighters had on these hideous plaid trunks and they were truly hideous. Clancy just busted out with “Boy, he looks like he jumped through a couch!” Mirth and hilarity ensued.

O'Grady supposedly went to Medical School and then boxed. He was a much better color commentator than a fighter. I don't know about the doctorin'.

Tonight, we were watching a championship fight between Canelo v. Lopez and Canelo was just hammering on Lopez. Lopez was taking it with aplomb, hardly backing up. Up pops Al Bernstein, with this pithy observation: “I really like how Lopez is showcasing his composure.” WTF? Well, Canelo displayed awesome ring generalship, cutting Lopez off and keeping him in the corner. Canelo also threw several brilliant combinations. The fight was stopped in I-forget-what-round by referee Joe Cortez. A good fight and Canelo retained his belt.

Canelo, on the left, is from Guadalajara, but he has the map of Ireland on his face and can't speak a word of English. His record stands 43-0-1 after  this fight, on May 5th, 2013. Lopez is managed by Oscar de la Hoya's organization, GoldenBoy.

Canelo is scheduled to fight Floyd Mayweather, Jr., who is pretty tough and is trained by his uncle Roger in September. I do love the sport. Were I any younger, I'd train and spar. I might still, who knows. I've been fighting as an amateur for years. Maybe I need to step up and go pro.

#ROW80 POST 8 SUNDAY CHECK IN – TUNE IT, OR DIE

This title comes from a coffee mug my mother sent me, years and years ago. The mug was a campaigner and was my companion on many a tour. Some musicians found it funny, some laughed uneasily; I have a notoriously "true" ear. In fact, I have perfect pitch, or whatever they call it these days and will cheerfully point out egregious tin-ear like behavior at the drop of a hat. It's not necessarily a good thing, because, it's made me lazy. Actually I've made me lazy. A story for another time.

 I get the whole enharmonic thing. Still when you see double F♭♭, or worse, E double-sharp, which looks like a skull and crossbones, I prefer not to go there. Alas, I have no choice. Someone has to do it and my stand partner has usually decided it's a fine time for a nap.

P.S. This ain't my clef, so we're already 2 removes from my reality, whatever that is.

I believe I've mentioned that I am not a big fan of the violin and that most of my gigs in the latter half of my career were non-classical in nature. I did play viola in quite a few of them and had a few stand partners that were most memorable. Somnambula, for one. Here was a guy who would fall asleep, mid-measure, take a nap for about 16 measures, then like some automaton, just wake up and come in precisely where the orchestra was in the waltz.

A Tribute to Fibich, who is famous for "March of the Gladiators." You know that Circus music that every circus in the world plays, when the circus enters the tent. Total cheese.

This is a piano reduction.

Toccata and Fugue in D Minor by Bach; these are the opening 6 bars. It flat out rocks. It's the one you here in every scary movie and is originally for organ. It's a real challenge for an orchestra and I love playing it. This is the adagio, or toccatta (which means "to touch") Although slow, it is brilliant technically. The fugue itself is difficult as well.

I also had another stand partner who heard voices and kept trying to sit in my lap while we played. After he got carted off to the loony bin, I was designated Principal. Not because I played well, necessarily, but because I was unflappable. But my favorite stand partner was a gal out of Orlando. She was just as nonchalant about all of this as I was. We were playing Pops-type music and the viola parts sucked. So, after the concert, we would go off and get snockered in the Hotel's bar. One night, she whispered to me, “You know so-and-so?” Who was a member of our section. She asked me this after looking around to see if anyone was listening; there wasn't anyone else in the bar. We were closing the joint. I said, “Yeah, I do.” My friend, Beth says all wide-eyed, “I walked by her room and she was PRACTICING this music.”

What's-her-name was practicing something like this. For interpretation? Artistry? Music like this drove me to drink.

“Get out! No violist practices this crap!” I said. Beth just nodded. “She WAS! I swear.” Holy cow. You practice Beethoven, you don't practice “Life Is Just A Bowl Full of Cherries.” Anyway, this was the tour where one of the 1^st violinists fell asleep against the proscenium during a concert. Since he sat on the outside, everyone could see him. Alas, he didn't get hired on the next tour.

So, I got to play first violin on the Bebe Neuwirth tour and she sings this song about Johnny Surabachi. The manager was daft enough to seat me with my dear friend, Nancy. This is a disaster waiting to happen. There were 4 stands of 1^st violins. My friend Bryan, a colleague from the University of Michigan is playing concert master and his partner, Inga out of Julliard, are on the first stand. I can't remember who was on the 2^nd stand of 1^st violins, then it's Nancy and me and I don't know on the last stand of 1sts. So, 8 1^st violins.

There's this passage in Johnny Surabachi that is all bongos and mysterious. The parts are divisi, with the 1^st stand playing a couple of measures, then the 2^nd stand joins in, with higher notes for a few measures and then it's time for the Mary and Nancy show. Mind you, these F'ing notes are so friggin' high, I have no idea what they are. I don't usually play in this clef and now I'm expected to pull some stratosphere notes out of my ass...

What in the hell? That someone, who put this nightmare together "helpfully tells us "D" string and "E" string. I like the way he hastily scratched in (octave lower) with an arrow pointing, so the dimbulb celli and basses would understand, it wasn't an octave higher. Clearly not a string player. The second staff down is viola clef "B" I climb all OVER my fingerboard and play notes higher than some of the ones on the "E" string on the violin, but I have not clue one what that shit is in the stratosphere on the violin clef. Guess what? Nancy didn't either. She just wings it!

To top it off, the first 2 stands had gone Eek! And Squeak and then just stopped. Nancy and I went Erk. And then stopped and the 4^th stand did nothing. Thundering silence. I pretended to tie my shoe, which is a neat trick when you're wearing flip-flops. Bryan turned around and looked directly at us, like “who are you and what have you done with my Mary.” Nancy raised the stand so no one could look at us as we howled with laughter. The conductor called a 15 minute break.

Someone weenused out and wrote 8va, which means they're written an octave lower than they sound.This dingbat thought it would make better sense in color. Lemme just get out my magic markers and color my strings. That'll help.

Nancy and I raced outside and rolled around on the loading dock of the theater. She said between guffaws, “First it sucked, then it got suckier and then it sucked some more.” It was truly, truly awful, but funny as hell; Nancy and I still laugh about it. That's one reason why I hate playing the violin. The stupid notes no one can read.

Not that I haven't suffered debacles playing the viola. Many, many years ago, my stand partner was responsible for the music. She and I had decided that we would copy the third page, because the turn from 2^nd to 3^rd page was right spang in the middle of a very complicated viola passage. We were playing in this little chamber orchestra up in the choir loft and it was rather drafty. We had all 3 pages set up on a music stand designed to hold 2 pages, and of course, being violists, we assumed the Magic Tape Fairy would provide. She didn't.

The 3^rd page wafted out into the audience and Julie and I went from fortissimo to pianissimo and made many serious viola-like playing movements. I believe the term is air-viola. The conductor, who was Romanian and a complete bastard, started waving his stick at us, to make us play louder. I am not entirely sure of the physics involved here, but am fairly sure, that is not it. Julie and I could not even look at one another, as we played these imaginary notes on our air-violas. I am fairly sure that we were playing a Bach something-or-other, where the violas were absolutely necessary, so this just sounded like a clockwork mouse, that someone had stepped on, was still running but missing a part or two.

Free-form music; my favorite

After the piece, the conductor came down off that podium and started leafing through our music to make sure we would have no more “forgettings” as he termed it. After Julie and I got over our laughing fit, we told him we wouldn't.

#ROW80 POST 21 – MUSINGS, WONDERINGS AND SIGNS?

Jesus, this is bad. I posted my 1737 words for NaNoWriMo about ½ hour ago. I have just the barest idea that I may actually get away with something vaguely book-ish. Very intensely autobiographical. I’m basically barfing out my life’s story, changing everyone’s name and running with it.

Just so I make sure there’s plenty of ME to go around on the Internet, I still plan on doing a self-publishing type of book that now has 5! yes 5 whole sections! 1 – Early Life, 2 – Music, 3 – Computers, 4 – Homeless and 5 – Runescape. Who doesn’t want to read the ravings of a middle-aged woman cavorting around a virtual world with her friends and finding new and interesting ways to die? Not me. Don’t worry, the ‘Homeless’ part is short. Yeah.

'Brother, can ya spare a n00b 3 gp?' 

Anyway, from yesterday to today, I forgot that I posted for Halloween and I spent most of yesterday afternoon obsessing about NaNoWriMo. Unfortunately, JC’s knee took a turn for the redder and puffier. He spent Saturday in the hospital and for some idiot reason, they put him on Zithromax, a wide-spectrum antibiotic, which is okay for  bronchial infections, but not deeper, more serious stuff. Ergo, off he went to his primary doctor today.

Now, he has to go back tomorrow, so she can lance what looks suspiciously like something akin to cellulitis, an infection that started about 4 months ago, when he had a procedure done at the USF outpatient center. Honestly, the health care system has so gone to Hell in this country, it’s unbelievable. I don’t want to start a rant here. I have had my own dealings with all of this. I just need to get him well right now. It sucks when you have a person as compliant as he is and you can’t get one goddamned competent person beyond one's own personal physicians to pay attention! He’s going back to his primary doctor tomorrow so she can lance what looks like Boilzilla. They should have fixed this last weekend when he was hospitalized. Jesus!

They don't know him at TGH, and the majority of the folks there, if they're not transplant patients, which TGH does awesomely, by the way, are charity cases. Read that as, 'street people,' or 'homeless.' I'm saying no more, because in the main TGH does a fine job. Their ER department is good. The doctors are compassionate and care, more than a batch of neurologists who pretend to diagnose over there. Anyway, everyone has off days. I just wish they had had an off day on someone else. So much for my clarity and compassion. You can suck, just don't be sucky on my dear, loved ones. Seriously. I'm not this pissed when they tell me I'm crazy.

So, here we are, 4 days away from an election that will mean? Who in the hell knows. Right now, I think the country is in such deep, deep shit, that it makes not one whit of difference who gets elected. I voted early, and I just know, I don't want someone who doesn't know that a "submarine is a thing, fuckwhistle."  Seriously, there was never any question. I have a visceral meter that took one read off of Romney and went "OHHELLNO!" at DEFCON11. I had the same reaction to President Junior Bush when I first clapped eyes on him, and visceral works for me. Besides, the 1st time I heard Obama speak at the Democratic Convention in 2004, within 2 sentences, I knew he would be our next president.

I have also been hearing all these things through various media outlets and on the Internet about stuff like the US sitting down with the Iranians to begin Peace talks and to counter this, Bibi Netanyahu has formed a ‘war cabinet’ by merging his Likud Party with the hard line Yisrael Beytenu party of Avigdor Lieberman.

This sounds ever so much like all of the hype and hysteria preceding both World Wars, yet everyone is so hot to jump up and holler and scream and shout and froth about? The same goddamned shit every other goddamned country fought over: territory. You can gussy it up all you want and try to put lipstick on this pig. You can call it Leibensraum if you like. Why the fuck not? It got Hitler pretty far.

Let's just scream and holler and chew rugs and froth our way into total destruction!

What we really need right now is? An alien invasion. Yup, a good old flying saucer-type batch of Aliens from Alien-Land. And they need to be some mean bastard Aliens. Not the huggy-feely sweet Aliens from “Close Encounters of a Third Kind,” or the funny, kitschy Aliens from “Mars Attacks.” No, we need a big batch of those horrible, mean bastards, like in “Alien,” the first cut. We need about 75 of their ships to crash land here in populated and out-of-the-way places. That will make everyone unify in a hurry, straighten up, quit fighting over bullshit and get along.

Don't Make Me Come In There!

Note: Written , 11/01/2012, 18:30 EDT, Posted 11/02/2012, 13:01 EDT