PLAYING THE VIOLIN AND HOW TO AVOID IT – REDUX

courtesy of: Copyscape.com

What a riveting start to a post. A list of the post you are about to read and the places you can currently read it. All are legitimate, with the exception of "Otto Benjamin Violins, blah blah." Unless you are fluent in Cowface and Dingbat the site is unreadable, but this is how my friends, Andi Roo and Aaron Brinker brought to my attention the fact that my deathless prose had been gasp! stolen.

(IT SHOULD BE NOTED, IN THE INTEREST OF OPEN AND FAIR DISCLOSURE, THAT THE READER WILL NEVER FIND OUT HOW TO AVOID PLAYING THE VIOLIN BY READING THIS POST)

I first unleashed this little gem on an unsuspecting world back in early August of 2012, and it went on to become one of my most “popular” pieces, right up there with my “nameless guy who fell down in the Falcons' Superdome and was horrified” and “E. T. Phone Home” posts. This piece also has the erm, distinction along with a couple of other nameless pieces of being stolen and sold on a now-defunct “for-content” website. How ironical, I jestically say, as I've never earned dime one for my blatherings. There's a reason for this. I get PAID (or I used to) to play music and not for writing verbiage. Maybe I should be paid to not write verbiage; I haven't a clue as to whether I'm any good or not as a writer, I just know that from the age of fifteen, I wrote, and understood English at a post-doctoral level.

Einstein wrote his “General Theory of Relativity” and I read an English translation of it. I cannot say whether it was riveting or boring; it got the point across, but it lacked something of the elegance of his little E = MC² equation by pages and pages and so on and so forth. I think my writing is a lot like that. It's kind of hilarious to me that someone “stole” my piece and sold it, when I wouldn't have the balls to try and peddle my own jun -, er, work, yet, in solidarity to my writerly friends, and I owe them much and they depend on their writing for a living, I went the whole route of writing the “publisher” and kindly requesting they remove my piece. I kept it light and airy and the piece was removed within 24 hours. The website disappeared shortly thereafter.

I'll bet he was fun in a string quartet!

I owe what little writing talent I possess to my parents who were very well-read, and downright scholarly in their own ways. My mother held two degrees, and my father, never having graduated from high school, lied his way into the Air Force, went to the Flight Academy and flew B-29s for roughly three years in the Korean action, until he mustered out on a medical discharge, after two crash-landings. That's two whole more flights than I ever want to have endured, WITHOUT the crashing. He continued to fly, privately, as did my mother; I think they were both a pair of loons. I loathe flying. 

 

 He was the epitome of cool; he brought me home from the hospital and was my primary caregiver until I started kindergarten. He and my mom were great together, until they weren't, due to her own mental illness, but she was a star, too. My folks had the hearts of lions.

He then attended college; went year-round and graduated 3^rd in his class. Maybe there were only four students, but he was pretty bright. He did all this while caring for me, as my mom was working three jobs. To keep me quiet, he played a combination of Glenn Miller, Beethoven, Richard Strauss, Tchaikovsky, Tommy Dorsey and Debussy on the Hi-Fi, but not all at once, so he could do his homework. I was a preemie and tended to be fussy. Music was the perfect panacea and the only thing I ever loved deeply and passionately. I love working with computers, but that is more about problem-solving and it kind of sucks as performance art; no one is going to pay for an evening of watching me code, or resolve a system issue caused by the r.schmitt trojan virus. Boring stuff.

My Ma was no slouch in the brains department, either. While working on her second degree, a B.S. in Psychology, she was programming in Fortran, a machine language hardly anyone uses. I found her books, after her death. Since she was taking no classes, she was either plotting a takeover of the world, or writing games for her own enjoyment. I would bet the former.

I went to college on scholarship, and was a lazy student, due to having perfect pitch. But, I have since learned that without music in my life, my life had lost it's anchor. To make this short and sweet, I was diagnosed with essential tremor, after having exhibited symptoms for years and harboring latent symptoms for decades. I finally had to stop playing altogether. This is a condition much like Parkinson's Disease, without the heavy medications; call it “Parkinson's Lite” if you like, but it can be every bit as horrible as Parkinson's, with core tremors and psychosis. I have all the inherent symptoms; tremors, drooling, no sense of smell, I stagger, occasionally and stutter when excited. It also has deep psychological components and at times those were ruinous. But, I found an awesome, awesome neurologist, who found a good medication that mitigates the core tremor and has allowed me to resume my mostly abnormal, life.

Me, the sole offspring of the two pilots above, on the left, with a touring buddy and my partner in crime, "Wolf", a superb viola made only ten years after the death of Beethoven in 1827. I'm happy, because I'm NOT playing the violin!

In fact, I have started playing AGAIN, and have auditioned and am playing in the Tampa Bay Symphony, a group I started with 20 years ago, when I first moved to Tampa. So, I'm currently practicing up a storm, and participating in some clinical trials that I hope helps people farther on down the road. The Parkinson's Foundation has been very, very good to me and I am fortunate indeed to have found them. But that is not what this post is about. It's about playing the violin. Now, that I'm back in the harness, I have to say once again, it is to be avoided; at all costs.

Ring ring!

Me: "Hello!"

Manager: "Hey, Mary. Are you doing anything the week of November 20th to the 25th?"

Me: "Well, let me check my calendar." Sound of pages flapping in the breeze. "Hmm, nothing but the “Merry Parade of Turkeys” and “Turkeys, We Got Your Turkeys Right Here with Skitch Henderson Sound Alikes." At this time, I am living in Charlotte, North Carolina. I am also still playing in Tampa and pretty much driving all over the south. I am also exclusively playing the viola.

Manager: "So, you have open time?"

Me: "Yes." To my everlasting regret, I said, "Yes."

Manager: "Great! I need a violinist for..."

I didn't hear the rest. I was in shock. I told people for years that I didn't play the violin. I never played the violin. I hadn't played the violin since I was sixteen, and here I was at 45. I play AT the violin. I still don't play the violin. I hate the screechy little suckers. They're all under your chin being little and screamy. What the hell is that? I just hate it. The only reason I started to "play" the sons of bitches is because I got sucker punched and caught unawares. I didn't even own a violin for years. I refused to buy one. I rented one for years and a student model at that. I figured since I didn't play the bastard, I wasn't going to be pretentious about it and get some big, souped-up Lamborghini violin or something. I have a Lamborghini viola. I rented a violin with steel tuners, tin strings, and tape on the finger board which I never, ever, ever allowed any of my students to use. That pussy Suziki shit with tape is beyond horrible. If you can't use hand-framing and play by ear, like the God Galamian intended, burn that hunk of wood. You don't deserve to call yourself a non-fretted string player.

courtesy of: collectibleviolins.com

Aargh! No, it's not "Talk Like a Pirate Day!" Those tapes! When you shift positions, the intervals change! It's impossible to develop your "ear" assuming you have one to begin with, if you're using tape as a "guideline" Fluidity counts. Not everyone is meant to play non-fretted instruments; those folks need to stick to "Guitar Hero!"

So, I'd rent these god-awful violins with tin strings and "play" in these violin sections, in the hopes that people would get the hint and quit hiring me to "play" the goddamned violin. I'd play loud. Real loud and shrieky, when the music asked for piano. I'd ask my managers shit like, "why the hell are you hiring me to play the violin? Did every other violinist in Tampa die/migrate/go on vacation?" They still hired me. I tried drinking my way through rehearsals and that didn't work, because everyone else was out smoking blunts during the breaks; they couldn't tell stoned from drunk.

People thought I was a good violin player; I guess because I didn't give a damn and was reckless; I was the Nic Cage of violinists raging around on my rented violins. I started ending up in first violin sections, so it got exponentially suckier. You know what really, really sucks? Playing Mozart on the violin. I hate Mozart. I hate Mozart, MORE than I hate the violin, if such a thing were possible. Because Mozart's a pussy. He gets right up to an idea and says “never mind” and plays mezzo-forte, before limping off into the 600^th pianissimo iteration of the same shit he wrote over and over and over and over. Yes sir, there is Hell in a barrel right there. Eighteen ledger lines above the staff and I'm playing "guess the note." I can't even read that shit. It's in soprano clef. I normally read the viola clef. Okay, I read soprano clef just fine, but when you're up towards the direction of the sun, weirdness starts to happen, physically. Purple becomes yellow. CRYSTAL-BLUE PERSUASION! Mountains walk. Cats do algebra. The horn section is being played by The California Raisins. I look down, unsurprised to find that the stage has turned to lava, when I hit some of those harmonics. My stand partner's hair catches fire. God knows my ears are still ringing.

I was laughing about it though, when I thought about all the variations and different types of gigs and positions I've held. I played with Styx and I can't remember how this came up, but it is also the same with a Johnny Mathis tune; one of his “Brazilian” set. "Sail Away" which is so lovely, is an absolute bitch to play. It consists of 64th notes, practically in its entirety. Denis Deyoung's father was part of the OSS in WWII and was one of the first to reach Paris, with the Allies. You can hear the Chopin and Debussy in Styx's music. An interesting little bit of trivia along with the silly today. There, aren't you edified?

Styx's music is challenging and we had a lot of fun playing it. But, one of the things that does happen with playing that type of music, is you lose the edge on your heftier musical "chops" as we call them. We were touring pretty extensively at the time with Styx and "Domo Arigato, Mr. Roboto" -ing all over the place and having a hell of a lot of fun. In the midst of this tour, we had a layover and and my trio, myself, a violinist and cellist, picked up this "fun" gig and none of us were exactly slouches. Being the, uh, "professionals" that we were supposed to be, we show up for this luncheon or whatever the hell it was to provide "background" music and proceed to play trios, for a couple of hours. I just grabbed a bunch of my trio music and off we went.

Beethoven is my muse; he's always been in my life. I auditioned on his 5th Symphony and won it. I am a rock-and-roll violist!

Now, it is axiomatic that the fewer instruments you have, the more difficult the music is going to be, especially if you are going to play, oh say, Beethoven. If we were going to play, Johnny Mercer, we might have stood a chance, or maybe, some Beatles transcriptions, but Beethoven? It was... interesting. I have played all of his String Quartets. They rock. His Trio in C Minor rocks. It also requires lots and lots and lots of practice. Playing Styx's "Mr. Roboto" for 18 weeks straight does not constitute practicing Beethoven's trio. We all learned a valuable lesson that day; leave the Beethoven at home, if you haven't looked at it in the last, say, week or so. Thank god the Luncheon guests were drunk.

#ROW80 POST 6 – DESIGNED BY VERSACE?

Okay, another Wednesday check in missed. I promise to get back into the groove. We've been blabbering a lot over here about personal freedoms and Civil Rights and of course, I jump in with my Constitutional and Bill of Rights hooey, as I understand it. And, pray tell, what on this here blue-eyed world does Versace have to do with all of that. Why, not a damned thing, but this has been on my mind, because I know people who have had their freedoms and rights curtailed because of past mistakes. I don't think it's fair, but there sure is one hell of a lot of judging going on by people who probably need to take a good, stiff look in their own mirrors. Right. Maybe if I get to Be World King or Poobah. I'd make a bunch of shit change. First thing I'd do is fire Rick Scott and send him to Devil's Island. Dreyfus went there, so it's plenty good enough for Rick Scott and the French can keep him.

Neener, neener and ha ha ha, Rick Scott. You couldn't deport me after all, ya jackleg. 

Anyway, I went to my doctor who is wonderful. She has some unpronounceable last name, so she's Dr. K to everyone, even herself I think. Everything looks pretty good. The usual. “You have anemia, low potassium.” She said to me. I hear that every time I have blood drawn. “Okay, I'll keep taking my B-12 injections and double up on the Niacin and Potassium. I weigh 104 pounds. After being 79 lbs and fighting back to this weight, I've been here for a year. Great news. No cholesterol problem or anything like that. Yay! Time for 12 dozen deviled eggs!

What was unexpected was this: the presence of antigens in my blood was off the charts. I have to go to an allergist. Well, shit. Then, Dr. K, being the awesome doctor she is, said, “You do know that Parkinson's Disease is an autoimmune disease.” Nope. I did not. I know it's a neuromuscular and psychological disease, but the autoimmune thing threw me. I've never been allergic to anything. So, oh boy! A new doctor to go to! Someone else to annoy! The next day I went to the Dermatologist and had a bunch of cancers zizzed off. The one on my lower right lip looks splendid. Kinda a Popeye thing. I look like I've been dipping snuff.

I think I broke the camera when I took the lip pic; here's a picture of our stove that I took in the dark. At around 1 am-ish. For no particular reason.

Part of my lip fell off into my lap onto my keyboard the other day and I was all, AAAHHHHH!!! I have leprosy!!!! AHHHHHHH! JC was napping on the couch. He thought we were having an air raid. Geeze. The Dermatologist was funny and cool. The good doctor reminded me of some beachcomber that got lost and ended up in a medical suite. Colorful shirt, Loose dockers and very laid back. He came in and we talked; he noticed my braces on my arms. I had carpal tunnel in both wrists, but my right hand was broken, the little finger and the 3^rd finger knuckles were crushed. I spent 12 weeks in a cast.

So, as I'm peeling off the hardware, he starts looking at my hands and upper arms, then he notices my right hand and knuckles. He said, “How did this happen?” I kind of blushed, and then said “In a fight, doctor.” He looked at m, and grinned. “I'm guessing by the condition of you hand and the fact that you're standing before that the other guy is no longer among the living?” I looked at him and laughed. “Well, in a manner of speaking. That whole payback thing...”

So, he took care of all the little barnacles and the bigger ones that are in fact, basal cell carcinomas, the most benign form of cancer (if you can say that and not sound totally silly.) But, you can't ignore them, either. I had one on my left bicep and I ignored it for years. When I finally had it removed, the damned thing was deep, nearly to the bone. I have a scar that was cleverly sculpted like my bicep. Lesson? Don't ever wait. I was still playing and I put black medical tape around my bare arm, as I wore a velvet spaghetti strap gown until it healed all the way and it took months. Stylish!

I thought of this Versace thing because no one's Parkinson's Disease is like anyone else's Parkinson's Disease. I keep hearing about all sorts of different symptoms and some of them I have and some I don't. Likewise, I have symptoms that no one else seems to have. We all share some sort of generalized stuff, but then we put our own “spin” on things. I suffer mostly in my upper body, which includes my head, especially my brain. I can still walk and do a sort-of run pretty well.

Race-walkers; so competitive. Once you get over how ridiculous it looks, you get drawn in by the race to the finish line. They always take it down to the wire; I guess it's the nature of the sport. Fun!

Of course, we already know we can kiss the eyesight goodbye. It's 20/20 in both of them, but not at the same time; it's like a really crappy kaleidoscope. If I am able to focus, then my brain refuses to see 1 of anything. It sees 2. Go figure. I'm so used to this, if by some miracle it could be fixed, I'd walk into everything in my path. As of now, I have no “path,” I just walk kind of sideways, but at least there is forward motion. It's rather more like a controlled fall. The only time I came close to losing it was when the neurology intern took away my cane and made me walk up and down their hall. I should have gotten whackamole back and beat her about the head and shoulders! What a jerk!

Not "millions," you moron. I said "billions." It's "billions of lives are at stake! No wonder you can't talk!

Now, talking is getting to be a riot. My voice is getting weak and hoarse and I get tongue-tied and stutter at times. JC doesn't hear very well, so I get to make all the phone calls. Last night, we decided on pizza; Dominos. Oh goody! I not only get to call them, there's the added pressure (put on me, by myself) of making sure the order is right. So, I'm excited. When I experiencee any type of extreme emotion (C'mon, it's ONLY pizza, for God's sake. You're not Jack Bauer and millions of lives are not at stake!) I start getting tremors... everywhere, pretty much. So, after I've successfully leapt the hurdle of ordering, I now have to provide the dreaded debit card number. I open my mouth and say, “lBlurk grik orutu lljljll no?” JC hollers from across the room, “Good God, why are you so tongue-tied?” (He's still getting used to this.) I can't help it. I just burst into laughter. Laughter is good for PD, or Parkies. It's like crack. We produce endorphins when we laugh. The guy on the phone is all, huh?

Getting JC to smile for a picture is impossible. You have to sneakphotograph to get this! He's talking to an old friend and all they do, is laugh. Works for me. JC, savior of cats and love of my life!

I explained to him what was up with me and said, “you gotta admit, it's funny.” So, he started to laugh, too. I was able then to give him the card number and we chatted for a few minutes. He's recently lost his job in the construction industry, where he's worked for over 20 years. I said, “Oh, I am so very sorry. I hope you land something soon.” He said, “Lady, you're amazin'. I wish you well. It'll be okay.” I said, “I know; it is already. Take care.”

So, this whole thing is like Florida and Michigan weather; if you don't like your current symptom, wait 5 minutes, it will change. Some of them are just flat-out annoying and ridiculous. My favorite was the 3-day festival of underside-tongue-tip-twitching. And that was all that was going on. It drove me bonkers. I mean, WTF? I've heard of similar stories from other people. Another top 10 in the hit parade is the Pseudo Bulbar Affective Disorder. Just the name is enough to give you tics. What it is, is this: you cry at nothing, and you laugh at everything inappropriate, or in questionable taste. Huh? I would just call that a matter of taste. Guess what? There's a pill for it. Like there is for Asperger, which I've had all my life. I call that “doesn't play well with others.” My teachers called it that, as well. So, doctors, you can keep your pills. The side effects are bad; “sightings of the dead, levitation, horn and cloven hoof sprouting.” I'll pass.

One other thing that happens and has since I had my psychotic break is dementia (and who doesn't love a little dementia? I have friends who say they can't tell the difference) caused by my precipitous drops in sugar. It will go from 150 to 47 in less than 30 minutes. At first, I didn't recognize the signs and it would hit really hard. I couldn't recognize things, I felt like I was seeing God, that I was dying and every neuron in my body would fire at once. As soon as I drank some orange juice, it would stop. I am not diabetic and this is very common. The lack of Levo-dopa (the chemical that helps to regulate our autonomic functions) that my brain no longer produces causes this and a whole host of other really neat-o, keen and fun stuff. Like heart rate, (about 120 beats a minute) and a bunch of other junk I can't remember now.

So, I have all this great stuff: Parkinson's Disease, which in fact caused my Bipolar I disorder, Asperger and somehow this Pseudo Bulbar Affective Disorder latched on, most definitely with the PD, because I didn't cry a lot. My mom wouldn't allow it, and it's a habit I carried into adulthood. I've always laughed, so, I guess I just picked up the other half, but I didn't truly start all of this until after my psychotic break which was caused by my PD to begin with. Round and round. Very chic, designed just for me; and if I don't like it, I wait. Generally, my health is good, even with bits and pieces falling off. I fell last night for the first time in over 2 years. I caught myself and landed on my right knee and it hurts like a BITCH! But, I don't feel that crisis of confidence when I was falling all the time. I'm strong now and just have a sore knee to go with my lip leprosy.

A little note here about Sunday's Check in. I am privileged to know a wonderful gentleman, by the name of Terry Carroll. He has published a truly awesome and charming book called “Among the Fourth Graders.” He has been generous and kind enough to send me my very own, hardback and signed copy (SQUEE!) and 3 paperback copies. I am going to be quoting some excerpts and reviews (it's flat out marvelous) and I'd like to interview him, I would love you all to stay tuned and we'll have a book give-away!