#ROW80 1ST QTR POST 11 – NOT A CHECK IN, MORE OF A TUNE-IN

Today, I was listening to a hilarious song on You Tube called “Shoes” by somebody I never heard of, named Kelly. A friend of mine, Bryan, directed me to this song with no better recommendation than this on Facebook: “I was pulling into the parking lot of work, and this guy pulls in next to me with his windows down and the song “Shoes” blaring full blast, right when the guy screams “Fuck You!” It made my day!” Well, it made my day, too.

Bryan, is me, 37 years ago. We are so much alike it’s scary. So, with no more to go on, I race over to You Tube and scare me up some “Shoes” songs. It turns out it’s pretty funny and the “Fuck you!” part is, well, loud. After I listen to that, I see the Sibelius Violin Concerto, played Maxim Vengerov with the Chicago Symphony. This is probably one of my favorite violin concertos ever, although I do love the Prokofiev Violin Concertos and the Shostakovich Violin Concertos as well. Less so, the Tchaikovsky and the Mendelssohn Concertos. The Beethoven and Brahms violin concertos are in a separate category for different reasons, because, Ludwig and Johannes.

Mozart, no. Not at all. Garbage. Impossible to play, impossible to access emotionally. Just my opinion. One night I had to sit through a performance of a very-well known violinist’s rendition (I was actually in the audience, a sort of bus-man’s holiday, for a change) of Mozart's Violin Concerto No. 5. I was practically homicidal by the end. This violinist, who is technically perfect, has one speed for vibrato; “on.” This type of mechanical, Suzuki-arm vibrato is just impossible to vary. You cannot intensify it to impart passion, you cannot slow it down, you cannot speed it up. You can turn it off, with little success. I’d rather hear “3 Blind Mice” played on a car horn.

I once had a stand partner who had been taught this kind of fucked-up vibrato. We were playing a piece by Lloyd-Webber, a suite from “Cats” and the conductor wanted the last measure, which was just reduced strings pianissimo to use no vibrato, AT ALL. Done right, it is very eerie and effective. This was a pick-up orchestra, kind of thrown together at the last minute, filthy lucre and all that. My stand partner ended up playing “air viola;” he couldn’t stop that damn arm-vibrato. Kudos though, that’s a professional. If you can’t make it sound good, at least make it look good.

I'm not proud; I played a lot of this shit along with Beethoven, Brahms, Bach, et al. We're all whores.

I had the great good fortune of having tiny hands, I guess. I had to learn to crawl around on the fingerboard, although my viola is small. I use a combination, finger and wrist vibrato, which makes it easy for me to run up and down the fingerboard. I learned early on, too, that the closer I keep my fingers to the fingerboard, the faster I can play. There’s nothing stupider than being ½ beat behind in Tchaikovsky's "Marche Slave” during the exciting part. 

I was the Russian still buckling on my saber, while the Turks were overrunning the ramparts! I tried not to do that again. Instead, I developed what was politely called "premature articulation." Fatal in a man, more overlooked in women green-as-grass violists, this one is easily fixed. After having to watch conductors mouth "where's the fire," at me during the exciting parts (and yes, we really do LOOK at the conductors) I finally, and definitively, developed the fine art of listening and timing, using a metronome; the beat does go on.

When I get up into the high, high positions, which sound neato-keeno on Wolf, I have to use a combination of arm-wrist-finger vibrato which is very cool. Believe it or not, it took 2 coaches here in Florida to explain the mechanics to me. Along with a Professor of Cello, we were all able to somehow scrape together some semblance of a violist.

I kid, but I learned something along the way and it’s this; we’re all basically self-taught. My friend Kathy confirmed it and I've heard it time and again. I watched wonderful violinists. Joseph Silverstein has the bow arm to emulate. Maxim Vengerov has a left hand that is picture perfect. His bow arm is stiff to me and he has a tendency to play a bit too “glassily.” At times, he’s on the verge of almost losing control of his bow, or so it sounds; most great fiddlers sound that way. We emulate what we like and craft what we want.

At the end of the day, it’s a very personal thing. I have a tiny frame, but I have a big sound, because of my 72-gram bow, which is the heaviest of viola bows. It’s a German bow, made by Richard Grunke. It’s a nice bow and weighted so that I can skip around on the strings and play spiccato (which, just between us? Is probably my worst talent. Let’s NOT play “Midsummer Night’s Dream” by Mendelssohn at my next audition, m’kay? Let’s play Shostakovich’s 5^th Symphony. And Screw Mozart! Mozart blows dog wenuses)

Being self-taught means the teaching never stops. After I spent lots of quality time with my teachers, who became my coaches, who became my colleagues, who became my friends, a certain mind-set employed and then I became even more hard-wired. I think that this is true for everyone who has been down this path. I dissect everything; not everything is found wanting, but some things are, not to their detriment necessarily. There's plenty to enjoy.

My friends and colleagues who have trod this path, have their own stories and their own journeys. They may not have the same outlook and obsessions that pertain to me, but we all understand one another. What I’m trying to say, is that I cannot look at a video of musicians or anyone playing without, at some level dissecting it. I certainly do enjoy it, but there’s this overarching (background only) part of me that is saying, “hmm, tempo is a bit off.” Bum-ba-da-dum-dum. “God, I hate Barenboim’s interpretation, he should have stuck to the piano, fuck his conduction.” Bum-da-da-bum-bum. “hmm, it sounds as if Vengerov was a bit out of tune on those harmonics; could be my ears.”

Maxim Vengerov

That kind of shit is just part of the package. I get that; for me to get the “chills and goosebumps,” it has to be “found” music. Something I stumble across. My brain has to be ambushed. This is still pleasurable, but I pick it all apart. With the exception of Beethoven. Well, that’s not entirely true. I get an immense amount of pleasure out of listening to music as I’m dissecting it. It better be pretty good, though. If it isn’t, I’m gone.

Mozart? Nada, bupkus, zippo. I know; I’m beating a dead horse; lemme illustrate. I love to watch the show “Angel” on Hulu+ and I really get a kick out of the character, Spike. Spike shows up in one of the 1^st season’s episodes, “In the Dark,” and turns Angel over to a torturer named Marcus, to get the location of the ring of Amarra that will allow vampires to walk around in the daylight. Well, while Marcus is working on Angel, he’s playing Mozart’s 41^st Symphony. It’s just so goddamned annoying. At one point, in what is an otherwise very good, suspenseful and funny episode, Spike mistakenly refers to the “Brahms music.” Marcus tells him it's Mozart's Symphony 41.

Ah, Spike, Ya had me goin' there fer a moment, laddie, but ye hae nary a brain in that pretty head or an ear. Twon't work a'tall! I can't abide havin' ye scamperin' aboot like th't, aight?

I must interject here, I just love me some goddamn Spike, way more than Angel, who’s pretty dishy. Angel’s just trying to be good and redeem himself and while I love that and I see grace in that concept. Here's Spike and he just couldn’t give a shit. Plus, he’s hilarious. But, Jiminy Christmas! Spike! You LIVED through the flippin’ classical era. You were around when Mozart was top-40! And you were STILL around when Brahms was hitting the charts. What the Fuck? Mozart is eons way different than freaking Johannes Brahms. Brahms is the precursor to the 2^nd Viennese School. Mahler and Alban Berg. Hello? Arnold Schoenberg? 12-tone music? Are you fucking tone-deaf? 

Mozart is “Row, Row, Row, Your Boat!” for God’s Sake. Brahms is “In A Gadda Da Vida!” Fuck! You probably think Justin Bieber is music for the ages and the Beatles were a passing fad! This will not do! I have to tell you, alas! I actually ditched a guy once because he was tone-deaf Yep, he was perfect, or so my mom said. He had money, was an attorney, but damn! That man couldn't carry a tune in a suitcase! I sent him on his way. So, you might want to brush up on your musicological whatsis, and do some ear-training for God's sake, Spike, m'kay?

Well, now that I’ve worn Spike out, we can look forward to the Stupor Bowl tomorrow. I hope Guy Who WasKnocked Down and Embarrassed doesn’t have a repeat performance and there are no copycats. JC and I are going to veg out and hope somebody wins.

#ROW80 POST 17 Wednesday Check in - Tigers and Giants

Well, I wrote what I thought were 2 really killer posts, then I got to today and was supposed to write about goals. The goal fairy, alas, did not materialize, AGAIN. At least in one category, pulling together material for my self-published “biography.” That one’s just laying there like the proverbial lead balloon. NaNoWriMo is starting to germinate, already, though. Cool.

On the physical front, I’ve gained 5 lbs. up from 100 to 105. I must keep stuffing anything that doesn’t walk or isn’t all maggoty, down my craw. Still doing the weird sensory thing, and night terrors, odd perceptions, sleep-talking; a regular 3-ring circus. At least, I haven’t punched myself in the beezer. JC told me he had a dream once, where he ran into a tree. He woke up very abruptly, as he’d punched himself in the nose. 

There was that time I dreamed that JC took a stick and pushed my big toe straight up and it hit me under the chin. I woke up, hollering “Damn it! Don’t do that!” He’d skipped off out of the house and was all the way down at the Sweetbay market, so he didn’t hear me. Boy, does he move fast for a 65-year old man! On that note, I signed up for the National Parkinson's Foundation Webinar, so I have more information as ammo for that neuro Dr. If that doesn't work, I will tie his shoelaces together and steal all those rubber gloves. Hee.

Night terrors, or "sundowning" as it's now called. Whatever the term; it's dismaying. I always loved the night. I was a creature of it. My blue eyes worked better at night and it's certainly better for my skin. But lately I don’t. I’ve been fighting sleep and am back up to staying up to 4 am. I had started going to bed around 10 or 11 pm, but as my “PD or non-PD” symptoms have worsened, I hate the night, but perversely, I won’t sleep. I’m up until 4 am, all anxiety and rage. I have medicine to counteract all of those things, and will take it, and then, fight the sleep. This is stupid and dangerous; I fall asleep in my chair. 

JC says he woke up and I was talking to “Angel” the vampire with a soul, on my computer monitor and was dead asleep. Wearing headphones. JC told me to go to bed; I took off my headphones and went to bed. Gah! New plan. Take the stuff for anxiety, then take the sleep stuff when I lay down. And LAY DOWN, for God’s sake at a decent hour, not 12 days later. That’s what got my happy ass committed last time.

Anyway, it’s Viola v. Viola. Sorta. My FB friend, Viola Weinberg Spencer writes poetry, which you can read here. She is a huge San Francisco Giants fan, and she lives in Northern California. Being ViolaFury, and from Detroit, we’re both excited Violas! Viola is an elegant and wonderful lady. She’s classy and everything I am not. I love her to death. Imagine my surprise and delight to discover that she is a Giants fan and adores baseball.

I also have a Runescape friend named Steve. In game, he’s SergioRomeo. Steve has been a very committed GAINTS fan since I’ve known him, for over 5 years. He’s a GAINTS fan. We’re all GAINTS fans in our Clan. The reason we’re so, is because our Clan founder was dyslexic or couldn’t type and he said “GO GAINTS!” one year. The CC exploded, with lots of disrespectful: “way to go, it’s G-I-A-N-T-S, JZ! Ha Ha”… “Jeeze, my dog could type better than that.”

The ribbing was tame because 1) JZ, our founder, though young, was respected and very dignified and 2) there was a censor, and there was no swearing or anything sexual allowed, because 10 year olds might be offended. The fact that you were supposed to be at least 13 to play was lost on the Gower brothers (creators of RS) but hey, that’s RS.

Whoever wins the World Series is okay with me. In the Spirit of Competition, if I want to douse this in the fabled Gabe Zaldivar of b/r lame-sauce, I could say “Go Tigers.” How about “Go Giants.” I really don’t care. A repeat for the Giants is good. The 1984 Tigers are legendary. Jim Leland, if he wins with the Tigers, will have repeated with the Tigers what Sparky Anderson did with the Tigers in 1984, by winning a World Series Title in both the NL and AL. That’s synchronicity, right there. That’s cool. My late father was a huge Giants fan, as are my dear friends. It’s all good. This is heaven; some competitor I am.

2012 SF Giants Clinch the NLC Pennant, beating the SL Cardinals. 

ROW 80 4th QUARTER POST 9 – NEURON CENTRAL AND TV

Well, I had a thought, but it got lonely and left. It’s been that sort of morning. Fuzzy, unfocused. Interesting dreams. In one of them, Governor Moldemort, was on the television bellowing about how all the fine citizens of Florida needed to quit running over, killing and eating all the squirrels. JC, in his usual forthrightness, hollered at the TV, “What a dumbass!” I screeched out, “That’s telling him!” and woke up. Every limb is zinging. I look at my toes. My right batch of toes look like crushed up peanuts. My left ones look like the cat’s toes when you tickle them, all spread out. WTF??

I lay back down and RIGHT then my brain decides I need to be treated to a variety images of shoe racks for the next, oh, hour it seems like, every time I close my eyes. Of course, this comes with an interestingly frantic sound track of that horrible 50s music that we were all treated to in some class or other, when the teacher had no lesson plan, an extra projector and a spare reel of “Cavalcade of Road Graders Through The Ages.”

The giant screechy thing is exciting; the film was not. On the plus side, I think the music was written by the last of the great "Amphetamine" school of composers, who sadly died at the age of 13, after staying up for 72 months. He wrote 948 symphonies. They all sucked. His name was Benny Something-or-other. We studied him in Roger Muti's Music Boredom class 102. Next week, I transferred schools and my sanity to somewhere else.

Even as an 8-year old, I found this selection of music hysterical. Some serious voice would intone, “The road grader is a magnificent feat of the highest in mechanical technology… blah, blah, blah,” and the string sections would be playing some frantic, frenetic, pretend-happy Leroy Anderson-style scale thing, complete with xylophone and 64^th notes…beedle-beedle-beedle-beedle-beedle-beedle-beedle. Ad infinitum, ad nauseam, up and down the fingerboard, for the entire film.

Yes, I've played in this; I've also played in it's more horrible cousin "Cascading Strings," or "Castrating Strings," as I called it; I have my standards. I am an artiste. 

So, this is not making for a restful time. The hours are ticking by. At least I know why I can’t sleep now and don’t feel so crazily out of control as I did, when this all started happening. Still, I am unable to fall into slumber. I notice something kind of cool. With my eyes closed, my brain remembers how to “track.” My eyes don’t do this when they’re open. So, I’ve figured out how to scan from right to left, with my eyes closed. Now, I can “see” a “panorama” of the shoe rack that my brain is treating me to by scanning from right to left! Now, I’m all excited. I wonder why this doesn’t work when my eyes are open; why my eyes don’t work in tandem. It’s not just that; my brain “sees” one image; it sees 2 and it has for years, even before I went blind; sadly, I have “slacker” brain.

Well, still getting the Leroy Anderson track. Brahms would be nice. I keep seeing shoe racks, then a scramble like a bunch of ions on a TV tube. Channel changing? More shoe racks. Shit. No cable here. This would be a nice time to mention that we have no television. We huddle around my computer monitor, like cavemen around a fire at the Dawn of Man. Being Old Crocks is a primeval business. While we char roasted beast or squirrel, in spite of Governor Crowbar’s abjurements, we watch the very best shows that Crackle, HuluPlus, or Amazon Prime have on tap. Lately, it’s been “Lost” Season 2, so we’re going tribal right now. We’ve been to visit Jack Bauer and Angel.

I find now that I’m writing I pay much more attention to the structure of these stories and how the characters themselves react. I find Angel to be fascinating. The idea of grace through redemption is so oddly comforting and beautiful and pure to me, after decades and years of evil. He truly understands that he has a mission to fulfill at huge cost to himself. Even Spike, though his motivations, towards the end of the series seem a bit less pure, deserves his chance at redemption. He wanted a soul. As people, as men, they are fleshed out; they bicker, fret over trivial stuff and when they have to, they step up. They try not to fail. Their characters work. Maybe because the series  itself is only 5 seasons long. Still, I wanted more of “Angel.”

Jack Bauer I also love; however, by Season 8 of “24,” his only redemption, as a character comes in what he does at the very end. I am not spoiling this for anyone, especially those people named, ahem, Andi-Roo, but up until that last, through seasons 5 through 8, though entertaining as all hell, he gets, well, predictable. As all hellz and kickass as he is, alas, it got old for me. I found myself saying, “Ah yes, the old Jack (fill in the blank) move.” As wonderful as the show and as complicated and, unfortunately, dead-on as I think some of the geo-political nightmares depicted truly are in that series are, it went on  too long. What Jack did at the end made all of the same-old, same-old okay. Chloe flat-out rocked.

We are only into the 2^nd season of “Lost,” and frankly, I already have about 47 million questions, but I’m not familiar enough with the landscape right now to ask. I like how the characters are seemingly connected prior to the plane crash. Whether or not, J. J. Abrams and David Fury can really pull it together with subtlety remains to be seen. David Fury is the one constant with the 2 prior shows and I admire his work. If his name is on a show, I want to watch it. The same for Josh Whedon and several others. As I stated earlier, I never really started paying close attention to writers, directors and show runners before my own attempts at writing and I’m learning from this; it’s amazing. I may be an infant when it comes to celluloid, but I do understand enough about thematic structure and literature to know when I am in the company of some people with pretty solid writing chops. These are a few of them, to say the least. And of course, that also includes my dear AR. She writes the hell out of her bloggy-blog.

Well, this was not where I was going with this post, but my brain wanted to go here and so here we are. SDBN, Now With Added Moms tomorrow (link) and Sunday check in here on “Homeless.” No riots or stabbings scheduled here on Nebraska Ave,33605, but you never know. There’s a BBQ later. We may have some unscheduled muggings.

OH SHIT! We're all dead now! Governor Crowbar told Florida to quit eating vermin. We'll be extinct by sunset!