#AMWRITING #BLOGGING – THROWBACK THURSDAY – PLAYING THE VIOLIN AND HOW TO AVOID IT

GALLLNNNN

Note: This is the post that was famously "stolen" and was being sold online when I first began my blogging/writing, or whatever this phase of my life/career is. It was brought to my attention by Aaron Brinker, a good friend, who was running a Dad blog and posting about his son. In a show of solidarity, I went along and raised hell, although at the time, I wasn't living on my writing, as many of the people who had had their posts hijacked and sold online were, so it was important that I go along, as well. I'm glad I did. Intellectual property is the property of the person who thought it up, and stealing anything like that for profit, when these wonderful men and women were trying to eke out a living was awful. With the advent of different net security features and ways to track your own work, it's much, much harder for people to get away with things like that now. Yay!

Ring ring!

Me: "Hello!"

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

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 The 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, because I loathe, despise and generally hate playing the violin (Note: This is called "foreshadowing" in Great Writing, which this isn't.)

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 - well, except for those five years, when I first started out in the Los Angeles Public School District, but we didn't have violas, we had 3^rd violin parts, which were TREMENDOUSLY boring, and even in my first all-district concert, I somehow weaseled my way into the 2^nd violins, which I thought pretty much sucked too. If I hadn't found violas, I might have given up the whole upper string things altogether and taken up the cello, but my hands are way too small, and all I've ever been able to play on the cello is stuff in micro-tones that sounds like “Singapore's Greatest Hits”, so I'm so grateful Beethoven wrote boss viola parts and made my life forever happy, but I'm really rambling now and if I talk about Beethoven, Mr. Wells will haunt me and give me another “C-” on a paper that really deserved an “A”. But Bobby Lee knows all about that! Oh God, I'm doing it again! Stop DIGRESSING!

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 tell my managers shit like, "why the hell are you hiring me to play the violin? Did every other violinist in Tampa die/migrate/go into the Witless Protection Program, where they belonged, the idiots?" They still hired me. 

These horrible bricks of wood that were rental violins also had tapes on them for the "Suzuki" method, were just terrible; my fingers would "trip" over the tape, thus un-enhancing my playing. That pussy Suzuki shit with tape is beyond horrible. How in the hell are you going to understand that when your hand shifts from From 1^st to 2^nd position, all of the intervals change from – for a D Major Scale – open D string, whole-step, whole-step, half-step, whole-step (or open A string), whole-step, whole-step, half-step in 1^st position to - for 2^nd position - (3^rd finger on the G string, whole-step, whole-step (or high-position on the “D” string), half-step, whole-step, whole-step, whole-step, half-step. These configurations change for every mode (Major or minor, Aeolian – being natural minor, Mixolydian; there are seven in all) and for every scale. String players routinely shift to whatever position suits their playing style; I tend to jump all over the place; 1^st, 4^th 6^th, 2^nd, 3^rd, whatever. For Shostakovich's Big Symphony Number 5, we're in about 11^th position I think for the famous viola solo. We, and be we, I mean all string players are subject to this, are at the mercy of physical laws and the higher up the fingerboard we go, the more important are ears become. Some of the intervals are micrometers apart. That's where our “hand-framing” exercises come in, and that's the last of any kind of facts you'll read in THIS post. I truly digressed!

If you learn the "Suzuki" method you're hand is frozen in one position using the tape system, and if you can't use hand-framing and play by ear, and LEARN your goddamned fingerboard like the God, the Pedagogue Ivan Galamian intended, burn that hunk of wood! You don't deserve to call yourself a non-fretted string player.

I tried drinking my way through rehearsals and that didn't work. I started ending up in first violin sections. You know what really, really sucks? Playing Mozart on the violin. Yes sir, there is Hell in a barrel right there. The only two things that Mozart ever wrote that were worth a shit were “Don Giovanni” and his “Great Mass in C minor”; the latter left unfinished at his death. I have NEVER liked any other piece by Mozart; no passion, and he was too fussy, but he made up for it in spades with Don Giovanni and his Mass. Playing Mozart on the viola is a big enough pain in the ass; all precision and no payoff; playing him on the violin is just sheer torture. A lesson in pointillism to me, with all the fussy pretentiousness of that day and time. Ick.

Anyway, the other fun thing about the violin, is the climb. Lots of heights on the violin, especially in the 1^st violin section. Since the dingbat managers were seating me in the 1^st violin sections, bizarre things were happening around me. Sheesh. 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 weird shit starts to happen, physically. Colors aren't normal, and they begin to have an aroma. Sightings of the dead were not uncommon when I was in the 1^st violins. I'm surprised the stage didn't melt or something, when I hit some of those harmonics. God knows my ears are still ringing.

After a while, I kind of resigned myself to this violin thing, but not really; I've taught it more than I've played it and I did end up buying a few of them and then sold them just as quickly as possible; they were taking over my house; I felt like the Pod People had invaded. I'm just not a fan of the instrument, as far as playing it goes. I certainly appreciate the artistry and love listening to them, but, I adore playing viola. Go figure.

I was laughing about it though, when I talking to a fellow "road warrior" about all the variations of different types of gigs and positions we've played. I played with Styx and I can't remember how this came up, but it was also the same with a Johnny Mathis tune about Brazil. "Sail Away" which is so lovely, is an absolute bitch to play. It consists of 64th notes, practically in its entirety. Everyone runs up and down the fingerboard in both tunes, and in all string sections. It almost reminded me of band music from Marching Band and then, I remembered that I didn't play in Marching Band, except that I did, for my last two years in high school. I played the glockenspiel. Badly.

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? And didn't I write myself out of that little digression neatly?

Styx's music is challenging and we had a lot of fun playing it. But, one of the things that does happen when playing that type of music, is you do lose the edge on your heftier musical "chops" as they're called. 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 my trio picked up a gig. Myself, a violinist and cellist; none of us were exactly slouches. Being the, uh, "professionals" that we were supposed to be, we showed up for this luncheon or whatever the hell it was to provide "background" music and proceeded to play trios, for a couple of hours. I just grabbed a bunch of my trio music and off we went.

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 Mozart, or "Life Is Just A Bowl Of Cherries" (Pizzicatto all the way!), we might have had half a chance, 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. That lesson is this: Do not play the Beethoven C minor Trio, until you know the audience is drunker than a bunch of hoot owls. Thank God for alcohol that day!

AFL PLAYOFFS ERK* - REPOST FROM LAST YEAR'S "FALL DOWN AND BE EMBARRASSED IN FRONT OF ELEVENTY-BILLION PEOPLE GUY!"

I'm totally cheating here; today for the first time since I started with the seizures, psychotic break and tremors, which is about 18 months, I played my viola, and surprise of surprises, I sounded damn good (for about 3 minutes; I have my work cut out for me!) So, that right there is an achievement. My goal for writing still stands, although I have edited nothing, but I'm so over the moon about being able to play. I'm cheating because of NaNoWriMo. Q'uel horrores! Or somethiing...

I wonder if these are free-range violas, because the price has really skyrocketed!

Q: Have you heard about the latest form of urban violence?

A: Drive-by viola solos.

So, here's a little number I cobbled up during the American Football season last year as we headed into our playoff season. Enjoy!

First off, goals, schmoals. AS OF LAST NIGHT, I HAD 10087 WORDS FOR NANO!!!!!!!!!!!! (To quote Andi-Roo, my benchmate in this furball, "there was a great tossing of glitter! "Huzzah!) 

Anyway, I got a wild hair and am completely taken with this topic today last year. My low impulse inhibition just took over. Oh well. I'm off the streets and non-violent. Such is life.

This is not your typical Sunday check in post. Nope, first off, it's Monday and second off, here in the good ol’ U S of A, it is Martin Luther King Jr.'s Birthday and President Obama's 2nd Inaugural Celebration! So, what better way for me to celebrate, than to write about yesterday's NFC Championship game between the Atlanta Falcons and the San Francisco 49ers that featured guys running over guys and plowing into unaware guys on the side-lines. That’s right, “UNAWARE” guys on the side lines, during one of two games that will decide which of two teams are going to the Hyper Bowl, er, uh I mean, Super Bowl LXVII (is that 47 or 67? I failed Roman Numerals in Ancient Times class.)

Sing Along: "I see I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, IX, X, XI, XII, XIII, XIV, XV,   XVI, XVII, XVII Wheels"

Anyway, dude got clipped below the knees and fell as if pole-axed, backward onto that hard surface and landed backwards, head-first, with a bounce or two and was thankfully unhurt. Apparently, he works at the Atlanta Falcons field and this was their first ever(!) playoff event, and really, he can’t be faulted for that part of it. The poor guy had his back turned to the action and was most likely, looking at and marveling at the crowd and all of their noise, hoo ha, folderol and mostly, NOISE. And boy, howdy, there was a bunch of it, being as how, my Google says, the Georgia Dome can shovel 71,250 people into permanent seats. 

courtesy of hollandbobolland via YouTube. Plesae visit and "like."

This is the kind of noise that Guy Who Fell Down experienced for the FIRST TIME!

The first time I ever faced a crowd like that was when I played for the Moody Blues. I was in my mid-30s and had been playing viola professionally for about 15 years, by this time. My performing experience went from symphony-polite-coughing and maybe a standing ovation, or two. Occasionally, the 

standing ovations were prolonged.

Stunning, wonderous. I love Mozzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz..... *snore*

Once, during a Grand Pause, or a fermata, where the orchestra came to a screeching, abrupt halt after a fortississimo passage and it was deathly quiet, I had the great good fortune to hear a bellowed “I FRY MINE IN LARD…” from the back of the Hall and then, a stunned quiet, from both the orchestra and the audience. As one, we all swelled up like toads or horses being saddled, as not one soul in that huge hall wanted to be the first to laugh.

The Grand Pause fortunately, is one of those musical devices that has no metered time, so as the Conductor stared us all down, daring us to laugh, and we played “one potato, two potato, three potato, four…” Concert master and Principal Second Violin and Principal Viola and Principal Cello all sitting there, giving one another, the hairy eyeball, becoming rather like “High Noon,” and I and my stand partner who are on the 2^nd stand, not daring to look at one another, because we are cut ups, idiots and jokers, are puffing up like horses around rattle snakes, we’re both holding our breaths, because HolyMotherOfGod. . . I’mJustSoGonnaLaugh. . . I see his viola scroll start to shake out of the corner of my eye and my eyes start to water and my nose starts to tickle, am I gonna sneeze? And just then. . . As I start to go eeeeeeeeeee? As the air is leaking out?

The Conductor gives the downbeat and off we go, probably in a swift Presto to get to the end of this bitch, so we can all exit stage Left, Right and Center at a dead run. To this day, I do not remember what on God’s Green Earth we were playing, but it was probably Rachmaninoff. I’ve been ambushed by him a number of times. 

Him, and his Grande Pauses. Well, that was a digression.

Okay, I haven't faced Wembley and I'm sure I don't want to; actually, I probably do. We rocked it at 1-800-ASK-GARY Field. A name like that for a Venue just drips class. I can't wait until Kotex, or Fleet Enema buys a sponsorship and demands to have it named after their company.

In the summer of 1992, the Moody Blues were in a resurgence and instead of having a summer off, we had a tour around the Midwest for a few weeks. We had an afternoon rehearsal with their conductor who told us the basics, miced us up and off we went. We had a full orchestra, and plexiglass partitions between each section. I felt like we were in cattle pens. That night, the orchestra was in place, when the Blues with Justin Hayward took the stage.

There were 10,000 people in the audience. Up to that point, I had never played with that many people in an audience. When that audience roared and that sound hit the stage, the orchestra, who for the most part had not experienced that before, was pretty well aware that this night and this concert were going to be hella different. But first, we had to get over the shock of all of those people yelling. If we had been zebras, we’d have been dead ones. We all just froze for about 2 beats and then our training kicked in and off we went.

It was an exhilarating experience I’ve always loved the Moody Blues for their more orchestral stuff, dating back to 1967 and 1968. The conductor, Larry Greene is also their arranger, and he had gone back and arranged some of their harder rock stuff like “Ride My Seesaw” for strings and that was a blast to play as well. I’ve found that I like music with a harder edge to it. I’m sure it’s one of the reasons I don’t like Mozart and I revere Beethoven, and he would have been down with all of this. Mozart gets right up to an idea and then backs away. He never really releases that full passion that lies underneath his tepid ideas, and maybe that is why; you can't push passion into a tepid idea. The idea itself has to be passionate.

Beethoven takes a musical idea in his teeth and just ragdolls it. He wrings every inch of emotion and pathos and exhilaration from it, until you're exhausted by just listening to it. I love that and I love playing Beethoven; he is so worth it. I also love the fact that he doesn’t bore the violists to death in his orchestral and other ensemble writing. Mozart is too precious, hard to play and there’s damn little reward for all of that work; he’s insipid. Oops, lemme get back to our sideline guy.

My personal muse, from birth. We share the same birthday, some say, just not the same year.

I’ve enjoyed my rock ‘n’ roll violist career, which has also veered off into blues, metal, blue-grass, country, pop, motown and a bit of rap and hip-hop, believe it or not. But, back to our poor dude, man. Did I feel for him. Guy stood up; I was so relieved, he fell hard. As he was turning around, the Fox Team, (Terry, Howie, Michael, Jimmy and Whoever) were helpfully pointing out that this was the Falcon’s first playoff Event ever. The guy who had been knocked over was wearing a jacket that said “Event Team” on it.

As the man turned and looked at the camera you could tell he was thinking, “Oh dear, can I move to Saturn? Maybe to Pluto. Pluto isn’t far enough away… My wife is going to divorce me. What was I thinking? My grandkids are going to be talking about this and wanting to hear this story, forevah!. This is going to be on AFV, isn’t it? Geez, on National TV, no, INTERNATIONAL! Gack! Did my Aunt in Outer Slobovia see me? I hope I don’t get fired. I would have been better off shitting my pants, or throwing up. At least farting, maybe. You can't smell that over the air. I'm so dead”

Relax, guy, if I hear you got in trouble over this, I’m writing a letter. I’ve done so much stupid stuff in front of the public, it’s not funny. I’ve fallen off stages, fallen out of chairs. Fallen off risers. I very gracefully draped myself across 3 people once, along with my viola and bow, held up over my head and rolled like a barrel down to the floor, protecting my baby, my viola, my honey, my Wolf. How I managed that, I will never know. I’ve taken bows wearing Taco Bell on formal, black velvet unknowingly, after playing a triumphant Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony. To make matters worse, my stand partner’s fly was open during the whole performance. I don’t think Beethoven would have minded.

The point is, a roaring crowd is pretty impressive; I was awed by it when I was on the “receiving” end of it the first time. It does take some getting used to. So, Guy Who Was Knocked Down and Was Embarrassed, don’t be. I hope you get a chance to get used to it as more Falcons playoff games come your way. I hope you are okay. You made my day.

#ROW 80 – 3RD QTR – TECHNO-STUPIDNESS REDUX, AND BOYD STOREY, RRT AT TGH **RE-POST**

This is a blast from the past, but I think it's a good post. From September, 2013.



I have been told that I can raise computers from the Dead and that I practice the Dark Arts in the understanding and healing of them. However, even the most virtuosic of violinists at the apex of the violin heap, has had a slip or two off the fingerboard, and played clams a-plenty. I also have a huge affinity for the viola and despise the violin, for a few reasons. One being, I am never comfortable playing a violin, so naturally, I have or have had several of the things at one or another time in my life, rather like mice or cockroaches, and I have had only one viola, my Bolognese-built snob of an italian, maker, Guidantus Florenus, or Wolf, as his luthier named him, when he was appraised and certified after his bonafides checked out. So, I have no need for other violas.

Those violin notes high up on the "E" (EEK!) string are harmonics. Maybe. I wouldn't know, because they're above the hearing range of anything that lives on this planet. My friend Nancy, who has been my stand partner, much to the woe of our manager (it's his fault, since he knows we get into trouble) swears those are real notes. I think she's lying and I know I'm faking, when some moron of a band-leader seats me in the first violin section.

However, I rented violins for a while, then I bought a few, then I sold a couple, because the first were just not quite what I wanted, and then I bought another and it was okay and then I sold that one. I am currently violinless, which is really okay with me, since I am not playing professionally much anymore anyway. Wolf rocks and that is all I need.

This is just Wolf's scroll. Note the serif (point on the bottom) Seen head-on, (the pic of which I don't have) the two sides are asymmetrical which is a hallmark of Guidantus. He packs a wallop of a sound and is a dream to play; like butter.

Now, if we were to transfer all this love/hate over to... oh, I don't know say, computers, it would go like this. I love desktops. The bigger and leaner, the better. I have an ancient Gateway, that JC farts around on and watches Hulu+ and Netflix on and he's happy with that. I have a dual-core, that is pretty much over-clocked right now and it works well. It has an extra power supply for the monitor and software for my vision. It works even better once I rid it of all the dancing baloney, hoo-ha and JAVA type stuff that slowed it down and allowed it to be susceptible to all manner of bad ju-ju. Still, I am looking to upgrade to another quad-core AMD this year, with up to 16 X the amount of speed and Terabytes, rather than Gigabytes, for some very specific reasons. Sheesh. Thank the Christ you don't have to do that with violas; although it could be said I already own the equivalent of Big Blue or Cray of violas, so that analogy doesn't work.

Yes, take your stupid mousey control thingy and vamoose, along with Herr Mozart and that high, screechy thing, the violin.

Yeah, you scoot too! (Truth be told, this is a beauty; probably a Storioni, or a Stradivarius.) Whatevs, man. Begone!

What does work, is the statement I make about “slipping off the fingerboard” as it relates to system rebuilds. Over the last week, I and my “colleague's” business has seen an up-tick in repairs, rebuilds, shooing away of malware, trojans, hijacks and just general fuckery. Most of our “patients” have been laptops, which now and forever, I equate to violins.

Don't get me wrong, I love my IBM laptop T42. Probably because it is an IBM product and I am proud of having worked for them and being a top-drawer engineer there. I fixed all manner of gaffes, goofs and even restored 2 idiots' laptops that they left in the car overnight in a town in North Dakota. They had already called in once, and the idiot IBM engineer who talked to them first told them to leave their laptops “in the sun for a few hours and that will work.” It didn't and I received and fixed the second call. Epic in the history of "Stupid I Have Known at IBM" for the 1st guy. But, believe me, I have committed my share of confuse-a-what writ large.

Spreadsheets, databases, documents, suites. All of this crap will only replicate the data after it has been entered. I used to think that I should keep a Magic-8 Ball and tell callers, "It is too soon to tell" and other cryptic shit, or talk like Yoda. IBM wouldn't have minded. As long as it got fixed, you could play hopscotch in the aisles. Those were the days.

I once got a call from a guy who was trying to copy some data in a cell in Lotus 1-2-3, from Row 2 to Row 500, or something. So, I assiduously walked him through the process, highlighting the row, in this case row 1, hit CTR + C, then use the down arrow and holding down Shift + CTR, highlight the rows, then hit CTR +V and voila! All of your numbers or formulae or what have you are supposed to be copied. Only this didn't work. Blank cells. I went at this from every way I could think of and the guy was really patient. I put him on hold and consulted with some of my fellow engineers around me. And we were all coming up with nada, zilch, bupkus.

So, I go back to my caller and apologized for making him wait and explained; yargle, blah, blah. There was a silence for a moment, then I hear this tiny voice in my head set, “Am I supposed to have typed my numbers INTO the cell I want to copy first, y'know, like before I copy?” I turned to stone. I wanted to say, “well, Lotus 1-2-3 doesn't come with the ESP module yet, so yes moron, you do.” But, that should have been one of the first things I asked him. Still, I was the OS/2 Goddess.

Similarly, after my great save last week of the doomed quadcore, wherein I used several highly unorthodox techniques to rescue the operating system, using a different rescue method than the one given and utilized a non-sanctified disc and changed the BIOS boot order and DAMN! If that didn't work. So, what followed yesterday, reminded me that yes, I am human and may not reclaim my status of Goddesshood. I'll settle for Beastess. Yes, I have feet of clay, make mistakes and laugh about them later. I am my own best audience.

I don't hate violins or laptops as much as this precocious nitwit, not by a long shot. But on a scale of things I hate, he's barely ahead of having the shits, throwing up or dying.

Another Toshiba laptop. Oh, how I hate thee, Toshiba Satellite C655d-s5200. You work and all your parts are running, so can you please tell me why, in the name of Chthulu, why every Goddamned ethernet controller I feed you, you refuse to see? What the hell is wrong with you. You go online, hard-wired, wifi and no problemo, but you will not and refuse to see any Ethernet controller. Are you one of those stupid orphan cards made by some fly-by-night company that is in 6 Satellites and we're just screwed? Should I even give a shit? The worst part of this whole thing came to be when I realized I couldn't get on with my wifi antenna because I had it plugged into the phone jack. I guess I missed “Recognizing Shapes” class at school. Once, I plugged the wifi antenna in, Surprise! Internet. But no damned ethernet card. I really, really hate, you Toshiba Satellite C655d-s5200.

I'm sure this was a riveting class and I missed a whole bunch of stuff that would be mostly helpful. For now, I'll just continue trying to put wifi antennae into phone jacks. I mean, it's not like I can see the damned things, anyway. 

Thus has become my pogrom against laptops in general. The whole mouse and pointer and select thingy is spastic. I use plug-ins on my own. I vow here and now, NOT to start acquiring these nightmares. I also don't do hardware and am not keen at all about Windows of any stripe. So, a new pet hate; along with Mozart and violins, we can now add laptops.

BOYD STOREY, RRT

I went to the hospital on Friday, with a piece of paper that had a bunch of gibberish on it. It just said something about pulmonary whatsis and I had no idea what to expect. I showed up early and had all of my stuff for once. Usually, I leave shit at home and papers, or scrips have to be faxed and it's just a nightmare. I should have everything pinned to me, like those idiot mittens we all had growing up in Michigan.

So, I was early, and got checked in and then was given directions to the banks of elevators in TGH, Tampa General Hospital. I don't know what it is about hospitals, but this is one of the most confusing places, as was the University of Michigan hospital, where I worked during school. At U of M, you didn't enter on the first floor, like a normal building, you entered on the 4th floor. At TGH, there are east and west units. I think I was directed to the western units. All I know is the lady says, “You go left past the Golden Tree” (what is this, a Runescape quest?) another left, go to the end and you'll see elevators. Go to the 2nd floor to pulmonary.”

Off I go, past the Golden Tree and find the elevators. TGH is a teaching hospital. I love teaching hospitals; they're madhouses and there's all sorts of stuff going on. Besides, this was my home for almost 2 months in 2010. Anyway, I'm waiting by the elevator, with a bunch of folks and there's a mad stampede, unseen but heard from a hall to my right. A passel of doctors appear, and they do a football huddle and whisper excitedly for several moments, then they tear back off the way they came. A drive-by consult. All that was missing was the clap and “BREAK!”

The elevator comes and I'm the last on, as I'll be the first off, so I get to push all the buttons. I get to the 2nd floor and hop off. The pulmonary wing is absolutely dead, crypt-like. There's a guy sitting behind the desk, and he says, “Wallace?” I said, “yup.” So I mosey on over and I see there's an electronic scale. He says, “What's your first name, I was told, but I can't remember anything, I'm as sharp as a bowling ball.” I start to laugh and tell him. I ask if this here scale works and he says yes, so I jump up on it. Well, it didn't do anything. Boyd says, “It's got to be turned on, first. Hop off.” I did and I turned it on. 108.2 pounds. Hallelujah! I haven't been over 104 pounds in over 7 years.

I am so lame when it comes to taking pictures. It's like a cow driving a car.

Attempt #1 (It should be noted; this was BEFORE I was diagnosed with essential tremor, so that's part of the problem. The other part is, the Wallace gene will guarantee that bad pictures are taken 99.99% of the time.)

I told him this is a major achievement for me and he's looking at me like, "Sheeh, most women have the opposite problem, and you're thrilled to be 3 pounds heavier". Boyd's ready for this test and I am too, I really had no idea what we were doing. So off we went. It turns out it was a spirometry test, as I have COPD, which like essential tremor, is partially inherited, but mostly dictated by behavior; smoking. I had quit 2 years earlier for the last time and didn't miss it. But through the whole test, this guy is just telling one joke after another. He's better than I am! The only thing I told him that cracked him up was when I commented on his last name, “Storey.”

When we lived in Michigan, we went to a high Catholic Church and in the summer time, one of the members of the church, a veterinarian, named Dick Storey, would open his lakefront house in the afternoons and have house parties and we would all go after church. Being an only child, I never mixed well with other children at all, but was perfectly at home with adults, so I would hang out in the living room, where Dr. Storey had a baby grand piano. Thank God, my parents were not of the “children are seen, but not heard” school of child-rearing, although on this occasion, they may have been reflecting on their choice. But they would step in if things started to get out of control. Once, after a dinner, I was hanging with the guys, because they were a hell of a lot more interesting then the women in the kitchen, who were cleaning dishes and probably slurping martinis. The men were drinking whiskey and smoking cigars. The other kids were outside, playing dolls, or army men, stuff I had zero interest in, at the time. I developed a raging interest in Military History later on; I was really a crappy girl-child.

Boyd's co-worker/buddy came over and I almost poked his eye out with my cane fiddling with this shit. Boyd helpfully hung onto it for me as I tried to take a picture, and not make shitty videos.

Attempt #2

But, back to the Veterinarian and the piano. During a lull in the conversation, I announced apropos of nothing, “Dr. Storey, did you know I can play the piano?” Dr. Storey, having 5 of his own kids, and being extremely patient, said, “why, Mary, no, I did not. Why don't you play a tune for us.” My 5 year old self proceeded to clamber up on the piano bench and play “Onward Christian Soldiers,” which I had learned in VBS, the previous week. When I was done, I said, “Any requests?” My father hollered out, how about “Alexander's Ragtime Band.” I said, “Okay!” And I proceeded to play “Onward Christian Soldiers,” again. I asked for another request, but before I could fulfill another happy listener, who had asked for George Gershwin's “Summertime (that would have been awesome,) my mother came and whisked me into the kitchen. That was pretty much the end of my piano-playing career.

Boyd got a kick out of that. But, Boyd had quite a story of his own. He spent time in the Navy and then, re-upped as a sonar man for several tours. He's been with TGH and not only does testing on patients like me, but the heart transplant patients. These tests, consist of blowing into a tube, several times, as a machine registers lung capacity, elasticity and volume.

We did it several times and it went like clockwork; his patter was continual and I asked him if anyone had ever complained, because it has a lulling effect, which also caused me to concentrate on what we were doing. I've noticed in the medical profession, the very best, will have a way with being able to get through the static of a patient's fears. They will be able to get the patient to buy into what needs to be done and it is something that is not easy to do, although it may look easy. He said he'd had a couple of complaints; but overall, the response was just fantastic.

When I had my ulcer surgery, way back in 1985, it was so successful, because the doctors and nurses made me part of the team. My own recovery time was 1/3 what was expected for a major surgery back then.

Mr. Boyd Storey, RRT. A laff-and-a-haff and a great guy! I enjoyed this and I hope I get to see him again. Attempt #3 was the charm.

So, as easy as it is to bitch about stupid doctors and the insurance companies themselves, when you run across the best, I think it appropriate to acknowledge them. I made a deal with Boyd. I told him if he didn't mind my mentioning him in a post that I would write a letter to his department head (he gets a Starbucks gift card) regarding his superior ability and his way and kindness with people. Thanks, Boyd. You're the best!

For those interested, I am not bad off. I have 43% lung function, but I walk and get around and am strong as an ox. As long as I keep not smoking, which I haven't done for over years now, I will be fine. I plan on being around for another 30 years, as the Wallaces and the Rosses have a longevity gene. Besides, I have too much to do.
=====================================================================
A note: Since this post was written back on September 12, 2013, I have participated in several Clinical Trials and my lung function/capacity has increased to 90%. I started doing this in honor of my mother, who died at a relatively young age of 70. She lived every day fully with this disease, with far less than the lung capacity and overall good health that I now enjoy. The other most wonderful thing about this, is I'm helping to find a way to beat back this disease; as I mentioned, it's partly inherited and at my Clinical Trial place, Clinical Research of West Florida, there are patients who NEVER smoked, yet suffer from COPD. One day, it will be a thing of the past.

#ROW80 3RD QUARTER 2013 – POST 3 – THE 12TH MAN ON AN 11-MAN TEAM & HURRY MONDAY

Now that right there is one of the stupider titles I have composed. Stupider still, is the fact that it took 4 tries to type “stupider.” More on that later. In this instance the 12^th man is the audience and is more a metaphor than anything else. Because? The 105^th man in a 104-man team would have no meaning to anyone. So, What am I talking about, huh? The audience. Our wonderful, wonderful audience, who come out to listen to whatever-the-hell we're doing that night, day or afternoon.

This is about the size of the Opera venue I played in; it seats 5000 and was always sold out.

I suspect orchestral composers started putting G.P.s (not gps, you gamers) but Grande Pauses in music to take a sort of “audience attendance,” if you will. To see who's paying attention, and who's carving “I ♥ Mikey” on the seat in front of them, who's rustling candy paper and who's talking in class. Here's how it happens. The orchestra is thundering along in about the 3000^th measure of some reeeaally boring symphony by Anton Bruckner, and then there's this huge, gaping hole, where it all just stops. You're supposed to hear *cricket, cricket* What we are all treated to is “I FRY MINE IN LARD!” From the nosebleed section, or the cheap seats.

This is frowned upon, unless agreed to by the entire audience. There's always some bald guy or old bat in front, who has a crush on the Concertmaster. Don't do this, unless you're prepared to thumbwrestle during intermission. Oh and dressy t-shirts and flip-flops are required. For the orchestra, too.

I'm already wishing I were dead, because the violas thundering part is 58 pages or tremolo, which is a very fast shaking of the bow on the string on one note; it requires small muscle movement and is okay for short periods, but it do cramp the muscles over time. What Beethoven giveth, Bruckner taketh. Bruckner and Mozart are both giant bags of dicks in my book. So, of course, when we sneak back in, in a pianississimo, I'm trying not to laugh and my Russian stand partner is muttering under her breath, “Nyet, you no look at me...*snort*” and we're off to air-viola playing, while we hiss-laugh.

We were kinda like this, only she wasn't a guy and we didn't play backwards. We got along well, which lots of stand partners don't. Actually, I've had very little trouble with stand partners over the course of my career. But Rita was fun. She came from the Kiev Philharmonic and played boatloads of viola; just an awesome player!

You know you're at a really classy concert when you play the “Star-Spangled Banner” and some goon in the cheap seats yells “Play Ball” before the opera begins. I thought Maestro Coppola was going to climb out of the pit and hunt the guy down and bite him. All 4' 2' and 96 years of him. Man! What a little ferocious tiger! I was very, very careful to always stay on his good side. I've seen him eviscerate violinists with 3 words. People never got fired by him. He just slowly tortured you to death.

Here is Maestro, either praising the 1st violins, or chewing them out, it is hard to tell. He always looks like this. His brother Carmine Coppola, who played flute in Detroit, did too.

 

Warning: This is the inaugural rehearsal for I can't remember which Puccini Opera and it's rough, for the 1st 22 or 23 seconds. It gets more polished as we go. Typically, we got the music cold and had 3 rehearsals and 3 performances.

I was playing at one concert on a stage where there are several venues, and across the street, Jeff Beck was playing. Some stoner must have gotten his concerts wrong and been really stoned, because at one point during a Brahms symphony I was playing with the orchestra, and natch, wouldn't ya know, a very, very quiet part, dude pops up and yells "Motherfuckin' Jeff Beck rocks, Man!" and then, pops back down. The surprising part is that no one turned a hair. I'd already started my career as a rock-and-roll violist and had heard it all, as had my colleagues.

Be sure and do this at your next Mozart concert, or Bruckner. The orchestra won't mind. The security can be a bitch, though.

Audiences can surprise you, but that's the great thing about live music. You never know what is going to happen. Either on stage or off. I was playing in a small theater in Columbia, South Carolina once. This is where I got locked in the bus and had to crawl through the driver's window with Wolf and concert black, but the strangeness had just begun. That night, sitting in the pit, which was floor level with the audience, there was a couple in completely stunning Klingon makeup and regalia. I kept sneaking peeks at them. They thoroughly enjoyed NYGASP's “Pirates of Penzance.” They came back stage after the show and thanked us in Klingon. Talk about cosplay; impressive and elegant.

ghaH 'ej Duvan, vo' columbia south carolina

So, I never knew what I was heading into when I went on a tour, but I always looked forward to tours. I miss them, but it would be impossible now. So, I share them with you.

Well, Monday can't get here fast enough. I will get the results of my DaTScan and we'll see. I am trying to not get my hopes up, because I know this is an arduous process and can take as long as 6 years to diagnose, but I get tired so easily and have been sleeping for as many as 11 to 14 hours. I'm back on my bipolar meds and so, of course, my tremors are worse and by the end of the day, I'm in pain, particularly in my back and shoulders. We shall see. And of course, I missed Wednesday's check in. Bills to pay and shopping to do, which is like this Lawrence-of-Arabia type odyssey, hah.

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.