ROW 80 POST 36 – HAVE A GUMBY CHRISTMAS AND SUNDAY CHECK-IN

That there pageanty thing I played viola for, that I was telling you all about with my various stand partners who had various colorful pasts/conditions/neuroses and whatevers, in my last post, could not hold candles to the goings-on on the stage of the Christmas Pageant at the Nativity Church. This is the place where art and sense and any shreds of sanity left went and died. The Creche was laid out in lurid colors and raucous smells, of the pine and incense and maybe myrrh varieties, with spaceships and whooshing sounds. The 3 Wise men were Wookies and Baby Jesus was R2D2. Okay, I made up that last part, but you get the idea. The damned thing was gaudy as hell on a bicycle.

Courtesy of www.ckelleyread.blogspot.com

This actually looks like some shit they would do on Runescape, but it would have totally worked at a Nativity Pageant.

Frosty the Snowman went on a diet and they never did have enough black felt for his eye-holes. When we played that song, it looked like “Frosty the Serial-Killer” cavorting on stage, which always gave me a frisson of fear; that blank look, knife-slash for a mouth. Then, my better sense would go, “yeah, a Nativity gig,” and I’d hear my best bud, Spenser, laughing his ass off behind me on principal cello. It was THAT kind of gig, and it paid very well, too. Plus, it was right here in Tampa. No 8-hour frantic road trip to the next Jesus Job.

When we got to Elvis’ “Blue Christmas” 2 helpful elves would scamper out onto stage and slap mutton-chops with Velcro on Frosty’s face. We’d take bets on whether they’d get near mutton-chop acreage and not Frosty’s forehead. They never missed. I guess that would have been another song. Once applied, we had “Abraham Lincoln Serial-Killer Snowman.” Eek! But in all the years, I could never understand why Fros-tay wasn’t fat. Guess he couldn’t cut down all those boss moves we all do here in Tampa.

Of course, we had several tree-related songs. Which brings me to something I’m very thankful for indeed. This church, as huge as it is, has a normal auditorium, with a stage and apron down in front. Consequently, the orchestra sits on the floor, directly in front of the audience. On this stage, there are always poinsettias in pots that line the front, not an opera-type set up, with a movable pit, so the orchestra is in firing-range of objects being flung from the stage.

During one of the innumerable tree-related songs that Nativity seems to love and that go on and on and on, people come out in these giant trees. One person per tree and the trees look like giant Gumby trees; children cavort around between these trees and create more mayhem. There are four of them and they come out and sway and leap around to the music we play and they knock the poinsettias off into the orchestra. One year a flung poinsettia hit a violinist in the head. I can’t stand her. She’s such a bitch, but she’s got a nice violin. I sat by the audience, so I have a nice view of all this derangement. Once one of the trees fell down during all of this swaying and dancing and Spenser had to catch Wolf when I started to slip out of my chair laughing. It’s THAT kind of gig.

Imagine this as Christmas trees. Or not.

Whatever it was, when the Church itself stopped presenting the pageants, I was sad. That was one of the year’s highlights. In a world filled with gigs and insanity, New York Gilbert and Sullivan, (NYGASP) Opera Tampa, Styx, Alan Parsons Project, Manhattan Transfer, Johnny Mathis, Bernadette Peters, Steve and Eydie, Frank Sinatra Jr., Bobby Vinton, Anne Murray, Southwest Florida Symphony, Birmingham Symphony, and so many others I’m forgetting; oh, but who could forget the "Channeling Elvis Tour," where we played with the Jordanaires and Elvis on a HUGE-ASS SCREEN! (his followers a book in themselves,) it says something when people, musicians say to one another, “when’s the Nativity gig?” It was always something ridiculous and you were guaranteed at least one gut-buster a night, and no one died, cared or got hurt over it. You can’t ask for much more purity in life than that, methinks.

Well, check in Sunday, and it’s been awhile. It’s a new month. I totally crashed on NaNoWriMo. I started at the beginning and about November 20, 2012, I figured where I should have started which was pretty much towards the end. So, instead of scrapping and being frozen, revamp. But the other revelatory action that has paid off in spades; it is possible to not go 110 mph all the time and be happy with that. If I post 2 or 3 times a week, that’s okay for now.

Thanksgiving night I had one of those episodes that most closely resembles one of my psychotic breaks. This was after 2 days of tearing around like a bat out of hell. My body feels it and my mind rebels. My brain just simply refuses to go any faster after a sprint like that. What I did before, is not happening now. The good thing is that I have my paperwork for Medicare and so now, I have a new agency to fuck with, not just the State of Florida.

ROW 80 POST 35 – STAND PARTNERS I HAVE SURVIVED

Since I ended my last post tripping down memory lane with the fantastic rendering of “Sleigh Ride” as interpreted for-fucking-ever by Thelonius Monk, I thought you all might enjoy some of the reminiscences of a few of the pageants I’ve played in over the years. Being a working musician during Christmas brings it’s own challenges. Not the least of which is stamina. Much like the Easter, er, I mean EnergeezerBunny (per YumaBev) you better have your track shoes and be prepared for the long haul.

Courtesy of deblogs.depaul.edu

Yes, those are violists. What a shock. I tried this a time or two in the San Jose Youth Symphony, Maestro Stoia was not amused. Ever.

I had this one stand partner, who no shit, did have Parkinson’s Disease. He was spot on with everything, was eleventy-billion years old; you just couldn’t hear him play. His sound went to the edge of his viola and stopped. I had to tune his viola for him. Tony Shapiro was his name and he loved to turn the pages. As long as I didn’t mind missing half of the next page, it was okay, Tony would catch up. It would take him half of the following page to “straighten said turned page, pick up his viola and make sure the hair on his bow hadn’t magically loosened.” He’d join in somewhere around the bottom of the page of Beethoven’s 9^th Symphony of “Ode to Joy.” I’m rockin’ it and Tony is playing air viola. God bless him. When he retired, we gave him a spray-painted gold brick. He loved it; no harm done.

I had another stand partner who had narcolepsy. One morning, the bus captain was looking for him so we could leave for the next crappy one-horse town to play what I am sure was just a boffo show. The bus captain said, “Where’s Scott?” One of my dearest friends, who was just a fucking riot and so quick, said, “Somnambula’s probably hanging by his feet in a closet sleeping.” The name stuck after the hilarity subsided. Scott would sit down to play and nod off during a waltz and damn, if he wouldn’t wake up 7 measures later and come in right where he was supposed to. I inherited him because I was the only one with the stones to not freak out.

I became principal viola when it was discovered that none of the other psychos and schizos they sat beside me would cause me to lose my one remaining marble. Seriously, I had one partner, who would try and sit in my lap and talked about his “voices.” Nor would stage-related calamities unnerve me. So principal was good for me. I love audiences. I love playing by myself; the louder, the better. What can I say? I’m a ham.

When I first started playing for this church, my friend who had originally hired me, a 1^st violinist with the Florida orchestra, asked if I would mind hiring the viola section. I did not and did so for several seasons. If Somnambula and others couldn’t play, due to scheduling conflicts, I’d call around. Well, the players were great, but the people? Yeah.

One year, Somnambula, who lives in New Orleans and plays in their symphony was busy, so I called a local, who had been recommended to me by the viola mafia. This guy is still around, so to protect the innocent, let’s just say his name is “Ferdinand Magellan.” He does bear the name of an explorer of the same era.

Well, “Ferdinand” is an awesome player, so I offered him 1^st chair. First night, he says, “oh, I can’t! I just took a Sinutab, I’m nervous.” Mind you, I’ve already heard through the viola grapevine all of this. There are 6 violas. I really don’t care who sits where. Sit in the parking lot. Next night, he says, “Oh, I drove my car. I’m too keyed-up.” And so it goes. He sits with me. He just tears it up. Awesome. But the poor man has performer’s anxiety. Some people take Inderol. With me? It’s auditions. I cannot audition to save my life, but if I sub, or sneak in a back door? I’m there for life.

Anyway, Somnambula and I played in a lot of shitty pageants. One of these hired just the most kick-ass of orchestras, but had the worst conductor ever. Bar none.

This one church had some serious money for its “music worship” program. What it didn’t have was one ounce of artistic esthetics going on. We played this gig for years and it never changed or got better.

This Pageant ran for 4 nights and seemed to have been cobbled together by elves on hallucinogenics who had stopped to visit the folks at National Lampoon. There was a little Jesus in a Manger Catholic stuff thrown in that was delivered by some chanteuse in a silver-lamé cat-suit who would croon her way with a rather throaty delivery through “Ave Maria.” She was supposed to be well-known some-where, but I could never remember where that was. Her delivery didn’t really give me pause to reflect on the Baby Jesus and the Manger, either. Oh well, to each his own.

The Internationally Famous Conductor, What’s-His-Name, whose ineptitude is now known on 2 continents, in that he has managed to bring 2 fine orchestras crashing to their knees in cacophonious splendor, had to have another conductor behind him to do so. I have managed to stay in the saddle as long as I have, by not looking up. My bad. I looked up once and saw this forest of arms waving around. Somewhere around 3 and ¾ beats I fell, along with the rest of the string section. Damn. Anyway, Internal International Fame was granted by a Pope gig in Rome. I’m so sorry I missed that. 

ROW 80 POST 34 – MY NEMESIS…

I keep getting calls from this number because I have outstanding medical bills from when I was being stupid and irresponsible. I am now on full Disability and have a good life. I am unable to pay medical bills incurred from the time I received my SSDI and the time the State of Florida deems I am eligible for Medicare, which is a 2-year wait period. Lemme cut to the chase; I receive as many as 8 to 10 of these "dunning" calls per day. I have tried to request that these people, immediately "cease-and-desist" from hounding me on the phone. That's a "magic" FBCA (Fair Banking Credit Act) phrase.

This type of call violates FCC laws and is beyond any normal consideration that would be deemed either professional or proper, not to mention civil. Furthermore, I am going from here to the FTC and the SEC and FBI and lodging complaints. I would suggest that anyone reading this post do likewise. These people have no intention of doing anything except extorting money from frightened, sick people via credit card and they do it by purchasing lists from Hospitals' delinquent accounts' databases. Said hospitals have already written off the debt, and these strong-arm companies are raking in the dough, from sick, terrified people, who cough up a credit card number at the drop of a hat. These strong arm companies rely on numbers, using speed-dial and persistence.

This has to STOP. If every time a consumer gets one of these calls, you cut-and-paste something like this and get a case number, go to http://www.fcc.gov/ complaints through this website, I guarantee this will shut the bastards down, or at least ruin their day a little. 

What this company is doing is illegal, immoral and wrong. There is no arguing and no reasoning with them. They hire offshore robots and you can't tell them you want them to cease-and-desist. They will insist you give them a credit card number. That's it. By law, they are supposed to record ALL calls. All LEGITIMATE companies are supposed to do so, whether they’re 3^rd party billers or not. If they are calling to collect debt, they MUST stop when you say the magic words “CEASE-AND-DESIST.” Per the FCBA (Fair Billing and Credit Act,) The MINUTE you say CEASE AND DESIST, calls MUST STOP, if it's a legitimate collection agency. This one is NOT. Let's spread the word and put these assholes out to pasture. Better yet, I'd love to put these fuckers behind bars. This is illegal. 321 250-7016; your days are numbered; whoever the hell you are.

Meh… Not a big enough pain in the ass. This shit has been going on since I was hospitalized, yet again, back in March. BFD. I reported to the above, because I got sick and tired of hollering in Klingonese at the drone on the phone, but really because they are unethical and need to be behind bars. But they’re not my problem. This is.

By all that is holy, I cannot believe this horror. I went back to my supermarket today. The poor, pink pumpkins must have been spirited away by the Mother Pumpkin, or mayhap I just zoomed right by them. There was new 50/50 mix on the shelf and that shit is like crack for me. It’s some kind of greenery like spinach and has spinach-like properties, but it’s scrubby and has purple scrubby things in it and is succulent and I love it!

I went to the market today to pick up some of JC’s meds and take back some croutons that I had tried out. I usually get Caesar croutons of the house brand and they rock, but they were out last week, so I got a fancy kind that were a bit more and they tasted like metal! They also had some of the texture of metal, too. Maybe these got mixed up on the truck and were supposed to go to Pluto or wherever, but Hell on a bicycle! It said “all natural ingredients” on the outside. I didn’t realize they meant they had to go mining to produce these. I hope those others weren’t radioactive or something. Gah!

So, I returned the substitute croutons and found they had gotten new ones. The kind I love. So, I moseyed on over to annoy the folks in the Deli, and as I’m moseying, I dimly realize I’m hearing the music. Now, the music on the squawk box is pretty bitchin’ if I do say so myself. Earlier, I had been enjoying Carly Simon singing “You’reSo Vain,” (it isn’t Mick Jagger) and singing along. I, at least can sing in tune. I cannot vouch for the quality of my voice; it’s safe to say no one ever turned to stone or died from it.

Anyway, I started hearing a familiar tune. It sounded an awful lot like Leroy Anderson’s “Sleigh Ride” on alto Saxophone. This goes on for awhile and is sort of entertaining, but then again, sort of not. “Sleigh Ride” ceased to be entertaining for me the very first time I played the fucker, because, it’s, well, it’s Leroy Anderson and his stuff sucks. It sucks hard. Any jack-leg who writes for typewriter and Symphony Orchestra should just be instantly killed, along with his family and his neighbors, and their neighbors. Nuke the whole freaking neighborhood. What the fuck? Typewriter? Why not vacuum cleaner? How'z about a sump pump? What a fucking douchestick! And it sucks hardest when you play the viola part. It’s boring beyond tedium. See my opinions on Mozart for my outlook on playing boring music.

It turns out this was “Sleigh Ride” via Thelonius Monk and it sucked harder than anything Wolfgang or Leroy ever could come up with. It wandered and roamed and if there was a theme it never found a home and it was so fucking bad, it was truly stupendously breathtakingly hideously awful. I found the manager and told him he needed to contact Corporate immediately and get their money back. That monstrosity of a recording needs to be erased, burned, have acid poured on it, somebody needs to shit on it and bury it. It needs to go into Mr. Peabody’s Way-Back Machine and be sent back to the Stone Age. The “musician” who played it? God help that poor fucker. I hope he made all of that up, because if he had to memorize that? He’s in some ward somewhere going, “bee dee bee dee dooo bee doo beeee dee.” “Yes, Virginia, that was some bad shit, goin’ down.” Just thinking about it makes me batshit.

ViolaFury never, ever wants to hear “Sleigh Ride,” via Thelonius Monk again. Or slaying will occur. THAT is my nemesis! Happy Christmas!