The Things We Take For Granted

I recently completed a questionnaire in which I was asked: 'When was the last time you cried?' The answer to that question was "yesterday." I'd like to share the details behind that answer, because they shed some light on who we are, where we come from, and what we can lose along the way.

One of the facets of my job is to perform with the "Chamber Players"... a mini-orchestra which contains essentially one of each of the instruments found in the Big band. We primarily exist to do educational outreach in the public schools. Important work, to be sure... but it can wear a bit thin after 20-30 gigs in a 9-month span. The last Classics Concerts of the season was played about 2 weekends earlier, and signalled the unofficial end of the grind for most folks. But oh, no- not the Chamber Players. We had 16 more gigs to crank out over the next ten days, concluding with a couple on Thursday afternoon at Elmhurst Elementary. We were beat. 3 days ago, folks cranked thrjough these gigs with the gray, expressionless faces of coal miners who still had another 15 years until retirement. Thursday, we were all giddy, irreverent and stoked, because there was finally light at the end of the mineshaft.

I finished the 1:00 gig, and was ready for my "outdoor break"... down some powerjuice, get some fresh air, and get back for my very last gig of the year. I was ready to peel out of my seat when a teacher approached me. "$#*ȶ!" I thought to myself. "Can't a brotha catch a break? I've been at this PR crap all year... I just wanna be DONE!" "Hi. I just wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed your narration at the 4th graders concert last week. You have such a nice speaking voice... [bladda, bladda, bladda, reenee reenee reenee]..." "Well, thank you. It's a privilege..." as I was half-rising out of my seat to 'Usain Bolt' my ass outta there. But no. Not today.

"If you have a moment..." [sigh. Pleeeeeeeeeze- be gone, woman- DAMN!]  "..my student Alex would like to see the cello up close. Would that be possible?"

As an ambassador of music and dutiful employee of a non-profit which needs to bank all the good Karma it can muster, one never says no at times like these. It's an accepted occupational hazard that comes with the biz. Public Outreach is important, and you're never truly off-stage until you're in your car and driving… at least 2 blocks away. It's called professionalism.

"Sure. Where is he?"

She motioned to her teacher's aid, about 30 feet away. I looked across the gym floor to the aide, who very gently turned Alex toward me,  Alex began walking toward me, swinging his white cane in wide arcs before him. When his teacher said "stop," he halted, handed his cane to her, held out his hand for a shake and said, "Hi. I'm Alex. Thanks for letting me see your cello."

"I'm Bob. Its a privilege, Alex." This time, I really meant it.

He raised his hands in front of him, extended his arms, and began wiggling his fingers around. I said, "Let's look at it from top to bottom, OK?"
"Okay."

I tipped the cello toward him so he could feel the scroll, that marvel of hand carving that still fascinates me to this day. His little fingers traced the spiral from the center button all the way out till the scroll gave way to the pegbox. "What are these?" he asked, when his fingers met the tuning pegs. I told him what they were, what they did, and how strings were attached to them. I guided his fingers into the pegbox, so he could feel the strings as they wound around the pegs. His hands glided down the back of the neck.

"What's this?" "It's the part we call the neck. It connects the scroll to the body, and it's where our fingers usually go to make the notes." "It feels like silk." What's it made of?" "Wood. I feels silky like that  because my hands have been sliding up and down on it for years."

"Can you feel where the right notes are?"
"Yes."
"Cool."
"Yes, it is."

By now, the lump in my throat is starting to interfere with my breathing.

"More, please."
"Sure."

I guided his hands to opposite sides of the neck, where it meets the instrument's body proper, and watched in wonder as this little guy caressed the shoulders of this big instrument. He followed its outline for the entire length of the body, taking note of every curve, angle and contour. Then he reached around from the back of the instrument, as if to hug it, and found the strings, the bridge, the tailpiece.

"It's huge!" "Yep, it is pretty big. But they make'em in smaller sizes for little guys like you, too. There's one out there that's just the right size for you. Let me show you the bow." I pulled the bow from the music stand, and allowed him to explore this wonderfully-crafted hand-carved tool. I even allowed him to touch the hair... something I NEVER allow. "Wanna hear it play?"

"Oh, man... sure!"
"Hop up."

I sat back as far into my seat as I could, and placed Alex on the chair in front of me. He laid his head on the right shoulder of the cello, and embraced the sounding box, placing his hands on the face of the instrument. I reached around him, and awkwardly played "Mary Had a Little Lamb" with this little guy sandwiched between me and the instrument. I cannot describe the look of ecstasy that came over his face, as the sound  filled his immediate world. He hopped down, extended his hand and said,

"Thanks Bob. I've never really seen a cello before today."

I shook his hand and said, "Thank you, Alex. I never really have, either."

Never did get that fresh air. I spent the rest of the break caressing this wonderful piece of craftsmanship through misty eyes, awash in memories that reach back through 4/10 of a century. Best way to end a season that I can imagine... rediscovering the wonder that overwhelmed my heart when I was nine years old, and led me to all this. My... sometimes, the things we take for granted in our lives are the very things which make our lives so special. Tonight, I'm thankful for sounds, my (formerly tired) soul, a hollow box... ...and a sightless little boy who taught me how to see again.

A Veteran of "Wedding Wars"

I'm a veteran of weddings. In my life, I've probably attended at least 750 of them. Nope- I'm not a freak or hopeless romantic... I actually get paid to go. I'm one of those anonymous people whom neither party knows... and who provides sonic atmosphere to help enhance the mood of that all-important day.

We musicians are legion, and thanks to the internet, connected. So, when I went to one of my favorite music boards and saw a thread entitled, "Brides are Stupid," I just had to drop in. Follows: the poster's thread-starter and my response. It might give a little insight into the world of the freelance musician...

_______________

I just played a wedding ceremony.
Outside.
Yes, on December 29. And though I do live in the desert, and the wedding was just outside Zion National Park, it was FREAKING COLD!!! Luckily I have a quintus cello, but that didn't help my fingers any! It was probably in the 30's.

Why are brides so stupid?
Also, why was I so stupid?

** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **
Quote: Why are brides so stupid?

In most cases, I believe it's because they are 22, 24 years old... and singularly dedicated to carrying out plans that started as a fantasy when they were 10 or 12.

12-year-olds are not known for pragmatism or common sense. As Cruel Fate would have it, neither attribute is actually a prerequisite for a good fantasy. (Fate seems to enjoy a particularly vicious sense of irony, I've learned.)

So- you have a completely harebrained scheme, hatched by a person who's mind is only one-third formed... now being executed by a driven young adult- with a mission, a pair of blinders, manic enthusiasm, and the boundless reserves of energy that can only be found in those in their 20's. Oh- and did I mention the 10+ years of practiced, and now well-honed emotional manipulation techniques? That little 12-year old now has teeth... and she ain't afraid to use'em on anyone who is seen as an impediment to The Objective.

And all the while, the Mother of the Bride [music cue: "Doom chords"] co-ordinates the activities- sometimes in the background by Machiavellian means, sometimes by employing the "Bull meets China Shop" stratagem.

By the time the hapless, defenseless musician is engaged, both Bride and MOB are in full assault mode. Obtaining The Objective is the only goal- nothing else matters. "Damn the caterers- full speed ahead!" Sweet 40-something ladies become Sergeant Jonas Blane from The Unit, and The Bride is riding point. This well-tuned Special Ops Unit will achieve its objective at all costs- leaving chaos, attrition, and the bodies of failed wedding planners in their wakes. Noone is safe.

I've also learned that the more financially well-off the parents, the more extravagant, wasteful and foolish the scene... because they have the resources to provide EVERY LITTLE DETAIL of their little princess' prepubescent fantasy. Fathers of the Bride (FOB) are the culprits here... throwing the equivalent of many 3rd-World Nations' entire treasuries at making a Disney Fairytale become flesh. (shudder)

"I don't care how much it costs... you find a way to bring six 'My Little Ponies' to life, RIGHT NOW... and they'd better be hitched to that gilded carriage by 1:00 PM Saturday!!! The gilders did their jobs. The coachmen are ready. Are you going to be the one who makes me angry? You wouldn't like me when I'm angry... Ponies. 3 pink and 3 blue. With glitter. GET IT DONE!!!"

***********************
Face it, [poster's name]... you got rolled over by a force that is immune the laws of physics, nature or Man. It's not your fault. You came into contact with Strike Force One, backed up by Big Momma, and bankrolled by the shadowy figure known as Daddy Deep Pockets. You were a goner when the phone rang.

Oh- and you're not stupid, either. Charitable, yes. Naive- maybe. Smarter next time? Oh, girl- most definitely.

Get it all down in writing. Have a temperature/weather/act of God clause in the contract. MAKE THEM SIGN THE CONTRACT. MAKE THEM HONOR THE CONTRACT.

Ancient wisdom from the book of ZenZilla: The source of their greatest strength is also the source of their greatest weakness- they want The Objective to be obtained- at any cost. When you get their names in ink, you have helped to set that cost... preferably at a price point that is beneficial for you. Remember- it's their Little Princess' day that is at stake- not yours. If they don't like your conditions, they are free to roll over someone else. Someone with a looser contract.

Trust me, Tracie- they'll do what you want. I mean, how can Their Little Princess glide down the aisle without hearing:

D....A....B....F#....G...D....G....A....?

.02,
Zilla

Well... I'm here. Now what?

Hi, Cyberists. Welcome to Zilla's World.

After much deliberation and some gentle prodding from a couple of fairly persistent Good Eggs I know, I've finally chosen to start a blog... yes- that modern-day electronic tip'o'the hat to all things narcissistic. I'm not so vain as to believe that this online journal will open eyes, the skies, or make me seem wise. It exists primarily for me to take in what the world bounces my way, and bounce it back to you all... with my own personal 'spin', of course. Feel free to hit me back with your impressions... I'm a fairly open vessel for some back&forth.

_____________________________________________________


I'm a student of day-to-day life, mainly because it:

1. requires no tuition fee, syllabus, or room & board.
2. is not graded. (by anyone other than me, My Special One and perhaps The Big Guy)
3. can be studied for, but the tests are always 'pop quizzes.' Crib notes, however cleverly constructed and artfully concealed, simply don't work. It's always "seat of the pants" time... 24/7, 365.
4. allows every student to be every other student's teacher... and today's lesson might come from the very back of the class
5. can only be taken pass/fail... with the eventual grade to be determined ONLY after one passes from this classroom.

Therefore, my studies carry with them a particular sense of import... for Time is always of the essence, and none may know the hour that will be his last. I hope to post here a "compendium of immediacy"... a distillation of the daily events and thoughts that make me want to share with you all.

My offerings here will come from a variety of sources: my job (musician), my hobbies (you'll find out by reading), my friends (who'll no doubt disavow all knowledge of me), my favorite message boards/websites/news&sports outlets, and the events and people that effect my life. In short- a little of everything. What you'll get will depend upon what Life deals me on any particular day. Here's hoping you'll get something of value from spending a little of your time here.

Are you with me?

I guess we'll find out...