beautiful, funny, sad & true

Man, I swear this blog gets more hits when I don’t post for a week than when I post all the time.  I guess it’s a good thing I’m still feeling un-bloggish lately, then, in order to give everybody a chance to soak up a bit of beauty, humor, sadness (although there’s been precious little sadness lately!) and truth.

Times have been good, overall.  Had a great gig on Friday, at which I got the chance to see many friends.  I started mixing the EP for IrishBand (our goal is to finish mixing some time in December), and I had an excellent birthday.  Got some new clothes.  My friend LJ returned from three weeks in the U.K., so we went to brunch and then came back here to my place where she could upload the pictures and explain the stories behind all of them.

I had another excellent day yesterday, which involved a new friend and much random fun.  We met at Powell’s, then watched a bewildering theater performance at Pioneer Square (we left after about ten minutes, scratching our heads with confusion), watched some buskers outside Nordstrom, bounced around between a bunch of closed restaurants (which finally led us to get sushi at Sansai), then we walked clear up to Vivace for coffee and dessert.  Lovely day.

NewFriend is a piano teacher, so we’ve been looking for classical music we’ll be able to play together as a duo.  I found a book of ‘easy to intermediate’ cello solos at Powell’s, which consists of classical pieces arranged for cello, with piano accompaniment.  Perfect!  It’s part of a two-book series; Book One is the piano book, and Book Two is the cello book.  I bought the piano one because A) it was the only one they had, B) it had both the piano AND the cello parts on it, and C) I figured we could track down the complementary book at some point, or just photocopy whichever pieces we intend to learn.

When I pulled up at home, CellistSkip was standing next to his car, and he said hello.  I brought the book over to show him, and he said, “No way. . .I think I used to have that book when I was a kid.”  FlutistSusan came down the steps just then and I showed it to her too.  “That sounds familiar,” she said.  “I think I may actually have the cello book in my files somewhere.”  She ran into her office, rummaged around in a drawer, and after about ten seconds pulled out a tattered copy of the companion cello book.  The cover is gone and about half of the pages are missing, but it’s the same book.  What a crazy coincidence, no?

So here are a few pictures.  I wish I would’ve taken more, but I was too hungry to think of it when we got our sushi.  The sushi was excellent, by the way, but the sunomono salad (with octopus, red onions, bell peppers and daikon radishes) was the hit of the day.

Perhaps I could recruit your help in locating a piece for NewFriend and me?  We’re looking for Antonin Dvorak’s Slavonic Dance #2 in E minor, Opus 72, arranged for piano and cello.  You know, it’s this piece (and what a beautiful performance this is!):

I could watch that all day.  Thanks in advance for your help!

When I arrived, I got out of my car and noticed that my friend Skip’s car had a piece of plastic where the rear passenger window should have been.  I tried to call him to find out what happened, but there was no answer, so I sent him a text asking if anything had been taken.  No response, so I signed onto VisageTome to find that practically everyone I knew had posted an update saying something to the effect of, “Skip’s cello STOLEN!  It looks like [description]. . .please help!”

It happened this afternoon on Northeast 13th Avenue, sometime between 11:00 a.m. and 1:00 p.m.

Here’s Skip’s description of the instrument:

“There’s a coffee stain on the bridge of the instrument.  It’s very dusty and has a large area of finger nail scratches on the right side.  It’s made by Virgilio Cappelini 1982 in Cremona, Italy and the label inside says so. It has a metal tailpiece (all scratched up) and a Shuback bridge.”

If you have this cello (and if you’re not Skip), IT IS NOT YOURS and you should do the right thing and turn it in to the police.  They are looking for it (AND FOR YOU!) and so are hundreds of Skip’s friends.  You’d better pray that the police find you before one of us does.

This afternoon, I took a nap for all of twenty minutes, but that was just enough time for me to have a really strange dream.

I was the cellist in a rock band, and one of the band members was buying me a monitor speaker so that I could hear myself over the band better.

We had found the speaker on Craigslist, and it was offered at a great price.  We were very excited about the deal we were getting, but we weren’t nearly as excited once we found out that the seller was a member of the Aryan Nation (I have no idea where THAT little tidbit came from, by the way).   The speaker was painted blue and red, and I thought, ‘Crap, how am I going to repaint this thing?’

As my bandmate and I were loading the speaker into the car, the seller thanked us, and BandMate said, “Hey. . .anything to help the cause!”  Once he and I were in the car, I said to BandMate, “That was a weird thing to say.  He probably thinks we’re down with the Aryan Nation now.”  BandMate replied, “Well, it was a good deal.  I didn’t want to blow it. . .”

That’s when I woke up.  TOTALLY WEIRD DREAM.

For the record, I couldn’t be less of a fan of the Aryan Nation.  Just so you know.

This afternoon, at rehearsal, I cracked my good cello bow.  It happened while I was gesturing to the drummer to play something that was different from what he was playing.  The guitarist didn’t see me doing that, and he turned around a little bit, which is when my bow smacked into the neck of his electric guitar.   Here’s the result:

You can see how close it came to being a fatal break.  I’m fairly sure that it can be glued, but if for some reason it can’t be, you’re going to be reading about a very unhappy Todd, very soon.  Luckily, I do still have my old backup bow, but it isn’t nearly as responsive or as high-quality as this one is.

This really blows.

I could use a glass of wine, a hug, and an influx of cash.

Today I was supposed to record with IrishBand, but Singer was sick and losing his voice, so he had to cancel.  That left me with a couple of hours to kill before our band meeting tonight, so I took the opportunity to enjoy this beautiful fall day and went for a hike in Macleay Park.

I thought about taking my camera, because after a few months out of the habit, I’ve started taking it everywhere with me again.  The reason I didn’t today is because I didn’t want to carry it on the hike, and I’ve taken it to Macleay before, and while the park is supremely beautiful, the pictures have never been compelling.  So I left it at home, much to my later dismay.

When I arrived at the park, there was a guy who was practicing his sword and staff skills, which was surprisingly cool to watch.  I’ve never been into it myself, but I’m fascinated with all that SCA stuff.  There was a guy I knew in Yakima who used to make his own huge swords and armor and everything, and go out into Randall Park and practice fighting.  He was a little too into it, as a matter of fact, and he was a little bit scary.   The guy I saw today just looked cool, and was doing parries and lunges.  He was just finishing up as I was walking by, though.

I hiked a mile or so up the trail, to the dilapidated Stone House, and when I got there, a family was shooting a movie with their little digital video camera.  I sat on a log and watched them for about twenty minutes, while they filmed the last few scenes.  They were in full costume; the princess, the witch, the adventurer, the sorcerer, and the two ghouls.  I arrived just in time to see the ghouls and the witch get killed by two different spells, like this:  “Abracadabra is what I say, and I want you to go away!”  The little princess was about four years old, and when she yelled, “Save me!  Save me!  Save me!” I have to admit that it was pretty dang cute.  The best part, however, was watching the dad be a director for the kids.  It seemed like he had some sort of video experience, or at least he was acting as if he did.  It was really a fun thing to see.  I had my phone with me, so I was able to take a couple of pictures, but they both suck.

See what I mean?  Oh, how I wish I had brought my camera.  I learned my lesson, that’s for sure.  After they finished filming, I thanked the guy for letting us all hang out and watch them (because a handful of other people joined me on the log), and asked him if this film had a name.  “Indiana Johnson and the Princess in Peril,” he replied.  Sounds awesome, and hopefully it’ll be coming soon to a YouTube near you.   Let’s keep our eyes open.

Tonight is a meeting with IrishBand, followed by a happy hour at Kell’s, where they have an open Irish music jam session that Singer and I have been to see a time or two before, and it’s really great.  It would be fun to bring my cello down there sometime, but space is at such a premium in there, and the cello would make it pretty cramped.  There are lots of violinists, and mandolinists, and flutists, and even an accordionist who played for a little while.  Cello would totally rule with a group like that.  Who knows, I may bring it in at some point.

Anyway. . .signing off.

I’d like to take a minute to tell you a story in the long string of heart-warming online tales that illustrates the power of the internet to connect people who have been estranged for decades.  It also illustrates the power of music, and the power of a certain kind of mental pathology, too.  You’ll see what I mean.

One of my cohorts from Iron Horse received an out-of-the-blue message on Facebook yesterday, at 1:30 in the morning, from someone he didn’t know, that said, “Are you [misspelled his last name] from [our high school]?  I remember you; we wrote a song in detention.’  He named the song, and correctly wrote out the chorus.  No, I’m not going to quote it here, because then it would be searchable, but he totally nailed it.

His profile was private, there was no picture, and he had a very unusual first name, but my friend didn’t recognize him in any way.  He had eleven online friends, all of whom shared his surname.  My friend responded, “Yeah, that was me.  I kinda remember writing that in detention. . .I changed the lyrics around, and my old band used to play that song.  Do you have a picture or something to jump-start my memory?  What years were you at [our high school]?”

The guy wrote back that he moved away from Yakima in 1987, and that he’s living in California now.  He’s of a certain nationality, and “try to get sum pic’s.”  (I took the liberty of cleaning up his grammar and punctuation before, but it was all typed lower-case, with slightly awkward punctuation.)  My friend accepted his friend request, and we’ll see where the story goes from here.  The two of us can’t help but wonder what the guy’s life is like, since he’s writing to someone he met only one time, in high school detention, twenty two years ago (!), and seems to be hoping to rekindle a friendship where it left off.   I mean, sure,  my friend is a great guy, and we were a pretty good band, but this guy doesn’t even know about the band, because he left town before my friend and I even started it.  Oh, AND.  I should mention that my friend was neither a miscreant nor a ne’er-do-well (I love those two terms, and I love it when I get the opportunity to use them), he was only in detention that one day, and never saw this guy ever again.  He’s not anyone I knew, either then or now, but I haven’t been able to find my yearbooks to investigate him.

Incidentally, speaking of the band, the community access TV station still plays our videos to this day, which completely mystifies my friend and me.  These are not new videos I’m referring to, either.  They were filmed and originally aired during that same time period, from 1987 to ‘89, which is when the band was in existence.   We were just a bunch of high school kids, playing some songs that we wrote ourselves, and I can’t imagine why anyone watching now would even enjoy the songs these days, let alone find a bunch of kids from twenty years ago compelling.

Be all that as at may, I admit that it’s gratifying (in a weird way) that they do still play that stuff.  We had a good time making the videos, and like I said, we were a pretty decent band, but we had no delusions about our abilities or chances for stardom, either.  We were just a bunch of kids who had a band, like a million other kids in a million other bands.

Just for fun, here’s a picture from our very first show.  In fact, it could well be of the song in question, too, because I just now remembered that I actually sang the whole second verse of it (and I didn’t sing lead very often), so it seems very likely that this picture was taken during that song.

I just love the oversize mirrored sunglasses, and you can see that I was working hard on Mullet Number One as well.  Gee, I wonder if this was the 80’s?

Meanwhile, back to the topic at hand.

In the interest of full disclosure, and the interest of fairness to this guy, I’ve spent the better part of this month reconnecting with friends from years ago, one of whom had also been twenty years ago (she reads this blog, too, by the way), and it’s been really great for everyone involved.  You probably already knew that if you’re reading this, though, since I’ve written a bit about it lately.  More than once but fewer than three times, in fact, just in case you were counting.   So I have no business knocking the guy for trying.  As human beings, we all are basically social animals (some of us more than others) who are looking for connections wherever we can find them.  But the people I’m talking with are people with whom I had actual relationships and friendships.  They’re based on more than just a one-time meeting, in detention, more than half a lifetime ago.

The title of this entry, incidentally, comes from a book that our high school’s choir director had on the bookshelf in his office, and it seemed apropos to use it here.  Iron Horse shortened it to ‘Mental Game’ and we used it as the title of our album.  I mean cassette.  Oh, how dearly I wish I had a copy of that.  I have a lot of old videos, and tapes, and pictures, and notebooks, but I’m not sure I have that cassette cover floating around anywhere.  I’ll have to do some digging.

I can’t wait to see how this story unfolds.

Last night I was dinking around on one of those social networking sites – randomly, no friends in common or anything – and I came across this particular woman’s page.  I liked her picture and the way she described herself, so I clicked over to look through her photo albums.   She’s done some work on movie sets, and had some interesting experiences.   Then I saw an album called ‘Portland Spirit’, which is a cruise ship that goes up and down the Willamette River and has afternoon and evening cruises.  I’ve played on it a couple or three times, and it’s a total blast.

So anyway, I clicked on that album and after a few pictures, I came to this one, and just about fell out of my chair.  Check out who’s sitting there playing cello, on the left side of the picture.

ISN’T THAT WEIRD?  Pretty fortuitous, too, I have to say.  Naturally, I wrote to her to tell her about all of this, so we’ll see if anything comes of it.

Awwww, yeah.  I love it when that kind of synchronicity happens.

Saturday night I had an interesting gig.  We played one of those cancer benefit walk-a-thons at a ritzy high school in a suburb south of town.  Nicest football field I’ve ever seen outside of the professional leagues, and even better than many of those, I’m sure.

We were scheduled to play from seven until eight, and we were scheduled to open for the 80’s band Quarterflash, but we found out that the city was worried about security for Quarterflash, so they cancelled them and hired an Elton John impersonator instead, who arrived in a blue Cadillac stretch limousine, pulling a trailer, with his entourage of two SUV’s behind him, each pulling its own trailer too.  They proceeded to unload, and unload, and unload, and we kept watching the clock.  Seven came and went, and seven-thirty came and went, and still they weren’t even close to being set up.  They brought their own intricate PA system (despite the fact that the one already on stage was perfectly good), lighting trusses and lights, a huge electronic piano (which looked like a real piano, until you got up close to it) and a set of drums.  This was all to play for a cancer benefit in a high school stadium, by the way, where people aren’t even there to listen to music, they’re walking around the track all day and night.  We could not believe it.

I walked behind the stage to move my cello to a safer spot, and I happened to overhear a very funny conversation between the piano guy and a couple of his friends.

Friends:  Hey, your car’s still running.  Is it supposed to be?  Don’t you want to shut it off?

Piano Guy:  No, Maurice (the dog) is in there.  I leave the car turned on all the time for him.

Friends:  [exchanging befuddled looks and smiles in my direction]  Uhhh, okay. . .just trying to save you some gas money.

Piano Guy:  Oh, yeah, that car idles for about fifteen hours a day.  It’s okay.

Friends, and me:  [jaws drop]

At almost eight o’clock, we just decided we couldn’t wait any longer.  We ran up and just set up around them, which apparently was supposed to be the plan, anyway.  [Slight geek-out:  It was my first time playing the cello through a big PA since I installed the pickup on it, and used the DI box.  Oh.  My.  God.  What a difference!  It sounded SO MUCH better than it ever has before.  Okay, end of geek-out.]  It was a pretty good show, but I wouldn’t count it among our best.  It certainly wasn’t bad, though.  Our final song sounded so great, in fact, that we decided to stop there and end our set with it, instead of the additional song we had planned.

We stuck around to talk to some friends afterward, and the EJ impersonator still hadn’t finished setting up.   I don’t even like the real Elton John, so I had no desire to stick around for his act, though I have to admit that after all that setup time, I was intrigued to at least hear what they sounded like.  But my overwhelming desire, especially since it was an hour later than we were supposed to be finished, was to go home, so that’s what I did.

This was another one for the Sometimes Gigs Are Super Weird file.