crunch, and some colleague-bashing to boot

04-15-00

For the record, I mailed in my tax stuff yesterday. Three days early, woo hoo!

Got up and went to work at 7:15 today instead of 8:15. I intended to make up for the fact that I had to leave around 9:00 instead of 12:00, for the recording session in Macon. Well. Aida forgot that I needed the time off (and that she'd said it would be fine) and gave Sherrie the day off. Doh. I still left early; just one more nail in my coffin, I s'pose.

I got to the school with about ten minutes to warm up, just in time to see a trumpet player walk out of the auditorium with a confused look on his face. "There's something going on in there," he whispered. I peeked in and saw an audience gathering, with some new agey music playing in the background. Hmm. The trumpet kid and I stood on the step for a few minutes, just until a trombone player ran by on the street and shouted, "You know we're at the opera house, right?" We looked at each other. Shit. I gave the kid a ride to the opera house, in exchange for directions to the opera house. I've only been there once, and I wasn't coming from the same direction. We still made it with plenty of time to warm up, but being in the wrong place is a good way to get your heart going on a Saturday morning.

Spent a good four hours today with my ass parked between talkative bass-trombone-guy and assholic not-as-good-as-he-thinks tuba bastard. This guy is a professional player, I know because, well, I can't say because then everyone would know who I'm talking about. But he considers himself to be a good player and also a good brass repair guy (now I've gone and given it away,) but he pops his slides when he empties the water..?

For those of you who don't know what I'm talking about, here we go: brass players spit, essentially, into their horns. So we get water in the slides. Each valve has a slide that may or may not fill with water, and we have to empty it out or else the horn makes crackling noises when we play. When we pull out the slides, we have to push down the corresponding finger valve while we pull, otherwise it creates a vacuum inside the horn and eventually air bubbles form between the slide and the slide casing.

So what I'm saying is that this dumbass pulls the slide without pushing the valve, and the resulting air pressure makes a hollow popping sound. Seventh graders are delighted by this noise, and do it as much as they can. This guy has got to be in his forties, and must have been playing for 30 years, but he gleefully popped slide after slide and grinned around at those of us who eyed him suspiciously.

The guy's also generally a bastard, blaming his intonation problems on the college kid sitting next to him. Or on me. I will have nothing of that. He got pissy with the conductor today about needing a C to tune instead of the F that the oboe provides. (It is a little strange that this band tunes to an F, but if you're going to ask for something different, go for a Bb. Dumbass.) When the conductor had the pianist play a C, I thought the bastard next to me was going to blame the intonation problem on the piano. 'Cause, you know, if the piano's out of tune, they better just tune to the tuba.

I'm not being catty. The guy's just weird.

Anyway, I made a few contacts in the other ringers for the day, most of whom are band directors in the public schools. A couple of them halfheartedly asked for my number. Somehow, I don't think anyone's going to call me.

One woman is a professor at the university. I'd called her several months ago to find out about teaching in a program they have for high school students. She never called me back. Today I introduced myself and she explained that the program's not really off the ground just yet. She mentioned that she's looking for a horn teacher. I suggested a woman who plays in the area, and the professor said, huffily, "Well, I called her and left a message, but she never called me back. I assumed she must not be interested." Hello, Mr. Pot, this is Mrs. Kettle speaking....

John: You're in a pissy mood.

Betsy: I lost my prescription sunglasses.

John: Nooo.... They can't be lost, they're around here somewhere.

Betsy: I KNOW they're lost. I was there when I lost them.

John: Umm....

Betsy: I know they're lost because I FLIPPED DOWN THE VISOR AND I WATCHED THEM FLY OUT THE WINDOW!

John: Oh, he...hehe....

Betsy: AND THE TRUCK BEHIND ME WENT CRUNCH!

John: (clenching his teeth to keep from smiling)

Betsy: and there was no place for me to stop until...until...'cause...I was on the onramp, and there was nowhere to stop...and....

John: (snort) that's kinda funny, dude.

No, it's actually, um, not. I've had those glasses since ninth grade. Ten years I've had those prescription sunglasses, and they were in good condition because I can never find them. I found them and put them behind my visor so I'd have them when I'm driving, and now they're CRUNCHED on the side of the southbound onramp at Spring St. and 16. Damn.