The Back of the Orchestra

A little something for the short-attention-span types.

I take out a piece of paper. “HOLLY = COOL,” I write across the top. Neil takes it and writes, “NOT” after it.

“Look,” I say, “I’ve got a hole in my jeans.”

“That makes you automatically cool.”

“Yeah, I know it.”

“Now you’ve gotta get rid of the purple socks.”

“I dunno. I think it makes me look like I don’t care. That’s cool.”

“Ehhh, maybe.”

Gary taps my knee. “Six, two, three, four…” he says, pointing at a group of rests on his music. Neil and I pick up our horns. I try to find the corresponding group of rests on my part. Where did he point? What number are we on now?

The conductor looks at us – our cue. Gary plays, exaggerating his entrance in a humanitarian attempt to bring in Neil and me, but I still don’t know where we are. As the first trombone, I look blankly at the conductor in an effort to make him realize the problem and stop. He stops.

“Trombones, we’re eight after E.”

“OK, sorry.”

He starts again.

I miss it again. I make a confused look.

“Trombones, we’re in two.” I’d been counting in four. Oopsy.

“Oh, sorry, got it.”

He starts again.

We play. For two bars. This is followed by another one hundred, seventy-eight bars of rest. Somewhere in the middle of it the first trumpet turns around. “Anybody know where we are?”

He gets three shrugs in reply.

Showdown

I wrote this back in college. (OK, who's been paying attention and can tell me when that was?) It should be read aloud. I imagine Chuck sounding like John Wayne.
My apologies to Charlie Daniels. OK, not really.

Chuck was a duck with a bigfoot truck
That he liked to drive around.
But one day a goose with a few screws loose
Drove a bigger one into town.

The goose said, “Chuck, you chicken duck,
You think your truck is fine?
Well think again, you sissy hen,
And get a load of mine!

“It’s got big wheels and it’s got big doors
And it’s got big tailpipes.
It’s got a horn that’ll shear yer corn
And six hundred blinkin’ lights!”

When the goose was done, ol’ Chuck said, “Son,
You got quite a mouth on you.
So let’s hit the trail and haul some tail
And we’ll see what you can do.”

Fiddle Interlude

Folks waddled down from all over town
And craned their necks to see
After this bigfoot rodeo
Who the better bird would be.

Webbed feet slammed the pedals and the whole crowd settled
To watch the muddy show.
The goose pulled ahead when a pelican said,
“Stand back, she’s gonna blow!”

In a flurry of feathers, the whole crows scattered
In confusion and commotion –
The lights on the goose’s monster truck
Had caused a big explosion.

“Son of a gun, I guess we’re done!”
Laughed Chuck from his vantage point.
The goose just cringed with his feathers singed
And his ego out of joint.

More Fiddles

Well, the devil – oops, goose – bowed his head
‘Cause he knew that he’d been beat.
With a frown, he waddled out of town
In the agony of defeat.

“Bet he can’t even burp, the honkin’ twerp,”
Said the townsfolk with a growl.
Said Chuck, “That’ll teach him not to mess
With smaller waterfowl.”

Writer's Block

And now I shall be productive. Productive, productive. Pro-duck. Yes, I'm going to be inspired...now. Because genius is bubbling just beneath the surface. I shall sit with my legs crossed, wearing glasses as an accessory, tapping my pen against my cheek. Then I shall run my fingers through my hair. I have a zit on my head. An under-hair zit. Under where? Underwear. Underoos. Thunder shoes, blunder snooze...
Right. Working hard. Because I have a solid work ethic, and I am not going to be lazy and let my brain meander meander salamander. This is functional, it serves a purpose, and I'm going to go to bed on time. A well-rested brain is a high-functioning brain. High function. High funk. Funkaaaaay.
Filler, filler, something transitional.
And I round third base an head to the final paragraph, hair giraffe. Bringing things full circle, a summation of points. "Point." The tippy-top, the summit, the zenith. The result of all my hard, ethic-induced work. Solid beginning. Substantive body.
Clever, witty ending.

Maiden Voyage

This is kind of like talking into a microphone -- I feel like I have to say something really interesting. That could mean I'll never write anything again. I hope you all will bear with me as I find my stride with this whole blog thing. Maybe -- hopefully -- something unexpected will come. In the meantime, I need to pick a font.