The Iceman Bloweth

What a rebel! I hope he's coming to a theatre near me!

I can play the radio, and I'm told that I'm very good on the dictaphone...

Olivia, my naughty nephew (the one with the PhD in music education who plays many many instruments) always said his grandfather was a real musical inspiration - he fiddled with his navel.

and people keep telling me to put down that piano, you know you can't carry a tune -

it must be past my bedtime -

Ice... isn't that the stuff that I used to find tucked away in my  old freezer (before self-defrosting...)? 

Many years ago Marshall Field (department store based in Chicago) opened a Houston branch and was mystified when sweaters and winter wear -- shipped in September -- failed to sell.  No one apparently told them that temperatures in September are normally in the 80s, and that it's normally in the 70s around Christmas...

After living in Western Massachusetts (twice!) I swore I'd never live in a place again where, after asking 'What's the temperature?', one would need to clarify the response with a second question, 'Above or below?'.  As in five degrees.... (above or below?)  

As for music making, I'll stick to singing 'Clementine' to the only person I know who likes to sing along with me:  my 2-1/2 old grandson.  (I really wish I'd stuck with music making long enough to generate 'Chopsticks' on a piano, but ... oh well...).  Guess I'll stick with just listening to Dave Brubeck, Karyn Allison, Gustav Mahler, and other favorites....  

I wonder if  Pascal Wyse ever did taiko drumming?

Off-topic, for MissIve who asked about my music yesterday.

Here's our youtube channel:

http://www.youtube.com/user/PeaceAndLoveCowboys

New vids up after this weekend!

Seems we have discovered the present Generation Spike Jones .......

rock on Heiress. tres jolie.

(She didn't shoot the deputy.)

Counterfeit mailbag $100 off- filme at 11

Jalopkin,

You seem to have a gift for strumming the right chord for me:

I remember as a small boy being really sick for the first time. You know the deal; high fever; can't eat or drink and apparently looking bad enough to scare your parents which, in turn, scares you.

It probably wasn't as long or as bad as I remember but I recall my mom, after a few days, racking up a Spike Jones 45rpm for my amusement and it worked.

Well, probably in conjunction with prescription medicine and rest but it was a funny thing to sit up and laugh at the crazy "music" and the image of that screwball little
leprechaun in his square shouldered suit, leading the band like a wind-up toy.

Imagine their rehearsals!?

Olivia,

Dictaphone? Surely, you are too young.

As kids, we spent time trying to find a use for a box of the floppy belts that somebody had retrieved from the trash.

Then, bless 'em, the same people pitched the little gray machine and we spent some happy hours eavesdropping on man named Cy as he dictated letters and struggled to get the attention of his secretary:

"Ronny; Ronny would you come in here please!

It was repeated over and over, evidently he didn't know about turning the thing off.

At long last, we would hear high heels on a hard floor, the creak of a door and:
"WHAT!?" Which, of course, we were all primed chime in with.

"Oh, that's okay- if you're busy, just never mind- that's okay."

We came to the conclusion that either Ronny was a looker and he just needed a bit of a reassurance every now and again that she still was or that she was his wife.

This morning, a half century down the road, it dawned on me that there was no reason that she couldn't have been both.

My(limited) musical history.... My father insisted (like any good Italian-American father of his generation) that I study the accordion since it was a practical instrument.  In other words, I could play at weddings at some point and make some money.  (I was eight.)  I hated the accordion and 'ran away from home' one day after practice.  I decided to walk to Florida and made it about nine miles until the sun set and I tried to sleep on the ground behind a car dealership (amid broken glass).  After a half an hour I decided I'd made a mistake and went to a nearby house to 'turn myself in'.  My father picked me up (long silent car trip home).  My mom wouldn't speak to me.  Next year I was packed up and sent to 'catholic school' to adjust my attitude.  (My father let me stop taking accordion lessons, thank goodness!)

Next musical interlude was my infatuation with the trumpet.  I did like that, perhaps because my best friend was a trombone player and we used to listen to jazz in his basement (especially Dixieland) on an old handcrank Victrola. Unfortunately, I couldn't stand three things: the horrible sounds I generated (not at all musical), reading music (even worse than all those squiggly things from math class), and practice.  My teacher, Mr. Claude Chappelle, thought I was tone-deaf until he heard me whistling in the school hallway and realized that I was 'fibbing' about practicing.  (Mr. Chappelle gave me lessons in the boy's locker room at school since it was free and we couldn't be heard all over the school.)  I have no idea where the trumpet went.  (Years later my late father asked me that, and I had to admit I simply didn't know...)  I still wish I could play the trumpet, but that is a sadly faded dream.

And the final 'musical story' from my past was 'choir'.  We had a Welsh choir director (!) who was a perfectionist, a really nice guy, and a lover of Jerome Kern.  I survived by independently inventing the Milly-Vanilli method of acting (I lip synched the words and didn't dare sing a note).  Unfortunately, one day -- overcome with enthusiasm -- I let fly with my voice, and the choir was stopped in short order.  'Who is making that noise?' we were asked.... I never admitted it was me, and resumed my career as an unpaid lip synch artist...  It is only with my grandson that I now sing (over web cam) since his singing voice is even worse than mine!  Hopefully he will practice, and develop a singing voice unlike his Gam-Pa.

The strange thing is that -- despite my catastrophic career in making music -- I've always enjoyed listening to it.  As a kid and teen it was an emotional and physical thing.  Over the years it's now simply a rather detached admiration of the complex architecture of tones, rhythms, instrumentation, etc.  (Occassionally I react emotionally to music, but that seems to disappear little by little with age...)

I've read a lot about music, and have even taken several 'Teaching Company' courses on CD (Robert Greenberg is excellent:  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_Greenberg  ).  I guess dreams of making music will remain right along those of becoming a surfer, long-distance sea kayaker, and guerrilla warrior.  Dreams.

Even further astray:

It's seven-something a.m., snowing, blowing a gale and I just heard gunfire from the duck hunters out on the bay.

Hard to explain but if you're me, it's like chapel bells.

Greetings Heiress:  Check out "Old Crow Medicine Show"...Wagon Wheel.    I think you will like it.  Great string band and  song.

One of the places I would love to go to is the Ice Hotel in Jukkasjarvi, Sweden. Every year the hotel is redesigned and rebuilt from new river ice. There is an ice bar where the bar, furniture, and glasses are all made of ice. The beds are even made of ice and snow. Frozen lakes, snow-covered trees, Absolut and Northern Lights...don't know if they have ice instruments and a band...but when I get there, someday, I'll let you know. They recommend packing your long-underwear ;)

http://www.simplysweden.co.uk/iceinfo.php

Stoney, it's really charming that you didn't get my naughty joke. Really! *makes a motion with hand zipping back over top of head* Went right by you. Tres cute. And a great story-thanks!

My father played tenor sax in a jazz band, one of his jobs while paying his own way through medical school (the way they used to do it). He bequeathed it to me, and I have always wanted to recondition it and take lessons. My girlfriends frown in horror when I talk about it. It would be unseemly, you know, for me to be up there in front of god and everybody, blowing that thing lol. Which, of course, only makes me more determined to try it.

O,

Busted...

But, can't you just imagine what fun we; the remaining members of "The Cult of Cy," still have upon spying one another in public?

"Oh, Ronny!"

"What !?"

It's now two generations of people who have never known what in the hell we were talking about.

I was forced by my parents, under threat of death, to stop mimicking his favorite phrase of leave-taking:

"... that would be a very nice thing- indeed.
Sincerely,
Cy"

They wondered about me.

Pam-You're on! I've found a divergence, so rare with us-I can not STAND the cold, so the ice hotel is out for me. Not gonna happen...

Stoney-would that make you Cy-clops, or Cy-clones?

I keep hearing "ohhhh, RONNY! oh oh oh oh" But that's just me...

That WOULD be a very nice thing indeed...

Sincerely, Olivia

Ok, everybody-this is weird. My pandora Christmas music station just dialed up "Ice Hotel" by Stacey Kent. It's great jazz, by the way...

Peter Lake,

So, I've been thinking about this, John, and there seems a connection between your taking ill with the epizudic and having bade farewell to your late beloved Acura.

Before all this concern gets you misty, I'll admit that my only reason for thinking about it at all is that my own ten year-old Volvo XC virtual snowmobile is probably near-ish to the end of the road as well.

Though she may not be as traumatically torn from my grasp as was your baby, there are only three things... no, I did one... only two things- wait I did that one too.

There's only one thing that I fear more than seeking- I almost can't say it- a replacement and that only comes along every ten years- after age fifty.

I hope when the time comes, that I can rely on your experienced guidance...
about the car of course.

Doc Nolan, we had similar experiences with different outcomes.  I too played the trumpet.  I could technically play pretty well, but I have NO ear.  I took lessons in HS from a very good teacher and player and honed my acting skills by becoming award of his eyebrows.  When I hit a D and was flat, I had no idea because it sounded okay to me, but his eyebrows went way up and so I tried to bring the tone up.  So he thought I had a good ear.  I was, however, a very good marcher in the marching band and in both my HS and college bands, I was occasionally asked to fake playing and just march.  I am sure my ability with my feet was what kept me in either organization.  

When my child was little, I used to sing to him.  I loved this as it was the first place I felt that I could really cut loose.  But then, at age three, my son pleaded with me one day not to sing to him any more. Crushed!  But then, he did marry a mezzo who worked herself up to small parts with the LA Opera before she quit and became a mom.  So I guess he did have an ear and an appreciation that I never could achieve with my tin ear.  Can't tell about the granddaughter, but I don't dare open my vocal chords anywhere around that part of the family.

Stoney,

You have unmasked the true source of my pain and now I am free to heal, he says as he tries to breath through his mouth and blow his nose at the same time.

I've been perusing vehicles on-line and hope to actually try to test drive a potential replac.. ..... I can't say it... another auto, he says hitching up his belt and looking steely -eyed. Guess it's time to move on.

I'll offer a prayer for the good health of your Volvo XC.

Can you believe that some folks just think of them as merely being cars !?

Philistines! he spat.

There's been nothing made since 1954 that qualifies as a car.

And I offer as proof:

http://www.seriouswheels.com/1950-1959/1954-MG-TD-Mark-II-White.htm

Jonathan, now that is craftmanship! An automobile, not merely a car. Point taken.

Don't forget 1963......

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/6/6f/Austin_Healey_3000_MKII_1962.jpg

Stoney;  You are absolutely right !!!  Spike Jones was a RIOT !!!  He was actually a rather accomplished Musician, and tried going "Straight" musically a time or two, but audiences always requested the craziness and even when his Bands played some really great Melodies, they'd end up screwing up the last half of it, at the shouts and requests of the folks in the House ....... Those zany suits Jones wore were an idea he borrowed from one of Al Capp's Characters named, Evil-Eye Fliegle ... Jones never wore the Huggy-Bear Hat tho'

Capt. Neptune; I agree with you completely in your recommendation of the, Old Crow Medicine Show ... What a Great Band !!! Whether one enjoys Country/Bluegrass Music or not, these guys are a dynamite group ... They have the same sound that was prevalent almost a Century ago from Appalachia all the way down to the Bluegrass in Salyersvill , KY
I listen to them a lot when I'm just waving a Dead Chicken ... Good Stuff !!!

I'm in while feeling that it is just the tiniest bit weird that that car came up this very morning in a conversation with my wife about the difference between replicate and duplicate.

That is a car. If you duplicated it, you would have two.

When they "replicated" it, the result was a plasticky little toy that in a life and death srruggle with dandelions while trying to establish a parking spot on the lawn, would be tossed by their resilient power back into the street where it does not belong.

If talk about music we must:

http://sports.espn.go.com/broadband/video/videopage?videoId=3448573

It's almost like going to church.

Sorry, John, wrong end of town- don't listen.

I had a guy offer me an Austin Healey in exchange for a boat that I was selling him. Somedays, I wish I'd taken the car (it wasn't functioning). But my littlest daughter had just been born, and there was NO chance that I'd find the time to bring that Healey back to the land of the living. Maybe I'll get another chance sometime.

My brothers were mad for old things-fighter planes, fountain pens, pocket watches, Duesenbergs. I rather liked all of those too, and Pierce Arrows, Stutz Bearcats, and the older Bentleys. I could see myself dressed like Ilsa Lund, a scarf over my Veronica Lake hair, zipping along the country roads as Spitfires roared overhead, on their way to engage the Huns in their Messerschmitts. Ah, dreams...

Stoney:  Dude! That was awesome!!!  Wait a second, that wasn't church?