Tuesday, October 28, 2003

FEELIN GROOVY
Actually, I'm not at all. But my 2pm student didn't show, so I'm not complaining. She isn't a "real" student at all. She is a recent graduate, and is trying to pull her stuff together to begin the audition process for various grad schools. Maybe I was only supposed to meet with her once (last week) and now my 2pm slot on Tuesday is open again. I don't know. But I'm not asking either, because, hey, I still have 20 minutes of free time. I already had my obligatory sick student du jour at 11 am, which was close enough to lunchtime for me. Hello 7-11! Thank goodness you are only five minutes from my office door.

Things are fairly quiet here today. The weather is cold and rainy. I've been sending mental rain to California all day -- I sure hope they are able to get on top of these fires. The mitten country sends its love! Anyway, it's quiet here. My studio is in a hallway with lots of practice rooms. A trombone just started booo-buh-buh-booooing in the practice room next to me. This is an enormous improvement over what I'm usually subjected to: Percussionists and Bagpipes. Not at the same time. No. Then I'd be dead. No, I take that back. They'd be dead. There is a fairly active percussion ensemble here, and the students, bless their hearts, actually practice. Unfortunately, they practice right next to my studio. There is nothing worse than BLAM-BLAM-RATA-TATTA-BLAM for hours next to my head. It's torturous.

It used to be bagpipes. My Tunas are Scottish Tunas. The town is known as "Scotland, USA" because, I guess the Scottish people didn't have any place to go if their horse jumped over the Atlantic and got lost. So now, they can come here. The college is known as the "Fighting Scots" -- a big improvement over their previous identity -- the "Fighting Presbyterians." Hee. I'm not making that one up. So, with fighting Scots come bagpipes. I'd be teaching and suddenly "mmmmmmmmRRAWWWWWWWW RAW RE RAW RAWWWWW!" I actually have no clue how to depict bagpipe sounds in words. Although, I'm certain the Chicago Manual of Style doesn't address verbal bagpipe notation, I decided it should be CAPS LOCK and not leaned over. Anyway, Bagpipes. Think cat in a blender, and you'll be close.

Don't get me wrong. I like bagpipes. I love bagpipes. I own half a bagpipe (the cheap non-bag half that sort of looks like a recorder, but houses a double reed inside a wooden tube, thus making your eardrums burst and your cheeks explode, should you attempt to play it). But the bagpipe only has an outside voice, and that's where it should stay. Practice it outside, not in a tiny practice room. And never next to me.

Sometimes -- though not so much yet this year -- but now I've probably jinxed myself and it will happen this afternoon -- Sometimes I get a piano pounder. These are people who aren't playing real pieces. That is, they have no music in front of them. Piano pounders only know about four different chords, and they play them over and over and over and over again. Last year, "Angst Boy" would plop himself in the practice room next to my studio and pound the hell out of the piano for hours on end. If you remember the Dana Carvey "Chopping Broccoli" song, this is EXACTLY what I'm talking about.

I'm actually a little surprised that angst boy isn't about. It's perfect weather for him today. Note to self: More sacrificial duds for the weather Gods tonight. OOoooo, and I had better buy some Twizzlers of Praise. Sick student #2 just cancelled their lesson! I'm on a roll!
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