Sunday, March 29, 2015

Why Are All The Hot Viola Players, Over Forty, Married?

Alright, here's how it all goes; the violin player wanted to do a few of his own songs, and wanted to play MC when Sande, the front person, is tuning.  All well and good, depending on how you do these things.  It wasn't really in keeping with what this project is, so she said No.  Don't issue ultimatums unless you are ready to walk, or know you will get your way.

He walked.  He thought his ultimatum would win him his way.  But he didn't count on her being as strong as she is. And she is right.  Qhen you try to be special, or more equal than others, watch out.

So there is a couple, friends of Sande; she, a viola player, he a DJ, her husband ergo C. Blocker.
So to speak.  If you are married then no one should even test the water or push anything. Same goes all around.  If you are married, do not be a dweeb or dweeba and screw up. Just don't.

Anyway, here we are doing the first gig with no violin and Sande brings in Karen on the viola, and it was so much more fun than we expected.   Sande ran through the stuff with her yesterday. But without the rest of us, and there are many tunes.  Karen rocked it, and to boot, her husband the DJ tweeked the hodge podge bunch of amps and PA stuff so the sound was better than normal and feedback about it was more precise and critical. Jim.  I have to forgive him for being married to Karen and taking yet another off the market.

I don't care anyway, except it is great playing with her.  We blended well.   I'm still hesitant to pull anyone in, even the unencumbered.  Who wants to deal with days like to day.  Four or five hours it takes to get breakfast and be OK enough to take off.  "Hey, look!!! Didn't throw up blood this time! yay.

Tried to meet a guy at 1:30 at the ranch, before heading to the Spring Valley Inn to play.   I finally was able to get there at about 3:50pm.   Had the gig been an early afternoon thing, I don't think I could have done it.  I don't care what they say, my main troubles are between my diaphragm and throat.  How it ties with wacko blood production I do not know.  But I know I am in closer touch with what is up that any doctor who even hints at doubting me.  Some do.  Some have learned; like guitar players learn that if I say something is out of tune, it is out.  Made many doubters eat crow on that.

This viola player is another classically trained musician.  When they caught our show some weeks back, she and her husband complimented me.  She especially did.  I remember because she said nice enough things that I told her she was my new best friend.  And here we are.  I did not know at that time that she plays.  Whenever I can impress real musicians with my mouth harp, I figure I did it right.  Besides, I consider that what I have evolved into playing is not often done by harmonica players, and I'm somewhat pleased with this direction.

I made up my mind to play as much as I can with people that appreciate what I do.  Tomorrow I hit the studio for the Marine who is the star of the music therapy program they have for vets who need something besides a bunch of insincere, sycophantic "Oh (gush) thank you so much for your service".    Some things can become so generic that they lose their soul, and the ring of true feeling and passion.

Anyway, last night and this morning were not the piece of cake I prefer.  I am no stranger to hardship, but I think of myself as one, so little troubles always throw me for a loop.  I am always surprised that I, of all people, should have any difficulty.  I'm just not the type to be visited with misfortune.

My current saga with the soap opera disease which may not go away soon, or ever, actually has positively influenced my outlook, and even my behavior--sometimes.  I do not ask questions about mortality rates or how my particular complications influence things. I've done research.  I know what I test, and what has probably been missed and how it could work, best case.  So, I know where I am and I am quite happy to do my best to achieve certain very personal goals.  They aren't big things, except to me.

Oh man, I heard a girl today, aty the ranch--is it OK to say girl? or better to say I heard a wo-perbeing (must not say wo MAN, or perSon.  That is sexist. So perbeing, and if you have to push it, woperbeing.

I don't know how to eliminate the word "man" if man is the topic of the sentence.  Perbeing with outie.  Who knows.  God help us if they get too carried away with the official international picture language for illiterates.   Not so easy to read in all cases.

I never finished the sentence or thought above. This perbeing, with innie, named Chas, just blew Dan and I away at the Ranch.  I did play a little with her but mostly sat out because the tasty resonator and electric guitar backing her acoustic and rich full voice were all she needed.  They were keeping it soft and subtle and perfect.  One of those times when I felt listening was the thing to do.  Some things do better without me.  Knowing that gives me a smug sense of satisfaction because I know when not to add unnecessary things to a piece, whereas many do not.

Tough day, beautiful night.  Let us hope I timed food and toxicity so that I sleep through it tonight.
People with real issues and real chemo madness must be far tougher than I.  I couldn't do it.  It takes too much effort and planning.  And some stay sick all the time.  I'll bet playing this music helps me.  Even if you hate this music, which you shouldn't do, the act of doing what I do has to be helpful. I work out the diaphragm and lungs, and various muscles up there. And the vibrations are inhaled as much or more than exhaled.  That has to shake thing up internally.  We hope and believe it is for the good.

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Ballistic Mountain, CA, United States
Like spring on a summer's day


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