BAND
My brother, Mark, and I were nerdy dorks in school. And I can prove it — we were both in our high school band.
The band was for musical misfits, like smart mama’s boys and girls who couldn’t get dates. Band members enjoyed a low social status. Only being in the debate club or on the chess team was lower.
There was a time when we enjoyed a brief rise in status. It was when we formed a small jazz band. Our shining star was Jay Lowenstein, the saxophone player. He was cute, sexy, and man, could he play the sax! But Jay’s playing ended when he transferred to another school. And so did our exalted status.
I had a thing for one of the drum players. His name was Rick. He was a good musician. His specialty was snare-drum rolls. But it turned out that was the only thing Rick was good at. Mark teased me about him. He called Rick the “fire plug.” I guess this was in reference to Rick’s stature. But Rick also got red in the face during his solos.
As band members, we had our own table in the lunch room. All the cool kids, like the jocks and cheerleaders, gave us a wide berth. And I really can’t understand why. It’s not as if the trumpet players routinely emptied the spit from their instruments on anyone. At least not on purpose.
Mark played bass clarinet, I played the flute and piccolo. I started playing the flute in 8th grade and studied privately with Mr. Mastrolio on Strawberry Hill drive. He was a good teacher, but I wasn’t an attentive student.
It wasn’t until I started studying with Mrs. Polito that I became really good. She had a dirt floor in her kitchen. I wanted to get away from the dirt as soon as possible.
I became good enough to hold the first-flute, first chair position in the band through most of high school. This was despite Carianne Hokstra’s efforts to unseat me. She was first-flute, second chair.
Carianne was jealous of me from day one, when she arrived off the boat from Holland. Her style of playing the flute involved weaving and bobbing her head. This was presumably in ecstasy at playing such romantic hits as, “When Johnny Comes Marching Home.”
But I know she was trying to distract me. She was hoping I’d make so many mistakes Mr. Haines would demote me. Nice try, babe.
Mr. Haines was our band leader, conductor and musical instructor. Looking back, I’m amazed at how many instruments he knew how to play and teach. Mr. Haines liked me and privately, was very kind. But he also had a foul temper. And it erupted quite often at band practice.
When we weren’t playing particularly well or not paying attention, he’d throw his baton and yell, “You reek!” Not exactly the encouragement one hoped for as fledgling musicians.
I think his frustration was partly due to failing somewhere along the way in his musical career. I guess being a high-school band leader was the only gig he could land.
If you're enjoying this over coffee, tea, or whatever, please consider buying me a cup!MORE ROCK LOGIC – UH HUH
Hi. It’s me again – the rock. The one who lives off the path at the park. Remember me? I spoke to you once before, last month I think it was. It’s hard to track time when you’re a rock. We don’t have calendars. We could count the number of times the sun passes overhead, but then why? We’re rocks, time doesn’t mean anything to us.
I told you not much usually happens to us rocks, but I had an adventure.
Winter is usually pretty slow at the park. It gets dark early and the number of people walking the path dwindles. I think maybe the colder weather has something to do with it too. But, being a rock, I’m pretty indifferent to things like hot and cold. So, I wouldn’t know for sure. Anyway, there’s less people walking.
But last week, two ladies walked by. One stepped off the path onto the dirt. She was wearing hiking boots; the kind that have pretty wide treads in the soles. So she stepped right on me and I got stuck between a couple treads. I was wedged in there pretty tight. I couldn’t shake loose. I was in pretty deep, too. She didn’t even feel me when she walked. Since I couldn’t get out, I did what rocks do best — nothing. I just went along for the ride.
So, the lady whose boot I was wedged in, I call her “boot-lady,” was talking. Complaining was more like it. She complained about her husband. That took two entire laps of the park. She talked about how he didn’t pay attention to her anymore. He’d just shrug or say, “Uh huh,” whenever she told him about her day.
The lady walking with boot-lady just said, “Uh huh.”
She complained about how he’d come home from work and plop down on the couch to read the paper. He’d stay there until dinner was ready and then after dinner fall asleep in front of the TV. At dinner he hardly said a word, even though she’d try talking to him about important things — like how the service at the grocery store was going to hell, how her boss was single-handedly destroying the company, or how her brother was crazy to date that woman he met online.
The other lady just said, “Uh huh.”
Then boot-lady carried on about her kids. She talked about how they had no idea what the “real world” was like. I was confused about that. I only know the world as real. So, I wasn’t sure what she meant.
The whole time the other lady said, “Uh huh.”
When they left, boot-lady told her friend, “Thanks for listening. It helps knowing you care.”
The other lady said, “Uh huh.”
We went home and I spent the night sitting on a boot caddy by the door. It was pretty quiet and I liked it that way.
The next day, she put her boots on and met another woman at the park. She proceeded to complain about all the same things she’d complained about the day before. From time to time, this lady would respond by saying, “Uh huh.”
After their walk, boot-lady thanked her friend for listening and how it helped knowing she cared.
That made me wonder. If it helped the day before, then why was she repeating all the same complaints she made to her other friend? I guess I’ll never figure you humans out.
Anyway, as she was walking away, she stepped slightly off the pavement. That opened up the treads and I slipped out. I’m now sitting near one of the entrances to the park. Maybe I’ll see something interesting here. I’ll let you know if I do. Ciao for now.
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