Comedy of Errors

The weekend wedding gig went..er...um...well, it went.

Nothing like REALLY EXPENSIVE WALLPAPER to make a party fabulous!

The band was a phenomenal collection of Houston's top musicians: David Craig, Chuck Payne, Devin Collins, Mike Owen, Woody Witt, Johan Keus, and Paul Peacock, plus the FABULOUS WONDERFUL BLOW YOU AWAY PIDO on vocals, and then there was me. Oh I'm joking, I had a moment or two...

But the room was full of, well, investment bankers. Not the liveliest of crowds. I hope to get some pro shots from the photographer that was covering the event, but until then, PIDO managed to get a few, just to give you an idea:

Here's me and Devin at the piano (rented a baby grand for this doozy!) going over some last minute things.



and here is one of the band. (minus my handsome talented and possibly deranged drummer) I believe this was taken during Moon River (father/daughter dance) which I counted off way too fast thanks to the Wedding Coordinator coming to me immediately before this and the first dance and telling me the bride has asked that we shorten the dances. This is why I need people like Glen Ackerman around to tell me that I am CRAZY and ignore my crappy tempo and just do it RIGHT instead! What a ROOKIE!



And one of Mike Owen and David Craig. These guys shared a hearty guffaw at my butchered version of Night and Day. Somehow I started out with the words all out of order/wonky and it all went downhill from there. By the end of it, I was just cracking myself up at such a TARD moment on my part.



NOTE TO MIKE AND DAVID: I SWEAR I KNOW THE TUNE BACKWARDS AND FORWARDS AND COULD SING IT IN MY SLEEP WHILE BALANCING MY CHECKBOOK, BUT I WAS TRYING TO MAKE IT INTERESTING AND CONFUSE YOU GUYS, TO SEE IF YOU WERE PAYING ATTENTION. YEAH, THAT'S IT.

PIDO took home the gold for band amusement that night, however, with his original reinterpretation of Blue Moon. He SAID he knew it. He approached the Mic with confidence and proceeded to sing...this:

PIDO BLUE MOON MADNESS

***

MWA ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!

The best part was that people in the crowd were smiling and nodding at him, totally oblivious to the bizarre non-language emanating from his lips.

It had the making of a cool gig; a multi-million dollar mansion, a rented a baby grand, a pro sound man, had some of the greatest players in town, and we all looked mighty fine, if you ask me. But the room was full of silent old farts glaring at the spectacle or young tards waiting for the DJ.

I managed to get a few folks on the dance floor with "At Last" always a favorite at parties as a sexy slow dance, and then had a little fun with a few people in the room during "Gee Baby Ain't I Good to You?" Of course, our recorder had run out of memory by that point so no proof of anything exciting. I had a moment of panic during "Gee Baby" when the horns all walked off stage during the first chorus. I thought "dang it isn't THAT bad!" but it turns out they were just making room for Mike's A-MAZE-ING guitar playing. Worked out pretty well, and as usual, I enjoy having the stage to myself. (nyuk nyuk)

We will be doing this all again in December, and I look forward to a smoother, better rehearsed show that time around.

***if this audio clip doesn't work, don't tell me. Figuring out how to do this was the source of no less than one ocean's worth of blood sweat and tears, and I do NOT mean the awesome band...just know that I will figure it out and post it again later.

overwhelmed

I am officially losing it. I always do this. I have these long dry periods of nearly-nothin' and then, BOOM! The apocalyptic explosion of "to-dos" has me frenzied and frantic and all I want to do is stay in bed all day with books and cake and cry a lot.

On my list? Well, first, I have the last minute preparations to wrap up before The Big Gig this Saturday. That includes a set list, making sure we have charts for all the requested songs, finding a trumpet player, procuring stand lights and a piano light, reviewing power and equipment details with Sound Guy, finding a dress to wear, and making sure the musicians are all on the same page about how this crazy night is going to go down. I also need clothes pins (just in case there is wind) and I have to check with the wedding coordinator about the band meals (if there will be any) to make sure there are three vegetarian/vegan plates available, otherwise I will have to plan ahead for feeding the three of us in the band who are rabbits. Not to mention making sure the string quartet has chairs and music stands, and coordinating their arrival and departure to cause as little commotion as possible.

Next, I have to find a new place to live, which includes looking at all the options with a clear enough head to pass on the adorable bungalow in the heights (beautiful paint colors, hardwood floors, charming as can be, huge backyard with room for a garden) in favor of a roomier characterless town home further out. We need space after two years in the current shoebox. The more the better. And we REALLY need 2 toilets now that three butts are using the dang things. (Hooray for potty training!)

Then there are the myriad little gigs coming up in May that I have to get squared away. And an October event with a bride that is efficient and wants to get things done ASAP. I admire her attitude, I just can't accommodate it until this weekend is OVER.

Then there is the new dietary changes I have made. I feel very strongly about the choice to eat a vegan diet, but I have never felt AT ALL strongly about cooking ANYTHING. So I either need to find the enthusiasm to get in the kitchen or I need a live in chef. Any takers? It doesn't pay well, but I'm sure we could work something out. I recently bought some lovely vegan cookbooks (Thank you very much Half Price Books in Rice Village!) and I have every other page dogeared to try, but I can't bring myself to even wash the dang dishes in the sink so that I have a clean enough kitchen to work in. Notice I am procrastinating even this small feat by blogging about it!

Then there is:
packing for the move
the ritual "stuff cleansing" I do every spring and every move, in the hopes that I can one day fit everything I need into a single small uHaul
learning how to use my fancy new camera
paying a few bills
going to the bank (VERY far away)
organizing, sorting, and taking Gwen's baby things to a consignment shop
making it out to my uncle's in Nac for another round of testing (holistic medicine stuff)

And although I have a light week next week, it all picks up again the middle of April with a ton of rehearsals, a concert, an audition, a lesson, and...

Point being, I need help. I might even want my Mommy, except she is dealing with my toddler. I would say I need a drink, but since the diet switch, I can hardly stomach the smell or taste of the liquid poison that was once my dearest therapist.

joy spring

I have no idea why this flower speaks to me above all others. I don't particularly care for the color yellow, I am not a fan of spring, (at least until it gets here) and it looks a bit odd, truth be told. But I love them. I love every variety. I have a cherished picture (somewhere that I cannot for the life of me find) of an early spring daffodil covered in snow that I took as a child in Arkansas. I remember feeling awe at the bright yellow-on-white contrast, not to mention the odd juxtaposition of a tender blossom in the cold snow.

Just wanted to share!

Happy Birthday Dad.

He is sincerely and unapologetically weird.

He raised me to truly believe that all men are pigs, and that he and I were the only intelligent sane people on the planet.

He was into The Muppets, Captain Crunch, Beast Master, GI Joe, and McDonalds until I was maybe 12 or 13.

I have pictures of him jousting in full chain mail.

He is a scientist, a biologist/zoologist, but he REALLY wants to be an exobiologist...when he grows up. Meaning, he wants to study alien life forms...

He doesn't eat eggs because it is a "single cell" and that skeeves him out.

He doesn't eat pork either, but he isn't jewish.

He always made sure he knew EXACTLY what I wanted for Christmas or birthdays, and he never made fun of me when I wanted something weird or out of character.

He never said an unkind word about my mother, and constantly praised her to me for the job she was doing.

When I got a little older, he took me to dinner with my boyfriend(s) and was always kind and courteous, treating us both like adults even though we were merely children.

When I told him I was getting married, he insisted on paying for the wedding and was truly generous at every step.

When I am with him, I am nervous and unsure, (an odd state for me!) reverting back to my childhood role of Daddy's little girl. Much I have done in life was done with the greater motivation of earning his approval. I now understand that I had it all along, no matter what I did.

There is so much I don't know about him, about his past, his pains and successes. And there is so much of me he has never seen, but I know he wishes he could.

Our birthdays are a mere two days apart, yet we have never to my memory celebrated them together. This year, and every year hereafter, I will celebrate my Dad. The man to whom I owe my brown eyes. The man to whom I owe my sick sense of humor. I love you Daddy. Happy Birthday!

What do I want?

I am faced with that dreaded of all days, that annual unholy-of-unholies that has me feeling trapped, sick, scared, and depressed, and forces me to contemplate the true meaning of life and sacrifice:

Yes, my birthday is nigh.

I will be twentysmufflmfnmph. A goodly number, close enough to thirty to be taken seriously, far enough from it to be taken at all. Not that I view thirty in and of itself as an ancient age, I just have to think of everything in terms of my marketability. And an aging thirty-something singer/actress/go-go dancer is far less sellable than a fresh twenty-something, unfortunately. If I already had anything of note to my credits, age would be far less important. But alas, alack, anon, I have none.

Thus, the annual celebration of the unlikely completion of yet another year in my crazy life has me, as usual, contemplating the past, analyzing the present, and agonizing about the future. Have I done everything I SHOULD have? Am I doing every thing I CAN? Will I get to everything I WANT to do?

And then, that pesky question that haunts us all pops up to display its ugly head like a plastic gopher at Chuckee Cheese's, mocking me with my inability to bonk it soundly with my padded club: What DO I want?

The truth is, I don't want what I seem to be offered in terms of musical opportunities: church gigs and chorister opportunities abound. Too bad I abhor choral music in all its secular and sacred forms. The occasional small/medium jazz gig is making an ever more regular appearance in my booking schedule, and I enjoy those shows, especially the paycheck that accompanies them, which is typically higher than the average Church gig compensation.

So I'll tell you what I want, what I really really want...

Whoops. Didn't mean to slip into an ode to the Spice Hos...

I miss rehearsal. I miss 4 grueling hours in character shoes getting blisters and bashing the director in the wings. I miss the vulnerable feeling of stepping onto an empty stage, gazing into the dark theater, unable to see the eyes that are loving you, hating you, judging you, cheering you on. I miss that floating surreal feeling after the curtain has fallen and you are amazed that you are already on the other side of opening night. I miss the moments that have directors pulling their hair out. I miss being dead tired after a long rehearsal and still finding the mental energy to hear and integrate production notes the night before a show goes up. I miss the theater and all its ugly beautiful glory.

Humor Blogs

So I have been reading humor blogs A LOT lately. It has become something of an addiction. Just take a look over to your right (my left) and check out 15minutelunch, Matress Police, Mighty Dykerson, Schitz and Giggles, and Throwing Poo. They are my current favorites. These people leave me in stitches.

Although I started this blog as a way for distant family and friends to keep track of my goings on, I find myself leaning towards humor in my posts...and editing it out because I am not technically writing a "humor blog."

As usual I am over thinking the situation Why can't I have a sense of humor about my escapades? Looking back on my few posts, there is plenty to laugh about, even without my TRYING to be funny. (*sigh*) Luckily I abandoned the career path that required me to be serious about my life (opera) and have embraced a lighter side of the music and arts world (not less important, or less difficult or less artful, just less SERIOUS in terms of bedtimes and smoky bars...like there are any smoky bars left in the US...but that is another blog altogether.)

Thus, I am embracing My Inner Sarcasm and Dry Humor Gene (Thank you Daddy!) and accepting the fact that I lead a comical existence.

And now...

...Thank you, thank you...but seriously...

...take my husband....PLEASE! (rimshot)

(chirp chirp)

...Djyou hear about the one...

(chirp, cough, uncomfortable silence)

OK, so it will take some practice...damn showbiz is tough.

Color/Personality Quiz

No idea how this works, but man it nailed me!

Cortney took the free ColorQuiz.com personality test! "Strives for a life rich in activity and experience..." Click here to read the rest of the results.