The line between comedy and tragedy

An open blog to the woman on the cell phone with the BIG problems …

This Saturday, as I did errands around my small town, we passed each other on the street. I’d just parked my car around the corner from the Post Office, and was on my way to drop off several envelopes – some were letters to family members, others were payments to doctors and to the legal minds that I’ve been using as of late. You see, my Aunt is dying, and it appears to be happening sooner rather than later, so there are items that need my attention and I was distracted by those “life details”.

You, also, were distracted by your own “life details”. The snippet of your conversation that I overheard was as follows:

“I understand – I do – but you see – I’m just the kind of woman who doesn’t like topiary in plants and trees where ya’ wouldn’t ordinarily expect to see SEE topiary. It’s just … I have to draw the line there.”

So I COULD be bitter about this, but honestly – I wanna thank you. Thank you for making me laugh, even 48 hours later, at your statement. I actually want to spend my time now driving around town to see if I can figure out which house is yours so I can witness the horror that is your yard filled with the offending topiary in question.

Laughter and joy is where you find it, folks. Look for comedy and it will present itself to you in all forms and flavors. Just don't be so caught up in your own crappy "life details" that you miss the funny "life details". Because THAT would be a real bummer.

"Boom De Yada", indeed

Thank you, Discovery Channel.

Not only are you informational, entertaining, fun, striking, moving, and (at times) creepy to watch, now you're even making sure that my musical ear worms are fun, too.

http://dsc.discovery.com/video/player.html?bctid=1509264631

I will be getting a "Boom De Yada!" shirt, even if I have to make one myself.

Maybe she'll do the music for my after-school special?

I've always been all over the musical map. Rag Time, Punk, New Age, New Wave, Grunge, Classic Rock, British Invasion Bands, Country, Show Tunes, mindless Dance Music, "Chick" rock ... I make no apologies for my iPods.

More often than not, I'll wake up in the morning with a song in my head that stays with me for hours. For no apparent reason, I always think of a specific track from "Peter and The Wolf" when doing my laundry, as an example. Who knows WHY ... but I dream in music.

I am, specifically, a sucker for anything that features a piano. This isn't a huge secret for those who know my musical background and, 'tho I no longer play, there are days - or tunes that come to my ear - which ORDER me to the keyboard to play them. I'm usually able to work this out because (1) I have several keyboards readily available for me to bang away on and (b) I have perfect pitch. I know, before I touch any part of the ivory, what sound it will make, and which keys will compliment the note.

When my parents discovered that I had a "good ear" for music, I was immediately enrolled in private lessons, which I violently resisted. I had an awful speech impediment - I was short - I was LOUD - I was klutzy - and if all that "different" wasn't enough, now I was "talented", too. I was one thick pair of black-rimmed glasses and a bully away from being an after-school special.

I went twice a week to my dreaded piano lessons, where an older woman endeavored to teach me how to read music that I could just as easily repeat by ear after she'd played it for me. Which is exactly what I did. Anyway, Miss Batkin (yes, I do remember her name even today) would do her best to teach me pieces perfectly acceptable for my age - and I would sit on the bench - never looking at the sheet music she was reading from but watching her fingers, testing myself on "ok now what will THAT sound like?" I knew when she was about to make an error, before she did, but I was unfailingly polite and played along with the game. She would comment that at some point, I'd have to learn to turn my own pages - not realizing that I couldn't do that because I had NO idea how the scribbles up on the sheets related to the notes that I was playing.

After a year or possibly more of this, just as suddenly as the lessons started, they stopped. I don't remember what had happened. If I had to guess, I'd say that I'd broken my arm (again) and was finally given a reprieve ... and just didn't go back.

I'm still in awe of those who read music and hold those who play instruments other than the piano in high regard. See - for me, the keyboard, in all forms, is pretty basic stuff. The notes never change - ya' press Middle C and it's always gonna sound like Middle C. With a guitar (for instance), one hand will dictate what note will come out, while the other hand will dictate the measure of the sound itself. For me, that's close to voodoo. And while I can mimic well enough to copy a song, I cannot, for the life of me, improvise. I must have a musical goal when I sit at the piano. I need to know the destination.

Speaking of "destinations", I'd like to provide one for a close to this entry. It's not enough that Alanis Morissette comfortably expresses poetry with lyrics ("If God's taking bets, I pray he wants to lose") or that she is more beautiful today than she was 10 years ago (the bitch), but she also has an amazing voice. I give you "Not As We". (And yes, I tried to embed, but got no love. Just visit the old fashioned way.)

http://new.music.yahoo.com/videos/AlanisMorissette/Not-As-We%3A-Nissan-Live-Sets-On-Yahoo!-Music--59775741