Friday, November 15, 2013

Noise Pollution

This article by the Associated Press was in the Dallas News yesterday, Nov. 14th.   I believe it needs reprinting because of the potential hazards in which it places all musicians.  
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[ I read an article lately that ending a sentence in a preposition is not bad.   "hazards it places all musicians in."   I knew  immediately the article had not originated with my high school English teach - whose name I cannot remember at the moment, nor do I care to remember.  She was one tough cookie.  I remember Mrs. McCorkle (history) and Mrs. Headstream (algebra) and Sam Hollis (newspaper) and Mr. Benningfield (choir) and Mr. Wheeler (band) and Mrs. Johnson, that short and skinny loud Spanish teacher - OLAY!  and others.]  
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Again this article:   
Dateline:  MADRID -- 
A woman has taken her neighbors to court, accusing a 27-year-old pianist and her parents of causing psychological damage and noise pollution as a result of the daughter's years of pianos practice.
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Prosecutors in the northeastern city of Gerona are seeking more than seven years in prison for each.  They claim that years of hearing constant playing has caused Sonia Bosom "psychological injury."
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The musician, Laia Martin, is now a professional concert pianist.
                                                            The Associated Press
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Just for the record - if this type of law suit is valid, think of all the parents of 6th grade band students who will be sued - and go to jail.   This could fill the prisons more than drug arrests.  Plus think of all of those really band bands and choirs (and church choirs) and garage bands that should be arrested for noise pollution.  You may add in the comments below any other individuals or groups who belong in the noise pollution crowd.   Little babies and children screaming in Walmarts or restaurants.....politicians.....

Tuesday, November 12, 2013

grab bag

This shouldn't be funny - just had a short memory.
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When we first married we were pretty broke.  We stayed broke.   Then #1 came along (see the numbers bluggy) and my wife stayed at home to raise the kids.  We were broker.  Always wondered why brokers were richer than I - in my case, broker was barely making it.   Many months we would end with less than $5 in the bank.  With pride I can add we never wrote a bad check.  It was close being a one family income teaching family.  Guess I was lucky being a band director and making all that extra money.
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Things always got tougher around Christmas.  I cannot remember when I got my first credit card, but it had to be sometime after we moved to Amarillo in the early 80s.  My brother Marshall had an American Express card back then.  I marveled at his money power having so much available purchasing power.   I do think I had a Gulf gas card - maybe a Texaco card - they were only used on long trips.
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Christmas came.   At that time it was custom to give each person in your family a gift.   We would have to seek proper gifts for my parents, 3 brothers, her parents, 1 brother, each other, and the children.  Of course we gave more than one item to our kids.  You wouldn't want Santa to look cheap - now would you?  Present buying time was tense in my house.
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One year in Ardmore I went to a faculty Christmas party - it was during the school day I think, y'know, like at 3:30  or maybe 1:00 on an early release day.  I just don't remember. I hated faculty parties.  For one reason, my fault, I hung out in the band room or in the jhs band room and rarely trekked over to the main building to socialize.  I didn't know many of these teachers certainly not in a social way.  But I tried to make certain events.   Then, they would play games.  This drove me crazy.   These young female teachers loved to play games.  Gadz.
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So at this faculty grouping, we had to bring a gift and put it in a pile.  It was called a Grab Bag.  We dutifully drew numbers and the game was on.  #1 picked a present and opened it  -  ooo aaahs.   #2 came up - either pick a present from the pile or steal #1's gift.    If you picked an unopened present, open it  -  ooo  aaaahs.  If you steal from #1, then #1 goes back to the pile for another gift. #3 is up.  Take a present from the pile or steal from #1 or #2.  Same process.   
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Here is where I am foggy on the rules.   Stolen from, that person:
       A.)  can steal from another        or        B.) must go to the present pile.     
As you can tell, this process of stealing can go on almost forever, especially if a quality gift actually comes up.  The game complicates itself if there are enough presents to go another round with new numbers.   Yes, the person with the highest number will be the winner in this game.  Poor #1 is at the mercy of the entire congregation.
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So enough with the rules already.   If you have a variation, write it in the comment place below. You can even be anonymous.
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Once again that year we were broke for Christmas.  I could not think of an appropriate gift for my 3 brothers and father.   The Grab Bag fueled my world.   I went to the store and purchased guy things = tools and the like.  Good guy small items:  a hammer or screwdriver perhaps - some hand cleaner maybe - you figure it out - a roll or two of electrician tape.  Guy stuff  - no naked girl calendars though.  We loaded up the car and headed to Levelland.
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The grab bag was a hit that first year.  My brothers and father got into the stealing part of the plan.  They had a good time.  It was not often my father really opened up and had a good time.  As I remember it now, I probably spent more on individual items for the BAG then if I had bought personal presents...
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Jump forward 12 months.   Everyone brought items for the BAG.  It did get wild some years and crazy.  Brother Marshall, never know for his conservative ways, would throw in some things that were expensive - really expensive.  He was doing well in his practice.  As time went by, the grab bag continued into a yearly fiasco.  The other brothers married and their wives were included in the BAG.  Children were born and grew to a certain age when they were included.  This was always a bit of a problem.  Were children able to grasp the concept of stealing or losing?   Usually they were.
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It was their parents.  The parents would encourage the kids to go for more expensive items rather than the children's presents that were included in the pile.  Sometimes a parent would steal something just to give to his own kid.  I never felt this was quite in the spirit of the whole thing - but, hey, live and let live.   All in all the grab bag has been a family thing since the 60s.  Now that is a long tradition which should not die.
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This year when Christmas rolls around.  I will make a pile of 30 items for the 10 of us including the grand girls.  My plan is not to go over $1 for any item - am looking for sales and major discounts to get better stuff.  The other immediate family members will be invited to bring presents for the pile.  Hopefully, the tradition will continue in my leg of the family.  I can't make it continue in my brother's families.  That is their job.

with that - happy turkey day - and may the bird be with you.
m3
  

Monday, November 11, 2013

Rat Breath

This morning all dogs went into the back yard.  Greta stood on the porch barking at birds; Liesl roamed looking for bugs in the grass;  Oscar had his ball clenched in his teeth; Fritz roamed the yard looking for food - any food.  This left Bruno who was reclined down the hill in the grass and sunshine.   He was in Heaven - soft grass and warm sun.  What a life.
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This morning we needed a short run into town.  The dogs were moved into the house except Bruno. He chose to lie in the sun and ignore me.  I called time and time again.  Snore.   "Cookie?"  I yelled.  He stirred slightly.  Once again I hollered, "C'mon Bruno, inside, cookie, cookie."  This got him.  
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He rolled to his 4 ample paws and rotated around, as dachshunds must do to turn corners.   Bruno took one step forward then picked up something in the grass.  Right away I recognized it as NOT A BALL.   What was it?  A bird maybe?  I stepped into the house and told my wife to get ready to be grossed out.
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Bruno strolled into the house and I could see.  It was not a bird.  Look at the title of this.  Not a cute little mouse, but a big ole rat.  It had a 6 inch tail and a big fat body.  I told him to put it down. Bruno thought that was wrong, really wrong.  None - I say None - of the other dogs gave Bruno and his treat a second glance.  They could care less.
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With a slow hand, I grabbed Bruno and lifted him straight up and away from the dead rat.   It was a bloody mess.  I picked it up and threw it over the fence.  Then, Bruno got a cookie.  I think he would have rather have the rat.
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The question.  Which one killed the rat?  Bruno, Oscar....?  I have not the slightest.  It doesn't really matter I suppose; the rat is dead; the rat carcass is over the fence; and Bruno had his cookie.