However, you should not upload copyrighted material without the owner's permission. You can imbed a link to the page that contains the image. That is another button on the Full Reply Screen.

Though we trombone players give lip service (pun) to concepts like musicality, expression, sensitivity, blend, etc., that cartoon is the essence of our true inner selves.

Hit it hard, and wish it well! (John Coffey, principal trombone with Boston Symphony Orchestra)

i play the organ with a trombone player sometimes.. really.

the deep brass works great if i go easy on the pedalling. (it helps that he's really good).

"However, you should not upload copyrighted material without the owner's permission."

Too late to edit it out now--- the button has expired. I hope they'll forgive the lapse, with my apologies.

There is an exception for "short examples quoted within a review."

PS- I e-mailed the person listed on the credits to try to obtain proper permission. "Suspense before Christmas..." you could work it up for the stage.

It is a small sin, yet so many people in the arts make their living from their copyrights that we should always think about these things.

Re copyrights: I figure my music is on quite a few wedding DVDs. What to do. It would be one thing if it was just a home video, but these are very expensive productions. And there I sit, playing hours of original music to serve as a score for the entire thing. Honestly, people hire pretty extravagant video teams these days. It used to be just one guy with a shoulder-held camera who wore a black suit and roamed discreetly around the room, capturing snippets of conversation, the first toast, and Uncle Wilhelm's recollections of Schweinfurt in the early 50's. But lately I've been ambushed by video crews that look like they're on a video stake-out for an HBO special. These guys (and gals) will go to any length to get the shot they want, including lying on the floor under my piano, or standing on a chair with the camera directly over my head. They love those "moving hands" shots.

Greg, have you got any good wedding video stories?

Now we know why you're willing to take your chances with those floor-length evening gowns (other than the glamour). The pedal nibbling at your hemline is one reason, the camera crews are the other; let's say it's the difference between risky and risque.

As the scriptures say, "The moving hand slaps, and having slapped, plays on."

I can't recall any. We don't usually get to see the result of the video shoot. We do sometimes swap stories during breaks in the music/video/photo ghetto, which is sort of like the "kids' table". They are privy to much more of the process than we are and doubtless have much to tell. I'd be surprised if many of the bits that are left out of the clients' DVD don't resurface on the videographer's "special edition". I'm going to have to ask about that.

There was story some years back that has to top them all, if indeed it's actually true. It goes like this:

At some point late in the reception the Father of the Bride decided to finally doff his uncomfortable formal jacket. He left it on the back of a chair. Come the end of the evening, he went into the breast pocket to retrieve the envelope that contained the cash to pay the balance that was due the hall.

It was gone.

I don't know the details, but it would surely have been a substantial sum, likely well over $10,000.00. The family managed to pay it some other way.

I imagine that even with the Hollywood treatment Robin describes, today's digital editing techniques probably get the wedding video to the clients more quickly than used to be the case.

If I remember the story correctly (and surely I don't, I'm making this up from the barest thread of a memory) the couple had returned from their honeymoon; it was maybe a month later that they finally got the wedding video. I can't remember if they were actually watching it at the bride's family's house, but it makes the story better, so I've decided that they did.

In the background of one of the shots, what do they see but the Father of the Groom bending over the chair, with his hand in the pocket of the FOTB's jacket!

I wonder if Hallmark has a card for that.

I don't know what the card might say, but the picture on the cover of the moment of the crime would say plenty. Maybe the inside of the card could say, in a cheery typeface, "Tell it to the Judge." Or it might reproduce the indictment for Grand Larceny. Or simply announce the time, date, and name of the reality TV show on which the footage would run.

Oh hell, I give up--- no one is going to top that story. Not if you went to every one of the next one million weddings. Not even if it was one of those singing cards, that, when you open it carols out, "The mouse takes the cheese, /The mouse takes the cheese, /Hi-ho the derry-o, /The mouse takes the cheese."

(Isn't the next verse, "The cat eats the mouse"...?)

"I figure my music is on quite a few wedding DVDs. What to do. It would be one thing if it was just a home video, but these are very expensive productions. And there I sit, playing hours of original music to serve as a score for the entire thing."

You might think about a separate contract (or section of the existing one) licensing the reproduction of the music. I have done this kind of thing licensing photos for print publications, and we buy, for a set fee, permissions for a certain number of uses of a stated type. For example, home use would be one type; use on TV, internet, or other kind of CD, etc would either be disallowed or charged at a different schedule.

When you buy a ticket for a stage performance, it doesn't mean it's an all-you-can-eat buffet where you can pirate a DVD and market it. If one took a microscope to the fine print (in that bad light), it probably says that.

I wonder if the bride's family figured the video money was well-spent, or if they wished they'd never...

How about a little verse for the inside of the card?

Who knew back when I met your son
and quickly set a date
That shortly after you'd be serving
3 to 5 Upstate?

The finest hall, my lovely dress
The food, the wine, the band
Our friends would chat and sip and nosh
on hors d'oeuvres served by hand

There was naught consigned to chance
We counted ourselves wise
But in-laws can be outlaws
and life a great surprise.

"...who knows--- maybe Gahan Wilson reads the forum. If we're not on the Far Side already, we're headed that way. "And why do agents often have two first names? What's with that?" I've seen too many G. Wilson drawings of persons with two heads to wonder much about that one..."

Gary Larsen draws The Far Side, first published in Pacific Search magazine and The Sumner News Review. After a break working as a dogcatcher, his cartooning career got a break: published in Seattle Times and later, other newspaper comic sections. Gahan Wilson's cartoons were first published in Playboy, The New Yorker, and National Lampoon Magazine.

Imagine getting those two mixed up. My apologies.

Greg: I'm sure that video wedding story is true. I must say, I wheezed a sigh of relief when I got to the end and the groom's father was the criminal. I really thought it would turn out to be Louie the Bandleader. Our generic Louis may be tacky, but he's not a convict. At least not yet.

Clef: I long ago learned the value of wearing long dresses or pants to work. Remember IRMA, the Kathy Bates look-alike customer who stalked me in Piano Girl? She used to stare at my legs while I played at the Grand Hyatt in Manhattan. She really freaked me out one time when she said: "I just can't take my eyes off your ankles." I really thought she was going to pull a sledge hammer out of her NPR tote bag. Since then, no more short skirts at the piano. Anyway, a videographer is nothing compared to Irma. I can handle these guys.

Here I am HOME on a Saturday night. I've been booted (for one night) out of my steady gig by an all female string quartet. They wear red strapless dresses (I know what you're thinking and yes, they do shave under their arms) and play tango music. I hope the bridal party has some good dancers. Might be an appropriate night for the Limbo contest. A German limbo contest: now there's one for Mr. Larson.

My last big event of the season is tomorrow night, a serious (can you believe that?) solo piano concert. I sincerely hope no one chokes, passes out, catches on fire, or otherwise requires an ambulance at tomorrow's performance. I can't take it.

After tomorrow I'm home free. I play a bunch of holiday gigs but they are all low pressure, easy, easy, tinka, tinka. Heaven!

Hey, let me take this opportunity to wish all of you Happy Holidays! I can't begin to tell you how much light and laughter your stories have delivered to this side of the Atlantic. I spend a lot of time by myself; either writing or playing, and it's heart warming to belong to a community of musicians and music-lovers who GET IT. Ladies and Gentlemen, you are the best.

xoxo

My "Louie" was best described as "socially bewildered"; dumbfounded that most people manage to communicate in seemingly effortless fashion.

That wasn't what I was thinking.

I'm home too. We were booted out of our gig by The Mother Nature One-Woman Show. She's wearing a swirling all-white blizzard number.

They canceled the gig early in the day, about the moment the first flake landed on the church steeple. That's good, actually. Weather-related cancellations are not generally announced until after I've driven 90% of the way to the venue in a hurricane.

This gig was to be our third at the Our Lady of Arrhythmia Parish Hall, where "your IQ is the same as your age" wouldn't be an insult. "Life begins at three digits" is their motto. People of that age take the weather very seriously.

I'm going to miss Father Maltempo leading the Lost Quaver Quintet through "All Of Me". He gives new meaning to À la recherche du temps perdu.

But please promise to tell us once you recover, OK?

"Ladies and Gentlemen, you are the best."

Yep. And likewise, Robin--- what would PW be without you? (I am politely patting back a yawn at the thought.) Your show is going to be great--- I only wish I could be there.

I join Greg in denying any thought of the red strapless quartet's arm hair.

How about a little genteel announcement before the program: "We wish to request that anyone who feels a spell coming on, step to the lobby. Fire extinguishers are located by the lighted emergency exit signs."

(That last was a little hint for anyone who may need to be "put out.")

Put out, indeed. Here I am at the castle and my concert has been cancelled due to a rare Cologne area BLIZZARD. The German weather bureau issued the highest level warning. Jeez. I am jinxed this year. Forget fire extinguishers. We need shovels. More tomorrow. I intend to have a nice dinner, sufficient wine, and a good night's sleep here in ye olde chateau.

"I intend to have a nice dinner, sufficient wine, and a good night's sleep here in ye olde chateau."

As jinxes go, I have heard of worse--- in fact, I was watching more of those "Weddings Gone Wrong" videos on TV this morning (and all because of you, Robin). Oh, you want to talk about jinxes! I could not repeat or synopsize some of those episodes, not even here among veterans who have seen it all--- or have you? I begin to wonder.

I believe the PW moderators would step in if I repeated what the bride said about the florist.

The castle will be glad to reschedule your concert, if you can find a date for it. Of course, there's the preparation and ramping yourself up for it, but maybe it will be easier since you already had it ready.

"Jeez. I am jinxed this year. Forget fire extinguishers. We need shovels."

Maybe I shouldn't mention this... but lots of people set the house on fire during cold weather. Penny-wise, euro-foolish; neglecting to have the chimney cleaned probably seemed like a good economy at the time, and once the snow took the power lines down--- well, there was the fireplace...

And then there are Christmas trees--- so flammable. I'm sure the insurance carriers will stomp that custom out, if ever they can. Godless, that's what I call them. But there is no point in blaming Germany; I'm sure the story of Martin Luther bringing a tree into the house, with candles on it, to celebrate the holiday, is a familiar one to all of us.

The bringing of the evergreen tree into the home, as one might invite a member of the family or an honored guest, is a far older Winter Solstice custom. That was before electric tree lights, of course.

And that is why God invented the smoke detector.

So, all is well. What year, or what wedding, goes by without its share of mishaps. Sometimes these things serve a higher purpose that we are not in a position to appreciate. From my point of view, it seems that fortune has smiled benevolently upon you. And why shouldn't it love you. Don't answer that--- it does.

While I'm thinking of it... in one of those wedding videos, the bride was so mean, the wedding planner broke down and cried. It was heartwarming, and so telegenic--- the boo-hooing, the tears, the snot (no screams; the rat trap was absent). I would imagine it's an industry that doesn't foster excessive sensitivity. The groom also broke out in tears during the ceremony--- there must be quite a backstory to that match-up.

Turns out that recovering from a non-event is worse than recovering from a real event. Because the concert was snowed out and I didn't have to perform, I ended up eating and drinking a tad too much. But the fireplace was nice and I was with 3/4 of my family.

Meanwhile, my poor 17 year old son had a job OUTSIDE playing in a jazz band for one of those German Christmas market things (think snow globes, feathered felt hats, and mulled wine). His gig, naturally, was not cancelled. My son plays percussion and piano and how he got his fingers to move I have no idea. Playing in an ice storm is no fun.

Clef, one time at the castle, the chimney caught on fire as I was playing, thus turning me into a sort of human smoke detector. The piano is right next to the fireplace, which makes for a charming place to sit and listen to music, just not when it's on fire. But I always adore seeing a team of firemen in action. The axes! The boots! Those big helmets! Love those guys.

I am now leaving for my kids' piano recital. My son is playing Freedom Jazz Dance and Blues in the Closet. My daughter is playing A River Flows in You and singing/playing Paparazzi (her own arrangement with her very own papa accompanying her on bass).

The beat goes on.

Not a single wedding on the event horizon.

One needs a few extra calories to fortify one's self in blizzard conditions, especially--- who knows--- when there might be a call for both a snow shovel and a fire extinguisher on the very same day.

Anyway, heaven was also kind enough to provide us with Alka-Seltzer, and it does work--- I know.

No need for the folks from Piano Forum or Tuner/Tech to hear about that piano-by-the-fireplace situation. You know how they would carp. I don't hear them telling such thrilling stories, though.

Just wondering... do they have red fire-trucks in Germany? I always liked red so much better. Buff and studly fire-daddies on a red truck just might edge out Cupid-on-a-red-heart as the best-ever symbol of Valentine's Day, one of these years. I could express no surprise--- not if you want to see a pulse beating faster. The Dalmatians on the front seat are also very handsome.

Catch your breath and enjoy your time with your nice family, Robin, while there's a little break. Valentine's Day will bring a rush of weddings; brides will be beating down the castle door.

Ok, I guess I do have a fire truck story, though there are no blizzards or weddings. It was late Spring, at the state park where I work as a volunteer. Backcountry Weekend, the one time in the year when people are allowed to drive to the heart of the park and start their hike or backpack adventure from the center. It is madly popular and, as you might guess, there are porta-potties that see busy service.

But not everyone cares for them, and one lady decided to squat in the more sanitary and natural setting of a beautiful Spring hillside. The park doesn't mind--- it would have to arrest every coyote if it did. But, bad fortune pursued her, and she lost her balance, tripped on her panties, fell down the hillside, and broke her arm.

Bad enough? Not yet. The paramedics were called, and I happened to be working the front gate to admit them--- both an ambulance and a fire truck, fully-loaded with fire-daddies.

She was rescued; she was fine. I expect they carried her back up the hill in their arms. Aside from the slight indignity, some ladies might have thought it was almost worthwhile--- and I'm sure she felt very safe.

If poison-oak was involved, no one mentioned it.

Ok--- no wedding, but it's a little romantic, isn't it?

Jeff,

In my house the loud circular object on the ceiling is known as the "kitchen timer", at least when I'm cooking. It gets tested regularly.

Robin, (and anyone else...)
Re: Winter gig.

Quebec City has a Winter Carnival every February. It's at the same time as in Rio de Janeiro, except 100 degrees colder. For two weeks in the dead of winter there are events all over town, mostly outdoors, in a very beautiful city. My family has gone the last two years. Canoe races on a frozen river, snow sculpting at night, dogsled races down Boulevard St. Louis, drinks in glasses made of ice, Crepes and Soupe a l'Oignon Gratinee for dinner; it's truly special and I highly recommend it.

Some pictures:
Quebec Carnaval 2008
Quebec Carnaval 2009

Last year we made it to the opening night ceremonies. It was pretty balmy by Quebec standards; in the teens Fahrenheit, and snowing a little. There were several musical acts. The first one was a rock band featuring two guitars, bass and drums. I noticed that the stage, which was covered, had about a dozen space heaters hanging from the grid, facing down. I'm sure they had some limited effect, but the performers' breath vapor still just about froze solid and crashed at their feet.

I like cold weather, but I don't think I'd enjoy the feeling of guitar strings cutting into my frigid fingertips. I have actually played part of a set with gloves on, as a joke, but not with the kind of gloves you'd need in Quebec.

We saw another band in a (heated) tent at one of the larger outdoor Carnaval sites. They played a sort of Acadian/Country/Rock hybrid and were a lot of fun. But they'd have had an audience even if they were awful. The "Metro" tent was an oasis of warm(ish) air and hot food on a day when it was about Zero F with swirling winds and snow outside.

We're fighting the urge to go again this February. We took a pretty expensive vacation over the summer and made not going to Quebec part of the budget. But now...

Stay strong

Some of you will have to go instead. It's one great party and the perversity of holding an event like this in a Quebec winter only enhances it.

Much to my delight, NPR's Piano Jazz Christmas Special with Marian McPartland is featuring me playing a live version of my composition FIRST SNOW (from my recording Songs in the Castle), along with my story about why I wrote the piece. This has nothing to do with weddings, but I do talk about the castle where many of my wedding stories take place.

I'm in formidable company here: George Shearing, Renée Fleming, Susannah McCorkle, Ayako Shirasaki (playing a kick-ass version of Sleigh Ride) and the great lady herself, Ms. McPartland.

You can listen here:

McPartland/Goldsby/NPR Piano Jazz Christmas

Greg, Montreal sounds like fun, although I don't envy those musicians. Cold is cold, but that sounds particularly brutal. And now I know why your French is passable. Or at least more passable than mine.

Clef: I can assure you that the woman who tripped over her potty pants and did the tumble and roll through the canyon did it on purpose. In my younger days, I might have attempted such a stunt just to get the attention of a Fire-Daddy. In fact I did once attempt to pick up a firefighter who was patrolling the corridors of the Manhattan Marriott Marquis. He was very cute and had an axe and everything. Sadly, he was distracted by Tina Louise (Ginger of Gilligan's Island) who was in the cocktail lounge where I was playing. I paled in comparison. I was young and reasonably fetching, but she was wearing a fur coat with one of those second-skin movie star dresses underneath, and the firefighter was smitten. No competing with Ginger.

Montreal is a very cool city, in several senses of the word, but the Carnaval d'Hiver is in Quebec City. We've been there six times over the years, three times in winter.

Our daughter is 14, and if my own teen-hood is any guide, we have a dwindling number of vacations that she'll be joining us on. We decided that the Winter Carnival in Quebec should really be one of them. She loved it more than we dared to hope for. Besides attending as many of the events as we could find the stamina for, my daughter surprised me by asking to explore some of the residential back streets.

We've been to French Canada more times than really seems sensible, and the opportunity to fool around in a foreign language is a large part of the reason. It was in Montreal and Quebec back in 1982 or so that we both discovered we could read most of the signs. This came as a great surprise as neither of us had studied French since High School. We decided to venture a phrase or two at the hotel desk, then at restaurants, gas stations, etc.

When people 1. Didn't giggle or guffaw and 2. Understood us, we were hooked. With a phrase book to crib from (and in recent years, a laptop), we've done pretty well on ten trips to the Grand Blanc Nord and three trips to Paris. We left the laptop home this past summer, and forgot the phrase book, either of which would have made my trip to the pharmacie more fluid. But I managed to describe my wife's rhume well enough to get her the proper remedy.

We've come to know that people take even the most mangled attempt to speak their language as a sign of courtesy. Armed with that information, I've made occasional use of my 2 years of college Italian, and my no years of Spanish on various trips. Riding the NYC subway is kind of like being inside a Rosetta Stone Spanish Course. I've learned a lot of Spanish from the signs. When there was no other option, as happened a few times in Austria, I've even tossed a German phrase or two into the fray.

I wouldn't bet that my French is better than yours, but I have developed a certain confidence that no matter how many mistakes I make, the message will get through. Human beings were born to communicate, one way or another.

Having said that, I think it would be quite a more difficult endeavor to learn to live in a foreign language every day.

I listened. Nice.

And I'm happy to report that past incidents notwithstanding, I feel in fine fettle and have seen no signs of the Grim Reaper.

I'll sleep with one eye open just in case.

Well, Christmas and no weddings. There are some occasions worthy of note, other than what Santa managed to deliver in a country with so few, and such skimpy chimneys... and I don't mean the news story about the cat-burglar who was rescued from being stuck in one. One should think twice about such adventures. Bad Santa!

It is the anniversary of the 1914 Christmas Truce, when many WWI soldiers more-or-less spontaneously laid down their arms and came across no-mans-land to sing carols, exchange presents of such things as they had, wish each other holiday greetings, and play rugger. That was after the field was cleared of the dead, and they were laid to rest with proper observances said for them, which was the initial objective of the truce.

The regular army brass realized how hazardous it was to the war effort, to have the men from opposing sides seeing each other as human beings--- after all, they were fun-loving young guys, many scarcely out of their teens. Nevertheless, it happened: a very touching occasion. The TV rendering I saw started with the German soldiers boosting a little Christmas tree over the top of their revetments--- a little fir, with candles tied to its branch ends, the way the first Christmas trees were... fortunately, with no house in danger of being burned down by it. "Stille Nacht," they were singing.

The killing resumed quite soon, however, and in some areas it was never stopped; the High Command wouldn't have it, and orders are orders. So, the reality was not quite the myth that's been made of it since.

No one will remember this, but Cara Williams did a Christmas turn on "The Red Skelton Show," he in the character of Clem Kadiddlehopper the Bum (as homeless persons were called, back then) spending a snowy Christmas alone on a park bench; she in the character of Raggedy Ann, the rag doll with a candy heart sewn into her stuffing that said, "I Love You." Maybe he was dreaming, but suddenly there she was, surprisingly adorable in her rag doll guise, with the braided yarn wig and the big, red greasepaint circles on her cheeks bringing the rag doll look a little closer to his own ragamuffin aspect. Clownish bums don't speak--- anyway, Clem didn't--- and neither do Raggedy Anns, but somehow they did communicate; you could feel their hearts, like a warm fire. I believe they may have done a little shoe-shoe routine, or danced a few steps of the waltz as the snowflakes sifted down.

And then she was gone, and Clem was waltzing with his pushbroom.

Maybe some people thought it was only sweet, maybe it passed over the heads of many television viewers... but it was a thunderbolt that passed far beyond the merely comedic performances for which they were both known.

Last but not least, one Christmas Tracy Ullman did a segment on her comedy show in which she portrayed a wrinkled and elderly woman spending Christmas alone in her apartment with twenty or so cats--- to which she sang, "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas." It was a creditable rendering, without so much as a trace of pathos, and delivered with real love as she picked up each cat in turn and sang to it. Just when we thought it was all over, she removed the box top from a wrapped Christmas present--- and "discovered" yet one more cat: a tiny little kitten, who received the last few bars of music, and a tender hug against the cat-lady's withered, but smiling, cheek.

Say what you will about cat-ladies with twenty cats in one livingroom (and the reality of animal hoarders is not so glamourous or telegenic, not at all); still, I have to think it beats Christmas in the pound.

The second full moon of the month shines on New Year's Eve tonight: the kind they call a "blue moon," although ours was creamy and golden last night.

I have missed our contributors in the last week, though it's not so hard to imagine that people are busy with other things. Robin has the play and the castle performances, Greg is in Quebec (the will to stay away having failed), Tim is daring the conductor to frown upon the trombone section--- and we have the cartoon to prove it.

No doubt people have parties to attend, champagne to chill; in downtown San Francisco people are throwing last year's desk calendars out their office windows. Now, that is a colorful tradition, and an astonishing one (if you don't expect it) to find under your feet, on your way home from a New Year's party. Of course, there are common litterbugs the year 'round, but this is different and much more festive: a ticker-tape parade--- the hero's welcome--- for the new year. "A headstrong and heedless city," Herb Caen described it, "forever dancing on the edge of disaster." There are fireworks on the Embarcadero, too, good weather or bad. But the fireworks have already gone off in Sydney Harbor (they were on TV) and probably Hong Kong as well; the darlings of the International Date Line. The rising sun has barely put the first blush of deep blue in the skies over California, yet they have already had midnight.

No doubt Alka-Seltzer will be starting the New Year with a healthy quarterly report--- but the financial markets are closed and we won't know about that until, well, next year.

You guys have certainly brightened my 2009, and I really want to thank you!

Had a weird thing happen at our church's Christmas pageant.

I direct a handbell choir. The pageant director requested one short piece, Pat-a-pan twice through, but demanded there be no harmony, just six bells on the melody notes. So I only needed three ringers, two bells each. I decided to creatively disobey, because unaccompanied melody is very fatiguing to the listener's brain - they are forced to provide harmony internally. This is worse for handbells because they only ring at the fundamental and 12th, don't have the usual instrumental overtone series. I couldn't get away with adding notes so I put a fourth person on tambourine thumping a simple rhythm.

Did I mention it was a pageant? Think shepherds in costume, as young as four or five. Our run through was dead solid perfect, I thought maybe just once we'd get through without fear of a trainwreck. I didn't allow for the child factor - one of the kids switched a ringer's left and right bells when we weren't looking, and put the left bell upside down (they only ring one direction). So she rang that bell, it didn't sound, she turned it around, rang the wrong note, got flustered, got herself together, switched hands, and came back in correctly! Woohoo! Disaster averted! Nope, just delayed. She was so rattled forgot to start the second verse, so did one of the others, then they came in on the wrong beat, and we crashed and burned. There was nothing I could do but try to keep the panic off my face - I couldn't find beat 1 myself!

I've been playing in bands for a long time, and like any reasonably observant musician in that environment, I've got lots of stories. But reading PW for the last 15 months has taught me that there are nooks and crannies of music performance that I know nothing about, and that they are loaded with comic potential as well. I've heard stories about church organists, a brass ensemble , an organ and trombone duo (my personal favorite) and now, a handbell choir.

I think the audience factor is part of what elevates common mishaps to high comedy. Plumbers have some good stories, but imagine how much better they would be if the plumber was working on stage. [Now that I think of it, I once heard a plumber tell a story about installing a working glass-walled shower stall on the stage at a strip club. Imagine applying for the permit.]

Happy New Year to all.

Happy New Year!

I haven't slipped off the face of 2009, I've just been ridiculously busy, thank goodness. I played my last gig of 2009 today, in 2010. Did the New year's Eve dinner in the fancy restaurant, escaped at 11;30 PM (just as the band in the main hall was swinging hard and the Titans of Industry Lizard Dance was warming up), and made it home 4 minutes before midnight.

It's always an adventure driving home on New Year's Eve in Germany. Rockets! Missiles! Big round things that I suspect are grenades. Alcohol and explosive devices do not mix well, but my German friends and neighbors (some of them quite sensible during the rest of the year) seem to think it's a good idea to consume 23 and a half beers and shoot rockets at homeward bound piano players. Whatever. I'm safe. I played for lunch today, and that's it, folks, until January 22nd.

Yes, I have STORIES. But I must let them gel before posting.

Two people asked me for cards today. Guess what? They're getting married. Get that Pachelbel ready.

Oh, Tim. Trombones and Hand Bell Choirs. Are there two things in the world more worthy of our attention? I don't think so. P{lease tell me that someone has a video of the hand bell train wreck. I love this.

Clef, you are the light of my PW life. THANK YOU for your wonderful posts.

Greg, thanks for listening to the McPartland Xmas show. I enjoyed reading about your brave attempts to learn and speak French. I relate.

xoxo
Robin

Hi Everyone,

I've missed you all. I'm in Western Pennsylvania visiting my dad Bob the drummer and my mother Ann, the long-suffering drummer's wife. It's like story central around here. You can imagine. My dad is 75 and has been playing gigs for almost 60 years. That's a lot of rim shots.

When I was a teenager, he used to say to me: "Do you know how many times I had to hit the drums to pay for those shoes?"

Greg, Bob's stories are more like yours—sideman stories from club dates. But he has also played in orchestra pits, burlesque theaters, television studios (he played on the Mister Rogers Neighborhood program for 35 years), and churches. And he has certainly played a fair share of weddings.

Tim, I was thinking recently about your bell choir. I had a first grade teacher named Mrs. Dick (I kid you not) and she used to play in a bell choir at a local church. The bell choir ladies (they were all ladies) wore dark purple robes and white gloves. Very elegant. And they played the Christmas Bell Choir Classic "Silver Bells."

Not so elegant, but equally memorable, was my pal Wendy Clay's stint in an HBO old-time burlesque special. She (and the other chippies) had the bells attached to their underpants, and got them to ring by, uh, executing some classic burlesque moves. This may well have been one of the funniest sketches in the history of burlesque (and bell choirs). "Silver Bells," for strippers.

So that's all I know. I haven't had a gig since January 1 and I am very much enjoying the down time. Let it snow.