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Hey, I tuned for one group on that list this week, and I will tune for another this week! My life is your MP3 player!

heh... i would never intentionally mess with the director. she's tooooo cool.

I found that my ipod is indespensible (?) for learning music. if i aurally memorize the music before i start playing, i can practically, flawlessly sightread even Bach. I also play along with the ipod.. starting with the first 'chord' of all measures and then filling it.

an accelerator of sorts. I have no problem with style imitation.

I think I'd live to invent a remote control personal vibrating metronome.. everyone would get a pulse at exactly the same moment.

"...Apple, maybe you could purchase one of those joy buzzer contraptions for the next "sign of peace" handshake... we could open an entire shop full of gig-related merchandise... really practical things like bride repellant spray, joy buzzers, extension cords, and flasks. Ideas?"

Yes, I have an idea you are trying to start trouble--- trouble I've seen plenty of over the years, starting with being sent to the principal's office in elementary school.

Whoopee Cushions and Plastic Dog Poo have stood the test of time. Don't leave fingerprints! Also, do your best to keep a straight face and preserve a demeanor of innocent surprise. The Joy Buzzer and the Fake Hands which come off when they are shaken--- you're sure to get caught. DON'T get caught. I had very good luck with a plastic spider, which I put on a thread and lowered into the librarian's plane of vision (she actually picked up her typewriter and threw it; luckily she was a good sport since I was a favorite).

Blackening Soap lacks subtlety, though I've always liked it just before a wedding; however I don't think much washing takes place then. Maybe after the bride and groom mash wedding cake all over each others' face (if they're that type, Blackening Soap is too good for them).

Do they make Electric Mice that operate via remote control, like one of those little cars or airplanes? A Church Mouse for a church wedding.

Common--- so common; low, even. A person of refinement would never even let the mind 'go there,' no matter how provoked. And so mean and unworthy (I have to keep telling myself); also extremely risky, with brides as keyed-up as they so often are. Just make sure no one sees you with the remote control--- a henchman in the vestry may be the way to go. But if you think the Wedding March is taking too long, you could turn it into a fifty-yard-dash that could take the record (for pumps and a long dress).

Very common, very low. Lower than low. Throwing all good taste out the window. Who among us would stoop to such tactics?

I actually own one of those remote control rats. Not that I, queen of good taste and international diplomacy, would ever think of using it to chase a bride down the aisle.

It's blackish-brown and very authentic looking. It even appears to be wet, like it just crawled out of a sewer. You could place the rat in the sixth pew from the front (friend of the bride or friend of the groom?) and have it dart out just when the maid of honor walks by. Right when that sixteenth note section of the Pachelbel Canon kicks in. Remote could be operated by a plant in in the choir. This way, should anyone get busted, it would be a SINGER.

Personal note: I know from experience that the very idea of a rodent under one's long skirt is enough to cause major hysteria. I had a castle mouse run under my gown while I was playing one night. Echos of my screams are still be heard across most of the Rhineland.

I'm also thinking it would be nice to have a goodie bag for musicians to give to the bride after the gig. A toke of appreciation to thank her for hiring us. Clef?

I'm sure that many a musician has offered one of the guests a "toke of appreciation" after a gig.

Some typos are better left unedited.

Even I am not low enough to sic a Sewer Rat on a bride, simply for my own amusement... when an adorable little church mouse with gorgeous black eyes and a velvety-gray muzzle would do the job just as well. But hold that Sewer Rat in reserve. If you see the wedding planner heading your way...

I saw one on Bridezillas who was just the type. The wedding was in the Deep South; the bride was from California. The wedding planner's pleasantries began with observing (to the camera--- not to the bride's face), "Well, she was TOO FAT to get in the dress," and ran on through the range of, "And she was SO DRUNK at the rehearsal, it's no wonder nobody knew what to do." For good measure, she added, "And if she shows up that drunk AT THE WEDDING..." She rolled her eyes, evidently a signal to God that it was time for a bolt of lightning to smite upon the purple-haired hussy.

At that point, I changed the channel to a documentary about World War Two; something a little lighter.

Mice don't know from formalwear, of course. They see those floor-length gowns as cover, in case hungry owls are flying overhead. So it's only natural that... you know. Last time mice showed up, about six months ago, we had an exterminator mouse-proof the house from cellar to attic. This area was mouse habitat long before the suburbs were built. But it's of no use if they can just walk in the back door, standing open for the convenience of the dogs.

At least I got Jerry to clean out the garage this time. More habitat and little supervision. Maybe if I just put a wedding planner out there, it would frighten them off--- give the house a bad name with rodents.

Please send Jerry to my house. We had a mouse in the house last year and my daughter picketed with SAVE THE MICE signs until my husband agreed to a humane trap. The trap worked, we caught two mice and set them free far away from the house.

Maybe we could sell wedding planner front lawn statues to ward off evil spirits.

Anyone ever deal with a male wedding planner? I have. Very scary.

Perfect for the above-mentioned store!

Greg G: Really enjoying your writing.

I had a mouse in my old electric organ in the back room a couple years ago.. discovered when my cat suddenly started pawing at the lid. I looked inside and there was this big old mouse nest - EEK! I also bought a live trap and set it free in the woods - cute little bugger, but hope it stays away.

Robin, I'm really looking forward to your new book!

I've had such a nice time vacuuming, mopping, scrubbing all the kitchen shelves (ceiling to floor) with Mr. Clean, and washing all the dishes on all the shelves... that I've put out real traps and real poison. No more Mr. Nice Guy.

Did I mention the six hundred bucks the exterminator cost?

Did you know? Organs in northern Europe, during the great age of organ building, resided in cupboards with thick, wooden doors. It seems that rats and mice were very fond of chewing the leather fittings used in the action parts of the instruments.

I had better not find a mouse, a mouse nest, or a mouse dropping anywhere near my piano or there is going to be real trouble.

Thanks, Elssa. I'm looking forward to having it finished! Glad you survived the discovery of the mouse nest. I had no idea that organs were mobile homes for mice. Now I know.

Jeff, we got lucky with our rodent situation. We just had those two critters. The humane trap worked. Although my husband told me one of them tried to jump back into the car after he did the drop in the nature reserve.

The weasel on the roof (no relation to Wilma, but who knows?) was a different story. That required harsher tactics.

Big wedding next week. I almost forgot about it—it has been on the books for a year. Nice request for "What Is This Thing Called Love?" Don't get many Porter requests in Germany!

In the early 70's I was attending university. I guess I'll be honest and name it, Notre Dame. Of course that was long before remote control.

However, it was possible to acquire a stuffed skunk and a length of black thread.

Each floor had a shared bathroom with several toilet stalls.

I think you know where I'm going.

It turned out to be possible to pull the skunk via thread through the (occupied) middle stall in front of the unsuspecting user.

The results of course were hilarious, to those of us at that rather immature age.

at my college (U of C) the guys would take pictures of their dumps and tape them to the walls.

very yucky

Now I know why I've never heard you express surprise over any kind of misconduct, Apple--- you've already seen it all. Was this some kind of contest, I wonder? Were they, perhaps, pre-med students? They are said to have atrocious senses of humor, but are kept too busy with chemistry and calculus to exercise them much... luckily.

But you have to admit that skunk story was pretty good (for freshman low comedy). I have often wondered why the undergrad dorms look so battered--- if people are trying to get away from a skunk in the stall, it's no wonder. Alas, that this was before the day of the video camera (though I suppose voice recorders were around). Well, never mind. The picture is vivid enough.

My rodent was apprehended. The clean-up is still in progress, and if it has any buddies they had better watch their step around here. We learned that it is a Roof Rat, a known pest species in this neighborhood. Not as big and fearsome as a Norway Rat, but better able than common mice to climb to shelves where it shouldn't intrude, trying to get in the peanut butter jar--- and peanut butter was its undoing. The pro's (I learned) do not bait the traps with cheese; they say it is a myth that mice prefer it.

To change the subject, I wonder if Vaughn Williams wrote any music that would work at a wedding. I've been unable to find any collections; I do know he kept himself in bread and cheese by writing arrangements of hymns and anthems. The symphonies, cantatas, and oratorios would be too long and too much for MOST weddings, except for that rare, very slow bride. He had such an ear for harmony, and was able to get a lot of feeling out of a four-minute arrangement.

Second volume of Schweitzer on Bach. There is evidently a lot of his work that I have never heard, or even heard of. Time to do some foraging at the music stores and used CD shops. And--- time to practice. Good luck with this weekend's fete with Cole Porter, Robin.

PS- That skunk in the stall story reminds me of the lady who kept a fashion shop in a hotel ladies' room stall, in one of your books... can Asparagus People top that, I wonder?

Which story is that? I'll have to find that one.

I have another toilet stall story. I was in charge of maintenance at, umm, well to disguise it only slightly let's call it a college campus, or similar government installation with many large buildings. We had repeated calls for a broken light fixture in the bathroom of a "very important" building. (One that got frequent visits from very important bosses, consequently considerable pressure on my department to keep it up to standard.) My mechanics made multiple visits, checked everything, changed bulbs and tubes, etc., but the complaints continued.

Finally I checked myself. Everything looked fine. Until I opened every toilet stall, and found one where SOMEBODY (never identified) had installed a reading light. Arggh! Guess he had a lot of time in the morning.

Clef: There are some pretty odd stories in Asparagus People, but I don't know if anything can top the real life Piano Girl story of Maria selling designer clothes out of the "toilet stall for the handicapped" at the Marriott Marquis. Pianist Robin Spielberg (my best friend) and I shopped there ALL the time. I even wore one of Maria's outfits (an antique rose two-piece silk thing with lots of lace) as a bridesmaid's gown. Who knows, by now Maria might have an entire bridal outlet.

For those who aren't familiar with the story: Maria was an enterprising member of the Marriott housekeeping staff. She was in charge of the ladies' room on one of the conference floors. She hung her dresses and coats on the rails inside the toilet stall for disabled people and I would go in there and "shop" on my break. I have NO IDEA where she got the goods, but man, it was a gold mine in that toilet stall. She never got in trouble because some of the female managers at the hotel 'shopped" there too. When someone in a wheelchair came into the ladies room, she would fly into the stall and stuff her merchandise into huge blue trash bags in record time.

I've heard reports of Piano Girl readers going to the Marriott and trying to find Maria so they too can shop at "Stall for the Handicapped".

Tim, love the skunk story. And the light story. Very funny.

In other news, guess who emailed me the other day? The Tattooed Bride herself! Remember her? The Franco Harris look-alike with the strapless Vera Wang dress and the dragonfly tattoo? She and her husband want to come to one of my concerts. Ah well, they'll show up in December , so I won't be performing that piece.

No weddings for me this weekend, just my nice calm steady gig. Wishing you all a rodent free Saturday and Sunday. May the event planner in your life put down the clipboard, the cell phone, the stopwatch.

Peace.

There's a Bill Cosby routine in which he offers the opinion that a person with only one child is not really a parent. There's too much left out, he says. If something is missing, with only one child, you know who did it. You don't hear things like "Stop touching me! He's touching me!" all day.

As the parent of one child, I appreciate that routine, and the advice.

Many of the musicians I play with might offer a similar sentiment as regards musicians like Robin. Oh, I'm sure they'd never question her piano skills. They might even award her some toughness points for playing solo for hours at a time and dealing with, what's the polite term, idiots singlehandedly. But they might not call her a musician.

There’s too much left out.

I have slowly come to accept that there are players in the world who carry no equipment, who in fact play beautiful grand pianos in fairy-tale locations, tuned the same day (I imagine elves). Sometimes a thousand-pound instrument is actually carried in for the occasion (I imagine a dozen turbaned bearers). Such players can arrive at the gig in unscathed formal attire or, and please be gentle with me if this is true, perhaps avail themselves of a clean, private changing room?

But clothes shopping in the handicapped stall is really too much for me to accept.

For those of us who have to schlep large objects through small openings, up and down stairs, through labyrinthine subterranean kitchen passageways, over wet tile or squishy rubber floors, past 1352 Chicken Cordon Bleus and finally into the banquet room, a clean handicapped stall is as high as we can aspire to.

That’s our “changing room”. The good one.

Sometimes they’re not quite as luxurious as that. If the floor is less than hygienic, we stand on our shoes to avoid touching it. We frequently get the stall that is a handicap in itself, especially for anyone not of “elf” proportions. One of my favorites was a stall roughly the dimensions of a coffin. It was equipped with one of the earlier models of automatic flushing devices. It must have flushed 30 or 40 times as I twisted and wriggled my way into my tux.

These days I wear a “faux” tux at best: I have several pairs of black pants made of a more comfortable and durable material than tuxes usually use, comfortable black rubber-soled shoes, a white shirt (with the emergency shirt in my bag), and an actual tux jacket. I simply can’t abide changing in the men’s room anymore. If they want a real tux they can provide roadies and a changing suite.

Franco Harris? Presumably this woman does not own a computer, speaks no English and knows no one else who does either?