Eric James Stone pointed this out and had I seen it earlier, I so would have posted this instead of the Feist video for songs that make me smile.

Dad’s been asking me to bring my violin back to Woodthrush because he’s knows that I’ve pretty much stopped playing, and I’ve resisted because a home without a musical instrument seems like it is incomplete. But, in the year that we’ve been in NYC, I’ve had it out of the case exactly twice, both times in our first month there.

I’d started playing when I was five and when I got old enough to have a full-size instrument, Dad let me have this one. He had two, but this one was the louder and I tended to be too quiet. In college, I developed tendinitis in my shoulder and we discovered that I had a congenital condition that got aggravated by, among other things, bowing. Why was college different? That’s when I started working as a puppeteer and, you know, that kind of works the shoulders a bit. I stopped being able to play for more than about twenty minutes at a time, but would still haul it out because I loved it.

But the frequency got farther apart. The interesting thing is that I’d pick the instrument up and for about five minutes could play like I’d never stopped and then it was as if my brain caught up and said, “Whoa! Whoa! Are you crazy? You can’t play this thing,” and it would all vanish.

It got progressively more frustrating to pull it out of the case and know how much my skills had dropped. I mean, I was never brilliant, but I played for seventeen years and now it’s… well, it’s like a foreign language. I look at sheet music that I remember being able to play and it’s so hard now. With the shoulder thing, it’s not like I could work at it and regain the old level.

So, since Dad asked, and it’s his birthday, I’ve brought the violin home.

Last night, Rob and I headed down to Brooklyn to see Dean and Eric play (Kill Henry Sugar). It was an intimate little venue with seating for maybe thirty and standing room for another twenty or so. We stood in the back.

About three songs into the set, this reasonably attractive man in a suit crossed the room to join two girls standing in front of us. I thought he knew them, but he leaned down to one of the girls and said, “What’s your name?”

She looked at him, looked at the giant beer glass in his hand, laughed and kind of edged away. He asked again. Her friend said, “She’s trying to listen to the music.”

He turned to her and asked the same question. It was clear that glass did not hold his first beer of the night. The girl gave him the shoulder and focused on the band.

He touched the first girl’s long curly hair. “I like you.”

She shuffled away.

At this point, I’m no longer listening to the band, much as I enjoy them.

I leaned forward to her friend and said, “I’m standing here with my husband. If you need a man to intervene, come stand by us.” Then I turned to Rob and whispered, “This guy is hitting on these two girls in a totally inappropriate way. I told them they could pretend to be with us.”

His jaw clenched and I could feel him straighten.

The thing is, that I pretty sure the girls would have been a lot more forceful in telling Mr. A-hole to leave them alone, if they weren’t at a concert in a small room. Socially, they were trapped between him and the need to be quiet because there was live music. It’s not like Kill Henry Sugar is a loud band where everyone shouts at each other while dancing. This was two guys, a banjo and drums, playing for forty people who were there to listen.

Meanwhile, Mr. A-hole began tapping another woman on the shoulder and crooking his little finger to her to get her to come to him. She wrinkled her nose, looked at him like he’s insane and shook her head.

He turned back to the first girl. “Dance with me?”

“No.”

He needed to stop.

I walked out of the room to get a bouncer. In the front of the bar, I realized that they probably didn’t have a bouncer since it is a small, quiet neighborhood place, but this guy was being a complete jerk. I caught the bartender’s eye.

He wiped the bar down and smiled, “What can I do for you?

“Do you have a bouncer?”

The shift to alert mode was astonishing. “Why? Is someone giving you trouble?”

“There’s a guy in the back hitting on every woman in the room in really inappropriate ways.”

“Show me.” He dropped the towel and strode to the end of the bar. He wasn’t a tall man, but every line of his body was ready to take someone down.

I pulled the curtain aside. Mr. A-hole had moved on to another woman and had his face buried in her ear, whispering. She leaned away, clearly trying not to make a scene while the band was playing. I pointed at him. “The guy in the tie.”

The bartender nodded once. He ducked back out of the curtain and for a moment I thought that he wasn’t going to do anything, that this was a regular and they were used to him. But he headed to the front, with the fast, smooth waiter’s walk, and spoke briefly to another male employee. All I could see of the new guy at first was his white hat as his head snapped up.

These two guys moved through the crowd with the walk that I’ve seen hundreds of service industry people use; it’s graceful and designed to get you someplace fast without looking like you are hurrying. I’ve never seen it look dangerous before.

They ducked into the room, walked over to Mr. A-hole, and told him to come with them. He didn’t put up a fuss. The band kept playing, with no idea that this little drama was playing out in the back.

I came back in and the girls turned to me, mouthing “thank you!” We didn’t say anything else because we were there to listen to the music.

Tonight we took advantage of the Verdi Square Festival of the Arts to enjoy some free opera in the park. Fabulous girl joined Rob and me for the short concert of arias. Though the voices were uneven, there were some really enjoyable performances. Amy Orsulak’s (soprano) “L’altra notte in fondo al mare” had wonderful clarity and strong emotion.

Stephen Gaertner, baritone, did two pieces, both of which were so powerful that I wondered if he really needed the microphones, even though we were standing on top of the subway.

Afterwards, we went out for tapas and conversation. We’ve known Fabulous Girl for years, but most of that time she’s lived in a different town. I think being out, taking advantage of NYC with an old friend made me feel more like I lived here than anything else. At the same time, I couldn’t quite shake the feeling that we had both gotten the same tour package at the travel agency. It’s still hard to believe that I really live here.

That’s not a command, it’s an invitation. Kill Henry Sugar is the name of a band. You’ve been listening to them lately on my Coraline videos. Tonight, they have a CD release at the Living Room. (154 Ludlow St.) The band starts at 10:00

If you are in town, come join Rob and me. If you aren’t sure that you’d like the music, and my word that they are wonderful isn’t enough, listen to a preview of Kill Henry Sugar.

Hope to see you there.

There is a lovely list of insults at Angry 365 Days a Year. I don’t think one should re-use these insults, but I do think that they will serve as a useful model for creating a classic insult of one’s own.

Some of my favorites:

“Thank you for sending me a copy of your book; I’ll waste no time in reading it.” –
Moses Hadas

“He is not only dull himself; he is the cause of dullness in others.” –
Samuel Johnson

“He had delusions of adequacy.” –
Walter Kerr

“He has Van Gogh’s ear for music.” –
Billy Wilder

My business and creative partner, Jodi Eichelberger, has been doing some podcasts. Here’s the description of his latest:

From August of 1994 through the spring of 1997 Mary and I toured a production of “Pied Piper” with Tears of Joy Theatre. We were particularly close to this show because Mary designed it and I wrote the book, music, and lyrics. We had lots of adventures during this tour: towing a truck through a blizzard on the Bear Mountains, being taken from a hotel room in the middle of the night by Officer Monty, losing my big toenail during a performance…but be careful when dealing with the Piper; you never know what might get charmed away. On the morning of April 16, 1996 the “Pied Piper” disappeared, along with our van and all its contents.

He invited me to relive memories of our tour with Pied Piper. You should listen to find out who stole the Pied Piper.

A fellow writer turns out to be a handy woodworker. Check out this violin chair that Gray Rhinehart made.

The “Take a Seat” exhibition opened on Saturday, April 28th at Cary’s “Spring Daze” event. The chairs will be exhibited in the local mall (Cary Towne Center) through May 16th, then over the rest of the summer the entries will be on display at various locations around Cary. They will be exhibited all together again at Cary’s “Lazy Daze” festival on August 25th. After that, the chairs will be auctioned off to “support public art and education programs in Cary.”

This project was so fun that we would love to do more–in fact, we have in mind an entire series of “Musical” Chairs, from violin-, cello-, and guitar-modeled chairs to a double bass love seat and a piano “bench.” In fact, if we could find enough customers this might be the dream job we’ve been waiting for.

So, if you know anyone–including yourself–who loves music and might be in the market for a unique, handmade chair, let us know!

We had planned on rehearsing yesterday, but spent the day doing errands or repairs instead. Today was much better. Joe and I both had meetings, but we were able to get some time in the evening to run the show all the way through. There are some rough spots, but most of it is where we are inventing business. Remember I told you that each team adds something to the show.

Today was also the first day to do the show with sound and lights. Joe set most of it up before I got there. Here he is taping down a cord to a light so that we don’t trip over it.

We do the voices live and some of the music as well. Here is Joe banging away on the jembe drum at the top of the show. During the rest of the show the music will be on a tape, since we’ll both have our hands full. We use a foot switch to start and stop the tape.

Different people have different feelings about the use of pre-rocorded sound tracks. Some companies will record the voices as well as the music. Having seen and performed both ways, I vastly prefer doing it live. If something goes wrong, and something always will, a tape will keep going, but a live actor can cover for the problem. Plus you can connect with the audience more.

I’d come and sing on your front porch, but most of you live to far away, so here’s my Christmas music station on Pandora. Merry Christmas!

After Orycon, I went to see Dean play in Kill Henry Sugar. If you didn’t buy their album the last time I said they were fantastic, you should go do it now.

Richard A. Lovett took me up on the invitation to go to their gig. Before the show, he asked me “What kind of music do they play?”

Uh.

They are pretty hard to classify. They borrow from rock, the blues end of jazz, folk and country–a musical slipstream, if you will. There are sample tracks on their website. Go listen.

Jane knocked on the door of Melody’s room, still glowing with the words of Mr. Dunkirk’s praise. Such a small thing, those words, but it was the first time she could recall coming to his special notice. He had always been courtesy itself when in her company, but her attachment to him grew more from how he treated others than from any sense of his having regard for her.

She leaned her head against the door, listening for sounds within the chamber. “Melody?”

“Go away.”

Jane sighed. “Dear. Let me come in.”

A long silence stretched during which she had time to examine the grain on the door and the subtle wear of age worn in the soft edges of its panels. “Melody?”

Cloth rustled within and the key turned in the lock, unlatching the door. As Jane opened the door, she was in time to see Melody fling herself artlessly upon the bed, where the rumpled spread showed how she had spent the better part of Mr. Dunkirk’s visit. Her golden curls lay across the bed in an intricate lacework and tears glittered on the end of her lashes like diamonds.

Jane closed the door behind her and leaned against it, regarding her sister. “Mr. Dunkirk sends his apologies for his tardiness.”

Melody sat up with alarming speed. Her face flushed. “Is he still here?”

Shaking her head, Jane crossed the room to sit on the bed next to her sister. “No. Papa let him understand that you had twisted your ankle while out walking.”

Placing her hands over her face, Melody groaned and fell back on the bed. “Now he thinks me clumsy as well as over-excited.”

“I am certain he does not.” Jane wiped her sister’s brow, which was hot with the force of her excitement. Reaching into the ether, Jane conjured a cooling breeze to soothe her sister.

Melody pulled her hands away, though she kept her eyes closed, and turned her face toward the breeze. “But he does. I stammer and blush when he is present. Do not tell me you have failed to notice.” She opened her eyes and glared up at Jane.

“Until today, I had not the faintest notion that you had any affection for Mr. Dunkirk beyond that of a neighbor. Indeed, I had thought you were no more fond of him than of one of our uncles.” Jane smoothed the folds of her skirt, praying that her own countenance was not as transparent to feeling as Melody’s. “Have you an understanding with Mr. Dunkirk?”

Melody burst into laughter. “An understanding? My dear, Jane, Mr. Dunkirk is gentleness embodied. He is grace and elegance and all that is good in a man, but with that he is also too conscious of propriety to betray anything beyond courtesy. This is why I had such hopes when he said he would come to call today. I had hoped that perhaps he might have begun to pay notice to me as myself instead of simply the daughter of his neighbor.” She groaned and rolled over, burying her face in her arms. “What did you speak of while I was out acting the fool?”

“Very little. Art. Music.”

“You see! I could not speak with him of any of those. I am talentless.” She clenched her fingers in her hair and for a moment Jane feared the Melody would pull her own hair out by the roots.

Such was Melody’s torments, that Jane gave away the comfort that she had taken for herself. “Not true. Ask Papa what he said about you.”

In an instant, Melody turned over, her eyes a vivid, sparkling blue. “What did he say? Do not tease me, dear sister.”

“He said, ‘Your daughter is a credit to you.’”

Melody’s face lit with an inner glow of pleasure, but it faded quickly. “He was surely speaking of you.”

“I was there, Melody. Why would he speak of me as if I were not present?” And as Jane said that, she realized that it was true. She had taken Mr. Dunkirk’s words to her heart as if he spoke of her, but he surely had not. Who else could he mean but Melody? Had his compliment been intended for Jane, he would have said, “You are a credit to your father.” There could be no doubt that he had meant Melody. She reached out and tousled Melody’s hair to mask the wet disappointment that slowly filled her. “You see?”

Melody sat and flung her arms around Jane. “Oh, thank you. Thank you for telling me.”

“Of course. We must find these small comforts where we may.” Jane held her sister and wondered where she would find her own small comfort.

We should be here Saturday and Sunday nights. Heydalur in Mjóifjörður, Ísafjarðarðjúp

Jodi, Sam, Sarah and Julie had planned to come up here for a music festival, so we thought we would try to join them.