TubaOrNotTuba

Another whole year has gone by, and the night has arrived. We’ll finally confirm what we all know; the next American Idol is named David. But first, some diversion.  A really big show as Ed used to say, right here on our stage. And what a stage, and what a theatre, and what a cast of thousands to watch from the choice seats (seven thousand, according to the little seafoam fellow). Let’s get started.

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Without any reason to cross an international border, I’m always a little bemused by some of the things that I hear about. You know, the coffeemachine/watercooler stories about how things went for someone else as they crossed through that zone of turbulent weather. The hot/cold divide where thunder storms are likely to develop. The special place where the Canucks are armed with clipboards and the Yanks with automatic rifles. Is the border a line between cultures, a line of defence, or a place to pay yet another round of taxes to governments with deep pockets? It seems to depend on the day of the week.

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My “specialty channel”, ARTV, just finished an excellent concert by Les Charbonniers De L’enfer from Quebec. Five exceptional voices, in perfect harmony, with a repertoire of traditional folksongs. An ‘acapella’ harmony that resembles Gregorian chant in many ways. There is probably an origin in the sacred music heard in the parish churches during earlier centuries (I am not a musicologist, but I can pretend with the best of them). This is the music from before radio. No instrumentation, just five men that have been involved in the task of protecting a particular culture for the whole of their professional lives.

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Forget the dog, or the monkey. Hollywood and the advertising industry love a larger animal. Much larger, and white, and cuddly if we pay attention to the ideas channelled to us for the last century. And yet, outside of a larger zoo, or extremely bad luck, none will see this animal at close range. Why, then, do we have such a willing suspension of disbelief when it comes to large and very wild predators.

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Another year had passed, and another closing concert for the school bands arrived. Last time around, I’d tried to “tape” the show for posterity, using my MP3 player that can take voice memos. This procedure is not one that bears much musical fruit; the quality of the recording was about equal to the early efforts of Edison. I’m one that follows the advice of others, so when a little extra cash came along, the family invested in a proper digital tape recorder. After all, it could be useful some day.

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After a certain number of children have passed through the house, a parent develops a feeling for which of the various “rites of passage” come with an acceptable risk factor. My three sons have all gone through a similar formation, that of the concert band, and the big night of the year is the final performance. Not so much the show, but what follows afterward is at the crux of this posting; the famous “after concert” party.

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This evening, my new installation of a CMS moved a step closer to sharing its “look” with this blog. I’m not given to changing themes every few days (weeks, months, years) just because another pretty face comes along. Consider me a monogamous theme kind of person. It doesn’t matter that there’s no content in my CMS yet; if it can look like there’s a master plan, then so much the better.

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Today was a working holiday. After spending late hours at the office, I finally recovered some time for myself, and promptly got nominated to the position of “official prepare the car for spring” guy. No big deal, given that it only happens once a year; I have another 11 months and a bit to prepare for next time around. All in all, a chance to “hang out” in a couple of different garages while someone else did the hard work.

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All over but the crocodile tears; American Idol has allowed the Final Three to show their skills to all of us at home. Even those up here in Canada that can’t vote. I tried via the home phone line, and then again via Skype; my vote doesn’t count when the American dream is at hand. Only fair I guess, because I didn’t buy any tickets to the big tour, or download any iTune content, or even purchase a small bottle of Coca-Cola to show that the dream was mine.

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A little too little, a little too much. Every once in a while I find myself at issue with quantity. Particularly, the quantity that is being served. Like the times when you cook a meal, and more people that expected arrive right at service time. The result, a little too little. People leave the table hungry, which means that there will be a raid on the refrigerator as soon as the sun goes down.

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