I was remiss . . .

. . . two days ago.  I forgot to wish you all a happy Jackie Washington Day!  We did not have any salmon in the house, so we could not make salmon patties, but we did put some peppermint sticks into some dill pickles and suck on them all day.  And of course we had tacos.  Someone did finally pay for the tacos, didn’t they?  We were careful not to stand in front of the washing machine, because, you know, on Jackie Washington day, sometimes people just die.  At least that’s what Ethyl says, and she is definitely not bitter.

Next year in Kinloch!

Totally OT:  David has introduced me to Anderson & Roe.  Here’s one of their videos.  They are playing their own arrangement for piano, four hands, of Piazzola’s “Libertango.”

Advertisements

About revjatb

I am a father of six who is trying to do his best! My interests are varied. I have one blog, KnowTea, that is primarily focused on liturgy and worship and another one, Bengtsson's Baking, that is about, well, baking! I hope you enjoy both of them, and if you have any questions, please contact me!
This entry was posted in Fun, Holidays, Music, Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

11 Responses to I was remiss . . .

  1. Kim says:

    What a gorgeous arrangement. I loved it, loved it! I may have to steal it from your site.

    And put it on mine.

    Thanks.

  2. Capt. Whook says:

    Apart from the smoldering musicality of Anderson & Roe’s performance of “Libertango,” the sheer logistics of the cantilevered, single-wide bench cohabitation combined with playing Twister boggles the mind. 🙂 You can be hit in the nose by your partner’s elbow playing much tamer four-handed music, you know.

  3. cancerman says:

    Have you gone totally bonkers? Why would you do that to peppermint?

  4. RevJATB says:

    You’ll have to go ask Play Mama if you don’t understand.

    Or Bea Arthur.

  5. Capt. Whook says:

    The A & R “Blue Danube” one is . . . well, you’ll just have to watch. Corny, tacky, cute, brilliant, near genius.

    I think they worked in every devilish piano trick possible, including the best use of a left-forearm cluster chord I’ve ever seen or heard. And to top it off with Jerry Lee Lewis/Mickey Gillie glissandos–rolling on the floor funny.

  6. RevJATB says:

    Yes, but can Greg Anderson pull a gold collar pin out of his inside suit coat pocket at the last minute when he realizes he has no idea where his paper clip is that he needs for the very end of his George Crumb prepared piano piece? (Never mind the fact that I always had a gold collar pin in my pocket from about 1981 to about 1990.)

    I wonder if Turkiewicz had a cow when I pulled out the colored chalk to mark the strings?

  7. Capt. Whook says:

    It’s GREG Anderson. We don’t need any more David A’s. 🙂

  8. RevJATB says:

    Oops. My mistake. Will fix.

    And a world populated by David A’s wouldn’t be so bad. 🙂

  9. Capt. Whook says:

    Gold collar pin, eh? Was that a “lucky” object? I had one for performances–I won’t tell you what it was (still is). It’s not so much lucky as “been through thick and thin.”

    Now, in the 80s there was other shirt “hardware.” I liked to wear button covers with barrel cuffs, as I didn’t like playing in French cuffs, but wanted the cuff link look.

  10. RevJATB says:

    Not a lucky object. It just lived in the inside pocket of my suit coat, or more normally, my blue blazer–which, with a white shirt, grey flannel trousers, and a rep tie of some sort, was my default dress uniform in college. On less dressy occasions, the khaki trousers would sub for the grey flannel ones. The gold collar pin lived in the inside pocket for those rare occasions when I was wearing a shirt that did not have a buttoned-down collar, because the collar just. has. to. stay. down.

    I didn’t mind playing in French cuffs. I just insisted on the little knotted silk cuff links (remember those?) because they wouldn’t make noise if they inadvertently bumped the keys.

    And the dress shoes were the Weejuns, of course. Sigh. What we wore in the 80s may have been boring and predictable, but it sure made it easy to get dressed in the morning.

    That is until about 1987, after I had lost 70 pounds, when I traded in all my Jos. A. Bank clothes–never could afford Brooks Brothers–for lots of trendy stuff.

    Now I’m pretty much back to Jos. A. Bank. Although they tell me parachute pants are coming back . . .

  11. Capt. Whook says:

    70 pounds! Was it that much? I remember that you were fairly svelte when we endured Badminton in PE (with a mentally ill coach who actually took Badminton seriously).

    **SARCASM ALERT** Oh, I DO hope they show hours and hours of Badminton coverage during the Olmypics instead of water polo!

    Anyway, for those just tuning in, as poor, overworked, music majors, we had to attend about 100 evening concerts and recitals over our time as undergraduates. We were supposed to dress up very nicely, and often had to usher for the Birmingham Music Club events in the Wright Concert Hall at SU. It wasn’t always possible to dress, however. And, without fail, the very times one didn’t would be when one would run into a Grande Dame Voice Teacher who didn’t mind confronting one about it. One time in particular, I look about as uncharacteristically horrible as possible: greasy hair, hadn’t shaved in days (well that wasn’t unusual), chocolate stain on choir sweatshirt, hole in pants showing boxers, etc. I was going to sit up front, but Grande Dame glowered at me with such hostility that I threw up my hands, murmured, “been studying for a math test tomorrow that I’ll probably fail,” and ran off to sit in the balcony. And I did fail the test.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s