As a guitarist, I play many gigs. Recently I was asked by a funeral director to play at a graveside service for a homeless man. He had no family or friends, so the service was to be at a pauper’s cemetery in the back country. As I was not familiar with the backwoods, I got lost.
I finally arrived an hour late and saw the funeral guy had evidently gone and the hearse was nowhere in sight. There were only the diggers and crew left and they were eating lunch.
I felt badly and apologized to the men for being late. I went to the side of the grave and looked down and the vault lid was already in place. I didn’t know what else to do, so I started to play.
The workers put down their lunches and began to gather around. I played out my heart and soul for this man with no family and friends. I played like I’ve never played before for this homeless man.
And as I played ‘Amazing Grace,’ the workers began to weep. They wept, I wept, we all wept together. When I finished, I packed up my guitar and started for my car. Though my head hung low, my heart was full.
As I opened the door to my car, I heard one of the workers say, “I never seen nothin’ like that before and I’ve been putting in septic tanks for twenty years."
Apparently, I’m still lost…
by Scott Robbins, posted on Musicians Humor
Until I Saw Your Foot
I thought this music was in four,
Until I saw your foot.
But now I think it must be three,
Or maybe five, I can't quite see.
Or six? Or maybe not.
I thought this piece was rather slow,
Until I saw your foot.
But now I think it's double speed -
Sometimes it's very fast indeed.
And other times it's not.
I thought conductors gave the beat,
Until I saw your foot.
But now I think it rather neat,
To look at all the tapping feet,
And choose the speed that I prefer,
And play along with him - or her.
I find it helps a lot.
I thought my timing was all wrong,
Until I saw your foot.
Conductors beat both east and west,
But we don't play with all the rest:
We've found a tempo of our own,
An
But now I think it rather neat,
To look at all the tapping feet,
And choose the speed that I prefer,
And play along with him - or her.
I find it helps a lot.
I thought my timing was all wrong,
Until I saw your foot.
Conductors beat both east and west,
But we don't play with all the rest:
We've found a tempo of our own,
And bar by bar, our love has grown.
O I was feeling so alone,
Until I saw your foot.
Poem by © Heather Wastie
Odds & Ends
Craigslist Posting for a Piccolo…
Actual posting. Wonder if she ever got it sold?
They call the trumpet “God’s Instrument.” The instrument that takes a month to learn and a lifetime to master. Forget that. I’m giving you the chance to own “Satan’s Instrument.” The instrument that takes a second to hate and a lifetime to get used to. If your goal is world domination, getting the ball rolling on the apocalypse, or simply disarming someone who’s a little too “rapey,” this miniature flute of terror will hold the game down. And how.
Brought to you by Lucifer himself, this 4SP Silver Plated Gemienhardt Piccolo will serve his evil minion well. From it’s compact arthritis-inducing body this pipe will unleash a sound that can bring entire crowds of people to their knees in pain and surrender. If you’re thinking of starting a bloody coup, leave the AK-47s and sarin gas at home son, this picc is all you need.
This instrument has the ability to sing an A five lines above the staff so crisp and clear that if you’re not careful may actually cleave your conductor’s brain clean in half. It’s highest note is one only dogs can hear, that composers have dubbed “X.”
Apart from the oboe, this is the only instrument able to kick a field goal of pain right between the goal posts of your unfortunate target’s neurons, resulting in synaptic misfires, blown mental fuses, and a complete breakdown of all left brain activity, leaving the right brain to writhe in pain and confusion whilst scrambling all bodily motor functions. Any soul unlucky enough to wind up on the business end of Beezulbub’s piccolo will instantly be reduced to the fetal position and revoked of their right to free will.
Aside from violating several Geneva Convention protocols, this wailing weaponry can produce frequencies that wreak havoc upon others by causing:
– sudden unexpected nosebleeds
– aphasia
– heart palpitations
– aneurisms
– loss of sanity
– unexplainable rage
– spontaneous combustion
– abandonment of the will to live
– anal leakage
It’s a common mistake to think that the piccolo also has side effects on it’s user. Many claim it causes acute narcissism, but in reality the only people drawn to this instrument are already delusionally narcissistic, have serial killer tendencies, and show traits as promising future dictators.
Because of this instrument, I now rule over my own sovereign island, where I preach from balconies and lounge in my throne poppin’ bottles while getting fanned with palm fronds waved by ridiculously hot cabana boys. Tomorrow’s forecast: Whatever the hell I want.
Since I’m livin’ the dream, I’m retiring from my reign of terror and passing on the torch. Being evil is an arduous, exhaustive effort, and this musical scepter cannot be played by your average whitebread vanilla villain. Only the most cunning, dextrous, morally ambiguous, and questionably sane may apply. Who among you is worthy?
$300 obo. Willing to throw in a box of gravel and ship.
