Category Archives: foolishness

A Night at the Symphony

Last night my wife took us to the Dallas Symphony Orchestra for a performance of Gustav Mahler’s Das Klagende Lied (The Song of Lamentation).  So, you can bet we were in for a happy night just based on the title of the piece.  As you might’ve detected from the post title’s similarity to the Marx Brother’s movie A Night at the Opera, I took along my wacky mental versions of the Marx Brothers… whom I call the Snarcks Brothers.  They are Scarpigo, Cinco, and Zero Snarcks. Think Groucho, Chico, and Harpo, and then my mental fartgas won’t prevent you from understanding quite as easily.

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Jaap Van Zweden, conductor of the DSO, and aspiring impersonator of Grumpy from the Seven Dwarfs

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Scarpigo, Cinco, and Zero Snarcs… so to speak…

Now, don’t get me wrong, I love classical music and I like Mahler okay.  But his music tends to be depressing and sad.  I don’t mean merely depressing and sad, but deep down at the bottom of the canyon with hill giants tossing boulders at your head in the midst of a thunderstorm symphonic sort of depressing and sad.  It could really bum me out, so I was prepared to have Scarpigo lean over the balcony rail numerous times to shout “Booga-booga!” at the concert goers.  And the Blues lost to the Sharks in the Stanley Cup playoffs already this past week.

Fortunately the DSO often adopts the old movie theater tactic of cartoon shorts before the feature film… the same way Pixar does for Disney now.  They chose Aaron Copland’s Clarinet Concerto as the cartoon short.  Now this is also supposed to be sad music, a single clarinet, a single harp, and a single piano… surrounded by violins, the gushing tears of every symphony orchestra.  But it is Copland, my fourth favorite composer of all time, behind only DeBussy, Motzart, and Beethoven.  As a synesthete, I can tell you that Copland’s music is always no bluer than silver, and tends to be more vermilion, rosy pink, yellow-orange and carmine red… more happy and passionate than depressing.  Then too, Cinco Snarcks whispered in my ear that since I have this Van Zweden/ Grumpy thing going on already in my head, I should look carefully at the clarinet soloist.  Yep, bald head, white hair and slight white beard and glasses… Doc!  And the pianist, bald head and big ears… Dopey!  The night would be Gustav Mahler and the Seven Dwarfs.  Zero Snarcks was thinking about squeezing off a toot or three from his little horn and maybe using light cords hanging from the ceiling for an impromptu trapeze act, but he took one look at the elegant, swan-like harpist  and fell too much in love to interrupt.

The main show, however, was everything I thought it was going to be, and worse.  They had a translator screen hung from the cords Zero wanted to go for a swing on, that took all the incomprehensible choir-crooned lyrics and translated them from German into English.  The story of Das Klagende Lied is taken from the Grimm Fairy Tale, The Bone Flute.  It tells the tale of two knightly brothers, one good and one evil, who set out to win the hand of a very self-centered but beautiful queen.  She can only be won by the finding of a special red flower that grows under a willow tree.  The knights agree to split up and search the enchanted forest for the flower.  Naturally, the good knight finds it and plucks it, putting it in the band of his hat.  And just as naturally, the good knight flops down stupidly under the willow tree to take a nap.  The evil brother finds his brother sleeping and sees the flower in his hat.  So, like any evil knight would, he kills his brother and takes the flower.

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Scarpigo’s comment on this particular story.

The evil brother then rushes off to the queen’s castle.  A minstrel wanders past the willow tree, finds a gleaming leg bone, and immediately thinks, “I have to make that into a flute!”  And when he does, the only song the flute will play is the lament about how the evil brother made meat pie out of his good brother and stole the flower.  Then, naturally enough, the flute forces the minstrel to go play at the wedding.

I’m sure you know how it goes from there.  The queen hears the bone flute’s enchanted song and flops down dead, apparently a heart-attack from shock.  And if the queen dies, then the castle has to magically fall down on the new king, the minstrel. and all the wedding guests.  A gruesome, terrible time is had by all.

So, I had a good time after all.  Scarpigo leans over to whisper to me, “That was more fun than a barrel of monkeys smoking crack, wasn’t it?”  Yes, purple, blue, blue-violet, and indigo music, and I am left depressed as hell. But when my wife asked how I liked it, I put on a happy face and said, “That’s the silliest thing I ever heard!”

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Feeling a Little Loony

Some days I feel loony… April first comes to mind

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And I can be quite cartoony… It really helps to unwind

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So I’ll make some Paffooney… and draw it while blind

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And grow really prunie… old wrinkles unwind

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And magic up some moony… to leave all worry behind.

Dumb Luck

April Fools! from an old fool.

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A Growing Collection of Sunrises

I have been moaning and complaining in this blog for a couple of weeks.  I don’t have bad days.  I have bad weeks… bad months… bad years.  And making fun of my pain, making light of my suffering, is a way of making myself feel better.  Making light of serious stuff… it occurs to me that that is what God does every single morning when the sun rises.

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My most recent sunrise… 2016

You may be aware if you have read about me making light of my raging hoarding disorder that not only do I collect things that normal people don’t keep massive quantities of, but I also collect photos I have taken of sunrises I have seen.  As I woke this morning with an ache in my chest I really should see the doctor about again (I have seen a cardiologist twice in the last five years about the same nagging pain, and the best they can tell me is that it might be an arthritis pain in my lower rib cage) I thought melancholy thoughts again about my personal end of days.  One of the reasons I continue to collect sunrises is to celebrate the fact that I am still here, still witnessing God making light of the serious universe.  I really think that may be the most important thing in life… to live, and love, and laugh… to experience existence.  I am a tiny little creature on one small blue planet in a vast and seemingly never-ending ocean of space and stars.  The iron in my blood was forged in the centers of distant stars that were born, grew old and died, and littered the universe with their element-rich guts when they finally exploded in an amazing super-nova of stellar fart-gas that it is possible no living intelligent being ever witnessed.  I am insignificant.  And the universe will not miss me when I am gone.  And it may not even know I was ever here.  But I am here to see the sun come up.  That is a duty I continue to perform.

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I know it may look like I am endlessly snapping the same picture over and over again.  But every day the subtle pinks and purples and blues… the oranges and reds… make a different Jackson Pollack painting of the sky.  And I look at it carefully while the dog is impatiently tugging at the end of the leash because she wants to go piddie-paw and poo.  It is a beauty to be bathed in… and I apparently have earned one more to add to my collection.

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In the Mind’s Eye

horse3So, why do I write what I write, and why do I draw what I draw?  The answer to those questions is critical to why I am me and not you, or some other goofy-stupid-crazy-intellectual-boring-weird-nutty person.  The answer is somewhere out in left field right now, lost in the tall grass where the left fielder will never find it.  What makes us unique?  What makes us individual?  Why is my brother not a photo-copy of me?  Why is my son so separate, different, and unique from me?  Will I ever stop asking these damned questions?

I am the knight of the white rose.  I am that because of my philosophical links to Rosicrucians, choosing empiricism over dogma, science over faith, and being willing to heal the world without payment.  We’re talking secret society stuff here, because when the world stumbles across real Rosicrucians, it tends to kill them.  Oh, and I’m not a real one, by the way.  Please don’t immediately start planning my tortured death. But I do believe that stories about love and forgiveness can change the world for the better.  Look at what the carpenter from Galilee was able to do.

And I tend to treat the fantasy elements, the Pegasus and unicorns from my daydreams, as real.  Not because I am loopy enough to actually believe in nonsense.  I said before, “empiricism over dogma” and “science over faith”.  But belief in human imagination and its magical power is not heresy.

So, here it is… the answer that you seek; I am infected seriously with Disney-itis in my artwork.  A strong layering of Norman Rockwell and Maxfield Parrish over a Dr. Seuss base.  In my fiction, my prose, and my poetry, I am Mark Twain and Thomas Hardy, Charles Dickens and the Bard, and a dash of Kurt Vonnegut mixed in for taste.  Put in the oven and baked for six hours at 350 degrees, and then frosted with a thick, creamy covering of Robert Frost and sequins.

Did I make you laugh?  Make you smile, at least?  Make you angry?  Make you want to hire Opus Dei hit men to track me down and kill me with holy hand grenades?  If you pick any of those answers, then my work here is done.  I have explained myself… and that’s all I’m gonna say about that.

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