Oh, Those Heady Chicago Days, or You - Me - Atlanta - 2006

You know, there are things about me that some of you know and some don't, and then there are those things that more of you don't know than do, and sometimes I enlighten the world on certain facts and sometimes I don't. It all depends on how forthcoming I'm feeling at any given time, or whether or not I'm ready to admit to certain character flaws I may or may not have. Usually not, of course.

Now, anyone who's read my blog at least once probably knows I play the clarinet. I've told tales of my clarinetting, some involving a fair amount of violence, that would curl one's hair. But there's a fact about me that most of you probably didn't realize. I was once a professional symphony clarinet player. Up until about two years ago, I was the second clarinetist for the Chicago Symphony.

How it all happened was quite odd. I did it basically as a lark. I'd never played in a symphony before, and thought, "Hey, what makes those guys who can actually play their instruments so special?" And so I wrote a letter to the Chicago Symphony telling them I wanted to join up.

They invited me for an audition. I went, but I didn't take my clarinet along. It was something of a ploy. Instead, I took along Peabody and his crack team of lawyers. I told them if they thought I was actually going to play for them they were seriously deluding themselves, told them Mr Peabody had my list of demands, and promptly walked out of the room. And now, I don't know exactly what transpired in that room after I walked out, but I do know that about 2 hours later Peabody came out smiling and telling me all my demands had been met. I was now the second clarinetist in the Chicago Symphony, with "room for advancement."

And my contract was something to behold. First of all, I only had to show up for rehearsals if I wanted to. I'd fly in for performances, but as for rehearsing, I could do that through telecommuting. So every once in a while I'd dial up ol' Danny (that would be Daniel Barenboim, conductor), and he'd prop the phone up on my chair, and I'd play along. When I felt like it. There's really not much checking to do that way, so if I got tired I'd watch a little TV or drink a cup of coffee. It was a good arrangement, for me, anyway, and sometimes if the passages were too hard or my embouchure got tired, I'd just sing along with the melody, like an opera singer. It was fun.

Then, and believe me folks, this was good for me, I had a codicil in my contract that excused me from playing in any key signatures with more than 3 sharps or 3 flats. I also was not forced to play in any "weird" time signatures, like 9/8, 12/8, 5/8, or 12/16. I would never be forced to play anything faster than a sixteenth note (goodbye, 32ds and 64ths), and if a piece had a tempo of over 100 beats per minute, I wouldn't be required to do any tonguing.

I was also promised that I would be allowed to play my "signature piece," the one I myself arranged, "Symphonic Theme And Variations On 'Turkey In The Straw,'" a clarinet barn-burner and crowd-pleaser if there ever was.

And of course, the Chicagoans gave in to my demands that I never be asked to play the alto clarinet, as that is a nerd's instrument, and also conceded to my "I will never, under any circumstances, play anything by Wagner" rule.

And so it was a damn fine contract. And I was second chair clarinet, with "room for advancement." And "room for advancement" meant one thing and one thing only. Larry Combs.

Larry Combs is, of course, the principal clarinetist with the Chicago Symphony. Larry Combs is one of those guys who can actually play his instrument. Quite well, or so the Powers That Be say. I mean, he's principal clarinetist for the Chicago Symphony, right? And while I was languishing in obscurity all those years he was off doing tours and making records and, well, probably even practicing. The bastard.

But somehow, heady with power over my great contract, I had no qualms whatsoever about that "room for advancement," and knew that soon enough I'd leave Larry in the dust.

But Larry was a tougher nut to crack than I'd thought.

I guess the resentment was always there between Larry and me. I saw him as the obstacle standing betwixt me and that mightiest of clarinet pinnacles, first chair. And he saw me as the upstart who'd gotten way too much way too fast. He was afraid of me, I was convinced. And I planned to use that to my advantage.

So everytime we'd meet for a performance, there he'd be, in his place as principal clarinetist, in his tuxedo. He'd look over at me and smile, well, not so much a smile as a smirk, and start warming up with scales and flourishes of arpeggios. I'd look over at him, smile, and play one note. Generally a middle A-flat. Then announce myself ready for the performance. I know that unnerved him.

But what unnerved him even more is that anytime we were sitting side by side and there was a moment for relaxation, I'd start up playing, quietly, a chorus of "Turkey In The Straw." And I'd play, a little louder, louder, louder, until finally I was blasting it has hard as I could. It was so fun to watch the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

And so Chicago was the party I never thought would end. And then, guess what. Well, to be blunt, it ended. When the first year of my contract was up, I was not renewed. They didn't renew me! Can you believe it? And not only did they not renew me, but they wouldn't even see Peabody and his crack team of lawyers! And so it was adios, fuck my advancement, and they made me give back my credentials, the free reeds I'd gotten from various companies, and they even took away my official Chicago Symphony windbreaker. I loved that thing. It was blue. And had a hood.

To say I was bitter over this whole dismissal is something of an understatement. And before long I became convinced of the reason for my whole non-renewal. Larry! I had visions of Larry listening in on the phone during my telecommuting rehearsals - "I heard the TV going! I heard her slurping coffee!" I was sure he was telling Barenboim about missed sharps and flats, and my being out of tune that night we played "La Forza del Destino," and how when we did "Selections from Carmen" I kept making Carmen Miranda jokes and trying to sneak fruit onto his head. I saw it all in my mind.

And it wasn't long after that that I saw something else. With my eyes.

It was a scant weeks later that I opened up my brand-new copy of that most boring of periodicals, "The Clarinet," and right there - right there on the very first damn page was this. Yes! Larry now had a big new endorsement contract and was smirking at me personally right from the pages of the clarinet player's number one magazine.

It wasn't long after that that Mr M and I traveled to Clarinetfest up in Washington DC. I wasn't going to go after the whole non-renewal debacle, but Mr M thought it might cheer me up. Well, he said he thought it might cheer me up. Seems he had an ulterior motive in the trip. For guess who else was going to be there. Yep, you got it. Larry Combs. You see, Mr M seems to like egging on this rivalry for some reason. I think he thinks it will inspire me to practice and become a better clarinetist. And I thought he knew me better than that.

We spent a few days at Clarinetfest, but Mr Combs' and my paths never crossed. I think he was avoiding me. Probably had "his people" on the lookout for me at all venues. And that's OK. I was still a little depressed from the whole dismissal and losing my windbreaker and everything. I don't think I could have given him much of a confrontation anyway.

But guess what - this year, Clarinetfest is in Atlanta. Yeah, Atlanta, my stomping ground. I've already booked my time off from work to go down with Mr M. And if you don't think he's not excited about the prospect of my meeting Larry Combs face to face, check out this little tidbit - he just bought a brand new Larry Combs CD and has already made me listen to it once.

So this summer, there's going to be a big showdown on Peachtree St. What will the weapons be? I haven't decided yet. "Turkey In The Straw" at 10 paces, a fencing duel with our clarinets (with the precursor of slapping each other across the face with our clarinet swabs), a reed fight.... Who knows? Maybe I'll just stare him down till he cries.

And one thing's for sure. When the showdown's over, I'm taking his windbreaker away from him. And running like hell.

Betland's Olympic Update:
* Acrowinners, get your red-hot Acrowinners here. So, what is the title of your memoirs?
- Honorable Mention goes to Jellybean, with her "Hooking, Rogering, Buxomnessosity, Derring-Doo." That sounds more like a subtitle, but I can't refuse anyone who thought of "derring-do" for the DD.
- Runner-up goes to Michelle, with her "Holy 'Rection, Batman! Double "D"!" There's so much to love about Michelle....
- And this week's winner goes to Mike, with his "His Royal Badness Does Dallas." Of course, we also happen to know that Mike does in fact rock by dirty deeds, but I want to read about his Dallas exploits.
- Thanks to all who played! You've all done very well!