And As Your President, I Will Never Say "New-cu-lur"

Of course, I am a member in good standing of the B'burg Community Band. Well, I hope I'm still in good standing after skipping out on their annual Memorial Day concert, which was at 10:30am yesterday and would have involved my getting up early and forsaking a rare day off from work and having to play patriotic music, which I hate.

It's a long story, that. I'd hate to think I'm getting jaded here, but I may be.

I've been in the band since its inception, I was there on the first night and many, many nights since, and I show for almost all concerts. It involves a lot of driving. I've only taken two sabbaticals from band, one during my surgery and one several years ago when I had to sit beside someone so horrid I just couldn't take it anymore. She was annoying, and she hit me. She actually hit me, several times, in the arm, and thought it was funny. And she was the worst oboe player I've ever heard, even worse than I am, and that says more about her oboe playing than you'll ever know. But eventually she moved off to greener pastures, and got to hit other people in the arms, so I went back, and when Kellie with an i-e came along and started playing oboe with me, it was nothing short of a little slice of heaven. And all was well again.

But I can't help it. I'm getting a little tired. I'm tired of the traveling and time, and I'm tired of giving up every holiday I have to scoot to B'burg, a 70 mile one-way drive, playing a selection of music, then driving back home. I told myself I was going to pick and choose my concerts this year, not worry about being the "dependable one," the one who'll always show up because numbers are going to be thin for whichever concerts people don't want to attend because they have something better to do. And I don't care if I don't have anything better to do; sometimes sitting in the chair in my pajamas staring into space is something better to do. That decision went by the wayside last week when I hauled my cookies out to Claytor Lake to play, yes, patriotic music, wind blowing my music and my hair, which I did simply because no one else wanted to show up.

Now, before I go on, maybe I should say that the B'Burg Community Band has given me many years of pleasure. Playing pleasure and socializing pleasure. We're an incredibly varied selection of folks of all ages, economic backgrounds, musical backgrounds, and personalities, and I like it that way. I'd never suggest we become a group of musicbots.

Somewhere along the third or so year of band, we started having a board of officers. A president, vice-president, secretary, treasurer, and three members-at-large, who were sort of liasons from the band members to the other officers. In the early days this didn't mean much, and I was once a member-at-large back in those days. We had about one meeting a year where we talked about trying to get new members and raise money, but we didn't do much of either, and no one much cared anyway. Now it's a little more organized and intense.

A couple of years ago, we started a new feature at band. Our practices go for two hours, which is more than enough and yet can never possibly be enough, if you get my drift, and there's a short break in between the two hours where we can socialize, get a drink of water, go to the bathroom, socialize in the bathroom, or whatever. For years, at the beginning of break our Fearless Leader Ed would make a few announcements of upcoming concerts we had, and then we'd all get up and hit the hallway to talk and stretch.

Then something changed. I'm not sure whose idea it was, Ed's or the new president's, but it changed wherein at the beginning of break the president now comes to the head of the band and gives announcements. And all fucking hell has broken loose.

Our break used to be about 10 or 15 minutes of relaxed happiness. Now that's been taken up with endless announcements. No, you don't understand. Endless announcements. It meanders from our upcoming concerts, all sent out in emails anyway, to upcoming concerts by the B'burg Community Strings, The Early Music Ensemble, The Master Chorale, The Grand Hoo-Hah Winds, The New River Harmonica Band, The Children's Deaf-Mute Sign Language Choir, concerts at Virginia Tech, local musicals coming to town, student recitals, and Aunt Fran playing the piano in her living room next Tuesday at 7:00.

Then, when asked if anyone else has anything to say, we get people raising their hands and giving their announcements of charities they're working with, political causes, sign my petition so the new road won't come through my backyard, my daughter is selling Girl Scout cookies again, thought you might like to hear this joke someone told me, help the B'Burg High School Band by buying whatever, let's help the Bird Quartet get back together even though they all hate each other's guts and are involved in lawsuits, and please pray for Aunt Fran and her arthritis, since she's decided to play the piano in her living room next Tuesday at 7:00.

And just as you think it may possibly be over, someone - this isn't a random someone, this is the same someone every single week, has to pop up and start the "remember what we're wearing for the concert" conversation, which should be amusing since we've worn the same thing for concerts all 17 years of our existence, but it's not amusing, it's fucking annoying, and then she has to remind us all to bring our own stands to the concerts, which we've also been doing for 17 years.

So our 10 or 15 minutes of relaxed happiness is now 20 or 25 minutes of all this, with me sitting there on the front row with my head down uttering, "Jesus Christ," and "Oh, God, let this be over," and "Holy shit," and "Shutupshutupshutup." And someone usually has to pipe up somewhere during all this with a loud, "SHHHHHH!" to stop people from being rude and talking during it all, when no one seems to understand that people are talking because they don't give a shit about any of this and just want their fucking break. I mean, I'm the kind of person who frowns upon people being rude and talking over other people, but Holy Jesus, I can understand it. The talking during the actual playing of the music I don't understand, however, and there's someone in our ranks who does that as well, but I'm not the type to call anyone on that, just like I'm not the type to call anyone on the fact that she might want to ix-nay on the constant honking of her bassoon reed while our conductors are trying to tell us something that could possibly be important. So instead, Mr M has been bringing the duck call from Sauerkraut Band to practice, and every time she blurts out what we call a "bassoon fart," we answer her with the duck call. Which I guess makes us just as rude. And shame on us.

So where is all this leading? Well, it's leading here. I think next year I'm running for band president.

I've generally shied away from being officer material, simply because I don't live in B'burg. Sure, being a member-at-large was fine, there's no schmoozing with town officials to get us gigs, and back then we only had that one meeting anyway. But I'm setting all that aside so I can be band president and whip this bunch into shape.

My first order of business will be to declare war on the B'burg Community Strings. I hate the B'burg Community Strings, they just formed because they saw the band playing around town, they didn't even come up with a creative name, they just stole ours, and they horn in on our two biggest concerts of the year, the ones for Christmas and July 4th. This past Christmas I think the band's entire setlist had dwindled to four songs. The strings' songs are endless repeatings of the same musical phrase for about 10 minutes, and we've had to alter arrangements of our own music so they can play along, and that normally involves clarinet parts with upwards of five sharps in them. And they sound like bees. They sound like bees swarming a man and preparing to kill him, and when they play with us it sounds like the B'burg Community Band is being attacked by bees. Which I know probably makes the odd soul out there happy, but I don't like it, and I'm declaring war.

Then I'm revamping announcement time. Announcement time will be 15 minutes of relaxed happiness again. It will begin with me saying hello, announcing the next concert, and saying, "read your email for all else." Then I'll maybe read a blog to them or suggest a movie, and they can hit the road. If anyone in the band has an announcement or question, they can damn well send it out in an email or get off their asses and talk to their neighbors about it during the break. We're not babies here, people, step it up and act like men.

I'm also toying with the idea of a 2½ hour band practice, the first half-hour of which will be Impromptu Cocktail Time. We're making enough money in the treasury now that we can furnish some beers, I'll make a pitcher of martinis, and I have no doubt this will make for a happier band. I begin almost every spring concert with a healthy dose of Goldschlager and it hasn't hurt me yet.

Incentives. Incentives, people. We need sectional practice, but no one wants to take the time to do it. So I'm going to instill some section pride the hard way. At the end of every band practice I shall stand up and announce who the worst section was for that practice. Then everyone gets to scowl at that section with a look that says, "You're a disappointment and you're bringing us down." This might push the band to do what I've wished they'd do for years, and the clarinets have tried unsuccessfully once, have actual sectionals outside band time. I know it's revolutionary, and the idea of thinking about band anytime other than the two hours we're there has been till now unheard of, but unless these folks want scowls and embarrassment for their sections, there'd better be some by-God practicing. Because if a section gets the Disapproving Scowl two weeks in a row, the floggings will begin, by the other band members, involving whatever flogging tool they've brought along for the task.

Now, practice attendance at band has never been mandatory, and I'm not about to change that. However, I am adopting a new rule regarding practice. If you decide that coming to practice is not important enough to fit into your busy schedule, then show up at a concert to play the first part and all the solos because your family and friends have shown up to see you, and you screw up your part, and you inevitably will, you will be punched square in the moosh by the band member who draws the lucky ticket, the white piece of paper with the big red dot on it. Tickets will be sold to band members at a nominal fee of one dollar, and members can purchase as many tickets as they like until we run out of tickets. This is going to be called the G Rule, and if only I could have that rule written into every band I'm associated with, and I'm only associated with two, so you know where that's going, I'd be a happy girl indeed.

And finally, I'm taking a little idea from reality TV. Every month the band will have a "Survivor"-style vote wherein one band member will be booted from our ranks. Members can vote during practice, then I'll tally the votes and read them before we go home. Voting can be based on musical ability, whether or not someone attends practice, or concerts, or is just generally annoying. Or broke your reed. Or wore something one week you didn't like. Or looked at you funny. I don't care. I am, of course, exempt from banishment, being president, but whoever gets the most votes will be out. Or at least sent to the front lines in the war against the B'burg Community Strings. And believe me, that won't be a good place, at least not without bee repellent, and eye protection from all those flailing bows.

I think it could work. Unless someone reads this blog first. Damn that power of the press.

Betland's Olympic Update:
* Acrowinners, we have acrowinners. We don't have acrowinners? Oh, I don't guess we do. Sorry about the absence from blogging lately, but sometimes a girl just needs a little vacation.