August 2005

August 31, 2005 05:56

I've spent the last couple of days following the emails and journal of a friend of mine who lives in Biloxi, MS. Thank goodness that she had wit enough to leave town before the storm hit; thank goodness that her parents, who stayed home because the traffic was too bad, are alright.

She's not sure where her older brother and his family are. They haven't been in touch since Monday morning.

She took her husband and her cats with her, but she didn't think to pack her flute. She hasn't seen her house yet, but much of it is likely to be gone.

I was looking on eBay for a flute to send her; I suppose I should wait until she finds out what's there where her house should be. Keep your fingers crossed that it's still standing.

2 replies | Archive link

August 15, 2005 11:49

I think we're being taken advantage of.

For the last couple of years, a bunch of us have gotten together for a session at the local farmers' market. The deal was always that we could come if we liked and we'd just put a hat out for tips.

Eventually we formed a proper band, playing for occasional contradances and other gigs.

This summer, they specifically asked us to come and play, as a scheduled commitment, about once a month. We agreed.

Usually, the vendors have been very nice -- certain ones are always extremely supportive and generous. If we ask, they're willing to give us free produce, etc.

The crowd has always been stingy -- I'm not sure if they realize that we don't get paid otherwise. So it's not a surprise that we only had $12 in donations last weekend.

What was a surprise is this: I told the market manager that we really don't get properly compensated -- really, this is a gig, and while we'll play cheap for this market out of loyalty, we would like a few perqs. So I asked her to pass around a bag to the vendors just to make them aware that we're playing out of the goodness of our hearts and we'll take any charity they'd like to give.

I was hoping for a head of lettuce or a few tomatoes.

With about 12 vendors or so, I got the bag back with a total of $3 in it. No invites to come by a booth, no tomatoes.

Hey, I'll take the $3. But really, for five musicians -- good musicians, mind you, and we've been told numerous times that we vastly improve the ambience for the market -- $15 doesn't even pay for our gas to get there.

I don't think I'll commit to play there anymore. If I feel like going, great. It's still fun, it's a nice market. But I don't need the stress of having it conflict with other engagements, having to rush down there early on a Saturday, etc.

What would you do?

6 replies | Archive link

August 9, 2005 07:52

Yeah, so, how the heck do people "at my level of playing" find four hours a day to practice?

How the heck am I even at that level, when I barely spend an hour every couple of days at practicing?

Husbands require so much attention. Really. Not that I don't love him, but can't he be more like my cat?

And this whole employment deal. I like my job. Really. But, nine hours per day?

Social life -- friends actually expect attention, don't they? Yeah, I think they do.

And orchestra -- I'm really rather peeved, because the orchestra concert is on the same weekend as my yearly expedition into the realm of Vermont gaming geeks. It's my favorite ever convention to go to, and we've been there every year since it started, and two more of my friends were going to go! But, the convention changed weekends midstream, so the concert date ended up being set when we thought the convention was the week before. I called the manager, but haven't heard back yet. I don't expect it'll change. And in all fairness, it shouldn't have to.

That doesn't change the fact that I'm peeved about it.

I read an article about "multipotentiality" the other day, and I think I have that particular disease -- the symptoms include not being able to make up one's mind about what to do with oneself. I do too much, and I like doing too much.

My house hasn't been vacuumed in ages.

10 replies | Archive link

More entries: October 2005 • July 2005