Pretty Leaves and Boney Freeze

The Dynamic Duo once again traveled to Fayetteville to Smokeys On the Gorge to play yet another bone chilling wedding. Last time, Lisa shivered and shook, so she prepared by wearing layers including a coat, scarf and gloves with holes cut for the fingertips. Even then, the wind cut right through. Damn. One man looked her straight in the eye and smugly remarked, "It's not that cold." The gentleman, and I use that term loosely, had not been out on the cold for over thirty minutes holding a metal rod (which leeches the warmth from your hands) all in the vain effort to play music. People are cattle.

She had been driven nuts by the wedding party, the father in particular. Normally, you can make arrangements by phone or by attending the rehearsal the night before, but these folks insisted on a sit-down at her house. For what seemed days, she answered questions, played her flute and explained all the pertinent details. Then, the family asked, "What if you can't make it at the last minute? What if something happens to you?" Dumbfounded. Never been asked that one before. Let me consult my crystal ball.

Then they had a rain plan. A very reasonable idea, but there's was to call us on the day of the wedding and tell us whether the ceremony was to take place at a church or at Smokeys. Logistically, this would mean that both the church and Smokeys would have to be decorated in time. We never did get a call, but later found out that the florists had put a stop on the duel decorating idea. Besides, after meeting them, they were clearly gay and we know gay doesn't do sloppy decorating. It's a wedding people, not a fire drill.

Smokeys is high on a mountain overlooking the New River Gorge. To have a wedding outside late October is a complete gamble, especially atop a mountain. When we left Charleston, it was in the 60's, but as soon as we arrived, the chill crept into your body. There was easily a ten to fifteen degree difference and the sun appeared to have other plans that day. I abandoned the idea of my suit jacket and opted for a thick sweater I had brought just in case. Turns out, it was a smart move.

When you are a duet playing for a public event, you must remember that if someone can walk on or over your equipment they will. If you play flute, you stand a good chance of getting your teeth knocked out. People are cattle at these events, mindlessly plodding into or onto anything. We are invisible. We took a position directly outside the door leading down to the deck. We put our amps in front of us in order to project the sound to the deck below and to create a barrier that hopefully would discourage people from walking on our stuff. We even put up a music stand and the dolly to create a solid wall between the amps. Sure enough, a woman decided that instead of walking a few more steps, she would just amble over. Unreal. I am convinced that if Lisa was not standing there, more people would have done this.

The sky was gray, little bits of drizzle and sudden Arctic blasts were the norm, except for one moment. The minister said the Irish blessing to the couple and just as he said, "May the sun shine on your faces and the sky be blue above you", as if on cue, the sun transformed the scene into warmth and light. People collectively gasped. The minister reiterated "the sky being blue above" one more time for a welcome laugh. Then, it was back to deep blue freeze.

After the ceremony, we played some jazz and with each tune, it got colder and windier until our final tune was just a joke. All sensible people were warm inside while the idiot musicians played to no one and fulfilled the remainder of their contracted service. I finally declared that I was frozen and had no more music to play. It was ridiculous, but this is what we mighty gigsters do for money. We have to. It's a pain, but the pay is good. It makes up for the indecision and craziness of wedding families. And the blue freeze.

We were hoping for some food and beverage afterwards, but all the food was taken away by the time we finished. The father of the bride had given us a check, the wedding party was being introduced and it was clearly time to leave. (You should never expect food, but like the hungry scavengers we are, sometimes it's good to get a little extra. It's payback for the humiliation, you see.)

Humiliation? What? You ungrateful bastard! Let me enlighten you.

SIDEBAR: A bandmate of mine revealed this little tale to me and it fits perfectly. He spent an evening at the home of a fellow Latino and his wife. After dinner, they played music from their native country and it must have sounded good because my friend innocently suggested that they play out somewhere. The look of insult on their faces was quite clear. He had crossed a line. It was as if he had just suggested dessert and a three-way. The man worked for Dow or some place like that and how could he stoop so low as to play music in public? My friend was truly hurt and astounded by this attitude. You see, people truly think like this. They may patronize musicians and even admire them, but in some circles, they are no more than low-life beggars.

Back to our humble tale.

We cranked up the heat and headed on 19 South. I was beat. The cold had really gotten me this time around. I was happy to head home.

The road hummed along, the heater keeping us toasty, I started to reflect privately about my so-called career as a musician. What strange and unexpected paths. No ivory tower for me. Nope. Lisa and I have been doing this for a long, long time. I think of us as front liners, seasoned pros who go where we're told, as long as the money is right. I'm absolutely sure that some of our ilk would think themselves above such a common gig as a wedding. (I could name names, but I don't need to make my point that way.) I don't have the luxury of such a position and I am proud of what I do. Besides, all of this is good blog fodder.

On Sunday, I felt fine all day until evening when I sensed something had gotten a hold of me. At bedtime, I got hit with the chills. I shook and shivered under the covers. Body aches and fever followed. One more parting gift from playing outside on a mountain in late fall.

Robey, Where Art Thou?

Sci Fi channel, now SyFy, has established itself for very lame original programming guaranteed to disappoint. Anyone remember the ads for Ice Spiders? And forget about zombies.

You can count on them for Twilight Zone marathons and the occasional rerun of Friday the 13th:The Series.

This series had nothing to do with the hockey masked mass murderer Jason, but producer Frank Mancuso, who had done Friday the 13th part deux, shamelessly used the name to attract viewers. Bad or good, it worked. In fact, you can find fansites for a show that went off the air nearly twenty years ago.

For a quick review: Cheap and cheesy, but sometimes creepy with some interesting story lines. The acting is oft over-the-top and the budget seemed very low, but it has just enough moments to make it very enjoyable.

SyFy has been sporadically running mini-thons of this Canadian horror lite series. Since this aired '87 to '90, I began to wonder what happened to the actors.

The lovely "Micki", always listed simply as Robey, Louise Robey was the eye candy for the series. With her huge, I mean '80s huge, flaming red hair, the series benefited more from her looks than acting ability. Robey has her own website which looks clunky and stuck in a time warp. Here we can hear her music (???), read her lyrics (???)and generally learn that she is working on new "projects." Of the three central actors, she seems to have done the least with acting.

The show's anchor was Chris Wiggins who played Jack Marshak. I thought I sensed The Bard and then I read, "Member of the prestigious Stratford Festival Acting Company in 1960 playing the roles in Romeo and Juliet, and in A Midsummer Night's Dream"." Wiggins brought a sense of gravitas and when you think about it, there should always be someone in a horror series who brings a seriousness to the story line. His filmography is quite long and varied.

For two seasons or the three, Ryan Dallion (groovy name, eh?), played by John D. LeMay, was Micki's cousin. I always thought their on-screen chemistry belied a real life relationship, but maybe that's just speculation. LeMay is still in the industry in some decent movies, but not any major roles.

The character that replaced Ryan in the third season, Johnny Ventura, I never really cared for. he was all blank looks and cockiness.

We watched an episode last night and both of us commented on the washed out look of the series and the sometimes grainy picture. Not sure if it's just our ratty TV, or the transfer is just bad.

All three seasons have been released on DVD.

Ain't nothing wrong with traveling down memory lane. Even better when it's free.

Many light years ago, I was a young lad living in the rural hills of Pennsylvania. Channel 11 brought a treat every Saturday night in the form of Chiller Theater. This, as you could imagine, warped the impressionable mind of a young viewer.

Bill "Chilly Billy" Cardille, a Pittsburgh icon, hosted the show with tongue firmly planted in cheek. The skits were always bad, bad, bad. Going on the air in '63, I cannot remember when I began to watch, but I would guess the late '60s. If you read the comments on the Chiller posts on YouTube, you see that many people have great memories of this show. I remember staying up with my dad, probably way past any normal kid's bedtime, and watching these wacky movies.Sometimes even he would go to bed and leave me alone to watch. Now that, some scary stuff kids!

My wife swears up and down that my memory on a daily basis is like a sieve and this is true, but I swear I can remember many of these movies listed here. What's on the grocery list? Can't tell you. The plot of Attack of the Crab Monsters? What do you want to know? The Crawling Eye? Oh yeah.

Bill's son has the smarts now to offer segments from the show on DVD on Cardille's website.

"Joe Flaherty, a Pittsburgh native, acknowledges this show as an influence in the formation of the popular "Monster Chiller Horror Theatre" sketches on SCTV."

Go See It

It is really a rare treat that I get out to the big screen, but if zombie is in the title, then I gotta see it.

Zombieland was everything I expected. Very funny and full of zombie madness. No spoilers here.

Just go and prepare to laugh

and cringe.

Darn That Dream

As I stated, I rarely dream any more, but last night I had what can only be described as wishful dreaming. Unlike the last dream, there are no old girlfriends in this one unfortunately.

I dreamed that Father Rich, a man who truly walks the talk, was coming back to my former place of employment for a one and a half year assignment. This caused me to think, "One and half years? Damn! We just might get ahead." I would jump at the chance to work if Rich was there.

Regulars readers of this blog (all two of them) might recall the fiasco of how my place as music minister was cut short by the workings of one Father Dismas. Rather than walk down negative lane again, suffice it to say that his boss found lots of money in an out-of-town account. Money he had taken from the church.

So, with Father Rich back, I could have gone back and maybe, just maybe, we might have a better chance at having a budget that isn't shot to hell even before we begin to spend a nickel. This is indeed wishful dreaming.

The priesthood, from my perspective, seems to be a bit like being in the military. You are given an assignment (a parish) for a maximum (depending on who you talk to) of six to eight years. Now, your priest or pastor might have been the good shepherd of your church for a lot longer than that, but it depends. The Franciscans are a little bit different than your average pastor and they have been a part of my old church's history since the beginning. You do not return to a previous post.

I met the man currently in charge at my old church. After several genuine apologies for his predecessor's bad behavior, I inquired about a job. Nay. Despite glowing recommendations and nary a bad word said about me, there is no job. I have to admit, this stung a bit. He talked about me coming to church, joining it, and then being put into some kind of advisory position. You have to ask yourself what kind of self-esteem would I have to accept this bread crumb. Uh, no thanks. I cannot tell you what was in his head to even suggest this. I may suggest that I bring with me, through no fault of my own, the shadow of deeds done by the former priest. He wants a clean slate, a new administration. There is no democracy in the church. It's what Father wants. And so it is.

Catholics like to live in the world of the volunteer. They still think this way, despite the fact that the world has changed in the forty years since folk groups were run by volunteering moms and dads. This may also be the reason. Why pay for music?

So now, despite our financial distress, there are compensations. I get to sleep in on Sundays, my Saturdays are free, and I get the whole weekend to myself. I even get Christmas eve! No running out the door to rehearsals, endless extra services and the politics of church.

Still, the dream suggest I secretly want to return to the job. Dreams never lie.

Darn that dream.

Got to Keep the Loonies On the Path

"I am not the most knowledgable of your listeners but I do enjoy all the music. Some time ago you played Pink Floyd by the London Philharmonic. I was of the mond-set that carpmentalized musicians and was pleasantly surprised to hear this music on classical radio. Could you play some of that again? Thank you."