Blissful Unemployment

I like that this here blog-thing notes the date for me; I'm appallingly bad of keeping track of time.

I've just finished a run of a Broadway show that lasted from April until now. It's a fantastic gig (I ain't kiddin), generally about 4-5 shows a week, playing in a pit with a bunch of excellent musicians who all happen to get along. It's an odd thing; I was thinking tonight that I genuinely like each and every one of them. I don't know how that happened; I used to think that musicians inevitably found themselves writhing in hideous situations, feeding off of one another's misery, which spreads like a cancer through each and every orchestra, be it manifested through bitching about one's poor pay, benefits, the conductor, section leader, the shoes on the second violinist sitting third desk outside; you name it. But either I was wrong or I've struck gold for the past six years. Personally, I think it's a little of both; there's no denying the exceptionally excellent attitudes of my co-workers, which can largely be attributed to gratitude for our season-to-season jobs and weekly paycheques, but also happens to have a lot to do with natural selection.

I've also realized that, somewhere over the course of my years, I've committed myself to the notion that I have no time for assholes. It's not to say that I never work with difficult human beings---it's that I refuse to subject myself to them if it can possibly be avoided. There is no reason on this planet that someone fortunate enough to play music for a living should be chronically crabby, and if they are, there's no reason for me to spend time with them.

Maybe it's that I went in a different direction in my studies; I never intended to be a musician. I wanted to, of course; I just didn't see it as a realistic possibility. Now it's something that I refuse to take for granted. I've sustained enough injury and illness to know that it may not continue forever and damn it, I'll enjoy it while it lasts. If I only get to play the Mozart Clarinet Quintet once, I'll savour the hell out of it. Same goes for every piece. Well, at least the ones that I like. I will admit that I occasionally come across less than appealing works, but fortunately they're few and far between. When you spend most of your life playing chamber music, you ensure that you'll have at least a 25% say in what repertoire you work on.

I'm greatly looking forward to the days to come, during which I'll rest my weary bones and tendons and pace myself as I revisit the Rebecca Clarke Sonata and some Vieuxtemps, and consider further potential recital rep. It's been years since I've played a solo recital and maybe it's time for another one.

Autumn

This is excellent---we're about to take a walk to Tim Horton's. Nothing like hiking to a donut shop for exercise. Still, it's something, and it's pretty beautiful out there. How many km does one have to trudge to work off a cinnamon roll?

It's interesting being a freelancer. Just when I've accepted that I may have a few work-free months, the phone calls and emails begin. I reckon people have somehow, through evolutionary phenomena involving mind-reading and espionage, gained a general knowledge of my annual patterns; work solidly like a dog for 6-7 months then relax a little. I greatly appreciate those who feel inclined to give me gainful employment in the less busy months, don't get me wrong---I just wish I understood where their whacky psychic super-powers come from and how to get me some of that.

I've been coaching chamber music for my alma mater. Though I'd dreaded it like nobody's business, it's damn fun. For one thing, feeling like I have knowledge that's actually useful to impart is a pretty great feeling, and whereas 10 years ago I may have been at a loss, now I feel confident that my millions of hours spent playing string quartet rep of every shape and size have proven quite useful in more ways than one. I won't go on about the students, for fear that one may one day come across this public posting; suffice it to say that they impress me no end and I enjoy returning to the thought processes of a teenager.

Chamber music is such an extraordinary tool for keeping one's chops up...but also for learning to deal with humanity. There's little or no room for ego, which is a wonderful thing. That's not to say that ego never enters into the mix; just that it should bugger off if it knows what's good for it.

Day One

Here's the thing---I've been reading a friend's blog. And being a reader appeals to me so much that I decided to become a writer (not a real writer in the sense of an author; I mean someone who lets their fingers move around the keyboard at about the same rate as my brain spews information), in part because I'm about to have a lot of time on my hands and need a creative outlet. But mostly just out of curiosity.

I've read blogs by people in the "entertainment industry" (man, do I hate that term) and there appears to be a very fine line between unabashed self-promotion and meandering thought. I'd like to opt for the latter.

Personally, I enjoy reading about the mundane goings-on in people's day-to-day existences. I don't know what it is, really; something to do with voyeurism or perhaps my tendency to covet locations. If I can hear about the weather in Vermont or Arizona, or what it's like to walk down a street in Savannah, I'm all over it. What I notice seems to be a common trait among humanity is this thought that everyone's life is more interesting than ours; people assume that because I'm a musician I lead a relatively glamourous existence, whereas I assume that if someone's a mother with small children, they likely hear about 750 hilarious things a day; if someone else works in a cubicle they're likely up on all the office gossip; someone else might be able to fill me in on interesting factoids about what it's like to work in a saline extraction plant (I don't even know if there is such a thing but I enjoy inventing jobs and workplaces).

So I guess my point is that I will likely talk about mundane details of my own life, not at all limited to my playing of the viola---which, let's face it, is perhaps not so fascinating to every literate creature.