Saturday, August 25, 2012

August 25: Some Music, Musical Family, New Cartoon

After tea, they had some music.  For they were a musical family, and knew what they were about, when they sang a Glee of Catch, I can assure you especially Topper, who could growl away in the bass like a good one, and never swell the large veins in his forehead, or get red in the face over it.  Scrooge's niece played well upon the harp; and played among other tunes a simple little air (a mere nothing; you might learn to whistle it in two minutes), which had been familiar to the child who fetched Scrooge from the boarding-school, as he had been reminded by the Ghost of Christmas Past.  When this strain of music sounded, all the things that Ghost had shown him, came upon his mind; he softened more and more; and thought that if he could have listened to it often, years ago, he might have cultivated the kindness of life for his own happiness with his own hands, without resorting to the sexton's spade that buried Jacob Marley.

By all accounts, Charles Dickens loved to party.  He loved entertaining friends for dinner.  He loved going out to dinner and the theater.  He was a good actor and singer, and a decent magician.  He did all that, and he was a prolific novelist, essayist, short story writer, and magazine editor.  Can you tell he suffered from bipolar?  Well, he probably did, from all the information I've read about him.

So, when Dickens writes about Scrooge's nephew Fred's Christmas party, he knows of what he writes.  And music was always a big part of the festivities.

This afternoon, my church is having its annual picnic.  The praise band I'm in is providing the musical entertainment.  What that means for me is a lot of hauling equipment, standing behind a keyboard for a couple of hours under the sun, and then hauling the equipment back to church.  I'm not really enthused about the Saturday ahead of me.  I'd much rather just go to the picnic, eat some bratwurst and chips, visit with a few friends, and then leave.  That ain't gonna happen.

I guess I have less Charles Dickens in me than I care to admit.  I love being around people and entertaining, but I don't enjoy the work involved.  I should have roadies to set up my keyboard, and then I'd show up and play.  There's a reason why rock bands have roadies.  It's so the musicians can sit in their dressing rooms, eating green M&Ms until the concert, and then go play.  Yes, my praise band needs roadies.

I'd bet Charles Dickens had roadies.  I can't see the Inimitable building stages and carrying around harpsichords.  He had his peeps to do that for him.  Chuck never did anything half-arse.  I, on the other hand, will be busting my butt today.

At least Saint Marty will get some free hot dogs and chips for his efforts.

Confessions of Saint Marty


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