AS promised...follow up to this dreaded gig...

I know...I've built up this potential "gig from hell" so, by God, I'd better deliver, right?

Well, I think this entry will be constructed as a series of "vignettes". (That's French for "weird little things that happened throughout the course of the afternoon and evening.")

Vignette #1, aka "Witch Doctor Moonlighting as Taxi Driver"


OK...so I caught a taxi to get to the drummer's house (the Floydmobile is a bit under the weather). At first, the driver and I seemed to hit it off. He's from Nigeria, and we were talking about his experiences here, etc. Then, somehow the subject came around as to whether I had children. I told him no, and explained briefly why I didn't want them. Turns out that the taxi driver is also a born-again Christian. By the time I got to the drummer's house, he had advised me that I was indeed possessed by an evil spirit that made me have "this bipolar disorder" and was clouding my mind regarding having children. He also said I could be cured of this by listening to the Bible on tape or CD while I sleep. I love the Lord, don't get me wrong, but subliminal salvation isn't the way for me...I give the guy $20, tell him to keep the change, and get the HELL out of the vehicle.

Vignette #2: "In Which Our Heroine Attempts to Make a Silk Purse Out of a Sow's Ear"

Well, the drummer and I arrived at the country club where this event was taking place. Upon arrival, I went to the women's locker room to perform my "abolutions" for the process of transforming the "sow's ear" into the "silk purse".

In the course of this process, I repeatedly got the curling iron caught into my thick head of hair, which hurt and looked ridiculous. I had visions of myself with this freakin' appliance being permanently a part of my head. I imagined walking down the aisle next year with this thing hanging off my head, and being buried with it on. It was sad, and I have a feeling that anyone walking by the women's locker room and hearing my repeated cries of "Shit! GODDAMN IT!!!!!", would have thought there was a Tourette's patient in there. Then again, the taxi driver did say I had an evil spirit inside me, so I'd better buy those Bible tapes and FAST.

Vignette #3: "The Walls Are Closing In Around Our Heroine!"

One of the problems that a big band faces (or any band, really) is where the hell to put them. Most of the time, one section (usually rhythm) gets quite cramped. However, we were behind a metal railing, and EVERYONE was cramped. I usually sit on the end of our first row, next to the bari sax player. That way I can get out, listen to the balance of the band, take pictures, mingle with the guests, etc.

Not this time.

NO...I'm pinned into a corner behind the saxophones with no real way to get out. So what happens after a few numbers?

That's right, gentle readers. I HADDA get out of there, so somehow I squeezed my way between the bass player and the drummer (not an easy task). However, there was a payoff...I'm MUCH closer to the bar, and the bartenders are cute. I got a free beer, as well as potential scenarios for fantasies while waiting for my next musical number to come up.

Vignette #4 - "Tone Deafness and You"For those of you who have read my blog entries for a while, I did write one about that maniac William Hung. You know, the engineering student from California that somehow got a recording contract? Well, it turns out that there are other folks who are "legends in their own mind." Let me tell you about it.

For those unfamiliar with the concept, one who is a "legend in their own mind", musically speaking, simply satisfies three criteria: 1) they think they can sing/play. 2) they actually suck. 3) they don't know they suck, and they tell you how you yourself (who doesn't suck) can improve yourself.

This evening's "LITOM" (legend in their own mind, acronym for brevity's sake) is also an opportunist (another requirement I forgot to mention). I will not use his real name, but he looks like Buffalo Bill. He and I got along at one time, but I saw his true colors in action more times than I care to admit and let's just say I would just push him in front of a moving semi if I could get away with it. Anyway, "Buffalo Bill" (who has gotten us this gig, so is acting like he's Phil Spector or some other ego-filled mogul) has designated himself in charge of the evening. Your favorite bipolar redhead is really itching to find a semi to push him in front of.

Anyway, as I mentioned in the last entry, he stated that the mother of the bride (who I will describe in great detail, along with her delightful daughter) wanted some extra songs for the break, etc. This woman's musical taste was all in her mouth. At any rate, we've done what she requests. However, she wants duets. Buffalo Bill leapt into the breach and offered up myself as a sacrifice, then asks me if I'm willing to do it. I did it...apparently I was affected by some sort of charitable virus. But anyway, this woman picked atrocious songs...and luckily, the most atrocious song was dropped from the repetoire because I couldn't rehearse one time this week. (YES!) But we still had the other three to contend with.

I work really hard to not be an egomaniac when I sing, in spite of my rantings. I really try to encourage people to sing and express themselves that way if they want to. I had a harder time doing that in my youth, but I feel I have matured enough that I am gracious to others. But sometimes, there are others that you just want to grab by the throat and gently advise them that they need to stop singing NOW. Buffalo Bill was one of those guys.

So in addition to Buffalo Bill being a "LITOM", he is just one of those people that gives me the creeps in general. I mean, he gives a compliment on my appearance before he even says hello. It just makes my skin crawl, and other people in the band have commented on this. Anyway...this combination did not make for an ideal situation for me. We got through one of the hideous songs with relatively no problems ("Wind Beneath My Wings"), but the next song was not good. WHY?

1. He fucked up the lyrics repeatedly

2. He fucked up the rhythms repeatedly, thereby being behind the piano player by two measures

3. He put his arm around my shoulders, which must have set me off (triggered a bad memory of some sort), and the result was me punching him in the gut.

(NOTE: This is not professional behavior, but damnit, Buffalo Bill was not authorized to touch me. And besides, I didn't hit him as hard as I am capable of because he was still able to stand, breathe and move.)

After that debacle, he said, "Don't ever hit me again. I was just trying to get closer to the microphone."

I looked at him and said, "You were HOLDING the microphone."

He gave another lame ass reason, but that was pretty much it as far as me even being nice to the little twerp for the rest of the night. My Latino bartender buddies were watching closely, BTW. If I make the big time, I am hiring them as bodyguards/eye candy.

Anyway, the final number I had to endure with him vocally was "Love Is a Many Splendored Thing". We didn't have to sing together, per se; he sang first and I sang after him.

I would have been embarrased for him if he hadn't earned a place on my Shit List.

In describing his voice, let me just say this: It was thin, reedy, with uncertain pitch, and very wavery. Kind of like an old man who's been in a barbershop group a little TOO long. So he sings his turn, then I sing mine.

Let's just say (and I'm not being conceited) this: when he was singing, people were still having conversations and not paying attention to him. When I was singing, conversation died down and people listened. I was actually embarassed for him but by the same time, if people couldn't hear the difference they were just stone cold deaf.

Vignette #4: "In Which Our Heroine, Sudiegirl, Describes The Mother Of the Bride and How the Fruit Does Not Fall Far From The Tree"

See the lady.

See the mean looking lady.

She is the mother of the bride.

She has more money than sense.

She hates her ex-husband and would like to push him in front of the same truck as I want to push Buffalo Bill.

She doesn't say thank you to the band. She looks at them like the hired help.

See the bride.

See the snotty, bitchy chip off the old block.

See her flounce around in her dress sniping at the band because we're not playing enough salsa.

See her also look at the band like we're the hired help.

Envision her years in the future as a high-maintenance soccer mom who takes more medications than I do, mixes them with martinis and has an affair with her mechanic.

(I realize that being a bride on a wedding day is very stressful, but the milk of human kindness never hurt anyone. Oh well, she'll be in divorce court within 10 years.)

But there were good things:

1. I got to see my band buddies

2. There were two cute little kids that wanted to see the instruments up close and wound up playing the drums with our drummer. It was caught on videotape too...

3. Many people did appreciate my singing, including the father of the bride and many relatives on the groom's side (from Bulgaria, no less!).

4. I got to watch a Bulgarian folk dance

5. The wedding cake was really good

6. I got paid.

7. Did I mention the two Latino bartenders?

So all in all, I guess it balanced out. Buffalo Bill's arm around my shoulders really creeped me out, and I finally cracked this morning and started crying. I'm not sure why...it wasn't like he copped a feel, but it was still unauthorized. So far, there are not any repercussions, but if the band manager says anything to me, I will give him my side of the story. I really just felt kind of - violated. I don't know why...it's just his personality that really gets to me and I hope we don't have to work with him very much.

Smooches!

Sudiegirl, who has a mean left hook, apparently.