Saturday, March 12

Na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na Batman!

I now have two virus-detection programs and one virus on my computer.

One virus-detection program does not recognize that I have a virus. It looks for viruses for awhile in a very friendly way, sort of whistling and clapping its hands and holding out a little virus-bone for them.

Just as it's about to say Holy No Viruses Detected, Batman! the enormous slavering virus leaps out of the shadows and Super-Ninja-Hijacker-Terrorist Pwns my virus-detection program, kidnapping it to Evil Virus HQ inside Internet Explorer and cackling with maniacal glee as it chains my virus-detection program to a giant adware-laser.

The first virus-detection program struggles against its chains and snags its little yellow tights on the Evil Virus HQ floors, while the virus puts its enormous virus-cock back in its pants and goes off to read my email and reroute my bank transactions and drink my last Diet Pepsi.

Eventually the other virus-detection program finds the first virus-detection program has gone missing and realizes that something is amiss. It alerts me to the situation with Helpful Alert Message Bat Signals with mean-looking piggies on them. Super Bat Sonar Radar Virus Detector indicates that the Riddler has kidnapped Robin! it says. To the Batmobile!

Only this is where the analogy breaks down, because this particular Batmobile has a lot of shiny buttons that don't do a damn thing. Engage Super Bat Virus Heal! POW! BIFF! BOOM! the second virus-detector says, and the Batmobile shoots little beams of colored light at the virus. The virus just laughs and goes on rooting through my refrigerator.

Engage Super Bat File Delete! POW! BONG! PLINKO! the virus-detector shouts, and the Batmobile shoots the same little beams of useless colored light at the virus. The virus laughs louder. The adware-laser starts swinging wildly on its axis, shooting superheated adware beams everywhere. The first virus-detector soils its little yellow tights.

To the VAULT! ZOING! POOO! SQUEEE! the second virus-detector screams, and the virus goes into the vault, then comes out again, because there's apparently no lock on the fucking vault door.

Burning adware begins to pile up inside HQ, filling the room with smoke. The first virus-detector starts rocking back and forth and moaning to itself, No viruses detected! Roof, roof, oh, roof! like the elevator operators in Brave New World. The second virus-detector sends out more Bat Signals to let me know that everything is under control. The virus starts breaking my clarinet reeds one by one.

This is where we are now, and frankly all the screaming is starting to keep me up at night. Anyone have any suggestions?

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Thursday, March 10

Not Safe For Work

Not safe for anywhere, actually. I may have to go lie down for a bit.

Splitcock!

Just what it says. You've been warned, son.

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Wednesday, March 9

Another Reason to Move to Europe

So someday?

If I work harder than anyone I know?

If I practice for untold hours every day, until my lips bleed and my fingers are calloused, until tendonitis inflames my arms and my shoulders are prematurely arthritic and my eyes fail me from the strain of staring at pages of sheet music in a poorly lit room?

If I unquestioningly sacrifice both material and spiritual pleasures for many years in service of my craft, let my friendships stagnate and leave my loved ones behind?

If I spare no expense traveling to audition after audition, weathering dozens of heartbreaking rejections, and perservere despite incredible odds and miserable living conditions until finally, FINALLY landing that coveted spot in a paying orchestra?

I hope we get to play orchestral arrangements of video game music at my first concert.

Yes, Lord. Then all my dreams will have come true.

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Monday, March 7

Note to Future Self About To Make Similar Mistake

Kindly remember that "practicing the clarinet" and "setting your music up next to the computer screen so you can use Metronome Online while honking out random notes with one hand and clicking through Black People Love Us and Fark.com with the other" are not actually the same thing, and that when you are suddenly filled with overwhelming despair that your recital jury is tomorrow morning and you have failed to learn approximately two-thirds of your music, you have only yourself to blame.

Thank you. Carry on.

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Sunday, March 6

Saturday Afternoon Beat Poetry

I take a taxi from the Free Library to my accompanist's house.

(ba-doom ching)

The cab driver is about sixty. He has long graying hair and a permanently startled look.

(bing bong ba-dum)

He doesn't turn on the meter. I try to mention this, but he is too busy describing the mountains in Jordan, his home country.

(dum ba-doom ching, chicka-ching)

When we reach our destination, he is still talking, telling me about a music festival that goes on there every July. He invites me on a month-long vacation to Jordan as his guest. He speaks of beautiful carpets and wind.

(ba-doom, bong)

I turn him down and give him five dollars for the ride instead.

(ching)

He asks if I live nearby. I tell him "I don't know" and shut the door.

(bee-da-doom bong)

I think I thought he asked something else.

(snap snap snap snap snap snap)

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