It appears that someone thinks I’m just being a jerk (or I guess just being provincial) about the whole San Francisco Symphony thing. At least according to Jack Van Zandt. (I see that he is a composer from San Jose—I’m not familiar with his works for some reason. Guess I have some work to check out, eh?)

I’m still uncomfortable. I’m still nervous. I guess I’m still provincial. And misguided. I’m even a self-appointed protectionist.

It’s good to read, though, that Mr. Van Zandt attends concerts at the California Theatre. I guess he supports us folks in the boondocks despite who we are! 🙂

I’m trying to work on being better. Really I am. I’ve even learned how to read recently. It was a challenge, but I did it!

Okay. I’m done with goofiness. Really.

Time to eat and get to Camelot. Yesterday I wrote a few poems while in the pit; one has to entertain one’s self, you know? So the two poems that are sung at the beginning of the second half now have some really bad “oboe poems” to go along with them.


The First Poem
(Sung to a Scottish snap style tune.)

Oh I love to play the oboe!
It’s as fun as pulling weeds.
And the reeds just make me giddy.
Oboe playing meets my needs.

I could be at home relaxing.
I could have a glass of beer.

But instead I sit here playing.
You can bet I’m full of cheer.

Lancelot’s Oboe Poem
(Sung to a sweet little French thing.)

I wish I had an oboe reed
that never died — I’d never need
to make another one to play,

a lasting reed would make my day.

Reeds will crack.
Reeds will die.
Reeds can really make me cry.

So find a reed to last my life
or I will die by my reed knife.

PEM 2/9/07

Oh. I guess I wasn’t done with the goofiness after all.

More to come, I’m sure. Too bad for you!