Captured and Imprisoned Again

If you missed it, this is the guest post I did for wanderingwrites.com in the style of the writer for wanderingwrites.com. This does not contain the introduction. Also, the title below is a bit dramatic for my tastes, but it fit in with the Wanderingwrites style.

The Oppression of Left-Handed Trombonists

Dearest friends/readers/ducklings,

It is with a heavy heart that i alert you to an injustice that will affect you, dear reader, in no conceivable way.

A few of you may be surprised to learn that the trombone is an uncommon instrument, but it is more likely that you are momentarily leaving this page to search Google images for a trombone.

Now do you know what it looks like?

Good. We shall continue.

Historically, the trombone has never quite fallen into the category of "sexy". Yes, there is a fair amount of innuendo that follows the trombone, but upon close inspection, one realizes quickly that the trombonists are the reason their instruments are seen as awkward.

Trombonists are awkward. In past blogs i have made it clear that anyone who decides to pick the trombone has been born with an awkward gene, or has had their childhood poop jokes suppressed due to the socially unacceptable nature of poop. But of course, if you like poop jokes you probably have been born with some sort of genetic predisposition to be awkward.

Poor genetics can be considered a disability right?

Let's consider the genetic disbility that brings about red-green colorblindness. People with this disability are having new technology developed to make it easier to live in a world that is missing color. Trombonists born with awkward genes are left to fend for themselves in a world where avoiding eye contact is social suicide.

Life is hard.

Society enjoys pushing unpleasant things out of sight. For starters, trombonists are placed at the back of the orchestra. Not a big deal right? Trombones are loud. But did anyone stop to wonder why the trombone is loud? Maybe it's because trombonists had been trying to get attention for years and when one of them got the bright idea to start playing loud for acknowledgement, the government placed the trombones in the back. All the government needed was a cover excuse that wasn't "they're too awkward to be seen by paying customers" because the media would have reported that as discrimination.

Government? you ask.

Yes. Government. It's a conspiracy. The amount of awkward people on this Earth is regulated by a government that acknowledges the need for awkward people to play the trombone. If there wasn't a need for trombones in every orchestra, all of the awkward people would have probably been exterminated by now. The awkward people are kept in cells under the basement of every orchestra hall in the country. It is here where they are trained to play trombone and encouraged to speak to other "Awkwards" to improve their social skills.

Trombonist 1 (1): "I play trombone."
Trombonist 2 (2): "I play trombone"
Trombonist 3 (3): "I play trombone"
1: "You play trombone?"
2: "I play trombone."
3: "I play trombone."
1: "I play trombone."

There is rarely improvement.

When the need for a trombonist arises in an orchestra, a member of the stage crew, with the help of a uniformed official, reluctantly picks a person to place into society as a trombonist.

Now the real question is how the "awkwards" get captured in the first place.

Basically, if a child decides to pick the trombone of h/is/er own free will, s/he is doomed. After high school or college, anyone who picked the trombone as a sixth grader is whisked away and hidden under an orchestra hall. Even if the kid quit the trombone after a year, s/he is doomed to the same fate because s/he had the initial attraction to the instrument. Picking the instrument means you must have the awkward genetics. 

One will occasionally find people who escaped the relocation. They keep their history under wraps, but it is difficult. Basically, if you know someone who is awkward, that person managed to avoid the government kidnapping by choosing occupations with limited social interaction. All of them played trombone at some point in their lives. I beg of my readers to PLEASE not turn these people in. If you know an awkward person, be friendly and accommodating. No one should have to go through what most trombonists suffer at the hands of the stage crew that poke through the cell bars under the theater. But of course, i don't expect you to be accommodating. Go ahead and pander to the color blind. Throw the "Awkwards" under the bus.  

Now it is time to address the second part of this post. Lefties.

If there was ever a group that was oppressed, it was the lefties. Just a few years ago they were seen as the devil incarnate. Children who were naturally left-handed were forced to learn to write with the right hand. This often required school teachers to use razor wire to tie the left hand behind the back of the student as they learned to write with the opposite hand. Razor wire was used in the hopes that if the student couldn't learn with the right hand, the left hand would be sliced straight off. This left (haha punny) the kid with no choice but to use the right hand.

Today, our society  is just as bad as it was when there were frequent hand lacerations, but it manages to hide prejudices better. The world is still tailored to right-handers. For example, walk into any classroom. Most, if not all, of the desks are for the right handed. If there are any left handed desks, they are shoved to the back in hopes of keeping the devil people as far away as possible. Most computers are for right handed people as well as most musical instruments.

Righties enjoy significant discounts when it comes to buying golf clubs, baseball gloves, and other sports equipment. All of the lefty stuff is priced way higher.  Hot water is on the right, cold on the left. People are better when in their "right mind". When people are correct about something, they are "right". Instead of saying "OK", people will substitute the word "right".

"Left" has bad connotations.

 I "left" my stuff there and it was stolen.

S/he "left" the party too early and missed the goodie bags filled with 50 inch HD TVs.

Sandy was "left" at the cemetery to fend for herself among the awkward dead people that tried to kill her with trombone music and ghostly flatulence.

So where does this leave the trombonists that are left handed? Well, it's funny, the awkward gene must also tie in with left-handedness. The percentage of trombonists who are left handed is higher than average. Still, they are a minority.

The left-handed trombonists tend to be the last people released into society. It would just be too dangerous. They get "left" behind so to speak. When a lefty trombone is released to an orchestra (as a last resort) they are embedded with a GPS locator and are essentially put under house arrest. They can play in an orchestra, but they still have to live in the theater. When the orchestra goes on tour, a trumpet player is assigned to the lefty trombone. This trumpet player is in charge of keeping the lefty out of trouble.

Trumpet players love having power of over people, so they enjoy being the babysitter of the lefty trombone. Usually the lefty is forced to stand perfectly still on snails and trumpet spit while the trumpet player alternates between blasting in h/is/er ear and playing "Pictures at an Exhibition" excerpt over and over and OVER. No one could possibly imagine a worse torture than this.

There is one particularly terrible result that comes out of monitoring the lefty-trombone individuals.

You know those crazy people that think a chip has been embedded into their arm by the government? The ones who hide when planes (and nazguls) fly overhead?  You probably just thought of them as homeless psychos that need to be avoided, or John Nash.

Wrong.

Listen to these people. They are escaped left handed trombonists. Somehow they managed to leave the side of their trumpet lord, and the GPS locator chip means that they are constantly being chased down. Help them stay free!

This is the end of my societal rant. I urge you all to help free the trapped trombonists as i will apparently be one when i graduate college.

Thank you.

-The Socially Awkward Trombone

The Social Awkwardness of Singing in Public

Or, Lord of the Sings:

A Guest Post by lizzie mcmizzie

Let’s get one thing out of the way right now: i am not Becca. Therefore, i do not play trombone, am not studying music, or am in any way socially awkward. In fact, i am what you might call a completely well-adjusted, totally normal, and otherwise assimilated-to-the-mainstream human being.

Only kidding. Socially awkward people can only be friends with other socially awkward people. And if you’re a category-three socially awkward creature (like Becca and i are) then you should, according to this Times article, keep a blog to publicly channel your frustrations with social mores for the entire world to see. They seem to think that such a public display of awkwardness will help us deal with it better. Or maybe they just got tired of watching The Bachelor and needed fresh meat for entertainment.

By now, you are probably wondering what in Richard-Strauss-Hisself’s-NAME is going on. If i am not Becca, why am i here? Why aren’t there any music jokes yet? WHO IS THIS HIJACKING FIEND WRITING WITH LOWERCASE I’S? 

This is not going well.

Okay. Let me explain: i am not Becca (WE KNOW THIS ALREADY!) but Becca, most unfortunately for her, has had to be my friend for the past thirteen years – dealing with more socially awkward haircuts and outfits than any best-friend-for-life-and-whatever should have to deal with in a millennia. Seriously. This one time, i lost an opera glove, so i only wore the one i could find in a Michael-Jackson-esque fashion statement. And Becca didn’t leave me stranded alone in the Middle School cafeteria because, contrary to her socially awkward online persona, Becca happens to be the best kind of person in the world. She’s the friend who sticks by you when you’ve outdone yourself in the Academy Awards of Horrendous Clothing and Personal Statement Choices.

Because Becca is so nice (or is just too socially awkward to tell me otherwise, which is actually very possible) she has agreed to this ridiculous idea i proposed to her: a blog swap. She’s over on my high-fallutin’ hippie travel blog RIGHT THIS VERY SECOND talking about how trombonists are oppressed (or something) and has, most likely to her chagrin, left you folk in my hands.

Her mistake.

Because i may not be a trombonist, but i am so most definitely socially awkward.

And more than that, i am a socially awkward once-singer.

Ohhh, yeah, ya’ll don’t even know what just hit you. That’s right – i can throw down music terms like legato and arpeggio too. And, unlike socially awkward trombone players (which is a redundancy, but still. Keeping up appearances) i paid attention in class when we learned such terms. That’s because i sing, and therefore think i am the MOST IMPORTANT PART OF ANY MUSICAL COMPOSITION EVER MADE.

This is true. Ask Andrew Llyod Webber. Or Claude Michel-Schöenberg. Singers are very, very important.

I’m just kidding, of course singers are not the most important of anything ever written. They just think they are. (Especially first sopranos – but never mind that; let’s get back to the title of the post). In fact, many singers think themselves to be so important that they need to let the whole world know how capital-G Great they are. For example, a typical conversation with a first soprano singer of average singing ego might go a little bit like this:

Totally Normal Non-Singer Person: Hi there! My name is –

Singer of Average Singing Ego: I’m sorry, I only have time for the names of Directors or Agents or American Idol Judges. Do you fall into one of those categories?

Totally Normal Non-Singer Person: (slightly bewildered) Oh! I’m sorry, I don’t, but why do you only have time for such pretentious-sounding folk?

Singer of Average Singing Ego: Wellllll, because I AM A SINGER.

Totally Normal Non-Singer Person: Really?! That’s so incredibly cool! Are you like Adele? Can you sing for me?

Singer of Average Singing Ego: DON’T BE RIDICULOUS. WHY WOULD I WASTE MY PRECIOUS BREATH ON YOU, A MEAGER HUMAN BEING OF MINIMAL SIGNIFIGANCE BEYONE PURCHASING MY SELF-MADE DEBUT RECORD OF CELTIC-INFUSED-QUASI-OPERATICE-COVERS?

Totally Normal Non-Singer Person: (looking around desperately for a way out of the conversation) Oh, right, brilliant. Good for you. Look, I’ve got to go –

Singer of Average Singing Ego: Ta-ta darling! Lovely meeting you! (blows kisses before taking an enormous sip of a chai-spice-infused-lemon tea-like concoction)

See what i mean? Singers of average Singer-Egos are forces to reckon with. I urge wide berth to all you trombonists, most especially.

To give them their due credit, though, i must confess: they do get one thing right in the (albeit often one-sided) conversations they conduct. Singers, as a general rule, usually prefer not to sing spontaneously, a capella, and while waiting in line at a coffee shop. And yet, whenever one declares oneself to be a singer (even sans-American-Idol-t-shirt) an inevitable conversation from non-musicians is certain to ensue:

Normal Person: Blah blah blah – Oh I love this song!

Closeted Singer: Yeah me too! I sang this for a voice recital once.

Normal Person: Wait, really?! You’re a singer? That’s awesome! Do you sound like Adele? 

Closeted Singer: Um, well, no. Not exactly.

Normal Person: Awww, why not?

Closeted Singer: Well, Adele is a second alto and she’s got that great belt-y quality to her voice, but I’m –

Normal Person: She wears a belt in her voice?

Closeted Singer: Uh… no. I mean she’s really powerful, but I’m –

Normal Person: Like how she is standing up for herself against her ex-boyfriend?

Closeted Singer: …sort of …

Normal Person: Wait, wait wait, since you’re a sing just like Adele -

Closeted Singer: I’m actually not!

Normal Person:  - whatever. You sing. Will you sing something for me? Please?

Closeted Singer: Um…

Normal Person: PLEASE OH MY GAWD I WILL DIE IF YOU DO NOT SING FOR ME RIGHT NOW.

Closeted Singer: I’m really not comfortable breaking out into a mezzo-soprano Italian Aria right now.

Normal Person: WHAT? WHAT THE HECK IS A MATZAH BALL AREA?

Closeted Singer: …Never mind.

See what i mean? You give ‘em an inch, and they run halfway to Britain clamoring for Simon Cowell.

Simply by saying that you like to sing, have once sung a piece, or even that in high school you were the ultimate soloist in your Highly Advanced Chamber Elite Fancy Pants Ensemble is not – necessarily – an invitation for someone to solicit your vocal talents. Breaking out into a Bizet aria in the middle of class is hardly conducive to making friends (pro-tip for the socially awkward!), but can only heighten the anxiety and awkwardness of the situation. You aren’t warmed up, you aren’t giving your starting note, you don’t have accompaniment, and most of all you haven’t had your chai-spice-infused-lemon tea-like concoction to lubricate the vocal chords.

Major. Problem.

Should someone decide, though, to brave the imposing challenges before and bust out their best rendition of “Unchained Melody,” they probably fall into one of the two following categories: (a) they are very, very good – and know this to be so, thus they are seeking your unwavering devotion and praise; or (b) very, very bad – and do not know this to be so, and yet they still are seeking your unwavering devotion and praise.

Either one of these situations is awkward. Presented before the audience, in either case, is the inevitability that always ensues after a brazen soul has graced you with their singing presence. No matter their ability level, you feel compelled to applaud their singing talents and encourage them to continue to pursue their dreams as the future Our Lady of Jennifer Hudson in America. The conversation when the aforementioned singer is in high need of a Cowell-ous (get it?! Callous?!) reprimand can make an already awkward conversation one of excruciating agony. It might go like this:

Normal Person: Wow…. That was, well…that was really interesting… [Holy Mother of Gandalf, my dead dog could rise up from the grave and do better with ghostly flatulents than that piece of poo!]

Falsely-Beauteous Singer: I knowwww, right?! Like, I can’t believe I didn’t get the lead in the school musical. [I’m just so great. Like, so so so great.]

Normal Person: Yeah, whew. What the director must have been thinking! [I might have to gauge out my eardrums so they stop reverberating with the Yodels from Mordor.]

Falsely-Beauteous Singer: Want me to sing something else for you?! [PLEASE! I’M SUCH A GOOF GALINDA FROM WICKED IF YOU JUST GIMME A CHANCE!]

Normal Person: Um, well, maybe we could go for another cup of coffee? Or get the bill? [CHECK PLEASE.]

Falsely-Beauteous Singer: PERFECT! Here it goes: POPULAR! I’M GONNA BE POP-UUUUUU-LEEERRRR

See what i mean? Utter. Disaster.

Because, ultimately, here’s the deal with musicians: a mere glimpse into musical abilities does not necessarily do justice to the full breadth of one’s talent. Yes, even the Wicked fangirl might actually be Glee material someday. One doesn’t simply ask an architect to walk into Mordor sketch up a building randomly (unless you’re Leonardo DiCaprio and in need of a member for the Dream Team) or a pharmacist to write up a prescription without more knowledge and planning. Singing – and playing the trombone – are hard-earned skills that cannot be trivialized by a spontaneous performance.

So, should you wish to hear that person sing, or give yourself an excuse to escape the crippling conversation with that left-handed trombonist, ask when their next performance might be. Support the arts, and purchase tickets to see artists when they are in their prime. You might learn yourself up real good in attending a ballet or symphony performance and, best of all, you don’t even have to talk to the musicians!

Okay, folks, that’s all the once-singer and rogue opera-glove-wearing hippie-dippie has for you today. No worries, you’ll be back to regularly scheduled programming with your favorite trombonist next time! (But, if you really miss her, she’s got a pretty hilarious post about being a left-handed trombonist over on my blog should you like a look! There is also a chance for you to enter a giveaway of awesome postcards and other prizes). Hopefully this rant hasn’t dissuaded you from coming back for more clever cartoons by Becca in the future.

So, Becca? Thanks for still talking to me when i refused to speak anything but “French” when we were six years old. You are, of course, always welcome to join my women’s thespian society.

-the socially awkward sidekick, lizzie mcmizzie

Get Ready/Power Rangers

Get ready everybody. There will be a guest post from Lizzie McMizzie in 3 days.

THREE.

DAYS.

2/21/12

Instead of your usual scheduled programming, she will be taking over for me here, and I will be taking over for her on Wanderingwrites.com.

It's gonna be special.

Until then, here is a quick post on trombonists and their awkward childish love of all things Power Rangers.

Power Ranger Trombonists

Power Rangers was a very popular children's show in the 90's. For some reason, it caught on with trombonists and future trombonists.

The older trombonists were introduced to it by their students, and it quickly became an obsession.

Other trombonists were introduced to the Power Rangers as children, outgrew the show, and rediscovered it when they decided to play the trombone.

Today, Power Rangers are not as prominent in society, but the Rangers' series is still being produced, and the trombonists make up over half of the demographic of viewers. 

What started as a harmless antic of dressing up as Power Rangers for Halloween has turned into a full-fledged awkward nightmare. When they aren't practicing or throwing back copious amounts of alcohol, many trombonists spend their time in their mothers' basement. It is there that these unfortunate forty-something year-old's dress up as their favorite Rangers and watch reruns of the old show.

Trombonists take every opportunity to wear Power Ranger costumes. The minute trombonists return from rehearsals that require them to wear decent attire, they run into their parents houses yelling "It's morphin' time!" and proceed to change in front of whoever is at the house. Unfortunately, this has caused the parents of many trombonists to stop inviting people over due to the awkward situations that arise from bosses seeing the son of an employee stark naked.

Now although trombonists are awkward, they do hang out with other trombonists. This becomes incredibly true when it comes to Power Rangers. I can't tell you how many Power Ranger play dates occur each week among trombone sections.

Most trombone sections meet as many times outside rehearsal that they can. Conductors think that during these times the trombonists run through excerpts as loud and as obnoxiously as possible, but in reality, they spend this time romping through basements and wooded areas taking down imaginary Megazords.

So there you have it. A secret view into the private lives of trombonists. Some musicians enjoy playing golf, some enjoy doing athletics.  Trombonists like dress-up and make-believe.

Now if you'll excuse me,

It's morhpin' time.

-The Socially Awkward Trombone