4/7/99

I'm rather ticked off this evening because I couldn't get anyone to go out for beer with me after our tuba/euph master class. I'm always pumped to go to the pub after tuba/euphonium activities. Russell, Tony, Daryl, even Eric, who's not 21 for 2 more weeks, they all had shit to do. Tony's the big loser--he'd brought some members of his brass quintet to the master class. Trumpet and horn players. And they went out together post-class...uh huh...I see.... So Tony went out with his cool friends and the rest of us went home to check our e-mail.

One of the trumpet players was an asshole, too. Most trumpet players are--and if you don't agree with this little stereotype, you're probably one of those handy exceptions to the rule. This kid was truly an ass, though. He's about 20, 21, bragging about how he dropped out of college to play 3rd trumpet with the Grand Rapids Symphony. Making little cracks like, "There are, like, a thousand more jobs for oboe players than for euphonium players." I gave him my standard side-swipe: "And there are, like, a thousand more oboists than euphoniumists." Then I ignored him for the evening. He did his best to monopolize the class, asking about how one should prepare for orchestra auditions (most of our studio has no intention whatsoever of taking orchestral auditions.) We giggled nastily when he asserted that the only reason he didn't win the Barcelona gig was because the Spaniards on the committee had to give it to a Spaniard, and then the guy speaking to the class mentioned that the position this little bastard had auditioned for was previously held by a US citizen, who just happened to be one of his former students....

Umm, speaking of the speaker, this was a master class with Sam Pilafian, former tubist with the Empire Brass Quintet, and professor of tuba/euph at Arizona State. Big name in tuba. Lots of CD's, lots of really well-placed students (mostly in the Washington military scene, but he has a few students in the Met, LA, etc.) Plus, he's just a really cool guy. I'd do him.

Right before the class, Sinder hit me up to play for it, so I spent a lot of the two hours thinking about what I would play, and then it turned out we didn't have time for any of that. Sam jawed the whole time, mostly dropping names and telling funny stories about other tubists. It was a good time. I even squeezed in my usual laugh-getter: when the questions aren't coming and we all sit there like idiots, I raise my hand and ask, "Do you have any pets?" I started this last winter in a Steven Mead master class and it worked so well that it's become an institution. Sinder gets a big kick out of it, and I play a cheerful dumbass role. And I learned that Sam has a chihuahua and a chow. Steve Mead has a bunny. See? I can name-drop and describe their pets.

The pisser about the evening was that I really, really wanted someone to go out for a beer. I'm a very private person (god, what an understatement) and I've finally gotten some of these issues of mine close to the surface, and I really wanted to bounce these things off of someone else. Earlier today it occurred to me--actually, it's been at the back of my mind for days--that I may not be going anywhere by getting married. I mean, I'm planning to try and get a job, here. And I'm almost definitely going to start my DMA within a year. That means I could be anywhere--I could be teaching in any college anywhere in the country, or I could be studying at one of a number of universities, none of which is in central Georgia. So I can get married and work in another grocery store, or (worse) I could get married and then leave John behind when I go away. So many musicians do that, and they're all miserable. I suppose I'd be miserable away from him whether we were married or not, but geez.

Or, I could get married and work on establishing myself in Atlanta. Not such a tough thing, I'm sure. I could start my community music school, I could teach. Ten-to-one that the minute I do that, John will get transferred.

And what if we didn't get married? Just in case, you know, I decide to leave. How happy will that be? "Oh, yeah, we live together, yeah, we were going to get married, but then common sense butted in...."

It all boils down to this: would I be happy with anything??? Ever? And why not? And why won't my loser-bastard friends go out for a beer with me? It's Wednesday, for crying out loud, get a life, what do you mean you have class in the morning? Get over it.

Good thing: I got to see sonogram pictures of Daryl's little girl. Well, they're 80% sure it's a girl. How cool. She has fingers.