Crotchet Equals Ten.

 

Mrs. Stevenson stood defensively outside the main entrance to her school’s administration building, a space with some car parks and a little road that started at the school gates. She was the principal. A little way from her stood three men, not old and looking pretty intimidating in their black outfits with gang insignia on their backs. One held a crowbar. Two male teachers had bravely tried to reason with them, but they had been met with clear hostility. They had chosen to keep their distance. A wise move really.

A teenage boy in school uniform looked on smugly. Before he’d texted Smuggler, the guy with the crowbar, he’d been escorted to the principal’s office for giving his teacher advice on what he could do to himself. This advice was outside the realms of what was considered as acceptable in most establishments in society. Now it seemed that the school, along with its principal, was about to learn a lesson from Smuggler about who really called the shots around these parts.

Mr. Testore had just completed spell three with what could be considered a rather interesting year ten music class. Riccardo Testore was not one of those teachers with a knack of demanding respect through his mere presence. In fact, he had experienced a rather checkered career in the classroom because of his mild manner. In reality he would have preferred to have been a successful musician but his dream had not worked out, for whatever reason. Still, even in these latter years, he practised his violin every day and gave a lot of attention to little details. He felt confident that his diligence was certainly improving his playing and he was learning some other very interesting things.

Smuggler grunted out a few half-baked sentences that were obviously threats and started to swing the crowbar. He felt a need to establish his authority, so he used the bar to smash a side window on a nearby car. He warned against using phones to call the police. Probably someone in the main office had already done that - these school office people generally have a finger on the pulse of a school.

Spell three had been nothing out of the ordinary for Mr. Testore, and this is where his music study, and practice, really paid off. He’d stumbled onto this little technique through what musicians, well, dedicated ones, call ‘slow practice’. Riccardo had refined it a bit more. You see, music, and its components, has a lot more ‘power’ than we give it credit for. As this raucous year ten music class entered the room, Riccardo simply, and quietly, said, “Crotchet equals forty five.” The class settled like a resting heartbeat. [I’ll explain more later.]

After class Riccardo made his way towards the staffroom for a welcome cup of coffee. He saw what was happening outside and made his way into the centre of the dispute. People who had gathered at a safe distance looked worried for him and tried to call him back with hand and arm gestures. The principal tried to call out but, for once, she seemed to have lost her voice.

“You wanna wear this?” asked Smuggler, lifting the iron bar. Riccardo looked sympathetically at him and quietly said, “Crotchet equals ten.”

Probably not much point me posting today.

 Maybe, if one sits at a computer and feels that there is nothing to say, then there is actually nothing to say?

Here's a thought, why do some angels have breasts?

To me these angels look like women with wings stuck on.

Do angels have wings so that they won't be mistaken for people?

As with Adam and Eve and their belly buttons, I think that artists have a lot to answer for.

Maybe real angels look like this?

And maybe they live in caves.

If there were angels, they wouldn't really need wings. God could just give them transportation powers. Well, he is supposed to be able to do anything. Why does everything he makes have to look more at home in primitive times? Why can't God look to the future?

Hey, and don't forget that Original Sin never happened because Adam and Eve were made up. Think evolution. 

This is how Robert likes to see himself.

Maybe he wants to present a more youthful front to his anti-abortion stance?

Robert has never needed an abortion so one could say that he's inexperienced in such matters.

The pope has never had an abortion either.

Abortions are very, very rare in the class known as 'old men'.

Extremely rare.

Peter will be sitting at home and ranking this post on a set of points that he found somewhere.

The points cover things like...

"Mention gardens as much as possible."

"No, proofreading is not important."

Well, I'd better go and put a bit of work into those 12 violin improvisation practice points. 

Yeah, yeah, I know that no one is interested in them around here. 

Maybe I won't bother posting today. I think that only TC reads my posts these days. 

Never mind. That gives me more time to practise.

Goodbye Yellow Brick Road.

 

Okay, okay, if The Curmudgeon was writing this
post, there would now be a video of Elton John
singing his song.

Instead, I'm going to feature a picture of Robert sitting in his new kayak.

Shouldn't he be cleaning someone's house?

What's all this business with cleaners riding around in kayaks? Are they getting paid too much?

Peter used to have a kayak but I think he got rid of it. He probably kept falling out of it.

So why the title about saying farewell to a yellow road?

Let's see if I can justify it.* Hang on, give me a bit of time to think.

Time passes.

More time passes.

Okay, the year is underway. I have a new job starting soon. I have a second day teaching violin (and a bit of double bass) at a posh boys' school. So, I'll now be teaching violin on Tuesday and Wednesday. I also have the intention of doing some babysitting.

This guy. I'll have to show him how to brush his hair.

That doesn't leave me a lot of time for relieving at Nuova Lazio High School. It might be time to retire from that (Goodbye Yellow Brick Road) because I also want to put regular quality time into my music practice. 

Who knows, I might even get a few more gigs? Don't forget that I've already got three.

In just over two weeks I'm playing a solo double bass set (20 minutes) at Mainly Acoustic in Upper Hutt. It's a nice venue. I've got four original pieces - Sii Gentile, Gypsy Feet, My Gentle Giant and SMD. I've been putting in a lot of practice.

I've also got a gig in a Scottish trio (double bass) and I'm playing (double bass again) at a jazz club.

Things are definitely looking up, gig wise.

Well, I'll leave you there for today.

Remember that, if you're waiting for someone to clean your house, they're probably out in a kayak. Get off your bum and do it yourself, you lazy bugger.

* The truth is that the words just came to me while I was sitting in bed. Well, I did need a title for my intended post - something catchy.

Psst!

 The Curmudgeon deleted a couple of comments from my last post.

"Psst, sorry."

If you are new to this little blogging community, TC (as he is affectionately known) is the figure head of a large group of bloggers who go under the title of The Curmudgeon Ink. 

They have a large readership of two.

Yes, that is correct, two regular readers.

Okay, the readership is not exactly large.

Let's use the phrase 'very small'.

In the ranks of The Curmudgeon Ink there are Curmudgeons for all occasions - The Religious Curmudgeon, The Well Dressed Curmudgeon, The Music Theory Curmudgeon, The Violin Strings Curmudgeon, The Sober Curm... hang on, most of The Curmudgeons are piss heads. Hence, the day after, a lot of comment deletion, on different blogs, is often necessary.

Just bear this in mind if you are reading a 'Curmudgeon' post after the relevant Mrs. Curmudgeon has gone away for a day or two. THERE WILL BE COMMENT DELETES.

This is their drink of choice.

Watch out!

Sayings that make no sense. #362

 "As boring as fuck."

Okay, let's use it in a couple of real situations...

"Robert is getting a little boat so that he can sail around Eastbourne in his cleaning breaks." "That's as boring as fuck!"

"Look! Peter has done another gardening post!" "That's as boring as fuck!"

"Richard (of RBB) is going to tell us about changing violin strings." "Okay, that could be interesting."

Oops, sorry, it just didn't work on that one.

The trouble with the saying 'As boring as fuck' is that we don't really know what 'fuck' means in this instance. Maybe 'As boring as a Curmudgeon post' would be better? Or 'As boring as going to mass'.

Hey, by the way (a little off topic here), did you notice how I added a number (362) to this post? This is a clever ploy because anyone dropping by for the first time might think that this has been a very successful series. They might assume that the post is better than it actually is. Feel free to use that idea TC.

Probably, if you're going to call something boring, use a subject that really defines the original idea. 

Here are some to try...

• As boring as reading a The Curmudgeon post. (Yes, I know we've already mentioned that one, but it's a beauty that will really get your point across.)
• As boring as talking to an angel with no brain.
• As boring as being with a person who never listens to what you have to say.
• As boring as watching cricket.
• As interesting as going to the toilet.
• As boring as hearing the three things that can go wrong with a bottle of wine.
• As boring as golf.
• As boring as a priest's sermon.
• As boring as listening to Irish music that keeps repeating the 'tune'.
• As boring as being really bored.

There we go. That's enough to keep you going for a while.

If you're new to this blog, let me assure you that 'Sayings that make no sense. #363' will be along soon.

Enjoy.

The Garden Series. Part 10.

 Okay, this is not the first garden series to appear in this blogging community.

I'm sure that most of you out there know how a garden series on a blog works.

A garden exists on a property - for some reason changes need to be made to the garden. This gives us a story that can be told in parts. Many parts.

Maybe the garden just needs tidying up, or maybe some trees need pruning. Maybe there's a side story, like the lights on a trailer aren't working properly. Maybe the main feature of the series is preparing for a trip to the tip or clearing out the woodshed. 

Let's assume that all these things happened in Parts 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 and 9.

Let's cut to the chase.

Okay, go into any neighbourhood and you'll easily find lots of gardens. Some will be pretty and some will say, "Hey, I need a bit of maintenance work."

Let's be honest. Unless you can see from the road that the lawns are chest high, you're not really going to pay an average garden much attention. The best an owner of a suburban garden can expect is something like, "Oh, what beautiful roses!"

Gardens are everywhere. I mean, just take a walk down your street, in your suburb. It doesn't matter whether you live in Karori, Heathcote Valley, The Western Hutt Hills, Onekawa, The Whangarei Heads, Moera or Mount Eden. There will be lots of gardens.

Hang on, talking about Mount Eden, there was one garden that was far more famous than all the rest - The Garden of Eden.

This picture doesn't show The Garden of Eden in its
best light because all those animals would be shitting everywhere.

Okay, there a few things that we need to realise about TG of E.

• Sometimes local dogs shit on our property. Imagine the mess that all the animals in this picture would leave. Hardly a Garden of Eden! More like The Garden of Shit. (Just saying.)
• Pictures of TG of E were painted a long time after the event. Neither Adam nor Eve had access to a camera. Even if they did, they probably had no way to develop a film.
• In pictures Adam and Eve are usually depicted naked with belly buttons and a leaf stuck to their private parts. How would that leaf stay in place? Let's not even worry about the belly buttons.
• The Theory of Evolution, if it is correct, creates a huge problem for the actual existence of TG of E.
• Hello, snakes don't talk.
• God is very intent on making a big thing about Original Sin. No G of E = no Original Sin = God has just been wasting our time feeling guilty.

Bloggers in this blogging community haven't mentioned T G of E in their stories centred around their own gardens. Do they think their own gardens are better? Are they put off T G of E by all the potential animal shit?

Maybe we've had enough talk of gardens in this blogging community?

Maybe, one day, it might be time to talk about the details (12) of my violin practice?

Only time will tell.

In any case, let's leave the gardening thing there.

Here's hoping.

The Garden Series. Part 3.

 Okay, after having read other bloggers discuss 'gardening' on their properties, I've decided to skip Parts 1 & 2. 

Here are things that could have occurred in the first two parts:

• Some garden ornaments need cleaning.
• My wife is upset with the state of the outside of our property because she has friends coming around.
• The lawns are very long.
• I will need to make a trip to the tip.
• The driveway looks messy.
• There's a tree that needs to be removed.
• The lawn mower is not working.
• A bank has collapsed, taking out half the house. (No, I think we'll leave that one.)
• The lights on the trailer aren't working.
• A dead shark has been washed up on the front lawn. (No. That's silly because I live inland.)
• There a six kilogram spider on the side of our house. (No, that's just silly.)
• Weeds are battling with plants for space in the gardens.
• There's an angel with no brains running around our property.
• I have no towbar on my car and I need to take stuff to the tip.
• The house needs a wash.
• There was a bit of wind last night and an outside chair has blown over.

Okay, okay, now I bet you wish you'd stayed with the violin practice plan.

Part 3.

Okay, if you're going to improve your gardens on your property, the first thing you need is a pile of dirt.

I went out and hired a digger.

Okay, I forgot that you need some way to get the dirt home and I don't have a towbar on my car. I guess I could scoop up some dirt with the digger and then drive the digger to my place. I could probably move all the dirt with about eleven trips. Maybe sixteen, looking more closely at the size of the dirt pile.

I'll have a think and continue this in Part 4.

I hope you're all enjoying this series.

Remember that YOU ASKED FOR IT.

Well, the violin practice series could have been a once in a lifetime chance. 

And it did...

 

"Well, you know the Curmudgeon's Inc motto." We can only guess.

 

We can only guess.

Three Golden Calves.

 Okay, to be honest it was a bit of a muck up. Ernie, one of the church shop volunteers, had seen them in a second hand shop for just $20 each and had decided to spend $60 on the three calves as a gift to his church. Ernie was that sort of guy.

Ernie was at church super early and had the idea that the three calves would not be for sale but would give the entrance to the shop a special character. Ernie had always had an eye for art.

Ernie's idea had worked. Several of the congregation had admired them as they entered the church. One old lady even suggested that they'd look nice on, or near to the altar. Ernie decided to move one of the calves near to the tabernacle. That left two to welcome customers to the church shop, one on each side of the counter.

Father Slurp was also early. He liked to be early, before saying mass, just to make sure that everything was in order. He liked to taste the wine, just to be on the safe side. He'd once read somewhere of a red wine in a restaurant being chilled. "You can't be too careful." he thought, as he poured himself a rather generous glass. 

Then he noticed the little golden animal that had been placed about twenty centimetres from the tabernacle. It was about the size of a pony that Barbie might ride.

Father Slurp was enjoying his pre-mass wine and he wondered where he had heard of an animal like that before. He remembered that he'd read about it in a book somewhere. 

Anyway, right now Father Slurp's mind was on today's sermon. Today he would talk about the Ten Commandments. He would emphasize each commandment and what it meant but he would also emphasize that God is not subject to our moral code. He poured an extra little bit of wine. He couldn't be sure, but the wine tasted a little cold. No, it was okay. "Good to have checked though." he thought. Then he wondered about what God's own moral code might be or if he'd even need one. Not having one would give God a lot more freedom. 

God looked down, from high above, and mouthed, "You shall have no other gods before Me." He whispered a prayer in Father Slurp's ear about how many parishioners must die. 

Father Slurp thought he heard something but blamed it on the wine.

Is this true?

 Asking for a friend.

I found this.

He said to them, "Thus says yhwh, the God of Israel: Each of you put sword on thigh, go back and forth from gate to gate throughout the camp, and slay sibling, neighbor, and kin." The men of Levi did as Moses had bidden; and some three thousand of the people fell that day. And Moses said, "Dedicate yourselves to yhwh this day—for each of you has been against blood relations—that [God] may bestow a blessing upon you today."

Exodus 32:26-28

Any thoughts?

Hi?

 

No, scrap that, it's LOW. 

As is, I'm sure, the idea of a happy curmudgeon.

Old Thunder Gut has spoken.

Old Thunder Gut.

Never mind.

* * *

Back to business.

I have three gigs on the horizon.

• A jazz gig in Hataitai.
• A Scottish gig in Lower Hutt.
• A 20m spot in Upper Hutt.

All three gigs are on double bass. The Hataitai gig is with my old mate Wade, the Lower Hutt gig is at a Scottish dance and the Upper Hutt gig is playing solo double bass.

Oops, I've got to go. Have fun boys and sin if you want to.

The Peter Meter.

Josh was awake but he was still in bed. 7am and surprisingly cool for this time of year. Normally he would have leant over and felt for the familiar shape of his mobile phone. Those days had passed.

Sarah had risen to make a cup of herbal tea but had returned to the comfort of her bed. Then she did what any young person would do in this age of technology, and it didn't involve looking at her mobile, a thing of the past.

Facebook numbers were falling at an alarming rate. Great comments like, "People shd get there act together." and "Minde you're own busines." were becoming things of the past. X, formally known as Twitter, was like an empty bus shelter.

2026.

The mobile phone had been a complicated piece of machinery. The term 'mobile phone' hugely undersold what it was capable of. It was a bit like calling an atomic submarine a boat, or a symphony orchestra a small folk group. But this was a time (around 2020 - 2024) when many people were searching for their right to freedom. A right that threatened to be taken away by complicated things like medicines, laws and AI. Among these thinking people there was a movement to avoid the conspiracies that were popping up everywhere. Some of the conspiracies could easily be traced to and linked to the mobile phone.

Then, out of the blue, it happened!

Three small things:

1. An unknown blog with a regular readership of two.
2. An old man with too much time on his hands.
3. A three directional meter.

Life, as we know and expect it, was about to change!

LOW

MEDIUM

HIGH

Only three possible results by which all things can be measured.

SIMPLICITY!

SIMPLICITY = AN EASY SOLUTION = FREEDOM!

The name 'The Curmudgeon' will surely go down in history. The name that simplified life for everyone.

No doubt, The Peter Meter will be banned from schools by our present government, BUT THIS WON'T STOP IT! 

How do you stop simplicity? 

Just three possible settings!

LOW - MEDIUM - HIGH

For a start, it leaves no room for that reply to the question, "How are you today?"

"Not too bad."

GONE!

You're only LOW, MEDIUM or HIGH.

No middle ground.

"How are you today?"

"Hang on, I'll just check my meter. MEDIUM thanks."

Let's march forward to freedom!

Thank you, The Peter Meter!

Is God the first alien to have visited?

 

Which god are you talking about? There have been a lot of us.

Some of our readers are pretty obsessed with how many times their name gets a mention on our posts. Robert. Robert. Robert. Robert. I suppose that's just hero worship. Peter. Peter.

Are you talking about the Christian god?
He's the one who made Adam and Eve.

Robert, Robert, Damien, Maria, Jimmy, Peter. Unfortunately Evolution, which is widely accepted now, rules out Adam and Eve. It also rules out Original Sin because the whole drama in The Garden of Eden didn't happen. Ralph, Jimmy, Maria, Robert.

Peter. So, if a god did poke his / her / its nose in, it must have come from somewhere else. Therefore it is, by definition, an alien. Robert, Robert.

Who? Me?

Are we, Peter, Robert, Brent, really made in the image of the Christian god? That depends, as I've said before, on whether god really goes for a pee or bonks things. Otherwise, why would he need a cock, or she need a vagina? Robert. Remember how god is supposed to have taken care of Mary and the birth of Jesus. Peter, Peter. Immaculate conception! No genitals needed. That tells us something about god's method.

Robert, Peter, Peter, Malcolm, Brian.

Well, I'll leave it there for today. Wade.

Catch you all soon.

Postscriptum, I hope you're counting those names.

TTFN.

Post with no pictures.

 Hi all.

It's Sunday and we're two weeks into the new year. 

I see that an epic tale is unfolding on Robert's latest post - Bruce. It's playing out in the comments.

I suspect that it's taking readers away from Peter's latest effort, yes, another awards ceremony. I guess he'll be more occupied when Tuesday morning tennis kicks off again. Hopefully Mike will come back to tennis - that's the guy who Peter used to enjoy fighting with.

I've been trimming trees for the last few days. The highlight was taking out a tree that was dropping 'shit' all over our cars. It was a self seeding tree that reached about 4 1/2 metres in height. If I had included pictures here, all of Peter's series posts would have looked very second class. So, I guess I gave him a break on that one. He's already feeling a bit put out by the success of 'Bruce'.

In fact, Bruce is a little used, but successful, concept in blog posting. Basically, you start a story and people continue it in the comments section.

All credit to Robert!

The sooner that Peter runs with this concept, the sooner his blog ratings, and readership numbers, might improve a bit.

See you soon(ish).

Nothing to report today.

 I'll do some practice and I might wash half the house down.

Yes, yes, I hear you, on The Curmudgeon's blog that's enough for a series!

"Washing The House Down Part 1.

The Old Girl is in the office so I'm using my laptop in the kitchen.

It's a beautiful day up north and holiday makers have begun to arrive at our quiet little shark infested bay. Sheesh!

Today I'll begin cleaning the house with my secret formula - warm water, dishwashing liquid and vinegar.

Oops, I suppose it's not so secret anymore.

I'll start on the southern end of the house and move to the east. I'll take it slowly and carefully because The Old Girl will want to inspect my work before we play snooker this evening. Have I said "Sheesh!" yet?

Well, I like to use that word at least once in a post. 

I can hear holiday makers roaring around our little road. Sheesh! I should make up a sign saying, "Slow down pillocks!" Ah, but some self-righteous moron would paint over it. 

I'd better get out there and get the job done.

Stay tuned for Part 2!"

If this were a Curmudgeon post, some music would follow - he'd probably choose Supertramp today.

"I Drink Warm Water." Supertramp.

One small step for Harrison, one huge step for mankind.

 Okay, I'm going to hand you over to 3 21 14 20.

"Hi all."

"Well, the great news is that RBB Tours is back in action, after the misfortunes of a week ago.

Today Richard (of RBB) personally took his good lady and I on a trip around the Wellington bays.

Here is Shelley admiring a statue in Miramar.

And here's me showing off the blueness of today's Wellington sky.

"Almost as blue as The Blue Man!"

So, all is well and RBB Tours is ready for TC's arrival in Wellington.

I'll pass you back to Richard (of RBB)."

Thanks 3 21 14 20.

To finish off, here's a short video of my wonderful grandson Harrison, a well-known roller, taking his first crawl. I wonder if old TC was doing this at nine months?

Go Harrison!

My boy!

Oh, and here's what priests really put into the chalice.

Introducing 3 21 14 20.

Okay, Robert introduced me to an idea, based on Hebrew gematria, where letters are read as numbers. 

I was thinking that the blogging community needed a counter character to deal with TC's latest creation, The Crappy Curmudgeon.

I decided to enlist a guy who missed out on becoming the latest Curmudgeon (Lucky guy!).

Please welcome, to RBB, 3 21 14 20!

3 21 14 20

3 21 14 20 says, "Thanks everyone and special thanks to the kind people at Richard's Bass Bag.* This is a great break for me, especially considering that I could now be trapped as a silly old Curmudgeon and following TC's silly posting formula. Thanks too to Robert for coming up with an interesting system to name me. I haven't yet checked out what the letters stand for but, knowing Richard (of RBB), I bet it's something cool! My main job will be to refute any bullshit that The Crappy Curmudgeon churns out. One thing I can tell you - this is going to be fun!

So, talk your nonsense Crappy but just remember, I won't be far away!"

Thanks 3 21 14 20 and welcome to the team!

Together we'll get blogging standards up again! 

* the original bass bagging site