pixpopuli – blog

Here is an example of the kind of crap my fevered brain comes up with. Or perhaps I should say, “up with which my fevered brain comes.” Recently, Flo and I attended a concert at the Disney Concert Hall. The L.A. Phil, conducted by Zubin Mehta. Beethoven’s 3rd, and some other stuff. It was pretty good, they seem to be getting the hang of the whole music thing. Well done guys and gals.

But you have to wait, while they assemble on stage, tune their instruments, and the audience get themselves sorted into their appropriate seats. Fortunately, there’s some system at work that makes sure there are at least enough seats for all the audience members, which I’m sure avoids some difficult confrontations with angry patrons. But I digress. Having arrived early, we waited, Flo and I, for the music to start, and I got to thinking about some alternative arrangements for a performance with an orchestra and an audience. At the time I shared these with Flo, and her vigorous lack of enthusiasm for them convinced me I was on the right track. What I present here are instructions for two such performances.



Performance piece with Orchestra and Audience #1, by Neil Baylis.

Copyright 2009, Neil Baylis

Raw materials:

1st Movement: Larghissimo.

The concert hall is empty, and both the house lights and orchestra lights are on. The orchestra is admitted and take their seats, but the audience is kept outside. Once the orchestra is seated, the audience is admitted. Important: They will ask about the purpose of the cheesy instruments. Under no circumstances may they be told what the purpose is. The movement continues for however long it takes the audience to assemble.

2nd Movement: Grave, Misterioso.

The conductor arrives on stage, and faces the orchestra. House lights go down, and orchestra lights intensify. The conductor begins, marking time with the baton, and occasionally looking towards particular members of the orchestra as the movement progresses. They make no sound, except for spasmodic, random coughing, but not so much as to seem deliberate. For the duration of the movement, they sit with their hands folded in their laps. About 7 minutes total.

3rd Movement: Allegro appassionato.

The orchestra lights dim, and the house lights intensify, so that the audience is more brightly lit than the orchestra. Without warning, the conductor turns to face the audience. He lifts his baton, and looks at various parts of the audience. He continues this until the entire audience is riveted on him, and beginning to feel slightly uncomfortable. He begins, with an emphatic downbeat, furiously waving the baton about for a bar or two, then stops and glares at the audience. He gestures to them to pick up their cheesy instruments. If they do not comply, he may pull a kazoo from his pocket and give it a toot. The movement ends when some critical mass of audience members are cowed into picking up the cheesy instruments.

4th Movement: Agitato, con bravura.

The conductor begins with a melodramatic downbeat. From time to time, he gestures towards some random section of the audience, in the forlorn hope that they will play the cheesy instruments. As soon as any audience member in the house makes any sound with their instrument, the orchestra members break into fits of uncontrollable coughing. The conductor stops, turns to the orchestra and glares at them until at length they fall silent. Repeat this sequence until about 15 minutes have elapsed.

5th Movement: Agitato A piacere.

The conductor faces the orchestra. The orchestra members pull their own cheesy instruments from their pockets. They lift them into playing position, and wait for the conductor’s signal. The conductor begins, but the orchestra makes no sound. However, as soon as any audience member coughs, one or more of the orchestra members answers the cough with a sound from a cheesy instrument.

Throughout the movement, the conductor alternately faces the orchestra or the audience, encouraging them to play. When anyone in the audience plays their instrument, the orchestra responds with coughing. When the audience coughs, the orchestra plays the instruments. Continue long enough that the audience gets the hang of it.

Then suddenly, using a prearranged signal, the conductor faces the audience, and the orchestra members leap to their feet. The conductor and orchestra proceed to engage in wild, ecstatic applause and yells and whistling directed at the audience. The applause grows in intensity. Orchestra members begin speaking in tongues, flailing their arms about, writhing on the floor. Some pass out and have to be carried off stage by paramedics, but the movement continues. They continue in this manner until it seems they are all possessed by demons.

The movement ends, as does the entire concert, when the female stage hand comes on stage with the jug of water and towel. She throws the water in the conductor’s face, at which he comes to his senses, and the orchestra falls quiet. The conductor reaches for the towel, and she hands it to him. He wipes his face, and everyone leaves the stage in an orderly manner.

Important: the audience may not have their money back.



Performance piece with Orchestra and Audience #2, by Neil Baylis.

Copyright 2009, Neil Baylis

Raw materials:

The performance begins like any other. As the audience files in, the orchestra comes on stage in dribs and drabs, wearing their cow costumes and carrying their instruments. They tune up in the usual manner. Then the soloist comes on stage and bows to the audience & the orchestra. He carries a lariat, but no instrument. He squats expectantly, and adjusts his hat, gets ready to use the larriat.

The conductor rides on stage on his horse, and faces the orchestra. They begin, playing some pastoral music, with the conductor standing in the stirrups to conduct. Everything seems normal.

At an appropriate moment, the soloist lassos one of the musicians, and attempts to drag her off stage. The conductor notices. They switch to some chase music, like the William Tell Overture, and the conductor adopts a posture more like a jockey in a race. He has a riding crop, and pretends to whip the horse, but the horse must remain standing still. Be sure that the horse is not orchestra-shy.

The orchestra members grow restless, and move around as a group. The soloist attempts to lasso more of them, and they start to mill around chaotically as they play. The conductor takes out a gun, and attempts to shoot the soloist with one hand while conducting with the other. Eventually, the piece ends when the orchestra members trample the soloist underfoot, and they finish the music in relative calm.

When they are done, the conductor turns towards the audience, and rears the horse up on its hind legs, firing shots in the air with his gun, and waving his cowboy hat in the accustomed manner.

Sounds exciting, doesn’t it?

Did I pick it up here, at this fast food joint, as I sat waiting for my order, experimenting with shakeitphoto to pass the time? They have a bench where you wait for take-out orders, and it was occupied by a man and his young child. I took their place when they got up to leave, and I remember wondering whether that kid was carrying swine flu.

As I waited, I made a few photographs, including this one of a woman who came to the counter to complain. I remember trying not to touch anything in the restaurant. On the way out I waited until someone entered, so I could exit without touching the handle.

I don’t know why I’ve been so anxious about catching something this year. We first heard of the H1N1 while we were in Australia, but didn’t think much of it at the time. A couple of weeks ago, I tried to get a flu shot from my doctor, but none was available.

And now, I am infected, but not, apparently, with swine flu. It seems to be a run of the mill gut infection, which in Australia might be called gastroenteritis, or ‘gastro’ for short. In the US they call it stomach flu. Whatever you call it, it’s rather unpleasant. It’s been years since I had such an illness, and I’m glad of that.

I kept looking for ways to interpret my symptoms as swine flu, but in the end it just didn’t add up. So, in order to maintain at least a semblance of melodrama, I’ll just call it the Miasma, and picture myself fading away as if I had been written by Thomas Mann.

And so, the Miasma seems to have been creeping about the house like an invisible intruder. Suddenly, I have a designated drinking glass, and I’m noticing more hand washing than usual. And then, Florence (as in Nightingale) decides it would be best if she were to sleep in the spare room, for the time being. The time being being until the Miasma has passed. I haven’t checked, but I think she also put a biohazard sign on the front door. I’m still allowed contact with the dogs, probably because they are of such vigorous constitution that they would give smallpox the plague before succumbing to anything themselves.

The treatment, to begin with, was rest, fluids, and alternating ibuprofen and acetaminophen. These didn’t seem to have any effect on the progress of the sickness. Rather, they exchanged one kind of discomfort for another. Apparently, medicated discomfort is somehow preferable to god given discomfort, but the precise way in which it is better eludes me at the moment. After a day of no measurable improvement, Florence visited the apothecary and obtained some medicinal herbs, assuring me that they would stem the flow, or calm the waters, or hold back the tides, or some metaphor that unites the concepts of stopping and liquid.

Now I’m not one to pooh pooh the wonders of modern medicinal herbs, but I’ve seen these herbs before. Only then they were in the form of a disgusting pink potion, instead of these innocent looking tablets. And every time I drank that potion, it seemed to have no effect at all.

Nevertheless, I had (more or less involuntarily) adopted the role of patient, and it only made sense to do Flo’s bidding. And she insisted that I take the herbs. Being in the end a biddable man, I agreed to be bidden. I am forever in debt to Flo. Thanks, Flo!

While she was out fetching and carrying, Flo also went to Canter’s to get some Jewish Penicillin. This remedy is one in which I have developed inestimable faith, and I was in no way reluctant to partake, despite the protestations of my inner tubes.

In addition, as evidenced by this photo, which shows my entire nutritional input for a 24 hour period, I prescribed myself what I shall hereby name Australian Penicillin.

Certainly when I was ill as a child, which was often, my mother would dispense this treatment with alacrity. The only more common remedy was tea, which was used for all purposes, medicinal and otherwise:

Australia won the fifth test.
Alright, I’ll put the kettle on.

The Americans have put a man on the moon.
Oh wonderful, I’ll just put the kettle on.

India just won the fifth test.
Hmm, let’s have a cuppa.

It’s raining.
That’s nice dear, I’ll just put the kettle on.

It’s stopped raining.
Another cup?

Mum, my girlfriend dumped me.
Ah well. Cup of tea?

Dad, Ryan and Walker have been recaptured.
Good son, tell your mother to put the kettle on.

At least one of these remedies seems to have done the trick. The gurglings and rumblings and explosions seem to have abated. The temperature is hovering around normal, and the brain seems once more functional. As much as I’d like to give credit to the medicinal herbs, I feel I must attribute this improvement to the double dose of ethnic penicillin.

But although I feel better, the Miasma is still evident. Flo has insisted that I strip the bed and incinerate the sheets and blankets. You can never be too sure, she said, and of course you can’t. She still refuses to kiss me, except on the top of the head. I guess she thinks the Miasma particles are not attracted to the top of the head. The dogs seem glad to regain access to both their sofas, as I had been occupying one of them on and off. I thought I would be able to go to work this morning, but received a “Not so fast” reminder from my body, and thought it best to keep my coding pants (a.k.a pyjamas) on and work from home instead.

I’m sure that come tomorrow, the Miasma will have passed, and I’ll be back at work carving monuments of code from granite boulders. Probably. In the meantime, I think I’ll just put the kettle on.

Orly Taitz is the gift that just keeps on giving.

A couple of sandwiches short of a picnic.

The lights are on, but nobody’s home.

A few roos loose in the top paddock.

A few beers short of a six-pack

One brick short of a load

A few fish short of a hatstand

Not playing with a full deck

As crazy as a sack full of ferrets

Out to lunch

Nutty as a fruit cake

Mad as a hatter

The elevator doesn’t go to the top floor

Not the sharpest knife in the drawer

Not firing on all six cylinders

These guys have been helping me with my work.

Front & center is Mr. Coffee. He’s generally not around much these days, because he likes to party late at night. But an exception was made today, because there was left-over Halloween candy in the kitchen. Among the candy was chocolate, which I understand is forbidden to eat without coffee. On the left is my old nemesis, Mr Water. A tricky bugger is Mr. Water, because he never tells me when he needs attention, which leads me to ignore him, and by the end of the day I’m tending towards the psychotic as I hit the freeway home. In the back are a couple of hasbeens, but I keep them around to remind me to stay topped up.

In the wayback, lurking in the corner, is Mr Fibre Channel Loopback Connector. The less said about him, the better.