I'd had a cold the previous week, and then somehow tweaked my back so I couldn't even get the amp into the van and had had to cancel last Saturday's Laguna trip, so I was determined to get down there somehow this time. Especially since I'm so busy in December that this would be my only chance to sing Christmas music in Laguna this year.
My back is still trashed, but I took a clue from NASA and hooked the amp up to the top of the hatchback with a bunch of bungee cords. At "Moon gravity", it was much easier to lift up and in.
When I drove past the corner, I was surprised to see our summertime nemesis, the Tommies, playing there. I rolled on over to the Fingerhut side anyway, but before I'd hardly started setting up, Tom came over and volunteered to move to the Tunnel. Apparently, he wasn't doing well against the loud ice cream store music and the cold. He and little Tommie would be warmer and louder in the enclosed and echoey tunnel.
Because of my back, I brought a little fold-up stool to lean against. It felt weird not to be standing, but being down a little lower pointed the monitor speaker right toward my head, which really helped me sing.
The now ever present bums were mostly over on the far bench, but the foot traffic was pretty low, so we didn't have too many people. Except for one quiet stretch late in the evening when I had four or five couples captured by "Bridge Over Troubled Water". That's really the best, when some people mean to walk on by but are pulled up short and stop.
One little boy decided that the best way to keep Mom from dragging him away was to just sit down, right there. She got the hint.
We had more than usual police presence, which I now look forward to, since I'm pretty sure they're not going to shut me down. They usually can't do anything about the bums, but just having them come by helps modulate the behavior. A cop came by to talk to Shirtless Josh, apparently called in by a woman who didn't appreciate his critique of her anatomy. Good for her. Maybe we need to call him "Clueless" Josh, since he kept insisting that it was a compliment...
At one point, an older guy for whom the term "stumble bum" was coined tried to walk through the corner. And he almost made it, but as he walked past Warren, he fell over backwards onto Warren's (empty) guitar case and into his equipment tower, tumbling over a carefully-rigged set of effects pedals. Warren and an audience member had to drag him up onto his feet and sit him on the bench to sober up a little while I tried to dispel some of the awkwardness by singing another song. Fortunately, no permanent damage to Warren's stuff.
And we had the little Mexican drunk who likes to chat people up for a while before asking to "borrow" a dollar. He thinks he's our friend, and when he came up to me for the third time to fist-bump, I had to tell him outright to stop chasing away "my customers". "Oh, I don't do that!" Yes, you do. I'm pretty sure the people sat down to listen to the music, not to make a new friend.
And then a little before 10, some of the guys who'd wandered off returned and sat right there on the main bench. One of them took to shouting "Wanna buy some weed?" over and over at the passing people. I suffered through it for a while, but it was the last straw, and I just quit mid-song and packed up.
As much as I like playing down there, I'm kinda looking forward to a month of playing places *without* drunken bums.
I'd had a cold the previous week, and then somehow tweaked my back so I couldn't even get the amp into the van and had had to cancel last Saturday's Laguna trip, so I was determined to get down there somehow this time. Especially since I'm so busy in December that this would be my only chance to sing Christmas music in Laguna this year.
My back is still trashed, but I took a clue from NASA and hooked the amp up to the top of the hatchback with a bunch of bungee cords. At "Moon gravity", it was much easier to lift up and in.
When I drove past the corner, I was surprised to see our summertime nemesis, the Tommies, playing there. I rolled on over to the Fingerhut side anyway, but before I'd hardly started setting up, Tom came over and volunteered to move to the Tunnel. Apparently, he wasn't doing well against the loud ice cream store music and the cold. He and little Tommie would be warmer and louder in the enclosed and echoey tunnel.
Because of my back, I brought a little fold-up stool to lean against. It felt weird not to be standing, but being down a little lower pointed the monitor speaker right toward my head, which really helped me sing.
The now ever present bums were mostly over on the far bench, but the foot traffic was pretty low, so we didn't have too many people. Except for one quiet stretch late in the evening when I had four or five couples captured by "Bridge Over Troubled Water". That's really the best, when some people mean to walk on by but are pulled up short and stop.
One little boy decided that the best way to keep Mom from dragging him away was to just sit down, right there. She got the hint.
We had more than usual police presence, which I now look forward to, since I'm pretty sure they're not going to shut me down. They usually can't do anything about the bums, but just having them come by helps modulate the behavior. A cop came by to talk to Shirtless Josh, apparently called in by a woman who didn't appreciate his critique of her anatomy. Good for her. Maybe we need to call him "Clueless" Josh, since he kept insisting that it was a compliment...
At one point, an older guy for whom the term "stumble bum" was coined tried to walk through the corner. And he almost made it, but as he walked past Warren, he fell over backwards onto Warren's (empty) guitar case and into his equipment tower, tumbling over a carefully-rigged set of effects pedals. Warren and an audience member had to drag him up onto his feet and sit him on the bench to sober up a little while I tried to dispel some of the awkwardness by singing another song. Fortunately, no permanent damage to Warren's stuff.
And we had the little Mexican drunk who likes to chat people up for a while before asking to "borrow" a dollar. He thinks he's our friend, and when he came up to me for the third time to fist-bump, I had to tell him outright to stop chasing away "my customers". "Oh, I don't do that!" Yes, you do. I'm pretty sure the people sat down to listen to the music, not to make a new friend.
And then a little before 10, some of the guys who'd wandered off returned and sat right there on the main bench. One of them took to shouting "Wanna buy some weed?" over and over at the passing people. I suffered through it for a while, but it was the last straw, and I just quit mid-song and packed up.
As much as I like playing down there, I'm kinda looking forward to a month of playing places *without* drunken bums.
I arrived about 6:30 to the surprise of a quartet of Dickensian carolers out on The Corner. (A) Kinda early in the year, and (B), Carolers, busking! I figured they wouldn't be there long, but when I got there they immediately started to leave, asking me if I wanted to play. I said that sure, I wanted to play, but I wanted to hear a song first! The alto asked me which one, so I asked for my favorite carol, "God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen", and she said that they didn't know it. What?!? The bass clarified that it's a five-part song (it is?), and their fifth wasn't there. They settled on "Angels We Have Heard on High", and did a respectable job of it, and then took off.
I inherited a young family as an audience, and let the little girls look through the list as I set up. Imagine my (lack of) surprise when they picked "Let It Go". One of the girls wanted to come up and sing along, but the other one didn't but got dragged up anyway, so they spent most of the song wrestling with each other over it. Anna and Elsa would have been so ashamed...
Later on, another family with two little girls came by, and they did their ballet moves (in clogs!) to "Let It Be", and then requested -- you guessed it -- "Let It Go". This pair just wanted to dance to it, not sing it. Which made for a mystery when the grandfather told me that they were flying to New York on Monday to be on the TV chat show, "The View", re-creating their viral YouTube hit singing it.
It turned into a pretty good night. For a while we had a pretty big crowd, asking for songs. But then the Australian bum showed up, pretty drunk on whatever not-smart and not-water he totes around in his "Smart Water" bottle. He was getting right in the face of this nice local couple, just as a cop car drove around the corner. The lady leapt up and flagged him down, told him what was up, and he parked, pulled the drunk out of the group, and gave him a stern talking to. He sobered up quick, and came back after a while but much subdued. Hopefully the chilling effect will last a few weeks...
The kind of great side effect was that the cops were all standing around dealing with this guy while I kept playing for the clearly appreciative crowd. I expect that the cops noticed that I'm a Good Thing, not Too Loud, and their helping me with the drunk kind of put us on The Same Side. Maybe an illusion, but it made me less worried that they'll decide to have A Talk with me sometime.
As she was leaving, the lady who flagged down the cop was commiserating with us about having to deal with this drunk guy all the time. I told her that he wasn't the only one, and not even close to the worst of them. She said that since the election, there were new city council members that were aiming to clean up this homeless hang-out problem, somehow, though some members were opposing the idea. I don't know what kind of plan they have that would work -- lots of cities have this same problem -- but just enforcing the "drunk in public" laws would be a start.
I arrived about 6:30 to the surprise of a quartet of Dickensian carolers out on The Corner. (A) Kinda early in the year, and (B), Carolers, busking! I figured they wouldn't be there long, but when I got there they immediately started to leave, asking me if I wanted to play. I said that sure, I wanted to play, but I wanted to hear a song first! The alto asked me which one, so I asked for my favorite carol, "God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen", and she said that they didn't know it. What?!? The bass clarified that it's a five-part song (it is?), and their fifth wasn't there. They settled on "Angels We Have Heard on High", and did a respectable job of it, and then took off.
I inherited a young family as an audience, and let the little girls look through the list as I set up. Imagine my (lack of) surprise when they picked "Let It Go". One of the girls wanted to come up and sing along, but the other one didn't but got dragged up anyway, so they spent most of the song wrestling with each other over it. Anna and Elsa would have been so ashamed...
Later on, another family with two little girls came by, and they did their ballet moves (in clogs!) to "Let It Be", and then requested -- you guessed it -- "Let It Go". This pair just wanted to dance to it, not sing it. Which made for a mystery when the grandfather told me that they were flying to New York on Monday to be on the TV chat show, "The View", re-creating their viral YouTube hit singing it.
It turned into a pretty good night. For a while we had a pretty big crowd, asking for songs. But then the Australian bum showed up, pretty drunk on whatever not-smart and not-water he totes around in his "Smart Water" bottle. He was getting right in the face of this nice local couple, just as a cop car drove around the corner. The lady leapt up and flagged him down, told him what was up, and he parked, pulled the drunk out of the group, and gave him a stern talking to. He sobered up quick, and came back after a while but much subdued. Hopefully the chilling effect will last a few weeks...
The kind of great side effect was that the cops were all standing around dealing with this guy while I kept playing for the clearly appreciative crowd. I expect that the cops noticed that I'm a Good Thing, not Too Loud, and their helping me with the drunk kind of put us on The Same Side. Maybe an illusion, but it made me less worried that they'll decide to have A Talk with me sometime.
As she was leaving, the lady who flagged down the cop was commiserating with us about having to deal with this drunk guy all the time. I told her that he wasn't the only one, and not even close to the worst of them. She said that since the election, there were new city council members that were aiming to clean up this homeless hang-out problem, somehow, though some members were opposing the idea. I don't know what kind of plan they have that would work -- lots of cities have this same problem -- but just enforcing the "drunk in public" laws would be a start.
We'd completely written off Fridays in Laguna Beach, since too-loud-Sanchez had "claimed" the corner on Thursdays and Fridays. But I've been wondering if that really meant *every* Friday, all year round, or if we were staying away for no reason. So I drove down there.
And there he was. On The Corner, standing in front of the bench, with his stuff strewn across it. We always play across from the bench, so listeners can sit on it, but we're at the mercy of the drunks and crazies taking it over, disallowing the civilians access to it. I think maybe Sanchez hates the bums more than he likes a sitting audience.
And the repetitive nature of his music supports that -- he sounds kinda OK if you're just walking by, but if you stick around, it becomes clear that it's all the same, all night long. He doesn't need, or want, people to stay any longer than it takes to put a buck in his guitar case. I, on the other hand, always want the appreciative ones to stay as long as possible, tipping or not.
Anyway, since I couldn't play in Laguna, I went to Plan B: Belmont Shore. There are several blocks along Second Street with a vibrant nightlife -- lots of bars, restaurants, and ginchy stores, and people walking around to take it all in. Rumor had it that one could stand in front of the (obviously closed) Chase bank and play, and although Long Beach apparently has a no-amps law on the books, the guys who play there claim that the cops don't enforce it. I was counting on, at least, a first-offence Warning rather than a fine.
So I drove up PCH, passing through Newport (known no-amp law, with anecdotal reports of cops tightly enforcing it), Huntington Beach (why can't I play here?), Sunset Beach (bars, but no walking zones), and finally Belmont. By this time it was after 8, so I cruised up the street to see if there was anyone else out -- there wasn't. So I found the bank, parked, and dragged my stuff out.
But camped out along the sidewalk in front of the bank was a group of anti-war people, with card tables full of literature and portraits of dead soldiers lined up along the wall. I'm sympathetic, but I didn't want to set up close to them since their vibe wouldn't be conducive to my program, and I didn't want to interfere with theirs. So I went just around the corner of the bank, out of view of their setup, but still visible to passers-by. (They apparently weren't bothered: they smiled and shot me the Peace Sign as they left.)
Just as I was setting up, a kid rolled up on a skateboard, decided that the smooth marble floor and parking berms at this side of the bank were a cool place to skate, and proceeded to make really loud skateboard clacking noises. I figured he'd leave soon, or at least when I started playing, but, for the second time that evening, I figured wrong.
I started anyway, at very low volume -- new place, paranoid me. Lots of people walked by, and a lot of them broke the "no eye contact" street rule and quite a few actually smiled. And a grand total of nine of them pulled out a buck for me. But even so, it was kind of pleasant. Still had the Harley and Lambo noise problem that we get in Laguna, but not nearly as much. A cop car went by three times during the two hours that I was there, and although he took a good long look at me as he cruised by, he never stopped.
I did have a few people stop and listen just a bit. There was a bus stop bench right across from me, and a few people would sit there for a while, and one young guy laid down on it, closed his eyes, smiled, and tapped his feet for a dozen songs, but most people realize that it's not for general sitting.
About 10:00, I realized that, despite almost nobody stopping, I was having a good time. Part of it was a pretty good sound (reflection from the tile-walled bank?), but another part of it was because of the lack of "assistance". No bums scaring away the people (not that there were many), and nobody helping me out with loud drunken singing along or "funny" song requests.
Unfortunately, realizing that apparently jinxed it. Along came an old guy who promptly parked on the bus stop bench, and started shouting/suggesting 70's rock bands and songs, and bellowing pieces of "Oye Como Va" and "Sunshine of Your Love", as if I should, or even could, play them. He also took to shouting "Thank you!" at the end of each of my songs, as if he was the lead singer addressing the crowd. I initially tried to reason with him that those songs rather required a bass and drummer, but it didn't faze him, so I just started ignoring him and playing the most pointedly non-rock songs I know.
That didn't work either, so I packed up at 10:20 and went home. As I passed by the taxi broker guy, he asked me how I did. I told him: Not too well, but I presume that more people are out on Saturdays. He said that there were, but that the most people are out from 11pm 'til 2am. That explained why he himself had shown up at 10:00, and although it was an intriguing idea, I wasn't really prepared to test it out right then and there.
We'd completely written off Fridays in Laguna Beach, since too-loud-Sanchez had "claimed" the corner on Thursdays and Fridays. But I've been wondering if that really meant *every* Friday, all year round, or if we were staying away for no reason. So I drove down there.
And there he was. On The Corner, standing in front of the bench, with his stuff strewn across it. We always play across from the bench, so listeners can sit on it, but we're at the mercy of the drunks and crazies taking it over, disallowing the civilians access to it. I think maybe Sanchez hates the bums more than he likes a sitting audience.
And the repetitive nature of his music supports that -- he sounds kinda OK if you're just walking by, but if you stick around, it becomes clear that it's all the same, all night long. He doesn't need, or want, people to stay any longer than it takes to put a buck in his guitar case. I, on the other hand, always want the appreciative ones to stay as long as possible, tipping or not.
Anyway, since I couldn't play in Laguna, I went to Plan B: Belmont Shore. There are several blocks along Second Street with a vibrant nightlife -- lots of bars, restaurants, and ginchy stores, and people walking around to take it all in. Rumor had it that one could stand in front of the (obviously closed) Chase bank and play, and although Long Beach apparently has a no-amps law on the books, the guys who play there claim that the cops don't enforce it. I was counting on, at least, a first-offence Warning rather than a fine.
So I drove up PCH, passing through Newport (known no-amp law, with anecdotal reports of cops tightly enforcing it), Huntington Beach (why can't I play here?), Sunset Beach (bars, but no walking zones), and finally Belmont. By this time it was after 8, so I cruised up the street to see if there was anyone else out -- there wasn't. So I found the bank, parked, and dragged my stuff out.
But camped out along the sidewalk in front of the bank was a group of anti-war people, with card tables full of literature and portraits of dead soldiers lined up along the wall. I'm sympathetic, but I didn't want to set up close to them since their vibe wouldn't be conducive to my program, and I didn't want to interfere with theirs. So I went just around the corner of the bank, out of view of their setup, but still visible to passers-by. (They apparently weren't bothered: they smiled and shot me the Peace Sign as they left.)
Just as I was setting up, a kid rolled up on a skateboard, decided that the smooth marble floor and parking berms at this side of the bank were a cool place to skate, and proceeded to make really loud skateboard clacking noises. I figured he'd leave soon, or at least when I started playing, but, for the second time that evening, I figured wrong.
I started anyway, at very low volume -- new place, paranoid me. Lots of people walked by, and a lot of them broke the "no eye contact" street rule and quite a few actually smiled. And a grand total of nine of them pulled out a buck for me. But even so, it was kind of pleasant. Still had the Harley and Lambo noise problem that we get in Laguna, but not nearly as much. A cop car went by three times during the two hours that I was there, and although he took a good long look at me as he cruised by, he never stopped.
I did have a few people stop and listen just a bit. There was a bus stop bench right across from me, and a few people would sit there for a while, and one young guy laid down on it, closed his eyes, smiled, and tapped his feet for a dozen songs, but most people realize that it's not for general sitting.
About 10:00, I realized that, despite almost nobody stopping, I was having a good time. Part of it was a pretty good sound (reflection from the tile-walled bank?), but another part of it was because of the lack of "assistance". No bums scaring away the people (not that there were many), and nobody helping me out with loud drunken singing along or "funny" song requests.
Unfortunately, realizing that apparently jinxed it. Along came an old guy who promptly parked on the bus stop bench, and started shouting/suggesting 70's rock bands and songs, and bellowing pieces of "Oye Como Va" and "Sunshine of Your Love", as if I should, or even could, play them. He also took to shouting "Thank you!" at the end of each of my songs, as if he was the lead singer addressing the crowd. I initially tried to reason with him that those songs rather required a bass and drummer, but it didn't faze him, so I just started ignoring him and playing the most pointedly non-rock songs I know.
That didn't work either, so I packed up at 10:20 and went home. As I passed by the taxi broker guy, he asked me how I did. I told him: Not too well, but I presume that more people are out on Saturdays. He said that there were, but that the most people are out from 11pm 'til 2am. That explained why he himself had shown up at 10:00, and although it was an intriguing idea, I wasn't really prepared to test it out right then and there.
A guy who works for the city and knows me from my playing at the Santa's Workshop hired me to play for his combined wife-birthday and wedding anniversary party. I thought, "Oh boy, I get to play indoors!", but it turns out it was on the "terrace" at the Community Center, outdoors after all. Oh well.
But that's OK, I'm used to it, and I got paid. It was a kinda fancy, but pretty quiet affair. They put up a little stage under an Easy-up, which was nice -- makes me feel like I'm For Real. But like always at a party, I start playing when the first guests get there, and it's too quiet and small for them to applaud after the songs, and as the party fills up (to a hundred or so), that atmosphere lingers. So I was "background music" -- which is fine. I could tell that people were enjoying it by the smiles, if not the applause.
The tricky part of playing a party is that the audience doesn't turn over. At the street corner, I could play six songs in a rotation and almost nobody (except the bums) would notice. But at the party, I had to play three and a half hours without repeating any songs. Fortunately, I happen to know plenty of songs so it's no problem to do just that.
The best part was that there were lots of affluent-looking people there, and quite a few of them came up to get my business card. Presumably, they liked my stuff and are thinking of hiring me for their upcoming events. One lady said she was with the Dana Point Yacht Club and they have "socials" that I'd be perfect for. I gave her an "Audition CD", just to try and cement that idea. And another lady specifically asked me if I knew any Christmas songs, to play at her Christmas party. Why, yes. Yes I do.
A guy who works for the city and knows me from my playing at the Santa's Workshop hired me to play for his combined wife-birthday and wedding anniversary party. I thought, "Oh boy, I get to play indoors!", but it turns out it was on the "terrace" at the Community Center, outdoors after all. Oh well.
But that's OK, I'm used to it, and I got paid. It was a kinda fancy, but pretty quiet affair. They put up a little stage under an Easy-up, which was nice -- makes me feel like I'm For Real. But like always at a party, I start playing when the first guests get there, and it's too quiet and small for them to applaud after the songs, and as the party fills up (to a hundred or so), that atmosphere lingers. So I was "background music" -- which is fine. I could tell that people were enjoying it by the smiles, if not the applause.
The tricky part of playing a party is that the audience doesn't turn over. At the street corner, I could play six songs in a rotation and almost nobody (except the bums) would notice. But at the party, I had to play three and a half hours without repeating any songs. Fortunately, I happen to know plenty of songs so it's no problem to do just that.
The best part was that there were lots of affluent-looking people there, and quite a few of them came up to get my business card. Presumably, they liked my stuff and are thinking of hiring me for their upcoming events. One lady said she was with the Dana Point Yacht Club and they have "socials" that I'd be perfect for. I gave her an "Audition CD", just to try and cement that idea. And another lady specifically asked me if I knew any Christmas songs, to play at her Christmas party. Why, yes. Yes I do.
At the previous week's Open Mic Night, I'd wowed 'em, and the organizer asked me to come back and be the "Featured Performer" this week. Which meant that I'd get to play a half hour, not just four songs. I'm always up for playing more, and hoped that there would be more "civilians" (i.e., people who were not there waiting their turn to play), and especially, that the owner would get a more complete "audition" from me.
There were a lot of ladies in the patio area, but they were there for a birthday, not to listen to the music, so, oh well. But I did play better, and got to do more of a variety of my stuff. And the owner, who can hear the music from anywhere in the place, actually came out from the kitchen area to watch and listen when I fired up "Over the Rainbow", which I took as a good sign.
As the Featured Performer, I went first again, but I stayed to listen to the other guys, too. It went about the same as before -- nice people, earnest, and trying their best. I guess we all have to start somewhere. George, the ukulele guy, sang some more of his songs. I keep wondering why, as he's writing the melody, he doesn't make it fit his vocal range. But he writes 'em so low, he can't even sing 'em. And then, of course, we can't understand the lyrics, so whatever the point of the song was, is lost.
"Buck Fifty" brought his crazy guitar-thing this time. It's a 6-string bass that he's restrung the top three strings with guitar strings, so it sounds like both a bass and guitar at the same time. Or more accurately, neither...
There were two new women there this time. Somebody told me that the first one was "really good" (she wasn't) and Schneider told me that the autoharp lady who went last was "like us: heart of the musician". Maybe so, but she didn't yet have the skills or voice of one.
Anyway, I had a chance to talk to Eddie for a while, and he told me the names of several Long Beach bars and their owners that I should go apply at, though he really thinks that I should just go into any more-local bar that has music and apply there. I guess I'm still working on getting up the nerve to do that...
At the previous week's Open Mic Night, I'd wowed 'em, and the organizer asked me to come back and be the "Featured Performer" this week. Which meant that I'd get to play a half hour, not just four songs. I'm always up for playing more, and hoped that there would be more "civilians" (i.e., people who were not there waiting their turn to play), and especially, that the owner would get a more complete "audition" from me.
There were a lot of ladies in the patio area, but they were there for a birthday, not to listen to the music, so, oh well. But I did play better, and got to do more of a variety of my stuff. And the owner, who can hear the music from anywhere in the place, actually came out from the kitchen area to watch and listen when I fired up "Over the Rainbow", which I took as a good sign.
As the Featured Performer, I went first again, but I stayed to listen to the other guys, too. It went about the same as before -- nice people, earnest, and trying their best. I guess we all have to start somewhere. George, the ukulele guy, sang some more of his songs. I keep wondering why, as he's writing the melody, he doesn't make it fit his vocal range. But he writes 'em so low, he can't even sing 'em. And then, of course, we can't understand the lyrics, so whatever the point of the song was, is lost.
"Buck Fifty" brought his crazy guitar-thing this time. It's a 6-string bass that he's restrung the top three strings with guitar strings, so it sounds like both a bass and guitar at the same time. Or more accurately, neither...
There were two new women there this time. Somebody told me that the first one was "really good" (she wasn't) and Schneider told me that the autoharp lady who went last was "like us: heart of the musician". Maybe so, but she didn't yet have the skills or voice of one.
Anyway, I had a chance to talk to Eddie for a while, and he told me the names of several Long Beach bars and their owners that I should go apply at, though he really thinks that I should just go into any more-local bar that has music and apply there. I guess I'm still working on getting up the nerve to do that...
My daughter is taking a TV production class at the college, and they needed some musicians to come in for the kids to get experience making "live TV". I volunteered.
They treat it like it's going out live, so there's no rehearsal and they don't know anything about the songs -- when/if there's an instrumental verse, when it ends, etc. They have to play it by ear as it were, with the director cutting from camera to camera on instinct. It's like those backstage views of them producing the Academy Awards show, with a guy yelling, "Cut to camera 2!"
The kids take turns acting as cameramen, stage, tech, and actual directors, etc. I just had to try to play my songs without mistakes so they could do their respective jobs around me. Which was harder than it sounds...
I started with "You've Got a Friend", 'cuz I've played so much that I can play it in my sleep. (Of course I also played my best song, "Over the Rainbow", and then, for something not quite so mellow, "Please Come to Boston".) But I'm used to being able to sneak a glance at the music stand to see if I'm, you know, singing the second verse second, and maybe peek at the chords that are coming up. They kept telling me that I didn't, but then strongly implied that I did, have to look into the active camera, or better yet, smile at it.
Now I know that, as a performer, I'm supposed to maintain eye contact with the audience, blah, blah, blah. And I try to, but mostly I like to make sure the music doesn't get screwed up, so I keep more of an eye on the book than the people. And when I do look up, I can look wherever I want to.
But with the pressure to not make any mistakes, and then being obliged to look up at the constantly moving target of whichever of the three cameras had its red light on -- well, it sounds easy, but wasn't, for me anyway. And you can (or at least *I* can) see the discomfort in my eyes as I try to look up, but then panic about the next chord or lyric, or notice that I'm looking at the wrong camera. And I made mistakes in places I've never made them before, like getting the cities out of order in "Please Come to Boston".
After each song, we'd all jam into the little control room to watch the playback, and a critique and compliment session from the director and teacher. Then the kids would get musical chaired into new positions for the next song.
So, nerve-wracking but fun, and I ended up with some pretty nice videos to post on my webpage and Facebook, and maybe use to get some gigs. But the weirdest part was spending the afternoon being referred to as "The Talent". It's oddly impersonal but complimentary at the same time.
My daughter is taking a TV production class at the college, and they needed some musicians to come in for the kids to get experience making "live TV". I volunteered.
They treat it like it's going out live, so there's no rehearsal and they don't know anything about the songs -- when/if there's an instrumental verse, when it ends, etc. They have to play it by ear as it were, with the director cutting from camera to camera on instinct. It's like those backstage views of them producing the Academy Awards show, with a guy yelling, "Cut to camera 2!"
The kids take turns acting as cameramen, stage, tech, and actual directors, etc. I just had to try to play my songs without mistakes so they could do their respective jobs around me. Which was harder than it sounds...
I started with "You've Got a Friend", 'cuz I've played so much that I can play it in my sleep. (Of course I also played my best song, "Over the Rainbow", and then, for something not quite so mellow, "Please Come to Boston".) But I'm used to being able to sneak a glance at the music stand to see if I'm, you know, singing the second verse second, and maybe peek at the chords that are coming up. They kept telling me that I didn't, but then strongly implied that I did, have to look into the active camera, or better yet, smile at it.
Now I know that, as a performer, I'm supposed to maintain eye contact with the audience, blah, blah, blah. And I try to, but mostly I like to make sure the music doesn't get screwed up, so I keep more of an eye on the book than the people. And when I do look up, I can look wherever I want to.
But with the pressure to not make any mistakes, and then being obliged to look up at the constantly moving target of whichever of the three cameras had its red light on -- well, it sounds easy, but wasn't, for me anyway. And you can (or at least *I* can) see the discomfort in my eyes as I try to look up, but then panic about the next chord or lyric, or notice that I'm looking at the wrong camera. And I made mistakes in places I've never made them before, like getting the cities out of order in "Please Come to Boston".
After each song, we'd all jam into the little control room to watch the playback, and a critique and compliment session from the director and teacher. Then the kids would get musical chaired into new positions for the next song.
So, nerve-wracking but fun, and I ended up with some pretty nice videos to post on my webpage and Facebook, and maybe use to get some gigs. But the weirdest part was spending the afternoon being referred to as "The Talent". It's oddly impersonal but complimentary at the same time.
When I got down there, as I feared, there were a bunch of homeless guys hanging out. Most of them were on the far bench, and so not much trouble, but there was a new older Australian guy who was far too friendly and wanted to get involved with me, my songs, any people who came by, etc. He was pretty intrusive, and when another homeless surfer guy came by and joined him in dancing to any and all my songs in the middle of the corner, my potential audience went to zero.
So I just quit playing and sat on the side bench and chatted with Mikey, hoping they'd get bored and leave, but these guys are professional sit-arounders, so they can easily outlast the likes of me. Finally the surfer guy asked me if I was going to play anymore, and I gave it to him straight: "As long as you guys and your stuff are taking up the whole bench so nobody can sit and listen, there's no point in me playing". He got it, and moved to the far bench, but he couldn't convince the Australian, who continued to cramp the act all night.
But it wasn't all bad. Traffic was pretty slow because of the cold wind that's finally broken our heat spell, but the guy who drives down from Pasadena just to hear me play came by and listened for a while. And occasionally some people would stop and stand off to one side, away from the bums, and listen -- they just couldn't/wouldn't stay very long. So I played for them, and then when there was nobody but the bums, I ran through some songs that I wanted to practice, or just like to play.
The art college was having a Day of the Dead party in their museum, two shops up from The Corner. It was pretty fun to watch the face-painted and fancy-clothed party goers walk by. Unfortunately, they all had someplace better to go, so none of them stopped for long. And that party got pretty loud toward the end...
At one point a nicely-dressed extended family came by, and the mom asked if I knew any James Taylor. I told her I know *all* of James Taylor's stuff, and to name anything. She asked for the classic, "You've Got a Friend", and though her son wanted "Mexico", I always go with "Ladies first". Which was clearly the right move, 'cuz the dad got up and put something in the jar, and has to be the explanation for the hundred dollar bill that I found in there. (It was such a surprise that I jerked away like it was gonna bite me when I spotted it.) That's *awfully* generous for one song! And that one bill, which quadrupled the take, definitely made the night!
When I got down there, as I feared, there were a bunch of homeless guys hanging out. Most of them were on the far bench, and so not much trouble, but there was a new older Australian guy who was far too friendly and wanted to get involved with me, my songs, any people who came by, etc. He was pretty intrusive, and when another homeless surfer guy came by and joined him in dancing to any and all my songs in the middle of the corner, my potential audience went to zero.
So I just quit playing and sat on the side bench and chatted with Mikey, hoping they'd get bored and leave, but these guys are professional sit-arounders, so they can easily outlast the likes of me. Finally the surfer guy asked me if I was going to play anymore, and I gave it to him straight: "As long as you guys and your stuff are taking up the whole bench so nobody can sit and listen, there's no point in me playing". He got it, and moved to the far bench, but he couldn't convince the Australian, who continued to cramp the act all night.
But it wasn't all bad. Traffic was pretty slow because of the cold wind that's finally broken our heat spell, but the guy who drives down from Pasadena just to hear me play came by and listened for a while. And occasionally some people would stop and stand off to one side, away from the bums, and listen -- they just couldn't/wouldn't stay very long. So I played for them, and then when there was nobody but the bums, I ran through some songs that I wanted to practice, or just like to play.
The art college was having a Day of the Dead party in their museum, two shops up from The Corner. It was pretty fun to watch the face-painted and fancy-clothed party goers walk by. Unfortunately, they all had someplace better to go, so none of them stopped for long. And that party got pretty loud toward the end...
At one point a nicely-dressed extended family came by, and the mom asked if I knew any James Taylor. I told her I know *all* of James Taylor's stuff, and to name anything. She asked for the classic, "You've Got a Friend", and though her son wanted "Mexico", I always go with "Ladies first". Which was clearly the right move, 'cuz the dad got up and put something in the jar, and has to be the explanation for the hundred dollar bill that I found in there. (It was such a surprise that I jerked away like it was gonna bite me when I spotted it.) That's *awfully* generous for one song! And that one bill, which quadrupled the take, definitely made the night!
I kept getting Facebook invitations to an Open Mic Night at a bar in Long Beach, but I hate Open Mic Nights. You only get to do a few songs, and it takes me at least two songs to get comfortable in a new situation, warm up my voice, and get my fingers working. And most, if not all, of the people there are the other musicians, being hyper-critical and bored 'cuz they want it to be their turn.
So I've been ignoring the weekly invitations, until the organizer added the magic words: "If the owner likes you, he'll hire you for a real gig!" Well, that's a whole 'nother deal...
Still, I stalled a few weeks, finding excuses not to go, on account of dreading how much I hate Open Mics. But this week, I couldn't think of any excuses to tell myself not to go, so I went.
Found the place, and it's kinda nice: restaurant upstairs, and lounge/bar downstairs, with a tiny little stage in one corner. When the guy finally arrived, he produced a sign-up sheet. I wanted to see how it's supposed to go before getting up there myself, so didn't want to go first, so I put my name in the second slot.
The guy, Eddie, cleverly got up and broke the ice by doing a few songs himself first, and then went to the list. Turns out I was a total sucker taking the second slot, 'cuz, naturally, nobody took the first one. Rookie mistake.
But I'm not new to performing, just performing there, so I got on up and did my thing. The good part was that there weren't many performers there, so we each got to do four songs. The bad part was that virtually everybody there was there to perform.
But it turns out that these guys, all "regulars" and pals, just do this on Tuesday nights for fun, and they're pretty much rank amateurs. Ukulele, and beginner guitar strumming. One guy, who the other guys seemed in awe of, just sings along to backing tracks. And, seriously? "Ipanema"?
Anyway, after my first song, one of the guys (goes by just "Schneider") came right up to the stage. He was 60-something, wearing a scuffed up leather jacket, red bandana around his neck, what's left of his hair spiked up in a faux-hawk, goatee, and little oval serial-killer sunglasses. A dead ringer for character actor Peter Stormare, if you know him (the foreign psychopathic bad guy in basically everything). He told me, with an outrageous, possibly Italian, accent that he was almost crying from my singing (Really?!?, from "The Boxer"?!?), and "prayed that God would keep you and your beautiful voice forever young", and other hyperbolic and incomprehensible praises. Um, OK, thank you?
So with that baffling encouragement, I did another three songs ("You've Got a Friend", "Please Come to Boston", and "Over the Rainbow"), getting pretty solid applause from the 6 or 8 guys in the bar and the few civilians, and stepped down. The other guys filed up and played, mostly their own "funny" songs (the only ones I can remember were "Too White to Sing the Blues", and something about how ASCAP had shut down some other bar's Open Mic night).
I stayed around to be polite, and to see what the competition was like. While one guy would be playing, the other guys came over to me one at a time to tell me how good I was, and how they hoped I'd come back again next week, etc. And after I'd heard a few of them, I could see why they were so impressed, in comparison...
I stepped outside where it was cooler, and Eddie came out to tell me how good I was, and to ask where I play. I told him that I was down to just the street corner in Laguna, and he said that I should be playing 4 or 5 nights a week in bars, like he does, at a hundred bucks a pop. What?!?
I told him that I didn't know how to get gigs in bars, or even where to try, and he said that he'd get me the names of the bars and owners around town. Unfortunately, that town is Long Beach, 30 miles from my house, minimum. But hey, to get to play for money, I'll drive.
Eddie says that I just have to get a CD with a few songs on it (my CD has 25) to the owners, and they'll hire me. He says that "nobody around here does what you do". He's probably right about that -- he himself has a "huge repertoire" of 200 songs (my list is 304, this week), but he has a different style than mine, and he's younger so I'm sure his list focuses on a different era. Whatever, I sure hope it's as easy as he says it'll be -- I'd love to be a little less unemployed, especially if the job is playing music.
Also, Eddie also asked me to come back next week and be the "Featured Performer" -- play 20 or 30 minutes, and he'll pay me ten bucks. That's not much of a paycheck, obviously, but it'll pay for the gas to get there and back, and I have a feeling that getting to know Eddie will be a good thing. Before I left, he introduced me to the owner of the place, and although he didn't jump up to offer me a job, maybe after he hears a little more next week...
I kept getting Facebook invitations to an Open Mic Night at a bar in Long Beach, but I hate Open Mic Nights. You only get to do a few songs, and it takes me at least two songs to get comfortable in a new situation, warm up my voice, and get my fingers working. And most, if not all, of the people there are the other musicians, being hyper-critical and bored 'cuz they want it to be their turn.
So I've been ignoring the weekly invitations, until the organizer added the magic words: "If the owner likes you, he'll hire you for a real gig!" Well, that's a whole 'nother deal...
Still, I stalled a few weeks, finding excuses not to go, on account of dreading how much I hate Open Mics. But this week, I couldn't think of any excuses to tell myself not to go, so I went.
Found the place, and it's kinda nice: restaurant upstairs, and lounge/bar downstairs, with a tiny little stage in one corner. When the guy finally arrived, he produced a sign-up sheet. I wanted to see how it's supposed to go before getting up there myself, so didn't want to go first, so I put my name in the second slot.
The guy, Eddie, cleverly got up and broke the ice by doing a few songs himself first, and then went to the list. Turns out I was a total sucker taking the second slot, 'cuz, naturally, nobody took the first one. Rookie mistake.
But I'm not new to performing, just performing there, so I got on up and did my thing. The good part was that there weren't many performers there, so we each got to do four songs. The bad part was that virtually everybody there was there to perform.
But it turns out that these guys, all "regulars" and pals, just do this on Tuesday nights for fun, and they're pretty much rank amateurs. Ukulele, and beginner guitar strumming. One guy, who the other guys seemed in awe of, just sings along to backing tracks. And, seriously? "Ipanema"?
Anyway, after my first song, one of the guys (goes by just "Schneider") came right up to the stage. He was 60-something, wearing a scuffed up leather jacket, red bandana around his neck, what's left of his hair spiked up in a faux-hawk, goatee, and little oval serial-killer sunglasses. A dead ringer for character actor Peter Stormare, if you know him (the foreign psychopathic bad guy in basically everything). He told me, with an outrageous, possibly Italian, accent that he was almost crying from my singing (Really?!?, from "The Boxer"?!?), and "prayed that God would keep you and your beautiful voice forever young", and other hyperbolic and incomprehensible praises. Um, OK, thank you?
So with that baffling encouragement, I did another three songs ("You've Got a Friend", "Please Come to Boston", and "Over the Rainbow"), getting pretty solid applause from the 6 or 8 guys in the bar and the few civilians, and stepped down. The other guys filed up and played, mostly their own "funny" songs (the only ones I can remember were "Too White to Sing the Blues", and something about how ASCAP had shut down some other bar's Open Mic night).
I stayed around to be polite, and to see what the competition was like. While one guy would be playing, the other guys came over to me one at a time to tell me how good I was, and how they hoped I'd come back again next week, etc. And after I'd heard a few of them, I could see why they were so impressed, in comparison...
I stepped outside where it was cooler, and Eddie came out to tell me how good I was, and to ask where I play. I told him that I was down to just the street corner in Laguna, and he said that I should be playing 4 or 5 nights a week in bars, like he does, at a hundred bucks a pop. What?!?
I told him that I didn't know how to get gigs in bars, or even where to try, and he said that he'd get me the names of the bars and owners around town. Unfortunately, that town is Long Beach, 30 miles from my house, minimum. But hey, to get to play for money, I'll drive.
Eddie says that I just have to get a CD with a few songs on it (my CD has 25) to the owners, and they'll hire me. He says that "nobody around here does what you do". He's probably right about that -- he himself has a "huge repertoire" of 200 songs (my list is 304, this week), but he has a different style than mine, and he's younger so I'm sure his list focuses on a different era. Whatever, I sure hope it's as easy as he says it'll be -- I'd love to be a little less unemployed, especially if the job is playing music.
Also, Eddie also asked me to come back next week and be the "Featured Performer" -- play 20 or 30 minutes, and he'll pay me ten bucks. That's not much of a paycheck, obviously, but it'll pay for the gas to get there and back, and I have a feeling that getting to know Eddie will be a good thing. Before I left, he introduced me to the owner of the place, and although he didn't jump up to offer me a job, maybe after he hears a little more next week...
I had gotten up at 5:30 am to help with the auction at my mom's house, so I wasn't sure I'd have enough energy to do a gig too, but there are only so many nice-weather Saturdays in a year, so I went down anyway. And once I get started, I don't feel anything but the music...
And it was a terrific night. When we arrived, there were already some ladies waiting for us, and while I was setting up another family came by that knows us, and always tells me how much they love my CD and "play it in the car all the time!" They all sat on the bench and sang along, and swayed back and forth to the music, and made for a great start.
All night long I barely got a chance to choose a song myself, since there was always someone there making requests. The only problem we had was a too-friendly local character who thinks we're buddies 'cuz I let him play tabla along with us once. But his drums got stolen so he couldn't play along this time, but he did feel entitled to sing along and loudly chat up, and eventually scare away, other people who came by. And he got worse and worse as he drank beer after beer, pulled from his backpack.
We also had a visit from a guy who comes almost every time these days, who stands there singing along all night long. He's nice enough, and clearly loves our stuff, but he's not much of a singer. I can only hope that the other people are hearing my amplified voice over his.
Which, this time: probably. I think I was turned up quite a bit louder than I've even been before, but since there's nobody else out there trying to play, I can get away with it -- and I asked the people in front of the amp if I was too loud and they assured me that I wasn't. It just makes it so nice for me when the monitor is good and loud, so I can hear myself and I guess I just feel "empowered". It sure feels like I'm singing better when I can tell what I'm doing.
And besides that, maybe it was the exhaustion, or the caffeine, or the stage adrenaline, but I was feeling quite uninhibited and just "letting it fly", which is big, big fun.
I had gotten up at 5:30 am to help with the auction at my mom's house, so I wasn't sure I'd have enough energy to do a gig too, but there are only so many nice-weather Saturdays in a year, so I went down anyway. And once I get started, I don't feel anything but the music...
And it was a terrific night. When we arrived, there were already some ladies waiting for us, and while I was setting up another family came by that knows us, and always tells me how much they love my CD and "play it in the car all the time!" They all sat on the bench and sang along, and swayed back and forth to the music, and made for a great start.
All night long I barely got a chance to choose a song myself, since there was always someone there making requests. The only problem we had was a too-friendly local character who thinks we're buddies 'cuz I let him play tabla along with us once. But his drums got stolen so he couldn't play along this time, but he did feel entitled to sing along and loudly chat up, and eventually scare away, other people who came by. And he got worse and worse as he drank beer after beer, pulled from his backpack.
We also had a visit from a guy who comes almost every time these days, who stands there singing along all night long. He's nice enough, and clearly loves our stuff, but he's not much of a singer. I can only hope that the other people are hearing my amplified voice over his.
Which, this time: probably. I think I was turned up quite a bit louder than I've even been before, but since there's nobody else out there trying to play, I can get away with it -- and I asked the people in front of the amp if I was too loud and they assured me that I wasn't. It just makes it so nice for me when the monitor is good and loud, so I can hear myself and I guess I just feel "empowered". It sure feels like I'm singing better when I can tell what I'm doing.
And besides that, maybe it was the exhaustion, or the caffeine, or the stage adrenaline, but I was feeling quite uninhibited and just "letting it fly", which is big, big fun.
On the unexpected occasion of my 60th birthday, I thought I'd write up a few of my Stories, while I can still remember (or make up) a reasonable portion of them.
I joined the Indian Princesses with my daughters in 1996. Smartest thing my wife ever talked me into. I was reticent at first, but it turned out to be, most simply, a program that won't let you get away with forgetting to Do Things with your young daughters.
One of those Things was the annual Pinecar Derby. The first year Geneva and I built a car (1998, not shown), I tried to make it fast, as you do, and failed miserably. (My excuse: I tuned the car to go fast and straight on a laid-down mirror closet door -- a perfectly flat surface. When we got to the actual races, the track was old, crummy, and warped. On the first bump in the track, my rear-weighted car started oscillating back and forth all the way down, alternately scraping the track walls, and of course, losing speed.)
From then on I fell back on my strengths: design and workmanship. Each of these are completely original designs. The only hassle is that the rest of the guys expected me to outdo myself every year, and it got to be quite a burden...
1999: Mushu Firework Rocket - This is based, obviously, on the movie "Mulan" that had just come out. Because of the overall size, we threw away the block that came with the pinecar kit, and turned the whole thing on a lathe from a chunk of redwood 4x4. (We have pretty flexible rules in our Indian Princess group.)
I retained the original wheels, axles, screws and wheelbase dimensions, to be as fair as possible, even though we're not really there to win the race.
The "flames" at the back are just a bundle of ribbons, which were removed before the race. The Mushu on top is a birthday cake decoration.
It was a great project, and gave me a chance to teach my daughter a little about using a lathe, along with the usual sanding ("always with the grain!"), spray painting, masking, etc.
2000: Podracer - Another movie-based design, built right after "Star Wars Episode 1" came out. Frankly, I was surprised that no one else thought of it.
The pod itself is made of "Sculpey", which is like Play-Doh, but bakes up as hard as a rock. It's also very heavy, so the car only needed a tiny bit of lead.
The "engines" are some 3/4" dowel, with balsa wood fins, and a pink pipe cleaner for the electrical "zap" between them (we didn't have any purple). The original pine block was cut down and painted black to pretend that it's invisible. I put the baling wire front "bumper" on so that the car would sit against the starting block fairly.
2001: Matterhorn Bobsled - This is based on pictures of the old bobsled design from when I was a kid -- the current one wasn't as easy to mimic. We made two of these, one by and for each daughter.
This is the first design where it occurred to me to cut the pinecar block in half, and reassemble it with a piece of dowel. (The second was the Choo-choo.) You have to be really careful to get the two halves absolutely aligned, so the car will go straight. The horizontal drill press mode of my ShopSmith makes this reasonably feasible.
We found the little bears at a craft store. It was hard to cut their little legs off, what with them looking at me that way, but I had to get them into the holes. It's cool that they're articulated, so they can hold their hands up like real roller coaster riders do.
2002: Choo-Choo Train - This is Geneva's pinecar. The original block that came with the kit was cut in two, and put back together with a piece of dowel. This is, of course, a risky procedure, because if it's reassembled out-of-square, you'll never get it to go straight. Of course, we're not there to win the race, but we do want to make it to the bottom of the track.
The "coal" is some weird crystalline cat litter we had, glued to a piece of paper, and spray-painted black. It was just the right scale, but I guess rock salt or something would have worked.
The second set of wheels came from another kit, which is why they don't quite match. Only the ones with the silver hubs actually touch the ground. The "tank" is a piece of closet pole dowel. We turned the smokestack, gold "bell" thingie and the small front wheels on the lathe. The headlight is the remains of a big "snap".
It turned out to be too heavy, so the coal car is drilled almost to oblivion from the underside.
2002: Shoolbus - This is clearly the easiest design we've done, but it's what Acacia asked for, and since we had to build two cars in a short time, I took the break. To get enough height, I had to cut the original block down to get rid of the "driver's seat" indent that they cut into them, and glue the block from another kit onto it. The wheels from the second kit came in handy for the Choo-choo train.
One useful technique: the windows, bumpers and stripes are just electrician's tape -- it was easier than trying to paint them. The headlights are thumbtacks, and the taillights are red tape, cut out with a hole punch.
It was way overweight like the Choo-choo, so there are a lot of big drill holes in the bottom, where you can't see 'em.
2003: Caterpillar - When I asked Acacia what she wanted the car to be this year, she just said, "A caterpillar!" I don't know where she comes up with this stuff.
Anyway, I thought up a lot of different plans to accomplish a caterpillar, and finally decided that gluing balls together was the only way it would look right. I was about to try to turn the balls myself on the lathe, when it hit me that I might be able to buy them. We went to the craft store, and bought 7 maple "doll heads". They even already had one flat side. I flattened another side on 5 of 'em and thought I was home free.
Unfortunately, maple is *way* heavier than pine, so it was *way* over weight. I had to break the balls apart again, and try to hollow them out with a drill. I did the best I could, but we ended up having to run the race with the final ball removed.
We painted him all yellow, and sponge-painted the green. The nose is a little pom-pom, and the antennas are sparkly pipe-cleaners.
I hadn't really thought about the "platform" he was gonna stand on until the end, but the caterpillar turned out so cute that it seemed a shame to make him stand on a black square like the pod racer. I suddenly hit on the idea of giving him some leaves to crawl on, which wasn't as easy to do as it sounded -- but it was worth it. It's carved from the original pine block so I wouldn't have to worry about the wheelbase or axle alignment.
2004: Flying Whale - Another movie reference, though obscure. This is from the "Pines of Rome" sequence in "Fantasia 2000".
Acacia had the original request for just "a whale" -- I came up with the idea of making him fly up out of clouds. Originally the base would have just been "water", but everybody knows that the big whales can't jump entirely up out of the water.
The whale itself is hand carved from balsa, based on pictures downloaded from the web. We started out by cutting the basic profile and top view into the balsa with a coping saw, and finished rounding the body with a potato peeler. (This allowed 8-year-old Acacia to do the work without any danger to herself, or risk of large unfixable mistakes.) The fins and tail are from some 1/8" mahogany doorskin plywood scraps I had laying around.
After some Elmer's-and-water sanding sealer and spray painting the whole thing in white, we overpainted the whale with a little sponge, dabbing the paint on to produce the texture.
The base with the axles and wheels is the only part left of the original pine block. Since the whale is balsa, it's incredibly light, so I had to put a lot of lead on the bottom. Surprisingly, we did rather well in the race (possibly because all the weight was below the axle line?), until one of the lead pieces fell off, unnoticed until I got the car home. Ripped off!
2005: Trojan Unicorn -- Acacia, like many little girls, was into unicorns big-time, and had a huge collection. So it wasn't much of a surprise when I asked her what she wanted to build.
I first looked at rocking horses, but they're all in an odd (for a car) splayed-legs pose, and I was afraid to attempt a fully-carved, "realistic" horse. I also looked at carousel horses, which have better legs, but are still fully-carved. Trying to think of a way to "get away" with a more primitive (so easier-to-make) horse, I thought of the Trojan Horse. That reminded me of the two-story-tall Trojan Horse "toy" that makes the entrance of the F.A.O. Schwarz toy store in the Caesar's Mall in Las Vegas.
I found pictures of the original design for it, but since it was, again, fully-carved, I had to simplify it.
I based my proportions on the F.A.O. horse, but made the head bigger, 'cuz that makes it cuter. The hardest part was the neck-to-body joint, and then the neck-to-head joint. I just faked those until they worked.
The only problem with the F.A.O. design is that it's standing stock-still -- all four feet planted on the ground. I thought it need to look a little more "alive", since it's supposed to be moving, and I thought of Leonardo's planned (and recently (finally) built) Equestrian statue. I took the lifted front leg from him, but didn't think it would be strong enough if I lifted the back leg, too.
To build the parts, we glued the paper plan onto the balsa wood, and my daughter cut (way) outside the lines with a coping saw. Then we brought it to the line on the disk sander, which is a little scary for her, but not very dangerous at slow speeds. That way she got to do a lot of the work.
We left our version "wood colored" (clear lacquer) to help get the Trojan Horse idea across. The "dirt" is actually crushed walnut shells for use in terrariums. The unicorn is just screwed down to the base from the underside, so after the race it can join the rest of her collection.
2006: Yellow Submarine - When Acacia was in Middle School, she was the Beatles' biggest fan. She did her dress-up oral biography on Paul McCartney, dressed in my old Sergeant Pepper jacket. So naturally, she wanted a Yellow Submarine pinecar. (I was a big fan back in my day, and had a hand-made Submarine on my bedroom wall, so I jumped at the chance to build a "real" one.)
It was built essentially the same way as the whale from two years prior, carved out of a block of balsa. Acacia was less afraid of the sander, so she was able to get a lot closer to the finished shape before shifting to hand finishing.
I printed out the flower-like main window (?) and the little portholes with the Beatles in them on CD sticker paper from a picture I found. We used a new painting technique where you cover the regular paint with a spray-on clear coat, which also sealed the stickers down. I made the railing around the top out of some thick solder I had. And the red stripe is some pinstripe tape that I inexplicably had out in the garage.
I found an image of the "Sea of Holes", and expanded it to be big enough to cover the base. One hole is green -- the way out to the "Sea of Green". A short piece of a mini-blind closing wand made a good transparent support pylon.
Apparently Acacia was pretty proud of the result -- after the race, she took the base off and hung the submarine from the ceiling fan in the middle of her room.
Every year at the race, some of the dads would complain (either aloud or with sidelong glances) that my daughters' cars were not strictly "child-built". I never really got a chance to rebut that complaint by pointing out that the program was about "Father-Daughter" activities, and having your daughter build the kit while you watch the football game was even less in line with the spirit of the thing.
My take on it was that the race itself was a two hour event at the end of a three week idea, design, and build phase. That was where the real father-daughter interaction took place, even if it was just the dad doing the building while the daughter watched. Nobody's born knowing how to work a saw, an Xacto knife, power tools, or even sandpaper, so I took these opportunities to teach my daughters about designing for build-ability, and working with the tools and techniques needed. And with each car, they absolutely did as much as they were safely able to do, at whatever age they'd reached at the time. And the parts they couldn't do, they watched and learned about so maybe they could do those parts next year.
Did I step in to make sure that their experience was good, and that their projects turned out well? Sure. That's what dads do.
