This is for all those silly orchestra people (me being one of them) who
have gone on a silly orchestra trip. This does not really fit in well with
the Marching Band section, but to Hades with it! A Euphonium is mentioned.
There you have it. Enjoy, or not, depending…
The Lovely Madcap Orchestra Trip
Once upon a time there was a lovely little orchestra trip. Yes, it was an orchestra trip, the kind you get when you dig around behind your classical CDs and finally come up holding that one baroque tape you lost long ago… and now it's all eaten up by bugs, anyway. That's the kind of orchestra trip it was. In short: orchestras weren't designed for trips, and neither were large bottles of vodka.
However. I digress.
This particular orchestra trip was a sad affair. The bassist was busy herding her little cellos together into a clump, and everyone else was trying to figure out how to get around Ross the broad-shouldered violist. It was chaos… Well, orchestra-brand chaos, in which a cold draft of air spells doom for the entire ensemble. Oh, woe is us! The cellos have all gone flat again!
"The cellos are possessed!"
There wasn't even a solitary percussionist to cool things down. And then there was that forgotten bottle of vodka that lay hidden beneath somebody's cushions…
So they all set off on their happy pathetic orchestra trip, all twenty-four of them. It was chaotic, as was mentioned before. On the way, the bus became a crazy bombshell of activity, ready to explode at any given second.
Oh, the suspense! Someone had even failed to throw away his or her foil wrapper. A clever violinist had to discreetly bring it to the front of the bus before anybody noticed. Ooh, good times! Party times!
"Hello…?" asked the vodka, not daring to peek out of its enveloping nest. Nobody heard it. The insanity had already taken over.
People held their breath as Elizabeth, a daredevil cellist, put a rock 'n' roll CD into her Discman.
"Won't it break?" asked a cautious young violinist.
Elizabeth swallowed. "No," she replied after a while, "I have seen it done before. Mozart and Beethoven would be proud."
She inserted the CD into the Discman.
They all held their breath.
"Noooooooooo…." some foolish and frequently-ignored violinist moaned from the front of the bus. Nobody took notice of her.
The bust ride continued with even more heart-wrenching tales of courage and adventure, but there is too much to tell.
I shall move forward… to THE HOTEL!
When one asks an orchestra student to find his or her way to his or her hotel room, this is like asking a piece of pie to find the fork. It is, without question, going to upset the place-setting in one way or another. In this case several cellists ended up outside, gazing about with a confused air.
"Where's the hot tub?" one of them asked.
"I don't think there is a hot tub." replied another.
Then a hotel employee appeared out of nowhere (i.e. Hades) and said, "There IS a hot tub. We HAVE a hot tub." And she disappeared into thin air (i.e. Hades).
The cellists, too frightened to speak, merely found their way back inside. It is said that cellos are perhaps the most absent-minded and wise of all the stringed instruments. Except of course for the Euphonium (which isn't even a stringed instrument, for Godsake. And who in Hades knows what a Euphonium even is? Should it really be capitalized? Perhaps it is some sort of hat worn by accountants. Interesting.). In any case, the Euphonium was wiser and even MORE dimwitted than the cello.
All of a sudden, the cellist Meg became all of a flutter. That is to say, she felt as though she'd like to go sit down and watch a bit of Public Television for a while. (WHAT?!) For just at that very moment, the lovely and wonderful violinist Dustin had come out of his room and into the hallway.
"Um…what?" Dustin asked as he fidgeted and sidled over to the ice machine.
The vodka said: "Oooh… a nice refreshing pile of ice to be cooled in…"
"What?" said Meg and Bethany and Teal (the other wise and absent-minded cellists).
"Nothing!" said Dustin. He leapt into his room with the bucket of newly- fetched ice, and slammed the door.
"Tsk tsk, such inappropriate behavior. Almost like a Euphonium."
(WHAT?!)
"Dustin is sooooo deliciously tasty."
"Um…"
Much madcap activities took place thereafter.
Where is the SANITY?
I shall go forward to the… CONCERT HALL!
Many young and optimistic orchestra people sat in the red fluffy seats.
But the vodka was back in a cabinet with the ice, feeling sorry for itself. "I'm… all aloooone… no one heeere… besiiiide me…"
Dustin had (for reasons unknown {except for perhaps the keeper of Hades}) decided not to wear his extremely attractive white shirt and vest. This was to the great distress of Meg the flighty cellist.
"For Godsake, wear the vest!" cried Meg, burying her face in her program.
"For Godsake, you're getting your program wrinkly," complained Teal. She patted Meg on the back. "It's okay. We're having 'beverages' later. Maybe. I think…?"
The vodka jumped for joy. "Yay, somebody remembered me! I'm a 'beverage!!'"
When orchestras watch concerts, one could compare it to iguanas: they sit, they appear to be wrinkly logs, and they stick out their tongues occasionally. One could also use the "Elf Being Hot" analogy. When Elves are being hot, they are being themselves. When Elves are being themselves, they are being lovely and blonde and amazingly delicious with blue eyes. Therefore, when Elves are being themselves, they are being hot AND lovely and blonde and amazingly delicious with blue eyes. So there you have it, an accurate and detailed description of orchestras when they watch concerts..
(WHAT?!)
Nobody really enjoyed the concert.
As a wise cellist said: "It was modern and jumpy and stinky and rather had that sort of modern/jumpy/stinky aroma that you get nowadays. Hmph."
They all went to bed feeling put out. Except for Meg, Teal, and Bethany, who watched Arthur and Conan O'Brien.
"Secrets…"
Meanwhile the vodka was having the time of its life.
The toothsome Dustin was as well, as were Ross the broad-shouldered violist and Viet, the (somewhat gay) violinist.
Dustin tried to cuddle with Ross at one point in the night.
Good times.
In the morning, they all awoke to the Euphonium's shrill whistle.
(WHAT?!)
"Teatime!" called Grace, the other blonde violist.
And so they all scurried to breakfast, and lost their tickets on the way.
Except for the cellists, who ended up outside again. Only this time (luckily) the hotel employee didn't appear out of nowhere (i.e. Hades).
They also didn't find the hot tub, which probably didn't exist after all. But can one really trust hotel employees?
I shall skip into the future: THE BUS RIDE HOME!
It was snowy and wintry and utterly Ice-Planet-Hoth-ish outside the hive of activity that was the bus. Times had become even crazier when the bassist attempted to sing hip-hop.
I will only say this: The Euphonium in all its glory would have been proud.
(WHAT?!)
And it was then that Meg the cellist caught a glimpse of Dustin the violinist between rows of seats. And she became all of a flutter. That is to say, she felt like scaling a cliff and eating raw cabbage. (WHAT?!) For at that moment, Dustin's eyelid had twitched. Interesting.
"I would make out with you right now," Dustin said, "but I'm asleep."
Meg sighed. "That's all right, my sweet and squishy vest-man. Tomorrow then."
The vodka was puking in the toilet, and nobody wanted to go near it.
"I have a hangover, for Godsake!" it cried. They all gave it a grimace and a scowl.
"I pity thou, thy tired and hung-over relic of shame. Get thy gone from us!"
And so continued the bus ride of madness, until everybody fell asleep and dreamt of horrid twentieth-century composers and their wicked, wicked modern ideas.
When one observes a busload of orchestra people sleeping, one is reminded of the Alps: skiers, zombies, and abominable snowmen on the loose. Oh yes, and frozen corpses far beneath the snow, from centuries long past. Much like that Gladiator movie, only with more pillows and satin napkins and paper umbrellas. But not the Euphonium, it never sleeps anyway.
(WHAT?!)
I shall move ahead to… THE SAFE RETURN HOME!
As the bassist counted her little cellists' heads to make sure they were all intact and alive and seeing clearly, Ross the broad-shouldered violist once again clogged up the stairwell and forced everyone to go outside through the gale, and across the parking lot.
It was one eventful trip.
Except for the damn Euphonium, which didn't like trips and felt too good for the orchestra anyway. Damn the Euphonium. It is not as wise as it is cracked up to be.
The Lovely Madcap Orchestra Trip
Once upon a time there was a lovely little orchestra trip. Yes, it was an orchestra trip, the kind you get when you dig around behind your classical CDs and finally come up holding that one baroque tape you lost long ago… and now it's all eaten up by bugs, anyway. That's the kind of orchestra trip it was. In short: orchestras weren't designed for trips, and neither were large bottles of vodka.
However. I digress.
This particular orchestra trip was a sad affair. The bassist was busy herding her little cellos together into a clump, and everyone else was trying to figure out how to get around Ross the broad-shouldered violist. It was chaos… Well, orchestra-brand chaos, in which a cold draft of air spells doom for the entire ensemble. Oh, woe is us! The cellos have all gone flat again!
"The cellos are possessed!"
There wasn't even a solitary percussionist to cool things down. And then there was that forgotten bottle of vodka that lay hidden beneath somebody's cushions…
So they all set off on their happy pathetic orchestra trip, all twenty-four of them. It was chaotic, as was mentioned before. On the way, the bus became a crazy bombshell of activity, ready to explode at any given second.
Oh, the suspense! Someone had even failed to throw away his or her foil wrapper. A clever violinist had to discreetly bring it to the front of the bus before anybody noticed. Ooh, good times! Party times!
"Hello…?" asked the vodka, not daring to peek out of its enveloping nest. Nobody heard it. The insanity had already taken over.
People held their breath as Elizabeth, a daredevil cellist, put a rock 'n' roll CD into her Discman.
"Won't it break?" asked a cautious young violinist.
Elizabeth swallowed. "No," she replied after a while, "I have seen it done before. Mozart and Beethoven would be proud."
She inserted the CD into the Discman.
They all held their breath.
"Noooooooooo…." some foolish and frequently-ignored violinist moaned from the front of the bus. Nobody took notice of her.
The bust ride continued with even more heart-wrenching tales of courage and adventure, but there is too much to tell.
I shall move forward… to THE HOTEL!
When one asks an orchestra student to find his or her way to his or her hotel room, this is like asking a piece of pie to find the fork. It is, without question, going to upset the place-setting in one way or another. In this case several cellists ended up outside, gazing about with a confused air.
"Where's the hot tub?" one of them asked.
"I don't think there is a hot tub." replied another.
Then a hotel employee appeared out of nowhere (i.e. Hades) and said, "There IS a hot tub. We HAVE a hot tub." And she disappeared into thin air (i.e. Hades).
The cellists, too frightened to speak, merely found their way back inside. It is said that cellos are perhaps the most absent-minded and wise of all the stringed instruments. Except of course for the Euphonium (which isn't even a stringed instrument, for Godsake. And who in Hades knows what a Euphonium even is? Should it really be capitalized? Perhaps it is some sort of hat worn by accountants. Interesting.). In any case, the Euphonium was wiser and even MORE dimwitted than the cello.
All of a sudden, the cellist Meg became all of a flutter. That is to say, she felt as though she'd like to go sit down and watch a bit of Public Television for a while. (WHAT?!) For just at that very moment, the lovely and wonderful violinist Dustin had come out of his room and into the hallway.
"Um…what?" Dustin asked as he fidgeted and sidled over to the ice machine.
The vodka said: "Oooh… a nice refreshing pile of ice to be cooled in…"
"What?" said Meg and Bethany and Teal (the other wise and absent-minded cellists).
"Nothing!" said Dustin. He leapt into his room with the bucket of newly- fetched ice, and slammed the door.
"Tsk tsk, such inappropriate behavior. Almost like a Euphonium."
(WHAT?!)
"Dustin is sooooo deliciously tasty."
"Um…"
Much madcap activities took place thereafter.
Where is the SANITY?
I shall go forward to the… CONCERT HALL!
Many young and optimistic orchestra people sat in the red fluffy seats.
But the vodka was back in a cabinet with the ice, feeling sorry for itself. "I'm… all aloooone… no one heeere… besiiiide me…"
Dustin had (for reasons unknown {except for perhaps the keeper of Hades}) decided not to wear his extremely attractive white shirt and vest. This was to the great distress of Meg the flighty cellist.
"For Godsake, wear the vest!" cried Meg, burying her face in her program.
"For Godsake, you're getting your program wrinkly," complained Teal. She patted Meg on the back. "It's okay. We're having 'beverages' later. Maybe. I think…?"
The vodka jumped for joy. "Yay, somebody remembered me! I'm a 'beverage!!'"
When orchestras watch concerts, one could compare it to iguanas: they sit, they appear to be wrinkly logs, and they stick out their tongues occasionally. One could also use the "Elf Being Hot" analogy. When Elves are being hot, they are being themselves. When Elves are being themselves, they are being lovely and blonde and amazingly delicious with blue eyes. Therefore, when Elves are being themselves, they are being hot AND lovely and blonde and amazingly delicious with blue eyes. So there you have it, an accurate and detailed description of orchestras when they watch concerts..
(WHAT?!)
Nobody really enjoyed the concert.
As a wise cellist said: "It was modern and jumpy and stinky and rather had that sort of modern/jumpy/stinky aroma that you get nowadays. Hmph."
They all went to bed feeling put out. Except for Meg, Teal, and Bethany, who watched Arthur and Conan O'Brien.
"Secrets…"
Meanwhile the vodka was having the time of its life.
The toothsome Dustin was as well, as were Ross the broad-shouldered violist and Viet, the (somewhat gay) violinist.
Dustin tried to cuddle with Ross at one point in the night.
Good times.
In the morning, they all awoke to the Euphonium's shrill whistle.
(WHAT?!)
"Teatime!" called Grace, the other blonde violist.
And so they all scurried to breakfast, and lost their tickets on the way.
Except for the cellists, who ended up outside again. Only this time (luckily) the hotel employee didn't appear out of nowhere (i.e. Hades).
They also didn't find the hot tub, which probably didn't exist after all. But can one really trust hotel employees?
I shall skip into the future: THE BUS RIDE HOME!
It was snowy and wintry and utterly Ice-Planet-Hoth-ish outside the hive of activity that was the bus. Times had become even crazier when the bassist attempted to sing hip-hop.
I will only say this: The Euphonium in all its glory would have been proud.
(WHAT?!)
And it was then that Meg the cellist caught a glimpse of Dustin the violinist between rows of seats. And she became all of a flutter. That is to say, she felt like scaling a cliff and eating raw cabbage. (WHAT?!) For at that moment, Dustin's eyelid had twitched. Interesting.
"I would make out with you right now," Dustin said, "but I'm asleep."
Meg sighed. "That's all right, my sweet and squishy vest-man. Tomorrow then."
The vodka was puking in the toilet, and nobody wanted to go near it.
"I have a hangover, for Godsake!" it cried. They all gave it a grimace and a scowl.
"I pity thou, thy tired and hung-over relic of shame. Get thy gone from us!"
And so continued the bus ride of madness, until everybody fell asleep and dreamt of horrid twentieth-century composers and their wicked, wicked modern ideas.
When one observes a busload of orchestra people sleeping, one is reminded of the Alps: skiers, zombies, and abominable snowmen on the loose. Oh yes, and frozen corpses far beneath the snow, from centuries long past. Much like that Gladiator movie, only with more pillows and satin napkins and paper umbrellas. But not the Euphonium, it never sleeps anyway.
(WHAT?!)
I shall move ahead to… THE SAFE RETURN HOME!
As the bassist counted her little cellists' heads to make sure they were all intact and alive and seeing clearly, Ross the broad-shouldered violist once again clogged up the stairwell and forced everyone to go outside through the gale, and across the parking lot.
It was one eventful trip.
Except for the damn Euphonium, which didn't like trips and felt too good for the orchestra anyway. Damn the Euphonium. It is not as wise as it is cracked up to be.