Holy smokes--the NMA reunion starts one week from today. I'm so looking forward to it. Discussion around this household is pretty much All NMA, All the Time.
I enjoy hearing from those who are also hyped up about coming, but also from friends who can't make it this year. John Derby has important family commitments, but promises to attend next year. Max Murray is tied up with gigs. I accept both excuses, but am making Page 13 entries in the service records of both subject personnel.
I plan to arrive in Orlando late Sunday. Sometime on that day, or the next, your annual subscription to The Daily Poop will expire and be replaced by the NMA Reunion LiveBlog. The LiveBlog helps spread the joy to those who can't attend. For those that do come, it's archived and waiting for you when you get back home, in case you can't remember how much fun you had.
I'm planning to bring my new camera to reunion. Problem is, it's a product of the space-age, and I'm a point-and-shoot kind of guy. I am pleased to note it does not have a lens cap, the cause of so many problems. If you've ever spent an afternoon with a Navy band posing for publicity shots by a Navy photographer who shoots the entire session with the lens cap still on his camera, raise your hand. Ah, yes, I see I am not alone...
Frank Mullen's very unofficial source of poop, skinny and bitching for present and former U.S. Navy Musicians.
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
The Daily Poop - Tues, 19JUN12
As the 2012 reunion of the Navy Musicians Association approaches, I believe it is important that we spotlight the wide variety of talent that will soon descend upon Orlando. Unfortunately, time, technology and attention span are limited, so this will have to do...
Monday, June 18, 2012
The Daily Poop - Mon., 19JUN12
Nine days until the NMA reunion. Who's in, who's out?
John Vazquez is in. He just wrote to tell me he'll be at there "with bells on." I'm glad to hear this, as he's had to miss a few reunions; his duties with the American Legion often conflict with our schedule, a reasonable excuse for a vet.
John was helpful in making me feel at home at my first reunion, Louisville in 2006. I was nervous about playing with the bands, as physical injuries and surgeries had kept me away from music for ten years. John understood this from his own experience, and went out of his way to help me feel secure on the bandstand.
Lee Hudson? I don't know. I broke down and wrote to him, deciding I'd rather know in advance whether the Enemy of Freedom was coming to Orlando rather than be unpleasantly surprised at the last minute. I haven't heard back. No news is no news.
Sheldon Levy is in--sort of. Shel lives in the Orlando area and says he plans to "stop by." My message to Orlando homeporters, those who live in the area year-round: we hopw you'll join us for more than a quick handshake and pat on the back. We want you to participate, all the way, baby. When somebody loves you, it's no good unless he loves you...
John Vazquez is in. He just wrote to tell me he'll be at there "with bells on." I'm glad to hear this, as he's had to miss a few reunions; his duties with the American Legion often conflict with our schedule, a reasonable excuse for a vet.
John was helpful in making me feel at home at my first reunion, Louisville in 2006. I was nervous about playing with the bands, as physical injuries and surgeries had kept me away from music for ten years. John understood this from his own experience, and went out of his way to help me feel secure on the bandstand.
Lee Hudson? I don't know. I broke down and wrote to him, deciding I'd rather know in advance whether the Enemy of Freedom was coming to Orlando rather than be unpleasantly surprised at the last minute. I haven't heard back. No news is no news.
Sheldon Levy is in--sort of. Shel lives in the Orlando area and says he plans to "stop by." My message to Orlando homeporters, those who live in the area year-round: we hopw you'll join us for more than a quick handshake and pat on the back. We want you to participate, all the way, baby. When somebody loves you, it's no good unless he loves you...
Sunday, June 17, 2012
The Daily Poop, Sun., 17JUN12
My Outlook Express inbox malfunctioned yesterday before my eyes. Everything in my inbox, including new, unread messages, disappeared into the ozone. Until I can repair it, I'm using web mail.
Not complaining--simply telling you that if you wrote to me between Friday night (15JUN) and Saturday mid-morning (16JUN), I didn't get it. It's gone, maybe forever. Sorry I haven't responded--I can't, since I don't know who your are. Etc. Write again.
I'm getting hyped up for the NMA reunion. At the first one I attended, 2006, seeing shipmates for the first time in decades was an incredible thrill. As the following year went by, I figured that part of the fun was over. I was wrong. At the next reunion, seeing friends after only a year was, again, a thrill. And after each reunion, I have more friends to look forward to seeing again.
Of course, there's always Lee Hudson to serve as a drag-anchor on the fun.
Speaking of dragging: I've promised better pictures for the reunion LiveBlog this year. I have a new camera, but have hardly had the time to learn the ins and outs. It's new-fangled, with, of all things, a touch screen. You don't press buttons or turn dials; you tap and drag. Anyone who's ever seen me dance knows I'm not real strong at tapping and dragging.
I'm getting hyped up for the NMA reunion. At the first one I attended, 2006, seeing shipmates for the first time in decades was an incredible thrill. As the following year went by, I figured that part of the fun was over. I was wrong. At the next reunion, seeing friends after only a year was, again, a thrill. And after each reunion, I have more friends to look forward to seeing again.
Of course, there's always Lee Hudson to serve as a drag-anchor on the fun.
Speaking of dragging: I've promised better pictures for the reunion LiveBlog this year. I have a new camera, but have hardly had the time to learn the ins and outs. It's new-fangled, with, of all things, a touch screen. You don't press buttons or turn dials; you tap and drag. Anyone who's ever seen me dance knows I'm not real strong at tapping and dragging.
Saturday, June 16, 2012
The Daily Poop - Sat., 16JUN12
I'm wondering if Lee Hudson is coming to the NMA reunion. I can't decide whether I want to know or not.
If I knew he was coming, I'd be bummed. I've I knew he wasn't coming, I'd be happy. If I find out whether he's coming, it's a 50/50 either way--joy or misery.
So far, though, ignorance is bliss.
I hear we've got scads of MUs in the Orlando area. We'd love to have new faces, new stories, new piano players. I hope you'll join us--not, for a quick after-work fly-by, but for the jam sessions, the rehearsals, the concerts, ceremonies, dinner and dancing. We're coming from all over; you can come across town.
Question for the day: What is "Navy van" spelled backwards?
If I knew he was coming, I'd be bummed. I've I knew he wasn't coming, I'd be happy. If I find out whether he's coming, it's a 50/50 either way--joy or misery.
So far, though, ignorance is bliss.
I hear we've got scads of MUs in the Orlando area. We'd love to have new faces, new stories, new piano players. I hope you'll join us--not, for a quick after-work fly-by, but for the jam sessions, the rehearsals, the concerts, ceremonies, dinner and dancing. We're coming from all over; you can come across town.
Question for the day: What is "Navy van" spelled backwards?
Friday, June 15, 2012
The Daily Poop - Fri., 15JUN12
Nine days until my plane leaves for Orlando. I need to think about packing. I like to travel light--carry-on luggage only. This always requires difficult decisions. Camera, yes, ukulele, no.
With the memory of melted shoes still etched in my mind from the 2010 San Antonio reunion, I'm wondering about late June in Orlando. San Antonio, at least was dry; today's humidity in Orlando is 85%. "It's not the heat, it's the humidity," is a sadly true assessment, as is known by anyone who's been forced to run with the Marines through the golf course at NAB Little Creek in July.
I've only been to Orlando once, and that was in the fall. The temperature was fine. Everything else was a disaster:
In the early 1970s, I worked with an improvisational comedy group in New York. There was no such thing as Saturday Night Live, and ensemble comedy was a new thing.
We'd been kicking around the city going broke for a while when we got an offer of a gig in Orlando at a college. Young, hip crowds were what we were looking for. Money was also what we were looking for. This gig payed a thousand bucks. We needed it, real bad. The gas shortage had driven up the price of gas, which would eat into our profits, but we were hungry.
We got in the van, the driver turned the key, two out of six cylinders fired and things went downhill from there. We spend the afternoon in a service station in Queens, getting the van fixed enough to head south. Before we crossed the state line into New Jersey we were running late. The van limped down the East Coast at the speed of a hippopotamus grazing on the savanna. Somewhere in the Carolinas we pulled into the Bates Motel at 3 a.m, and copped a few hours rest while waiting for the knife to fall and the violins to screech. The next day we got to the gig site in Orlando with seconds to spare before the performance.
After the show, while some of us packed up the gear, the driver took the van for a checkup at a Jiffy Quick-type service station we'd passed. An hour later he wasn't back. Three hours later he wasn't back. We stood outside the auditorium with our gear into the dark hours. The driver finally showed up. He'd seen signs for Orlando, and realized this might be his only opportunity to see Disney World. He'd spent the evening with Goofy and Cinderella.
Fistfights. Psychodrama. Character Assassination. The trip home was a hellish journey of cheap motels and flat tires and death threats. When we got home, we cashed the check and gathered around the table to split the thousand bucks. There were seven of us. We'd spent three nights in motels. Gas prices had equaled that of Jack Daniels on a gallon for gallon basis. The mechanical repairs had cost an arm, a leg and most of the torso. We'd eaten road food up and down the east coast.
Final net profit was $32 bucks each. Within weeks I was engaged in a budding relationship with a Navy recruiter.
This trip will definitely be better.
With the memory of melted shoes still etched in my mind from the 2010 San Antonio reunion, I'm wondering about late June in Orlando. San Antonio, at least was dry; today's humidity in Orlando is 85%. "It's not the heat, it's the humidity," is a sadly true assessment, as is known by anyone who's been forced to run with the Marines through the golf course at NAB Little Creek in July.
I've only been to Orlando once, and that was in the fall. The temperature was fine. Everything else was a disaster:
In the early 1970s, I worked with an improvisational comedy group in New York. There was no such thing as Saturday Night Live, and ensemble comedy was a new thing.
We'd been kicking around the city going broke for a while when we got an offer of a gig in Orlando at a college. Young, hip crowds were what we were looking for. Money was also what we were looking for. This gig payed a thousand bucks. We needed it, real bad. The gas shortage had driven up the price of gas, which would eat into our profits, but we were hungry.
We got in the van, the driver turned the key, two out of six cylinders fired and things went downhill from there. We spend the afternoon in a service station in Queens, getting the van fixed enough to head south. Before we crossed the state line into New Jersey we were running late. The van limped down the East Coast at the speed of a hippopotamus grazing on the savanna. Somewhere in the Carolinas we pulled into the Bates Motel at 3 a.m, and copped a few hours rest while waiting for the knife to fall and the violins to screech. The next day we got to the gig site in Orlando with seconds to spare before the performance.
After the show, while some of us packed up the gear, the driver took the van for a checkup at a Jiffy Quick-type service station we'd passed. An hour later he wasn't back. Three hours later he wasn't back. We stood outside the auditorium with our gear into the dark hours. The driver finally showed up. He'd seen signs for Orlando, and realized this might be his only opportunity to see Disney World. He'd spent the evening with Goofy and Cinderella.
Fistfights. Psychodrama. Character Assassination. The trip home was a hellish journey of cheap motels and flat tires and death threats. When we got home, we cashed the check and gathered around the table to split the thousand bucks. There were seven of us. We'd spent three nights in motels. Gas prices had equaled that of Jack Daniels on a gallon for gallon basis. The mechanical repairs had cost an arm, a leg and most of the torso. We'd eaten road food up and down the east coast.
Final net profit was $32 bucks each. Within weeks I was engaged in a budding relationship with a Navy recruiter.
This trip will definitely be better.
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