how I could possibly go uninjured . . .
Because my pride took the fall this time. That and self-respect. It’s a
thing I do.
And Oma started it.
We get down to German Fest on Sunday with Oma. Oma is really running the
show, but to say Oma and running in the same sentence is truly not a
service to the word running. Oma slowly trods forward grasping Mom’s arm
with both hands, effectively cutting off Mom’s extremity bloodflow. We
get onto the grounds and it is an absolutely beautiful 72 degrees.
Generally for the past decade, German Fest has had rain. They’ve had
stiffling humidity. They have never had a nice room temperature running
throughout the grounds like this. It was truly a sight to see.
Somehow, and with great effort by my ever-so-patient mother, we get down
to the Briggs and Stratton stage so Oma can be in the shade. After some
time, however, her highness deems a draft appears to be coming off the
lake. I’m not sure she was aware it was an outdoor festival at this
moment as I suspect she was hoping Dad could go adjust the thermostat as
well.
So we went and sat in the Sun.
Mom and Dad escaped and I was sitting there with Oma. Now she’s looking
at the stage and she says, “Ach. Tim, see? Now, you can’t see the band.
The sun is in my eyes.”
I said, “Don’t worry, Oma. The band isn’t all that attractive. This is
better for you so you can hear them.”
She was going to respond, but she knew I’d just be more of a pain (as is
past practice) so she switched to stories of Russia–which is fine for
me, because I’ve learned to ignore those long ago. Except the one about
a goat that jumped so much that it died. I love that one. And the 400
pound pig that jumps over 8 feet high. That’s a goody, too.
Anyway, your hero spies this really pretty MC coming off of the stage
and I figure it’s time to introduce this nice little lady to Milwaukee’s
top German radio announcer.
The Captain swung into action.
When I got close enough, I did notice it was a fool’s errand. Darn ring
on the wrong frigging finger, but I executed the sloppy plan anyway. I
went up to say hi and as I sat back down by Oma, I had realized I just
agreed to go up on stage and play in the Alphorn contest.
Earlier in the weekend, a friend of a friend from work participated and
won third place. He was pretty good, too. Now, I’ve grown up around this
sort of thing, so I figured this should be no problem.
Looking back at it now, I see the failures in the logic. So easy to see
now.
The appointed time comes and I start for backstage. Most of the other
contestants have played brass instruments of some kind before (which the
Alphorn apparently is played like.) There was even one lady that plays
the French Horn for the Symphony there.
Where the heck were all the drunk guys to compete against? That’s what I
wanted. What was this hooey?
And then, a little girl, cute as a picture, comes walking up. Heck, she
could stand up there and fart and she would win.
Come to think of it, I might have had a better chance had I stood up
there and farted. I have better sound control that way. Hmmmmm.
Some folks before me were really good. I get up to bat and I play. (The
sound file of this defilement of the Alphorn as an instrument is
attached.)
I tried, really, but I just couldn’t do that buzzing thing with your
lips. I couldn’t get one sound out of it. So I basically yelled in the
end. It was truly pathetic. I had to go through with it so I really
tried to play a song. Mostly, I was eating up time so my mother could
take a picture of me on the horn. However, she was laughing so hard, I
kind of doubt how well any of those pictures of your hero, the Captain,
turn out.
Believe it or not–as humiliating as the Alphorn contest was (and the
stupid ring on that cute MC’s finger–blast it!), I’m still going to air
this little honey on the radio show in two weeks or so. Maybe I can get
a recount instituted.
Alright, enjoy this. It’s really painful to listen to – – –
CLICK THIS LINK!
Captain Catastrophe
Alphorn player and all around menace