Last night I went to Halloween party in Silverlake, which is just east of me. And as I look at it, I’m actually not sure if it’s Silverlake or Silver Lake. I’m pretty sure it’s one word. Anyway, I do know that it’s a very hilly area, so much so that as I was looking for parking in the neighborhood I had to turn around because I got to a block that was so steep downhill that I was afraid to drive down it.
My costume consisted of what I think is actually a men’s figure skating top, a black skirt, and my piccolo, making me look close enough to a marching band member to gain me admittance to the party. Because I was toting around a piccolo all night, people were asking me if I played it, and I explained that I played flute and piccolo throughout middle and high school. They asked if I was in the marching band. I said we didn’t have one. They asked if I played at football games, and I responded that I think we did that twice, but it didn’t go over very well (possibly because our musical selections included “My Prerogative,” “Under the Sea,” “Walk the Dinosaur,” and whatever march it is that’s the Monty Python theme). So what, it was posed, was the point of our band? Where did we perform? I realized that our school band really existed more as an elective class than as a performance opportunity. We did a couple of concerts each year and maybe a couple of holiday events, but that was about it. But does that lessen the honor of me winning the John Philip Sousa award for excellence in band 1991-1992? It certainly does not.
Thank God I didn’t end up playing the cello, or last night’s party wouldn’t have been as enjoyable.