The Absent Trumpet

Victory comes in many different guises. Sometimes it looks like a champion swimmer looking back at the clock to discover she’s broken the world record. Other times it looks like the wily old grandmaster staring across the board and pushing his rook up to the eighth rank to announce ‘checkmate’. Very occasionally it looks like an Iranian penguin standing in a room full of second hand trombones while being showered in marshmallows by legions of adoring taxation officers.

Even more rarely than that, it looks like a man hiring a flash tuxedo, suiting up and standing at the end of an aisle to turn slightly to the side and… watch someone else get married.

Last weekend saw the all-important penultimate episode in the ongoing saga of the “who gets married to whom and when” game that has been the subject of countless poems, epic ballads and at least three movie adaptations (ok… two rather hastily typed blog posts, both of them by me). The crucial second to last wedding that would decide who would be the victor and who would take the consolation prize of getting married.

And so it was that I suited up and took my place in the bridal party for the best seat in the house from which to watch the second to last contestant take his vows and concede his claim to the title of last man standing.

It couldn’t have been a more perfect day. It was an outdoor wedding on the outskirts of Perth. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and although the sunny summer day was a little warm for the locals, especially those in black suit jackets, as the only representative of the great city of Darwin in attendance I was in my element. While everyone else was looking hot and bothered, I was just looking hot.

It was a charming ceremony; two songs, a homily, a vow or two and it was all over bar the photos which were by far the most painful part of the whole affair. I can’t speak for what the bride and groom might have been expecting, but I had always thought the final victory might have passed with just a little more ceremony. Nothing that would upstage the happy couple of course; just a simple trumpet blast or perhaps a nice tasteful explosion from a howitzer cannon. But no, we were just a little bit preoccupied with celebrating the wedding at hand, and I suppose I can live with that.

After all, I have been assured that the magnitude of celebratory fanfare that will accompany my own wedding, should such an event ever transpire, will be enough to knock the solar system off its… whatever solar systems sit on. And that’s quite enough responsibility to be carrying around for now, thank you very much.

Make of that what you will.



Garry with 2 Rs

Backstage at the Capitol

A few posts ago, back when Cum Tacent Clament was still called Far From Home, I wrote a post about the entirely different social universe inhabited by bass players, especially when compared with the rather anti-social one in which we pianists typically operate. Three and a half years later, while I was in Perth this week for Dan's Wedding, the father of the bride-to-be asked me the following question:

"Why do all the girls go and talk to the keyboard player after the show?"

I answered with "Are they lost?" FOTBTB thought that answer was amusing enough that he didn't bother with the officially sanctioned punch line.

But never mind me. On Thursday night I found myself once again backstage after a Six60 concert. Six60 are getting bigger and bigger and filled the Capitol Theatre in Perth with only slightly less effort than it would have taken Chris to get his ridiculous rock-and-roll fringe to sit just right. Admittedly, the entire house was packed wall to wall with New Zealanders (and two Aussies) but that is no reason to think any less of them. Indeed, there is a growing trend among the more liberal sections of the artistic community to treat New Zealanders as legitimate people in their own right. And when you think about it, in a way they sort of are.

Where was I? Yes - backstage at the Capitol with Dan, congratulating Chris on another great show.

Gw2Rs: So listen, I need you to do me a favour.
Interrupting Drunk Kiwi Girl 1: Oh My God! You guys are awesome! And so famous! Can I get a picture?
Chris: Sure.

Pose, flash, hug.

Chris: So what do you need?
IDKG2: (Butts in and whispers something in Chris' ear)
Chris: I'm actually married. Sorry.
IDKG2: Oh (wanders off to find the drummer)
Gw2Rs: I promised Hannah I'd get her a CD, but your merchandise guy isn't selling any.
IDKG3: Oh my God! Are you in the band?
Chris: Yes I am.
IDKG3: Oh my God! Are you his brother?
Gw2Rs: ... Yes I am.
IDKG3: Oh my God I knew it! You have the same fringe.
Gw2Rs: ... ?

Pose flash hug.

Chris: You should get a photo with Garry and Dan too. They're very good looking young men.
IDKG3: Oh my God!

Pose flash hug.

Gw2Rs: ... ?!

This went on for quite some time. Eventually it came to light that there were no CDs on sale because the tour manager had left them at the airport. A couple of IDKGs later, Dan and I had to leave to get Dan's car out of the carpark before it shut and to let Chris get a couple of hours' rest before his early morning flight to Melbourne to do it all again.

As jealous as I so often am of the high achievements of many of my friends, I still think it's just as well that it's Chris and not me. That kind of lifestyle would probably destroy me in fairly short order, so I think Samantha and I will keep doing our thing over here away from the bright lights for now. I'll leave the rock and roll lifestyle for the happily married church pastors.

Make of that what you will.




Garry with 2 Rs

To ask for the bass player's phone number.

The New Game

Way back some time in the last century when I was in high school I was part of an unusually close group of friends. There were five of us in total. It’s not really clear what bought us all together as we didn’t have anything observable in common except for irreverent senses of humour, an incination towards the theatrical and a tendency to call “bullshit” when we saw it (usually emanating from one of the other four) which tended to alienate us a little from other students, not to mention the teachers.

Chris, Phil, Jess, Garry (well…) and Dan.

Actually, the other thing we had in common was that all of us had parents associated with the staff or governance of the school we all went to. It was an extremely poorly kept secret that said parents had a number of informal betting pools running.

1) Which of the five would be the first to get married?

2) Which of the four guys would end up marrying Jess?

3) Which of the five of us would turn out to be gay?

Our school being of the fundamentalist Christian persuasion, obviously there was no actual gambling involved, especially on that last one.

Shortest odds for first married were almost certainly on Daniel, who was the oldest of the gang and had been voted the southern hemisphere’s most eligible bachelor (his parents had objected to the use of the term ‘sexiest man alive’) three years straight, albeit by a panel that consisted of the other four of us. Consensus on which one of us was going to marry Jess depended on whose mother you were talking to at the time.

In the end Chris was the first to go, in what was described in hushed tones as something of an upset. However, he had to go all the way to New Zealand to do it, which was agreed by most to be cheating. Jess went next and threw a spanner in everyone’s mother’s works by not marrying any of us (actually, Jess’ mother was probably quite relieved). At least she had the common decency to marry a local. Just a year later it was Phil’s turn.

And then there were two.

Ever since Phil’s wedding back in 2006, Dan and I have been engaged (huh?) in a gentlemen’s wager. I say gentlemen’s wager, but I really just mean friendly competition, as there were no stakes riding on it, and I’m not a gentleman. Basically, we decided to see which of us could go the longest without getting married.

If that seems like a reasonably pointless (not to mention backwards) competition, that’s just because… it is. But when you think about it, it makes much more sense than trying to see who can get married first. For one, it provides an extra layer of disincentive to do something stupid too soon if you get romantically entangled (“Maybe we should take this to the next level… nah, I wouldn’t want to lose a bet to Dan”) and also it has the added benefit that if you lose, at least you’re getting married, so that’s some sort of consolation. As endurance sports go, doing it this way has also made it much more competitive, as remaining single has historically been something both Dan and I have been pretty good at. It’s been six long years, and neither combatant has shown any sign of flagging.

That is, until now.

Yes that’s right, I have an announcement to make, the repercussions of which could shake the very firmament, but probably won’t. It has come out of nowhere and taken more than a few people by surprise, especially me, but… I, Garry with 2 Rs, am now officially…

The winner!

Indeed. Dan announced his engagement last weekend, and I am now The Last Man Standing. It has been suggested that perhaps I shouldn’t be as happy about this as I so obviously am. However, these suggestions have, without exception, come from people who gave up and got married years ago and are just jealous. As Josh Lyman so eloquently put it:

“I drink from the keg of glory. Bring me the finest muffins and bagels in all the land”

Or as Horatio Nelson said:

“First gain the victory and then make the best use of it you can.”

And as Sachin Tendulkar put it:

“You can’t hold a ceramic tiger with a pair of size nine mittens made out of apricot jam”.

…

The point is that, the wager now being won, I can stop playing. All this time people have assumed I am single because I’m a cynical cranky debt-ridden misogynistic bastard (or possibly that I turned out to be the gay one. I don’t know what the odds were on that and I don’t think I want to), when all the time I was just trying to win a bet. And now I have.

So it’s time for a new game. I was going to call this new game “Travel Monopoly Junior” but apparently that’s already taken, so I’ll leave the title open as a work in progress. Everyone else around me having been disqualified on grounds of matrimony, the new game is a variation of solitaire and begins when the person left of the dealer rolls a seven. Winner is the first person not to die alone. Spades are trumps, it’s tippy-go and only one person gets to be the top hat.

Make of that… nope. Just forget it.

Garry with 2 Rs