Man, what a week it’s been. For me to not write for almost seven days is beyond unusual. It’s a scandal! It’s a outrage! (Name that show.)

And here it is, quarter to ten on a Saturday morning, and I’m still in jammies, drinking coffee and reading the news. Part of it, I’m certain, is a hangover from 1) eating pizza last night (a food we generally avoid), and 2) micro-bingeing on Season 2 of House of Cards on Netflix. And, after going up to bed with me at 1 a.m., Remy decided he had to use the men’s room — at 5:00. Nice. So there I was, in boots, mittens and parka, standing outside in the dark. And of course, once I’m up…

So Grammie will be ready to hit the hay with the Js tonight, that’s for sure. And the Thriller is taking me away for a fun weekend up north after that; I’ll need to be rested.

Remember when you never thought about “being rested” in preparation for a weekend away? Haha. Yeah, those were the days, my friend…

Speaking of that record by Mary Hopkin: did you know it was produced by Sir Paul, shortly after the Beatles decided to open up Apple’s recording division to aspiring/struggling artists? James Taylor and Billy Preston were in that group as well. Who says you don’t learn anything by reading RtB?

Anyway. Outrageously busy day today, but I’m going to try to get out and see the As before the Js arrive this evening. The rest will be spent on Dinner Theatre, getting grades in the gradebook, and various & sundry mundanities.

But first: a GRAND shout-out to RtB family member BoomR, who got married on Valentines Day. We love you, brother!

Hope everyone had a great week. This one will be better for me, swear. Ready, steady, go.

Or wait: where have I been? It’s been awhile, fiends. I don’t like that. I’m convinced that’s why I get crabby after a few days of not writing to you.

This past weekend was the Ohio Music Educators Association Professional Development Conference (or, as we oldbies have called it forever: Convention). I really enjoyed seeing and chatting with people I only see once a year. Too bad it was likely my last convention. Behold, I climb into the confessional:

JECO has been the biggest reason I’ve attended convention over the last six years. Putting jazz ed out there where everyone has access to it has been a passion of mine for a couple of decades now, and I’ve enjoyed my 6-year run on the exec board, and functioning as JECO webmaster. But truthfully…I’m weary, luvs. The old gray mare, she ain’t what she used to be. I’ll admit it.

It’s not that I don’t have energy and passion for teaching jazz. I still do that part of my life every day with my select v-jazz ensemble. Love it. But with choirs and Broadway musicals & revues every year taking up more and more of my brain and body time, I have to draw the line somewhere. I only have so much “passion space” where my career is concerned, and it’s pretty much taken up by those events. I don’t feel guilty about that.

Nor do I feel guilty about “not learning new things” by not going to convention. Sorry, but I don’t. Should I? Probably, although new learning isn’t confined to two days in February at a convention center. Everyone needs to stay fresh and current in their profession, but I will likely glean those nuggets from other sources. It’s a great huge hassle to leave school for two days during an incredibly busy rehearsal run for Dinner Theatre. I can be of better use to my students by staying home.

Of course, by the time December rolls around, I might change my mind. But for the time being, my remaining nine or so years in public education will be spent how *I* think best benefits my kids. How’s that for old battle-ax thinking? Heh, s’ok mate. I’ll wear it like a badge, and fight the machine until they grind me into submission. Then I’ll work as a baker, or a secretary, or a travel agent, and have some more time for grandsons. I like that idea, too.

Do you believe I have a rehearsal scheduled on a Sunday? I petitioned for, and received, papal dispensation to meet 25 students for three hours of rehearsal, because the weather has made a complete mockery of preparations for my show. Now there’s more snow coming down, with three inches expected today. We’ll see around noon how those back-country roads are shaping up (or not). What kind of odds are you giving us today? Oy.

Happy Sumday, fiends! Relax if you can.

Well maybe you know some of them. Or all. If “all,” then we need to get together for coffee, because you are an interesting person.

As I may have mentioned before, I am reading Tune In: The Beatles: All These Years, Vol. 1 by Mark Lewisohn. It’s an absolutely comprehensive — and by “comprehensive,” I mean “no detail, regardless of its import or effect, is left out” — anthology of the events, both great and small, that took the Fabs up to the end of 1962.

1962? Twelve hundred pages, and it only covers their lives through 1962? Yep. So, as you might imagine, I have learned quite a bit so far. I wonder if you knew any of these interesting (to me, at least) facts about the Band that Changed the World Forever:

• The band (drummerless for a long time) went through several iterations of names. Paul and George changed their own names within that structure as well (Paul was “Paul Ramon,” and George was “Carl Harrison,” in honor of his idol at the time, Carl Perkins). John never changed his name, but the band went through the Silver Beatles, Silver Beats, Silver Beetles, and the Silver Beatles again, before settling in 1960 on just “The Beatles.” Local newspapers routinely misspelled everything (no wonder).
• John’s and Stu’s idea of calling themselves “The Beatles with an ‘A'” came in part from John’s admiration of — and desire to emulate — Buddy Holly and his “Crickets.” The “with an ‘A'” part is indicative of John’s penchant for wordplay and pun, which he would employ throughout his life as an author and songwriter.
• In the early days, Ringo was far more successful as a working musician than the other three. Drumming for Rory Storm and the Hurricanes, he had steady work while John, George and Paul struggled to find and keep gigs. They weren’t very good.
• The Beatles didn’t feature just two drummers (Pete Best and Ringo). They went through a slew of them before landing on Pete. (At least a half dozen. I had no idea.) All of them quit or were let go, and I’ve wondered what it must have been like to “be them” when the Beatles finally hit the bigtime. Dang!
• As much as I love John’s voice and his songwriting, I am continually unimpressed with how cruel a person he could be. He had an unusual disdain for (fear of??) the handicapped — particularly those with cerebral palsy or any kind of mental retardation, and he poked fun at them with impunity, showing no remorse or compassion. It’s unsettling to read about it.
• As the Beatles gained modest recognition around Liverpool, Paul and John laid down rules for their girlfriends: You can sit with us at a club, but you’re not allowed to speak. 
  
• John and then-bass player Stuart Sutcliffe considered Paul and George to be the pesky little brothers whose company they had to suffer. John and Stu were hoity-toity art students, while the other two were still in grammar school. It caused Paul to become quite jealous, and he and Stu never really hit it off at all.
• Stuart Sutcliffe could not play. He faked nearly everything, and it showed onstage. While the other three were digging in and playing to the audience and showing what they had, Stu often turned away from the crowd.
• All three (John, Paul and George) were little hooligan brats who “sagged off” school every chance they got. You can imagine their grades.
• Ringo gave up a potentially lucrative factory apprenticeship to spend the summer playing drums at Butlin’s summer camp in North Wales. His family thought he was nuts.

I could go on and on, seriously. Lewisohn’s access to longtime manager Neil Aspinall through personal interviews and diary entries gave him mountains of information. If you’re a Beatles freak like me, who thinks he’s read just about everything there is to read on the group, this one’s an eye-opener. But I know most people aren’t quite that freakish.

Snow day #8, I think. May as well get some work done around here.

OK, call me crazy. Go ahead. But consider this, from the “Gee, Do You Think We’re All Stupid?” Department: Mia Farrow has said that her 25-year-old son, Ronan, “might be” the son of Frank Sinatra, and not Woody Allen. Hmmm. Ya think? How about now? Whaddya think now? Mmm-hm. Even Ronan himself said in his now-famous tweet, “Listen, we’re all possibly Frank Sinatra’s son.” Haha. I’ve been reading about the whole Woody Allen’s daughter/abuse fiasco; it’s heartbreaking, and I won’t give it space here, but holy cow…

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Then there’s this d*******g. I was bullied in school. People called me “Shorty” when I was young, and I cried about it to my mom. Seriously, I totally see how that’s analagous to fearing for your very life when you go to school, simply because you’re different and there are evil, heartless idiots who delight in watching you suffer, over and over and over. I mean it; I’m not a violent person, but this guy needs a beatdown, and it should start, at the very least, with him being tossed out of the coaching job he’s up for. Tool.

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Dude, what’s wrong with coming up with an unorthodox strategy to win on Jeopardy!? People can’t stand it because this guy jumps around and tries to hog the Daily Doubles so his opponents can’t cash in on them. And this is bad because…?

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Adorable dog photos from under my desk, which is where Remy likes to hang out while I’m typing at the box:

Almost asleep

Rousseau used to do that crossed-paws thing.

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Adorable grandkid photos, when they were getting changed for bed:

Silly kid 1

Silly kid 2

I look at these pictures (and those of my other two adorable grandsons) and I wonder why I ever complain about mundane, stupid things. We all win the lottery with these little people — and their parents.

Happy Super Boo Day — I’m going for Denver, because it’s good for me. Because I need to just get over it.

But I guarantee nothing.