It’s Tuesday here in Gutenberg Land.
Most places also, of course,
unless you are in some place the other side of the international date line,
or one of those American midwest cities that don’t follow things like standard time zones,
or calendars, for that matter,
here, it’s Tuesday.
Which means I finally get an almost unheard of day off.
Especially since other people’s days off are the days they wish to be entertained.
Enter working musician-
Unless, of course, for the “high carnival” days
here in Gutenberg land.
The time when the non-classical, non-gospel singing
hoompa hoompa dance band types get their big chance.
From huge balls in the town hall,
with tickets costing hundreds,
and the champagne more than most musicians earn in a night,
to the music hall style political roast by the four biggest carnival corporations
in the barokoko pink and gold so-called prince`s palace-
so-called, because, actually, Gutenberg Land never had a prince.
The “Elector” was the archbishop,
and one of seven royals who got to choose the Kaiser.
Now called chancellor.
in the case of Angela Merkel,
from the expensive balls for the mayor,
who doesn’t really like our town hall,
not that anyone really does,
since it it is of blackish marble, dark bars on the windows,
like a prison,
the roof leaks.
does he really need to kick out the historical archives,
and move into the archbishop’s palace?
Perhaps someone should mention to him
that the Gutenbergers declared a republic,
and a revolution,
when the French did,
And that Gutenberger have Looooooonnngg memories.
Ah yes, Carnival.
Or, as the locals say, “the fifth season” has to be taken seriously.
The fifth season is big business.
It is a blustery day here.
Blustery, blustery, and more blustery.
With cold stinging rain from the side,
and me not working the hoompa detail.
(a couple of years ago, my barbershop group and I did some carnival singing.
Which was a lot of fun, and a chance to do good versions of glee club specials,
and earn great money,
but has a tendency to put you in smokey rooms with very drunk people
most of whom want to sing the German equivalent of Oh Danny Boy,
or link arms and dance on tables.
To the German equivalent of “Doing the new racoon.”
And if you don’t know it,
you don’t even have to ask.
Someone will link arms with you,
pull you on a table,
and dance with you.)
As for me, though,
today is Tuesday.
And I’m going to take a walk through the town,
before all the madness hits,
when the women take over the town hall,
and then take to the streets with large shears,
to cut the ties off of any man who has one on
(Men, you had BETTER have one on)
Which sign of servility the men then have to wear all day at work.
While the women rampage.
But today is Tuesday.
I’m going out today,
and then I’ll buy enough vegetables and essentials
so when Thursday comes,
I can work at home,
or take a quiet walk in the Big Wood,
or sit in front of my telly watching the strange televised goings on,
and eat honey bread
with my husband Eyore.
Till people here get back to rational.
Sometime around Ash Wednesday.
When they all gather to eat raw herring,
and receive a “blessing” signifying the end of carnival,
from a fake (or sometimes real)
using a huge bowl that looks like a wash ewer
to throw “holy water”
on the crowd
by means of a dipped in the ewer toilet brush.
Have to remember to get more honey.
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