You know, sometimes you just feel stupid, there's no mystery in it, it is simply life's way of keeping us humble. For some it is slipping on a banana peel in the grocery isle, for others it is not answering the physics question correctly. For me it is simply, well... allow me to share a story that may explain.
Being a street performer is a challenging and thankless job. Sure it may seem glamorous, but the truth is much less alluring. For all it's faults, however, it has great benefits, one being the opportunity to meet interesting people. Tonight was such an opportunity. I had taken the usual time to scope out the various venues in which people might attend for their Friday evening getaways. There was the Circle Cycle at the Capitol theater (a fanciful dance troupe that uses hoops and balloons and such). There was the new thingy at Abravanel hall, uh some Italian cultural thing, which of course I know nothing about. Yogurt, that's my form of culture.
Of course there was also a Jazz game going on, could be fun especially if they win, which they did. There was also some show called New Tuna, or Fresh Tuna, or something about Tuna going on at the Studio Theater. Anyway, the point is that there were many ways to make a buck. The key to being a successful S.P. (that's street lingo for Street Performer for those in the know) is to know when to be where, and when to not be where you were when you were where you wanted to be. Confusing? Well, duh! Like I'm going to divulge all my trade secrets here.
Anyway, I digress. So I was moving from one venue to another like a lioness stalking her prey and I found myself in front of Abravanel Hall precisely as I had planned. Ah, it was a thing of beauty. There I was perfectly poised to serenade the oncoming patrons with the magical strains of the Celtic way. As I was filling the air with the melodic tones a man and his wife came up to me and began listening to my work. He looked familiar but I just couldn't place the face. As I played I wrestled with the quandary that presented itself. Who was this guy? He looked so familiar, almost like a family member. Was it some Uncle I haven't seen for awhile?
Whoever it was had a stunningly beautiful woman standing next to him. As I concluded my tune she spoke,
"Young man, could you play Scotland the Brave for us?"
She knew the correct name for the tune. She didn't call it "Praise to the Man." Who was this couple. Were they Scottish tourists? I had to find out. I slowly drew closer to the man and said,
"Excuse me sir, but you look so familiar to me, may I ask your name."
"Of course, I am Dallin Oaks."
Suddenly it was as if I was standing in public with nothing but my underwear on. The horror! How could I be so stupid. There were no words, I was left to flail in a pool of quicksand of my own making. I leaned close and apologized for being so dense, he merely chuckled and said it was not a problem.
The result was that I was able to chat with him for a moment or two and then they were off to the thingy, whatever it was. It wasn't Yogurt so I had no interest. As they walked away, I played the best Scotland the Brave I could muster. All the time my awkward moment loomed ever present in my mind. How cool would it have been to be suave and debwaner, but no, such is not my way. Oh well, at least I played well. That is why I will never be ambassador to any foreign country, I just don't have no culture, yogurt excepted of course.
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