After experiencing the birthday party Syd went to last Saturday, I don't think we can, in good faith, use the word "Extravaganza" in the name of our website anymore. This party (for a six-year-old boy I doubt I would recognize again if he kicked me in the...shins) was, to paraphrase George Thomason, unbe-smurfing-lievable.

I arrived fashionably late and in fact, wouldn't have arrived at all had Liza not called me in a tizzy saying she really had to go to the bathroom and there was no way in Komarno she was using the port-o-potty. Faced with a dilemma, studying for actuarial exams vs. attending a birthday party with who knows how many screaming kids, the brownie point factor tipped the scales to the latter and I went to bail Liza out. (If only I had a dime for every time...)

The gala was held at a communal area in a gated community, a popular place for kids parties, the likes of which I haven't spoken of before on the advice of my psychiatrist. The first sign I should have turned back came from the security guard when he said, "if you can't find any parking at the park, you'll have to find a spot in the field behind you."

When I approached the area, my original thought was, "there must be two other parties going on at the same time." There was the standard Bahamian party regalia: bouncy castle, balloons (although I don't think the other parties went so far into triple digits as this one did), a playground, and pizza. Add to that: a rock-climbing thingy, a popcorn machine, a sno-cone machine, and a carnival ride and you have half the picture. They also had a DJ blasting music (Kid Popz 7) that clearly made residents living next to the park realize why their property was listed so cheap. There was also a tent housing tables with real linen tablecloths, decked out in yellow, green, and purple, which the parents in my audience will immediately recognize as the colours of The Incredible Hulk. The food consisted of curry mutton, curry chicken, conch fritters, and at least half a dozen other dishes that were gone before I even arrived.

And kids. Oh yes, there were children. There was a flock of them, a gaggle of them, and a pod of them. There was a pride, murder, pack, brood, herd, hive, and horde of them. The park was saturated with children. You'd have to boil the place to get any more of them in.

I crowd-surfed my way over to Liza and it took her a few seconds to realize that hope had arrived. When her eyes began to focus again, she said something like, "hihoneyireallyhavetogobadthanksforcomingillbebackin..." and that's all I caught before she was out of earshot.

So I made my way over to the tent which had turned into a parental haven. Judging from the cold, dead look on the eyes of everyone there, they were either deep in their happy place or planning revenge against their spouses for not being there. I found a friend who was there with his two girls. He had already told them they could either have a birthday party like this one or he'd pay for their wedding but not both.

Near the end, they had about half a dozen people come in doing a mini-Junkanoo (which can not be described; it must be experienced). They came in banging drums and cow bells playing a beat even I could almost sorta dance to. And they were like Bahamian pied pipers the way the kids just fell into line behind them. It took all my will power not to offer them $50 to keep right on walking out of the park.

Anyway I'm sure Syd was there and I'm sure she had fun. Liza eventually did show up again but after, she later confessed, taking an "impromptu" nap. She asked me if Syd ate anything and I told her that the extent of my love for her clearly did not include wandering into natural disasters, war zones, or acts of God, all of which, I think, applied in this case.

 How many of you, my precious readers, have heard me play the piano? Hmm? Don’t be shy, raise your hands. That many, huh? OK, well all of you SUCK!

As I mentioned, I’m recording some music for my dear old Grammy so she can delude herself that I’m a much better piano player than I actually am. In my previous post, I complained about the pressures of nailing a piece in one take. Since then, I’ve discovered the magic of editing on my computer and it’s done wonders for my ego. There’s something cathartic about being able to delete your mistakes, if only for one small part of your life.

So I recorded a bunch of pieces and started editing last night. The problem started with a piece called Sarabande by Handel. The tempo is listed as “Grave” which is pretty much what it sounds like. Slow and stately. Well, substitute “slow” with “festive” and “stately” with “unnaturally giddy” and you have my version. It sounds like there should be &*$% circus bears prancing around. I followed it up with a version of Haydn’s Romance in F that would make Alvin and the Chipmunks proud then nailed one of Chopin’s Nocturnes, normally a five-minute piece, in less time than it takes Liza to recant for accusing me of forgetting her birthday (I couldn’t have planned that flower delivery better if I tried; Happy Birthday, Honey!).

My point is, I’ve obviously been playing like this for years. So where the hell were all of you armchair critics? Am I to assume that by “Sounds good, Kyle” you really mean, “I’d sing along but I’m not a Smurf”?

Of course, you say, why can’t I tell if I’m the one whose playing as if I desperately need to take a leak? Well, frankly, I don’t listen. I go through the motions. I press the keys I think I’m supposed to and do my best to hide mistakes but I don’t stop to hear what sounds are coming out of the piano. I do it ‘cause it’s fun, not to get any musical enjoyment out of it. I’ve been playing the Edelweiss Glide Waltz for nigh on twenty years and I doubt I could hum it in its entirety. Listening to it on the headphones, I’d forgotten what a beautiful piece it is.

The upshot of this is that I need to re-record about half the songs I’ve already recorded. Either that or re-think my repertoire.

Phew! January 12 already. Where DOES the time go? Apparently not to the Bahamian postal service judging by the rate our Christmas cards are starting to pour in.

So Liza and Syd are still in Canada. Haven’t heard much from them. A few days ago, Syd seemed in good spirits on the phone. I tried the age-old parental trick of trying to gauge how much she missed me but it backfired, as it always does. To add insult to injury, she started crying when I mentioned Tweety, our bird, and passed the phone off to Dolly, her aunt and publicist, who informed me that she wasn’t taking anymore calls until Tweety’s whereabouts and good health could be confirmed and arrangements could be made to smuggle him up to Canada in a crate of rum cake.

Not one to let daddy’s ego recuperate, Syd called again last night in tears because she saw a bird on TV and it got her going again on this stupid yellow ball of feathers that she never plays with when she’s home. My response was, “He’s fine. Honey, I’m just cleaning his cage in the bathroom and he’s”-- *FLUSH* -- “oops! Ummm…Ihavetogosweetieloveyoubye”. Let’s see how her five-year-old psyche handles some friendly mind games with daddy.

Liza’s shopping list while in “The Village” includes a digital video camera about which I’m very excited. Now I’ll have cryptically names videos spread across three computers to go with the gigabytes of images with names like “IMG_7946.jpg”. Funny how the marketing for digital cameras no longer includes phrases like, “No more searching through volumes of pictures looking for the right one". Liza’s also planning to bring down some Tim Horton’s coffee but she’ll probably have to smuggle it in with a carton of cocaine to throw off the dogs.

So what am I doing to pass the time? Well, a few nights ago, I caught the last half of a recent horror movie on HBO. It was the most amazing thing. I was absolutely mesmerized by its idiocy. I actually felt myself get more and more stupid the longer I watched. I was genuinely concerned that I wouldn't be able to perform basic motor skills by the time it was over. It became a personal vendetta to watch it to its conclusion and still be able to communicate in a reasonable manner with Sydney.

It was a tough battle. I actually flinched in pain with every moronic death scene. The acting winded me and the dialogue has left permanent scars but I persevered! Then, with my strength hanging by a thread, they tried to finish me off with a "twist" ending that was as unpredictable as a Roadrunner cartoon. And I have to admit, I considered taking my own life but then lo! The credits rolled and I was saved! A shadow of my former self, but alive nonetheless.

So yeah, I’m a little bored.

Seems there was a problem with the website that was preventing people from posting comments. Thanks to the dapper and beguiling Mr. Matrick for bringing it up and ruining all of your excuses for avoiding contact with me.

So the girls are north these days. Liza had to go to Alaska for some PR and dropped Syd off in Calgary along the way. Apparently the sun rises at 10:30am in Anchorage these days and sets around 1:00pm. I was going to say that I can see an up side to that but I can’t think of a punchline. Seriously, two and a half hours of sun? Where do you get your vitamin D? Anyway, Liza’s there until tonight then it’s back to Calgary. After that, I’ll have one more week of holiday recuperation on my own before they return to the tropics and raise the volume in my world about thirty decibels.

In other news, I am now a recorded artist. Thanks to the microphones and the mixer Hunkie Todd sent to me last month (although you could have gone with a mixer about $100 cheaper there, T-Bone), I’ve started recording some piano music for my dear old Grammie. Before you sigh about what a wonderful grandson I am, she’s been asking for this for nigh on ten years now.

So I’ve recorded two songs and have about a dozen or so more queued up. It was kind of fun playing with the software and volume levels and mixing. Then I actually clicked record and sat down to play… For those of you who are graduates of the School of Forced Music Lessons, let your minds wander back to the festival circuit. You remember. When parents from your area would gather their prodigies-in-their-minds and they would play for judges who probably thought they were clever ducking jury duty to sit and listen to some “beautiful music”.

I played many a festival. And it was nerve-racking, certainly, but this is worse. See, at a festival, you prance up to the piano, play your piece, and sit down. If you played well, more power to you. If you played badly, c’est la vie, you got to sit down at the end anyway and plot your strategy for contracting malaria the week before next year’s festival. When recording for your grandmother, however, there is no reprieve when you make a mistake. You can’t say, “Oh well, nothing I can do about it now. May as well go out with a bang”, and segue Beethoven’s Fur Elise into Elton John’s The Bitch is Back. When I make a mistake, I have to start over.

And let me tell you, grandmothers don’t like simple three-chord songs that ZZ Top could bang out on a banjo and a harmonica. They like songs by people who have been dead several centuries and have names that are pronounced in such a way as to make fools of people that try to sound them out phonetically. Songs that are eight minutes long and that start deceptively simple but end with a flourish and a variation on the theme in B harmonic minor. And I swear, if I can’t get the end of Chopin’s Nocturne down in the next hour, Grandma’s CD is going to be filled with piano renditions of Ricky Martin’s greatest hits.

In which case, I need only to record one song and save it at different tempos.

 When it comes to logistics, I’m like Salieri in Amadeus. I can recognize when it’s done well but can’t pull it off myself. Such was the case on New Year’s Eve with our neighbours, Steve and Michelle. Technically, what they did that night should not have been physically possible. To attempt to describe it would take away from the actual event but suffice it to say, it involved floating candles, bartenders, goldfish, tents, karaoke, a coffee machine, and one impossibly delicious chocolate molten lava cake.

Syd was on hand to enjoy the festivities, too. Decked out in her evening wear of choice, a Sleeping Beauty costume, she was every bit the princess when we arrived and discovered that William and Ethan (Steve and Michelle’s boys) were going to be put asleep early. No matter. She watched TV and played for a couple of hours before joining the party outside (lured outdoors by the melodious strains of ABBA’s Dancing Queen). Her moves, dress, and staying power were a big hit. It wasn’t until 1:15 that she stumbled over to me and said that memorable phrase Liza has used on me many parties before: “I think you’d better take me home now.” Many thanks to Steve, Michelle, and Conch (who learned first-hand that you don’t start dancing with a five-year-old and expect her to run out of energy before you do).

My own contribution to the event came the next day when I, being the only one without a hangover, took Syd, William, and Ethan out to play video games and watch a movie (Spongebob Squarepants), where Ethan promptly fell asleep.

So Happy 2005 to all of you. Good luck to everyone who made resolutions. For my part, my only resolution is not to make any resolutions and I expect to have about as much luck keeping it as all of you do.