Monday, 15 July 2013

Pitch Perfect (c) by Michael Casey


Perfect Pitch ©
By
Michael Casey

In music perfect pitch is where you sing really well, hitting the notes exactly as they should be, or if you play an instrument you play perfectly well. I believe John and Yoko’s son has perfect pitch, I heard it said on the radio.
Behind me is the piano where my girls practice and where they have their music lessons. Some of the tunes they play take me back to my childhood, the girls are surprised I know the tune, I even sing the song to them. In our house Music is important.
The girls joined a church choir after their primary school took them to visit the church. So that has been a great thing these past  few years. The lady from the choir is the same lady who comes to our house to teach them piano.
Pianos make a lot of noise, they resonate throughout the house, our piano, an electronic one also has pedals, and the girls know how to use them. One pedal extends the sound, the other pedal cuts it short. If I have explained this wrong, then forgive me.
Piano lessons,  mean practice.  You have to make sure or even force the student to practice. It all depends on your student. For me sitting four feet away from the piano as I talk to you, it can be very noisy with a daughter behind me practicing.  A little boring too as they repeat five times over the practice piece.
Now for me  the best bit is when they improvise after the practice piece. My smallest daughter is very good at improv. This is where the Vangelis in her comes to the fore, and where the electronic sounds can be used on the piano. I have in fact just switched Vangelis on as I talk to you, I hope he doesn’t drown out my words.
Music is freedom, as I’ve said before Jazz is smoke turned into music, so listening to my daughter improvise is a great thing. Finally when they are  finished the house slumbers again. But not for long, as I have my music on the computer, and on a usb  stick in my cheap but great sounding hifi behind me on the bookcase.
So are we noisy neighbours? You’ll have to ask the neighbours, but our neighbour is a musician, and teaches violin, so I think she’ll never complain.
Now Pitch Perfect the title of today’s piece was going to talk about pitching an idea, and  pitch perfect was the title as it could have a double meaning. But I’ve led myself astray a little, just a little.
I had to pitch an idea, a script to be honest, only the other day. It’s a hard thing to do, especially if you have to do it in one page. So what did I do? I cheated,  I chose a small font size so I could fit in more words. Ask a writer to say less is almost impossible, it’s like asking an alcoholic to stop drinking. And I know all about alcoholics, we had lodgers and they were all big drinkers.
So how do you pitch an idea? In the end you cannot, all you can do is be honest and tell the story of your screenplay in as few as words as possible. I imagine the one page pitch is faxed to the backers and if they like it they ask for the full script to be emailed to them.
 Then in a jacuzzi  somewhere a moneyman is reading your script  as he drinks his orange juice or whatever. If he drops it in the water then you have failed, but if he gets out and sits to read your script, then you have a chance. He may even ask his mum or wife or daughter  to have a read too. Then you have a chance.
I am also trying to get my words on the radio, so how do you pitch for that? As I talk to you Vangelis is turning smoke into music, perfect pitch from Vangelis, Love theme from Blade Runner. Music is so great if only I could play or even sing.
Back to pitching for radio, what have I tried? Well I put my best 4 pieces together as well as my poem “Let my Tears be my Words” and with a bit of background and then I’ve sent it off to a radio station. I hope the 4 pieces I’ve pitched touch the radio station’s heart. I’ve also sent some audio and some video, so they can see and hear me as well as my words. It was them who asked for video and audio, so I hope I look and sound ok.
If you go to Amazon Kindle and look  at Michael Casey writer page then you can judge for yourself. 300 and Not OUT is my lead book for radio. The radio idea I’ve called 90 Seconds with Michael, because a short piece can be read in 90seconds. Which may mean I can sneak into radio, because it’s only a short piece. There are longer pieces too, maybe 500 of them.
In a way this pitch perfect piece is two pieces, one about music and one about words. Will my words be music to their ears? I really hope so, this has been 20+25 years in the making. I just hope I’m not tone deaf.


Friday, 12 July 2013

Where am I ?


Where am I ? (c)
By Michael Casey

Do you ever type in where am I. I do just to see how wrong it always is. Right now FB says I'm in Bideford Devon. Doesn't David Cameron go to Devon for his hols? I'll have to check the newspapers to see if he's there. Picture the scene DC is looking at my files on FB, I hope he can find me a bit of writing work. Or after dinner speaking, I mean at least I'd get a free dinner, who said there's no such thing as a free dinner? As well as being in Bideford Devon, and maybe DC is hacking me, I typed in where am I on a google search and it said I was in DC, not David Cameron but in DC, as in Washington DC. Then I zoomed in and it said I was in The White House. So are Obama and the family gathered around the family PC in the President's private living quarters and they are hacking into my PC. Look Mr President my books are only 3 dollars each, apart from the 6th book which is 4 dollars. Anyway you can afford to buy your own copy
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Michael-Casey/e/B00571G0YC/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_pop_1
so get the secret service to download my 6 books to your kindle. I know you are still sore because they beat you at bowling again, on your regular Tuesday bowling night, but they siad sorry and siad they'd get you something to read, even in UK we know you love to read. Or could all this be my imagination? I once did where was I am it said Palo Alto several times, so does Mark Z also like to read my stuff? Even if I said he was a roadie with tattoos on his leg. I'm the least important man in the world, so why is where I'm at so wrong. Not unless Lestrange and Snowden are playing tricks, again why? I'm of no importance whatseoever. I would like a slot on the radio and in print and/or in newspapers. I love the idea of syndiction. It's great because you get paid many times over for writing just one thing. Or is Rupurt Murdoch about to give me a job, with free Sky TV everything package. On balance not, though I did send him my 90 seconds with Michael idea. All this sounds like a conspiracy theory, so perhaps I should be in the Xfiles, I did have 2 Xrays the other week, so I'm half way there, I'm X which as they say is X marks the spot, which goes back to where am I.

Wednesday, 10 July 2013

Michael's Bathroom


                    Michael's  Bathroom   ©
                      

                                by


                          Michael  Casey


         Six months previously Michael had decorated his living room,  he

had to, the white walls had turned to a nicoteen stained yellow in places

such  was the downside of having a South facing living room.  Now it  was
 
the turn of the bathroom again.  The bathroom was very small,  not  even
 
enough room to swing a cat,  it was about 7 foot by six foot,  which was
 
just big enough for the bath,  the sink and the bog. Why did people want
 
big bathrooms anyway? You weren't going to hold dinner parties in there,
 
or  go  jogging,  yes Michael was used to and by now satisfied  with  his
 
small  bathroom.  However it always seemed to need decorating,  he  just
 
needed to open the window more often and let the steam out.  Michael just
 
loved to wallow in the bath like a Hippopotamous,  he had a radio on  the
 
windowsill  so he could listen to Heart FM while he shaved and bathed  and
 
watched  the spiders.  There were spiders galore in his  bathroom,  his
 
mother  always said spiders brought money with them,  perhaps  snared  in
 
their webs,  Michael even looked under the bath behind the panel just  in
 
case  the spiders had indeed brought gold with them,  sadly all he  found
 
was yet more spiders and their webs.

        Years ago at work the offices were tarted up,  so new carpet  was
 
laid  in  the reception,  so Michael had begged for the off  cuts,  and
 
persuaded Paul Robinson to give him a lift home with it. Once home though
 
it was late Michael got out some very sharp scissors and laid the carpet in
 
the bathroom, he'd have a posh bathroom now, no more cold lino for him.

Actually  he did make a good job of the carpet fitting,  there  was  some
 
left over too. Now the bad thing about ordinary carpet in the bathroom is
 
that it gets manky,  firstly because Michael splashed a lot in the bath,
 
his mother had always told him off for splashing in the bath since he  was
 
a child,  she was afraid the water would leak though the ceiling into the
 
living  room below.  He did not have that problem now in his own house,
 
why, because he had a concrete floor. So the carpet got wet, due to the
 
splashing in the bath. Michael was also a bad shot, so he'd occasionally
 
piss  on  the floor,  when he came rushing home dying for  a  piss  after
 
having too many shandies.  Also if you spill domestos or other bleach  on
 
carpet it changes colour.

         As for the ceiling and walls,  they needed cleaning and painting
 
every  now and then because of all the steam and Michael not  opening  the
 
window  often  enough.  So Michael would go up the road to Fads  and  buy
 
five litres of white emulsion for a fiver, then scattering newspapers all
 
over the bathroom he'd attack the walls and ceiling. He soon got high and
 
had  a headache with all the paint fumes,  even though the window  was
 
wide  open,  the  radio  was blairing too,  he  always  had  music  on
 
constantly,  whether he was painting,  eating, washing shaving  or just
 
picking his nose. Michael's painting had more attack than finesse to it,
 
splash it here, splash it there, quantity more than quality, his father
 
had always told him to use a small amount on the brush,  a tiny amount,
 
but Michael always overloaded his brush,  paint was cheap after all,  a
 
tin  of paint only cost the price of a couple of pints and a bag of  chips
 
after all.     
 
         Once finished Michael was splattered in paint, his grey hair now
 
turned white,  his painting clothes,  now more paint than clothes,  his
 
watch  had a white thumb print on it,  his underpants had paint on too,
 
for  no  matter  what  he  did  he  was  always  hitching  his  jeans  and
 
consequently he had paint everywhere.  Michael stepped back to admire his

handiwork,  but being as the bathroom was so small he bumped into the bog
 
and ending up sitting on it.”It'll do” was his usual comment,  and it
 
would  have too,  he couldn't afford a real decorator.A fiver to do  his
 
bathroom,  but a decorator would charge 100 times that and take days, it
 
took Michael an hour and a half tops,  he'd finish in time for Star  Trek
 
and that was important,  he had his priorities right.  So looking at his
 
splattered  watch,  Michael gathered up the paint  splattered  newspaper
 
which was protecting his fancy carpet.  The only trouble though was  the
 
fact that his shoes were stuck to the newspapers,  so Michael had to  sit
 
on the bog and pull the newpaper off his shoes,  invariably a spot or two
 
of  paint  stayed on the carpet.  So Michael had rub hard  to  clean  the
 
carpet,  and  take his shoes off so that he  wouldn't  leave  footprints
 
everywhere.”Ah it'll do,” repeated Michael as he looked back at  the
 
bathroom from the safety of the kitchen,  he'd then strip off and put all
 
his  painting clothes into the washing machine, invariably the light  was
 
fading now, so Michael had the kitchen light on, so his neighbours would
 
be  treated to the dubious  privilege of seeing Michael naked  and  paint
 
spattered standing in his kitchen.

          Star  Trek  was great as usual,  Michael  only  recognised  the
 
metaphors  after the show,  but he really enjoyed the show,  he'd  been
 
watching it for 30 years now, the original and then the follow on shows.

After  his  dinner Michael ventured back into the bathroom,”Who  needs
 
decorators,  the  theiving bastards".  Michael was satisfied  with  his
 
handiwork,  it'd do till the next time.  The next time came,  when  the
 
carpet was manky,  so Michael threw out the carpet and searched under the
 
bed in the spare room,  that’s where he kept the rest of the carpet.  As
 
luck  would  have  it there was just enough to cover  the  bathroom  floor
 
again.So once more he got out the dangerous sissors and cut the carpet  to
 
shape,  and yes he did do a good job of it, carpet fitting he could do,
 
it was painting he was useless at. Jackson Pollark, the artist who threw
 
paint  at  the canvas would have been impressed by  Michael's  bathroom,
 
anybody else would have said,”was there an explosion?"

        So time passed and the carpet was manky, so Michael threw it out,

so what would he do next?  He hit upon the brilliant idea of painting the
 
concrete floor.  It only took half an hour and then”hey presto" he had a
 
redecorated bathroom,  only he hadn't thought of one thing. What happens
 
when you paint a floor white? It shows all the dirt, and it shows up all
 
the spiders that are not spiders,  if you know what I mean.  So  Michael
 
improvised,  he was good at improvising, 20 years as a computer operator
 
and he'd leant to improvise,  if nothing else.  So he painted the  floor
 
blue,  that colour wouldn't show up spiders that weren't spiders. And he
 
was  right.  He had another problem now,  because  he'd  used  ordinary
 
emulsion,  when it got wet, it came off, so soon the soles of Michael's
 
slippers  went  blue,  and soon the blue was spattered with  white,  as
 
toothpaste and soap suds stained the blue floor. Michael persevered, he
 
painted the floor blue every couple of weeks or so,  blue paint was  more
 
expensive than white,  but the one tin enabled him paint it ten times or
 
so.Eventually the walls needed painting again,  so Michael thought  he'd
 
try blue on the walls,  only it was too dark,  he didn't like it,  and
 
more to the point he ran out of paint halfway through.  So he went up  to
 
Fads again for white,  though he was nearly tempted  into buying a  soft
 
coloured paint as it was half price, but after a bit of soul searching he
 
stuck with white, five litres for a fiver.

         Another  problem reared its head,  if you try  painting  over  a
 
strong colour, the colour underneath shows through. So on Boxing Day 98

Michael spent the day painting, or smearing as his mother used to call it
 
,  he spent the day smearing two coats of white over the blue. And yes it
 
did look dreadful.  New Years Eve came and Michael's bathroom was covered
 
in copies of the Telegraph,  it was a good read with great coverage, why
 
just one copy was enough to cover all Michael's floor, he'd have to write
 
to  the editor to thank him.  So Michael got drunk on New Year's Eve  and
 
ended  up dancing with his friend Dave,  Dave being a Helmult  Khol  look
 
alike.  Once home with a hangover,  Michael realised that in the morning
 
he'd have to give another coat or two to the bathroom.  Michael could see
 
the  light  at the end of the tunnel,  or rather the bottom of  the  five
 
litre tin of paint,  once he finished the tin, the job would be finished
 
whether  it was finished or not,  the job would be finished.  He'd  had
 
enough, and he had a massive headache due to the paint fumes. 
 
       “Finished,  at last,  thank God,” yelled Michael, yes he
 
had come to the bottom of the tin, so finished or not, it was finished.

So Michael went and watched Star Trek on the satellite.  The bathroom took
 
forever to dry as it was Winter and the atmosphere was cold and wet.  So
 
it  was  a  couple  of  days before  Michael  could  finish  the  bathroom
 
transformation.  He found some old curtains he had in his pantry, he had
 
originally  bought them for the kitchen,  but once he got them  home  and
 
tried  hanging them he was annoyed to discover they were too  short,  so
 
they  had  ended up in his pantry on a shelf next to his  iron.  To  his
 
delight the new curtains were just the right length for his bathroom, and
 
they were nice and bright too.  So what to dod next?  Michael pulled the
 
panel out from in front of the bath, as luck would have it he had a spare
 
plastic shower curtain ; so he wrapped the panel in a new shower curtain,
 
a  flowery pattern on it,  and it would match the shower curtain he  had
 
already up. Finally as he had to lay the lino, the lino he swopped a new
 
pair of shoes for. His brother had some spare lino, and Michael as usual
 
had  a  spare  pair of shoes in his shoe mountain at  the  bottom  of  his
 
wardrobe.  So he got the lino,  and his brother got the shoes as a  Xmas
 
present,  they  had both laughed as they struck the  deal  during  their
 
regular  weekly   telephone conversation.  Their dead mother  would  have
 
approved too,”look after each other" was her motto. There was one snag
 
though, Michael couldn't find his sissors, so how could he cut the lino?

So  he improvised with the bread knife,  a flash of the knife  here,  a
 
flash of the knife there, it was hard work, he was soon covered in sweat
 
but after 45 minutes he was finished.  So he just had to slip the freshly
 
covered  bath panel back in position.  So kicking it back in  position,
 
Michael  had finally transformed his bathroom.  Michael stepped  back  to
 
admire his handiwork, accidently knocking the bread knife down the toilet
 
but  he didn't hear the splash,  as the radio was blaring out a Nat  King
 
Cole  song”Let there be Love".  Michael looked at his  freshly  painted
 
bathroom,  walls and ceiling had been painted,  new bright curtains were
 
hanging  down,  and the lino was new and bright too,  he had even put  a
 
layer of plastic and newspapers underneath to act as insulation,  and  he
 
had a little mat too that he could step on when he got out the bath.  Yes
 
it  was an utter transformation,  the best it had looked in the 12  years
 
he'd  lived there.  All this activity had made him really hungry,  he'd
 
bought a loaf from the bakery,  an old fashioned big tasty loaf,  all he
 
had  to do was cut it into big slices,  now where had he left  the  bread
 
knife?



                               End 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  

Triple or Quadruple?

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