It has been a long time that Verizon & I have been in
my pocket either alerting me to a caller or trying to take a picture in my
pocket. However, it was determined by
powers beyond my control that it was time for a replacement cell phone.
The ensuing trip to the local Verizon emporium, where all
the earnest busy-bee workers seemed to swarm all about a vast selection of
electronic necessities, resulted in the appearance of a little new black
virginal cell phone waiting to become my lifeline to the outside world. But before it could spring into service or my
pocket, it required programing with the information from its predecessor.
Then the super-efficient automaton busy-bee informed us
that would not be possible as the two instruments were not compatible. …… A
really strange thing to us inasmuch both little tykes issued forth from the
same source. One thing we were assured
of though, was that if accidently the right little button was activated I could
still take pocket pictures.
All previous knowledge had been lost, including the
delightful signal-melody that always announced to anyone in earshot that this
cell phone owner was extremely couth & cultured (artistic to say the
least). No bells or horns, ribald
hip-hop, imitation old fashioned telephone “Ringy ding ding”, but the melodious
sounds of what was ultimately identified as a bit of Amadeus.
Unable to track Amadeus down we substituted a snippet of
Figaro’s rather pretentious Wedding March.
As you have probably gathered circumstances do become tedious and
tiresome for us dilettantes. You know,
the artistic types. But something had to
be done to get on with electronic progress.
So Figaro took over as programed.
After a couple of marches down the aisle with Figaro, something had to be
done to relocate the purloined original melody, but not being an educated
musician, just a music nerd who favored the classics (and of course, show
tunes) I could do no better than whistle an off key version of the tune.
This called for drastic measures to find Amadeus. The search was begun to find the wizard of
lost melodies, the shaman of the ivories, the creator of crescendos, the
ultimate music authority (at least in my little world), Herr Doktor Bösendorfer! I was successful in being granted audience of
such short notice, but this was an emergency and the doktor acquiesced.
After appropriate vetting to decipher the off-key hummed
melody as best as I could muster, my faith in the master was affirmed when
after research of the entire cabinet where Herr Mozart was closeted. Eureka!
The Sonata in C Major, K-545,
came to light. And lest this
Philistine/dilettante remain forever ignorant of the complete sonata, the good
doktor gave the big black shiny Bösendorfer a run for its money by playing the total selection. My subsequent joy was so great I threw my
arms about Herr Doktor’s ample waist & almost burst into tears. Amadeus had come back to me, as I planted a
big kiss of gratitude on the maestro’s rosy cheek.
With my new found knowledge I was off to meet the enemy,
the Verizon automatons. Thanks to the
Herr Doktor & Herr Bösendorfer there is renewed life for this music lover. So ends this sincere “artistic” tale. Cant you hear that sweet köchel right now?
Do I hear cries of “Author”, “Author”?
Thank you, Wolfgang A. Sylvester
© 8 Sep 2014
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