Long ago, someone handed me my first tuxedo, a cheap school rental that I liked because it made me feel like James Bond.  Sadly, the feeling has grown rather tarnished.  It’s partly from glancing at pictures of those youth-orchestra years (painfully awkward; no glamor whatsoever).  But it’s also because, even today, my life as a working musician turns out to be very little like that of Mr. Bond.

Here, for the record, are some of the things that *I* do in a tuxedo:

Change diapers.

Lug trash out to the dumpster.

Eat at McDonalds.

Wrangle infant carseats.  My neighbors like to laugh at me when I’m bouncing up and down to ratchet a carseat back into position, especially on a hot summer day.  (Apparently my face gets very red…)

Use a porta-potty.  Came up at a vineyard gig, out in the mountains.  (Beautiful place — but — and I’m no expert — but do you really want a porta-potty right next to your tasting pavilion?)

Take custard pies to the face.   (Chamber music friends can’t always be trusted.)

Get stuck with feet hanging out the back of a moving station wagon.  (Again…)

Chase fold-up sun tent blowing end-over-end down a hill.  I can only imagine what the wedding guests thought.  Many thanks to the caterers, who were very helpful.  (Later, still in my tux, I helped the violist break the same tent into little pieces by jumping up and down on it.  It’s a long story.)

Jump-start old cars.

Mop the floor.

Love every minute of great music-making.