Banjos, Drums, and Violas

The Viola Joke as Musician’s Folklore was uncovered whilst idly Googling. I sought research on the tradition of genre-specific ostracism-based musician jokes. These jokes are directed at a specific instrument, and are told within a community of musicians who participate in ensembles including the instrument being mocked.

The best known of these are banjo jokes, viola jokes, and drummer jokes. The banjo mockery is associated with traditionally-oriented pickers; the viola jokes are for consumption by a classical consort, and drummers take shit from rockers.

One article appeared tantalizingly beyond the web, however. Knowing the Score: The Transmission of Musician Jokes among Professional and Semi-Professional Musicians, by Nancy Groce, was published in the New York Folklore Journal Vol. 22 in 1996, but appears online only in the list of contents.

To judge a book by its’ cover, however, the title appears to propose a function for the jokery: it establishes that the joker has been exposed to the culture of working musicians. If that’s the thesis, I’d love to read more.

Are there similar categories of writer’s jokes?

It Burns

Evil toxic awful stinky floor sealant next door that the damn floor refinishers didn’t think to inform anyone in the building about is FLAVORING MY FOOD LIKE SHARPIES.

I went into the apartment to tell them to stop it and get a floor sealant that won’t KILL BABIES and this tiny Vietnamese teenager who spoke no English was applying it by hand to the floors wearing a cloth dust mask and no gloves that I recall.

I read the label on the giant multi-gallon drums cheerfully decorating our courtyard. Over half the label space was occupied with warnings about such topics as permanent neural damage and the necessty to wear rubber gloves and full-on respirators wile in use.

My eyes are burning and I am hearing some high-pitched sounds in my ears. I’m sure it’s just me wanting to slap whoever hired the refinishers silly.

UPDTAE: I blaim all mispleeings on nerve damaj.

Refreshing

I could reload my website all day long, just watching my spiffy new randomizing header reload and change. I loves me summa dat ol’ woodtype, yers I do.

Alas, though, for Photoshop’s v.7 lack of the excellent Illustrator filters that so beautifully allow random shifts of baseline and edge to be gently inflected ‘pon the bodies of the glyphs, in earnest pursuit of the organickally worn type our forefathers knew and endured.

Did you know, as far as I can tell, that it is simply not possible to order the fine letterpress tchotschkes produced in the lovely type shop of Ye Olde Colonial Williamsburg online? Will no-one make an appeal to King George, that ye internette may be mayde availabbule to the fine & industryous colonials?

Alas, too, that there is no third dimension avalilable to provide texture in the context of ye webbe payge. Were it so, I would marke this to be nubbly and stiffe, with a ridged embossing, like the book it imitates.

Oo-er! Looka this! Some luverly mud o’er ‘ere!