Game of Thrones Meets Classical Guitar

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About this video:

When we first planned a video shoot for January/February, we didn’t expect so much snow to be on the ground—or the frigidly cold temperatures!

The original video was cancelled (or postponed—as the case probably is) and Game of Thrones was put into action. (See, the original video calls for no snow on the ground. It wasn’t because of the temperature that it was postponed. That should tell you something about our toughness.)

Anyway, we started thinking about a location to shoot Game of Thrones early on. We knew we wanted the video to be outdoors (in the snow), and so it didn’t take us long to decide on some great-looking woods located in Washington, Pennsylvania.

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And it was cold.

Horribly so.

On the morning of the shoot, the temperature registered -17 degrees Fahrenheit (-27 degrees Celsius). Luckily, it warmed up a bit, and the sun came out…but still…the wind was harsh.

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Thanks to Tony we have a fire in the video. I know it looks like I build it, but the video is outright lying. Tony spent a while (I kept track as I sat on a snow-covered log and froze) building the fire—and collecting brush. I helped collect burnable stuff, too, I must admit. It’s not like I don’t help, see.

Still, Tony had a heck of a time getting the fire to actually… I don’t know…work, burn? Whatever. Finally, in the end, with a help of a blowtorch and some kerosene, the fire came to life—briefly.

Talk about dangerous.

The fire lived in spurts. That’s its life story.

So, our schedule consisted of shooting a bit, rebuilding the fire, shooting a bit, rebuilding the fire… When we finally had to kick the fire out—for video-story reasons—Tony almost cried, I think. (As a side note, I’m not sure what I suddenly hear and see at the end of the video either…maybe a mountain lion.)

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By the end of the video shoot, I could barely feel my fingers—which is a wonder, mind you.

I should say something about the music here.

The whole track is just one nylon string guitar, and the arrangement differs slightly from the Game of Thrones main theme: It has an intro, a bit of a solo section, and the intro again at the end. Which might make it an outro.

I’m not sure.

So! Here’s Game of Thrones Meets Classical Guitar!

Thanks for watching and reading!!!

Remember: be sure to like, subscribe, and share!
~ Vince (VC) Carrola
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Credits:
Game of Thrones Main Theme by Ramin Djawadi
Music arrangement by Vince Carrola
Recored & Mixed at Studio VC
Videography & Shots by Anthony (Tony) Carrola
Video film edited and put tighter by Anthony and Vince Carrola

By Nicholas Warren

Daniel H. liked to play cards.

The only problem was that not many people around liked to play cards.

So it was solitaire for him.

Boring old solitaire.

“I can’t believe this,” he said to himself one day. “Here I am, living in this nice little neighborhood, and I have no one to play cards with. It’s not acceptable.”

So Daniel decided to go for a walk. He left the house and walked down the sidewalk of the rather affluent neighborhood he lived in.

That was when he came upon Manly-Man riding a scooter, with a helmet on—crookedly.

Daniel stopped to watch Manly-Man’s rather pitiful attempt at riding on the scooter.

“You know, you’re not very good at this. Why don’t you come and play cards with me?” Daniel said to him.

“Oh no. Hey dude, I’s think I’s good. At least I ain’t chubby,” Manly-Man replied, as if bashful.

“How about you put that silly thing away, and come with me and play cards?” Daniel asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Oh no…”

“No? Why?”

“Okay, let’s do it, little dude.”

“I’m actually taller than you.”

“Oh, and you’s fatter, too,” Many-Man replied. He was about twice as broad as Daniel…and maybe a few inches smaller.

“Ah! So rude to me!”

“Hey, let’s go play cards, chubby. I’s gonna call my buddy Ruby to do this too…”

“Sounds good to me… The more the better,” Daniel said.

****

They sat around the table with the cards in their hands.

It was Daniel, Manly-Man and Ruber Salami. Playing a game of Polish Poker (Called Golf by some…). It was their third game.

Daniel and Manly-Man were tie for first place.

And Ruber…was losing.

Daniel giggled. “I’m winning. It’s really nice.”

“Oh, shut up, will ya?” Ruber replied, annoyed. “I don’t know why I agreed to do this…eh?”

“Oh no…you’s a poor sport, Ruby,” Manly-Man said.

“Sheesh! Don’t call me that!” Ruber replied, getting angry.

“Okay,” Manly-Man replied, in a calming tone. Or…at least, it was supposed to be.

They played the hand through, Daniel laughing in pleasure through the whole thing. Then they turned their cards over.

Daniel had three of the best cards…and one of the second best. “Can’t beat that,” he said.

Ruber had four of the third best cards. “Sheesh,” he said.

Manly-Man smiled. He had four of the best cards. “Oh no, I’s won.”

“What! That’s not possible!” Daniel squeaked out. “We’re only using one deck! There can only four of those cards.”

“Nah…” Manly-Man replied. “I’s got my own deck, too.” Manly-Man held up a deck of cards.

“You cheated!” Daniel almost screamed.

“Nah…”

Ruber laughed. “Hey, Danny, I think you lost!”

“I did not! I won!” he yelled.

“Hey, Danny,” Manly-Man said, “I’s don’t think you’s very good at this game. I’s think you should go play with my scooter.”

What’s He Doing?

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“What’s he doing?” Schwarz Tauptinker asked.

Fats Henry shook his head. “Eating? I don’t know. What do I look like? A squirrel psychologist, huh?”

Schwarz looked at Henry for a moment, then shook his head. “Nah, far too big.”

Then Daddy Salami skipped up. “What ya boys doing, ya dirty curs?!”

“Thinking about him,” Schwarz said, indicating the squirrel. “What’s he up to?”

“I don’t know,” Salami said, becoming interested. “Is he a spy?”

“Sure,” Henry yelled. “Squirrels are always spying.”

Now, what Henry couldn’t possibly know is that, in fact, the squirrel was a spy—Zez’s spy. And at that moment, Zez was watching them, through the squirrel’s eye.

“He doesn’t move much,” Schwarz said. “I don’t think he’s happy, chickit.”

“Let’s throw some rocks at him,” Henry suggested.

“You touch him, cur noodle-sauce,” Salami said, “and I’ll kill you!”

Schwarz laughed. “Don’t get so vicious over a squirrel—tell you what!”

And that’s when Amelia and Mark Malone came up.

“Hello, chaps,” Mark said.

“Well,” Salami returned, “aren’t ya gorgeous in yer blue suit?”

“Yes, I think so,” Amelia said, giggling.

“But no one asked you!” Henry roared.

“Not me!” Schwarz admitted.

“Nor me!” Salami added.

Henry rolled his eyes. “Would you two just shut up—huh?”

“Have any of you seen the professor recently?” Mark Malone asked.

Amelia seemed interested as well.

“Don’t know,” Schwarz said. “Last time I saw him, we were having cashews together.”

“Who cares about him anyway?” Henry asked.

“He’s a cur, I tell ya!” Salami went back to watching the squirrel.

***

“What’s wrong with the land?” Zez asked, sorta to himself. “The vicked vones are very dull.”

This professor nodded. “I think you’re right, Mr. Zez. I think you’re right.”

Moral: Watch out for unmoving squirrels. Probably means the professor is watching.

A Bit about the professor

I think I do these type of posts every so often.

And I’m not at all sure why.

Are you? Anyways and all my ways, MW (her real name is Michelle and her blog can be found here) nominated this professor for an award.

Thanks, MW!

This award.

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It needs some color. I think red would suit it fine. Now, I must needs give you seven facts about myself.

(1) I just got a Fugoo speaker. And I like it. Could be a bit louder. But it’s snow-proof. And professor-proof. Doesn’t crack easily, see.

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(2) This dumbbell leaks metal spikes, I think.

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(3) This clarinet is tops. A Buffet R-13. Really nice.

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(4) I’m really running out of things to say. That’s what happens when you’re dull, see.

(5) The professor is very old. Older than the mountains, yet younger than the stars. Do you believe that? I hope so. If not, it means my lies don’t work. If that’s a lie. Walt Walker might be able to tell you. He’s Dick Hercules agent, by the way.

(6) That light back there is purple, and purple (as well as pink) is a girl’s color. Nice stage, huh?

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(7) This is exhausting: coming up with all these facts. Okay, last one: these are professor books.

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There! Now you know lots about the professor.

A Visitor & Red Muffins

And this professor was having a muffin—a cherry one, mind you—at Ruber’s Catering.

It was rather tasty, you should know. But it didn’t have any protein. It was puffy, dry and squishy, and not a bit red. Alarming, maybe, but not for this professor.

I wasn’t scared of muffins.

Ruber Salami, the owner of the establishment, sat down across from me.

“Poof,” he said, as he sat. “What a day it’s been, eh?”

Ruber, you must understand, has a bit of an English accent. At least, I think he does. But I could be wrong.

The professor, you see, is accent-less, so I’m not a good judge of accents.

“A very tough day,” he said. Then he sighed.

“What do you do to relax?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I just sit around, read the comics, and snack, I suppose. Look here, P.VJ—eh—there’s no such thing as relaxing on this planet, eh? If you think you’re going to be able to relax, forget about it.” He leaned back into his chair and flopped his boots on the table. “We’ll be able to relax when we’re in the grave.”

And that’s when we were joined by this professor’s very good friend, Lucy.

“Oh, hello!” I said, shaking her hand—maybe a bit too hardly hard.

Ruber was on his feet in an instant as well. He’s a bit of a gentleman.

“Hello, chaps,” she said. “Good to see both of you.”

See, PorterGirl and this professor have had many adventures at Old College. (That’s where she works, see.) It’s always a pleasure to see her show up in TPL as well, you know.

“Lucy,” this professor said, “I should probably introduce you to Ruber. I don’t think you’ve met. But if you have: it’s time to meet again.”

“How do you do,” Ruber said.

They shook hands, and then we all sat.

“Now, Ruber,” I said, “you’re a good cook and all…but, listen here: why is this cherry muffin not red?”

I showed it to Lucy for a bit of inspection. (This professor hadn’t eaten the whole thing.)

“Well, it certainly is muffin-y,” Lucy replied dubiously. “But I’m not convinced on the cherry aspect of it. It isn’t at all red, you know.”

Ruber laughed. “Well, what makes you think cherries are red?”

That was a humdinger. Straight-up humdinger.

“Well…!” Lucy started, but became confused. “Because they just are, are they not? There is even a color called cherry red. There, that proves it.”

Ruber shrugged. “Oh come on, cherries don’t have to be red. Consider this, you puppies: cherries are more black than red. Especially fresh cherries.”

He maybe had a point.

“Do you use fresh cherries in your muffins then?” Lucy asked.

“Great question!” I said.

We had him now. See, he had to admit, that there wasn’t an ounce of real cherries in his cherry muffins. I suspected he was using some sort of colorless flavoring.

“Why would I not?” Ruber said, defensively.

“Why not? To fool the muffin-loving public, that’s why,” said Lucy.

“I’m not sure why either,” this professor said. “But…cherry muffins should be red. Wouldn’t you say so, Lucy?”

“I cannot help but agree, professor. Cherries are red and that is that.”

“That’s like saying bananas,” Ruber said, mounting his defense, “should be yellow!”

“Aren’t they?” I asked.

“They should be,” said Lucy, “if you don’t want a belly ache. Bananas are certainly yellow.”

“No!” Ruber almost yelled. “What a toggogin. They’re white on the inside!”

It was a good defense.

“But that shouldn’t be the way with cherries,” I said. “Look here, cherries should be red because they are more attractive that way. And more attractive food, is food that’s going to get eaten. What humans are attracted to most, they eat.”

“The professor is right, you know, Ruber,” Lucy agreed. “If a cherry isn’t red then I am afraid I am suspicious of it. And I can’t enjoy eating a thing I am suspicious of.”

Ruber sighed. “Did you like the muffin?”

“Uhh…yes…?” I said. “But it wasn’t red.”

Ruber pounded the table, and this professor jumped.

“Goodness!” Ruber startled Lucy and she made a little squeak.

“I’ll fix it for you then…”

Ruber was up and gone.

“Where do you suppose he went?” I asked.

“To write a letter of apology, I should hope. Or to get us some real life cherries.”

He was back moments later. Ruber snatched what was left of my muffin (about half, I’d say) put it on a plate, and squirted ketchup all over it.

“There!” he said, breathing hard. “It’s red!”

This professor looked at Lucy.

“Hmm,” said Lucy. “Perhaps this ketchup is made from cherry tomatoes?”

“Next time,” Ruber said, “don’t ask for red muffins.


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