See how I did that, and made a little rhyme for you? That's poetry for Love.
You can also buy in in trade paperback here, if you're oldschool.
Friday, May 27, 2011
Shameless Plug For My Own Profit
Soooooo..., if you enjoy this blog, and you have a Kindle or a Nook you should click the link and buy my book!
See how I did that, and made a little rhyme for you? That's poetry for Love.
You can also buy in in trade paperback here, if you're oldschool.
See how I did that, and made a little rhyme for you? That's poetry for Love.
You can also buy in in trade paperback here, if you're oldschool.
Friday, May 20, 2011
Disaster! Goes well with Comfort Food.
Now, I know by this time I've mentioned my propensity for plagues and being in the middle of disasters.
Optimism: It doesn't always end well.
The thing is, because I ALSO have a plethora of unbelievable good luck that is directly proportional to my bad luck, I remain fairly optimistic about Things In General.
Me, Observing Things In General.
But enough of optimism, let's talk humiliation! I know that's why you're really here.
It all starts when I was 17 - bright eyed and living at home, commuting to big college nearby. This college of gifted musical students decided to form a drum corps. Drum corps, as you might assume, are primarily composed of several drum players. Not to be put off by the fact that I do not, in fact, play a drum, I auditioned and was assigned to the marimba. (The marimba, if you do not know, is like a ginormous xylophone. It weighs several hundred pounds - that part is important - and you hit it with mallets to produce melodious, deep bell-like tones.)
There were about 30 of us, and because this was the first semester, it was being haphazardly and optimistically run by a student. So no, we were not organized. We ran through some short practice songs and exercises throughout the first few months, but mostly we all just punched our respective rhythms/tones with our banging implements of choice. The drum corps leader - his name was Opie, for real, I have to tell you that because FOR REAL, and also, he was very nice. Wait, what was I saying? Oh yes. Opie decided that we should be in a competition, even though technically, we had not really learned a whole song together yet. (I told you he was optimistic, bless his heart.)
I am dubious about competition. Also, see "team spirit". But the point of college and new experiences is to learn and grow, right? Sure. So we practiced. We practiced and practiced. But students being led by students leads to half-assery. Time went by, the competition grew closer, and yet - we had not run through the song ONCE without having to stop. I became nervous. I started dropping hints like "Wow, are we really ready for this? Maybe we should wait til next semester..." and other such sensible things. Opie would have none of it, because he believed in us and our untapped potential. Sweet, foolish man.
Finally, it was a week 'til the competition. Still, the drum corps had not gotten through the song once. Not ONCE. As the marimba, I played the bass line with an Eeyore resignation. I explained to Opie that I could not compete, my reasoning along the lines of "because this is the worst idea ever." And then I pulled off my Nervous Cloak of Emotions and relaxed at the whole business being over. Or so I thought!
The next week, I was sleeping in on an idyllic Saturday morning when my mother shook me awake around 8 to tell me that "some kids had left several voice messages for me", because this was in the olden days, when we still used answering machines and not those newfangled cell phones. I had explained the whole situation to my parents, but Momma made a speech along the lines of "being responsible" and "team spirit" and "prior commitments", but I out-stubborned her (which is nearly impossible) because the thing is, I sense humiliation like those European pigs sense truffles. Then I rolled over and went back to sleep, thinking that was the end.
That was about the time that a caravan of college students pulled up in our driveway. I am pretty stubborn, but it turns out I can't outstubborn 30 drum corps members and an extremely insistent-on-responsibility mother. So like a kidnapee, I got in the van, which drove 3 hours to the competition. The whole time, the van crew looked at sheet music and repeated catchy slogans about how we were going to band together (musical pun, yay!) and how we had 2 hours to practice in a separate room before we even competed. I felt moderately better. Artistic people DO have moments of last minute genius, even without liquor.
= This could be me!!!
We pulled into the competition area, and I realized it was a high school. It was the BIGGEST HIGH SCHOOL IN THE WORLD!!! But seriously, it was pretty big. Parking was insane. I expected rock stars. Now is a good time to mention that I then found out we were the only college competing in this high school competition. (Embarrassed? Relieved? It was a lot of emotions to experience at once so I am not sure how to tell you what was happening.) We got to our private practice room, and we were four measures (that is about 15 seconds) into our song when someone popped in and said "You're up next!"
We walked down the hallway (was there a death march happening? It sounds like a death march in my memory.) The doors were closed to the competition area, so I could only hear what was clearly an awesome rendition to a cartoon medley (death march!!!). Then it was our turn.
Doors swung open to the unseen competition area. With effort, I pushed my arduous several-hundred-pound marimba (on wheels!) into the semi-darkness. ...it was a professional sized super fancy gym. Filled with bleachers. Filled with hundreds of people in auditorium seating. Hundreds of people. Also, there were video cameras everywhere. And a panel of judges. A PANEL. TO JUDGE ME.
Like this, but times 10!
But I have performed before. So okay. I can totally keep it together for 2 and a half minutes. Our pit is small, perhaps 5 people. Being the bass line, the marimba player starts and ends the song. So I started. Ding dong. And everything came together! For about 30 seconds. But then the 25 drummers clearly missed a hook, and kinda faded out. Not to worry. Using my most-angry-and-in-charge Teacher Face, I hissed to the drum corps leader and pit, "Measure 24. MEASURE 24!!!!!" The pit repeated the part, and maybe 3 drummers tried to start again. But faded out again. Okay. So then the pit repeated it a third time (I was hissing measure numbers this whole time) and we kept going. Five more seconds, and we got to the part of the song where the xylophone player had stopped memorizing. This is when I realized that it was just me and the vibraphone player. And at the moment of that realization, he stopped playing.
And we were 29 silent drum corps members, and me - playing the bass line, which has no real melody. Just me, the panel of judges, and the video cameras. After another false try to get the drum corps to start, I switched to the melody (which - haha! - I'd never played before), and ended with a fancy little trill that was absolutely not part of our song.
And dead silence.
Like, nothing.
*Based on a true story, some artistic licensure used
I pulled my marimba behind me and ran - literally ran - remember how I said how heavy that marimba was? Yay adrenaline! - out of the auditorium to a few confused and scattered claps.
I would not go back into the competition area where someone might recognize me as "That Marimba Player". So I sat by the van by hours. It wasn't all bad though. One of our fellow competitors was in character as part of the Blue Man Group, and he silently approached me like a fancy mime, bent down on his knee in elaborate proposal, and offered me some marshmallows.
Marshmallows don't fix everything, but they help a little. And now I comfort myself with the fact that this was before youtube. So there is always that.
RECIPE:
When I think of comfort food, marshmallows, and humiliation, I think of Rice Krispy Treats. But to combat the humiliation, you can't just have plain-jane Rice Krispy Treats, you need to fancy those suckers up. Like this:
1/4 cup butter
1/2 cup crunchy peanut butter
4 cups miniature marshmallows
5 cups crisp rice cereal
2 cups of mini bittersweet chocolate chips
Optional: (For a REALLY Bad day. Like, Solo Marimba Bad)
Many toothpicks and assorted candies.
Melt butter in large sauce pan over low heat.
Add marshmallows and stir until melted and well-blended.
Cook 2 minutes longer, stirring constantly.
Remove from heat.
Add peanut butter and stir until thoroughly incorporated.
Add cereal and mini chips.
Stir until well coated.
Using buttered spatula or waxed paper, press mixture evenly and firmly in buttered pan.
Cut into fun shapes when cool, and decorate with assorted candy. Yay!
Best friends?
Optimism: It doesn't always end well.
Me, Observing Things In General.
But enough of optimism, let's talk humiliation! I know that's why you're really here.
It all starts when I was 17 - bright eyed and living at home, commuting to big college nearby. This college of gifted musical students decided to form a drum corps. Drum corps, as you might assume, are primarily composed of several drum players. Not to be put off by the fact that I do not, in fact, play a drum, I auditioned and was assigned to the marimba. (The marimba, if you do not know, is like a ginormous xylophone. It weighs several hundred pounds - that part is important - and you hit it with mallets to produce melodious, deep bell-like tones.)
There were about 30 of us, and because this was the first semester, it was being haphazardly and optimistically run by a student. So no, we were not organized. We ran through some short practice songs and exercises throughout the first few months, but mostly we all just punched our respective rhythms/tones with our banging implements of choice. The drum corps leader - his name was Opie, for real, I have to tell you that because FOR REAL, and also, he was very nice. Wait, what was I saying? Oh yes. Opie decided that we should be in a competition, even though technically, we had not really learned a whole song together yet. (I told you he was optimistic, bless his heart.)
I am dubious about competition. Also, see "team spirit". But the point of college and new experiences is to learn and grow, right? Sure. So we practiced. We practiced and practiced. But students being led by students leads to half-assery. Time went by, the competition grew closer, and yet - we had not run through the song ONCE without having to stop. I became nervous. I started dropping hints like "Wow, are we really ready for this? Maybe we should wait til next semester..." and other such sensible things. Opie would have none of it, because he believed in us and our untapped potential. Sweet, foolish man.
Opie = as represented by Hopeful Puppy
Finally, it was a week 'til the competition. Still, the drum corps had not gotten through the song once. Not ONCE. As the marimba, I played the bass line with an Eeyore resignation. I explained to Opie that I could not compete, my reasoning along the lines of "because this is the worst idea ever." And then I pulled off my Nervous Cloak of Emotions and relaxed at the whole business being over. Or so I thought!
The next week, I was sleeping in on an idyllic Saturday morning when my mother shook me awake around 8 to tell me that "some kids had left several voice messages for me", because this was in the olden days, when we still used answering machines and not those newfangled cell phones. I had explained the whole situation to my parents, but Momma made a speech along the lines of "being responsible" and "team spirit" and "prior commitments", but I out-stubborned her (which is nearly impossible) because the thing is, I sense humiliation like those European pigs sense truffles. Then I rolled over and went back to sleep, thinking that was the end.
That was about the time that a caravan of college students pulled up in our driveway. I am pretty stubborn, but it turns out I can't outstubborn 30 drum corps members and an extremely insistent-on-responsibility mother. So like a kidnapee, I got in the van, which drove 3 hours to the competition. The whole time, the van crew looked at sheet music and repeated catchy slogans about how we were going to band together (musical pun, yay!) and how we had 2 hours to practice in a separate room before we even competed. I felt moderately better. Artistic people DO have moments of last minute genius, even without liquor.
= This could be me!!!We pulled into the competition area, and I realized it was a high school. It was the BIGGEST HIGH SCHOOL IN THE WORLD!!! But seriously, it was pretty big. Parking was insane. I expected rock stars. Now is a good time to mention that I then found out we were the only college competing in this high school competition. (Embarrassed? Relieved? It was a lot of emotions to experience at once so I am not sure how to tell you what was happening.) We got to our private practice room, and we were four measures (that is about 15 seconds) into our song when someone popped in and said "You're up next!"
We walked down the hallway (was there a death march happening? It sounds like a death march in my memory.) The doors were closed to the competition area, so I could only hear what was clearly an awesome rendition to a cartoon medley (death march!!!). Then it was our turn.
Doors swung open to the unseen competition area. With effort, I pushed my arduous several-hundred-pound marimba (on wheels!) into the semi-darkness. ...it was a professional sized super fancy gym. Filled with bleachers. Filled with hundreds of people in auditorium seating. Hundreds of people. Also, there were video cameras everywhere. And a panel of judges. A PANEL. TO JUDGE ME.
Like this, but times 10!
But I have performed before. So okay. I can totally keep it together for 2 and a half minutes. Our pit is small, perhaps 5 people. Being the bass line, the marimba player starts and ends the song. So I started. Ding dong. And everything came together! For about 30 seconds. But then the 25 drummers clearly missed a hook, and kinda faded out. Not to worry. Using my most-angry-and-in-charge Teacher Face, I hissed to the drum corps leader and pit, "Measure 24. MEASURE 24!!!!!" The pit repeated the part, and maybe 3 drummers tried to start again. But faded out again. Okay. So then the pit repeated it a third time (I was hissing measure numbers this whole time) and we kept going. Five more seconds, and we got to the part of the song where the xylophone player had stopped memorizing. This is when I realized that it was just me and the vibraphone player. And at the moment of that realization, he stopped playing.
And we were 29 silent drum corps members, and me - playing the bass line, which has no real melody. Just me, the panel of judges, and the video cameras. After another false try to get the drum corps to start, I switched to the melody (which - haha! - I'd never played before), and ended with a fancy little trill that was absolutely not part of our song.
And dead silence.
Like, nothing.
*Visual depiction of what happened.
*Based on a true story, some artistic licensure used
I pulled my marimba behind me and ran - literally ran - remember how I said how heavy that marimba was? Yay adrenaline! - out of the auditorium to a few confused and scattered claps.
The horror!
I would not go back into the competition area where someone might recognize me as "That Marimba Player". So I sat by the van by hours. It wasn't all bad though. One of our fellow competitors was in character as part of the Blue Man Group, and he silently approached me like a fancy mime, bent down on his knee in elaborate proposal, and offered me some marshmallows.
Marshmallows don't fix everything, but they help a little. And now I comfort myself with the fact that this was before youtube. So there is always that.
........................................................................................................................................................
RECIPE:
When I think of comfort food, marshmallows, and humiliation, I think of Rice Krispy Treats. But to combat the humiliation, you can't just have plain-jane Rice Krispy Treats, you need to fancy those suckers up. Like this:
1/4 cup butter
1/2 cup crunchy peanut butter
4 cups miniature marshmallows
5 cups crisp rice cereal
2 cups of mini bittersweet chocolate chips
Optional: (For a REALLY Bad day. Like, Solo Marimba Bad)
Many toothpicks and assorted candies.
Melt butter in large sauce pan over low heat.
Add marshmallows and stir until melted and well-blended.
Cook 2 minutes longer, stirring constantly.
Remove from heat.
Add peanut butter and stir until thoroughly incorporated.
Add cereal and mini chips.
Stir until well coated.
Using buttered spatula or waxed paper, press mixture evenly and firmly in buttered pan.
Cut into fun shapes when cool, and decorate with assorted candy. Yay!
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
WHY IS THIS EVEN A THING!?
In case you thought I was dead, I'm not. Just pregnant. And crabby. In that "Everyone is STUPID. I hate EVERYTHING!" way. And I didn't want to subject you to that abuse, gentle reader.
But I feel compelled to subject you to this!:
Because it is so weird, and SO gross, and so mystifying as to just, well, why??!
In the words of my esteemed colleague, Noelle:
"That...I don't even... what? Why. Why? Oo baby. I'm gonna waggle your tongue with a straw. AGH. I CAN'T BELIEVE I SAID THAT! I grossed myself out! This is why robots don't make out. Good grief, Japan. Too far. You have to blog about this. Even though it hurts my erotic sensibilities."
And now I have, and you feel weird and gross too. And I feel better, because I'm mean like that.
You'll be OK though, I'll give you a recovery tip: eat something minty or stawberryish, and go find somebody you can kiss for for reals, and then kiss them. They will be surprised and happy, and you can both be grateful that nobody is waggling any body's tongue with a straw.
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