All this talk about leaving Athens

When I was a kid, I didn’t have a lot of friends because I did not feel that I needed friends. I was shy, independent, and basically smart enough to handle most of my own situations. I was by myself and everything was basically fine.

I think that began to change when I became involved in band for the first time. I started realizing that, while I didn’t “need” anyone else, that other people could contribute to my life in ways that the intentionally lonely can not understand. As I began appreciating my friendships, I noticed that I had a very difficult time leaving those people when I was required to do so. My departure from Nashville the first time was met with a great deal of fanfare and lots of tears. When I left my high school in Atlanta to come to Athens, the same thing happened. I’m sure everyone has a hard time leaving the people they love, but I am convinced that I experience more emotional anguish in that process than most.

I sat tonight reading Trina’s brief mention of my numbered days in Athens, Oob’s recounting the fun from last night, Will’s comment about wanting to be here so badly, and considering my friend Sarah’s frequent away message about the people you love always being in your heart and “if you’re lucky, a plane ride away.”

And it finally really hit me what’s going on.

You know, Athens is a great place (many believe too good to be true). Few sights are more beautiful than College and Broad with your coffee cup and best friend, Sanford when the fans decide to finally show up, or anything at all on North Campus. I know I will miss the town and all of its beauty, charm, red and blackness, and all. But that’s not really the point.

The pain of leaving really is knowing what tremendous effort and planning will be spent achieving the pure bliss of beer, a perfect night, and the perfect smell of meat on a grill with the people you enjoy being around. The pain is in knowing that the spontaneous visit just to say hi or listen to a new tune will be much more difficult when I’m 250 miles away. The pain is in missing leftover chicken enchiladas with my neighbor, Gunner showing up when I have a crisis that I deem worthy of tears, Eva sitting on the granite bulldog like a coin-operated horse in front of a Big K. The pain is in missing Ellen and Russ cooking breakfast for whoever found him or herself at the house on the morning after a game. It’s in the way you all completely ignore the mess in my den or notice when the kitchen is clean.

Damnit, I wish there was another way to do this.

There are people in the world with real pain. There are victims of genocide, marines who must leave their families to fight a war that a little nagging part of their brain says might not be just. There are cancer patients, amputees, victims of horrible accidents and natural disasters. I feel petty to so much as mention my little heartache at all when real pain exists in the world.

And I guess that’s why I feel blessed… blessed that the greatest pain I know right now is that the spoils of my best friendships will be a little less convenient or less frequent.

So, my vote is that we should blow it out. We should take every opportunity to enjoy being where we are when we are, so the tears we cry in a few months will be happy ones for having created experiences worth remembering rather than sad ones for having not not appreciated the ones we loved in those few days when they were readily available to us. This is probably a good rule of thumb to practice anyway.

Yes, my shirt is wet and I’ve used a bit of tissue in writing this. This certainly won’t be the last time this happens. But I intend to do so while soaking up every last bit of the people that I love while it’s still easy to do so.

And rest assured, the minute I can afford the payments on a place here, I’ll be right back. And we’ll pick up… like nothing ever happened.

The new arrival

My brother and his wife learned today that the new baby will be a boy: Benjamin Grant. I can hear the insanity now.

Farts are...

very very funny.

Conserviberal

I hesitate to mention politics, because I would prefer to enjoy the company of my friends rather than get all hot and bothered discussing politics with them. I’m not even trying to start something, I just kinda think something is about to change and I want to say it out loud.

It's a pretty well known fact that I am relatively conservative in my politics. I tend not to force that belief onto anyone because (call me a wus if you want) doing so rarely changes anyone's opinion and I am not sure I am right about everything. I'm always re-evaluating my politics, I don't believe everything that's on Fox News (or CNN), I think O'Reilly is just flat mean, and I'm not really sure whether or not I am indecisive. My religion test rated me as a Muslim, but I'm actually a Christian who loves whiskey, sucks at going to church, and doesn't see the point in insisting that you're wrong when I've got all those dirty clothes sitting in the floor (literally). But generally I am a supply-sider that wants to be left alone.

I don't think anyone on the left hesitates to give the Republicans credit for one thing: they know how to win an election. I think that a lot of the moral Right has been willing to deal with widespread corporate consolidation, the government’s looking the other way from questionable (if not blatantly illegal) accounting practices, and treating employees like valueless pawns because it hasn’t been hitting those people in their own pocketbooks (or male handbags). I know of at least two examples of this in my family, and at least two of my dear friends.

I think those people are starting to feel it now. Too many people are being let go or getting pay docked in the name of… say it together: a stock price. Some of these people have “W” stickers on the backs of their cars and immediately flip the channel when Franken or Garofalo appear on their tv screens. And I don’t think it’s going to be long before those people echo Network and say “I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take this anymore.”

And if the other side is listening, and plays its cards vewy cewfuwwy, I think it’s enough for something to change… soon.

My $.02.

Shameless Plug

My last concert with Symphonic Band will be April 19th at 8:00 PM in the big hall. DLK is doing the Frescobaldi Toccata. Then I've got Esprit de Corps, October, and First Suite. Just pass it along to anyone you think would like to know or be there. I would love to see anyone who can make it.

名 语言;国语;措辞;句话

Gunner calls this morning. The transcript is roughly as follows:

G: Dude, I need a favor.
B: [thinking physical labor will be involved, and mentally manipulating his schedule to find a reason that he will not be available] Um, ok.
G: I'm driving and I have accidentally changed the language on my iPod.
B: Ok.
G: I changed it to Chinese and I can't figure out how to change it back.
B: Why not?
G: Because I can't read Chinese.
B: Ok, hang on a second and let me fire mine up.

[Brett retrieves his iPod from the stack of books he bought in Greenville, a Wendy's napkin, several blank CD's, and the Phil Vassar CD which has been in his back room since he made the first compilation for his now-neighbor some eleven months ago]

B: Ok, have you updated your iPod software.
G: Um, I dunno.
B: Well can you remember if the first word on your menu is "browse" or "music?"
G: I think it's mus... no, wai... it's brow... it's definitely music. I think.
B: Ok, go all the way to the bottom and then up three and punch the button.
G: Oka.. no, it makes it play.

[Brett, always willing to sacrifice for the sake of his friends, unless it involves physical labor, memorizes how to change the settings... then boldly changes the language of his own iPod to talk Gunner through the process - all at the risk of himself becoming stuck in another language.]

B: Hmmm. Well, scroll down until you see the thing that looks like it is four characters, with like three horizontal lines, and then like a box thing, with what looks like an "E" on the end of it.

[note: Gunner was apparently driving all this time. Nice.]

G: Hmmm. An "E."
B: Yup, an "E." Well it looks like an "E" but it isn't.
G: Well I don't see it, I'll just select the shortest word.
B: Ok.
G: Wai... aha, there it is in English. Reset. Awesome dude, thanks.
B: Drive carefully.

Eh, I should blog

Ok, that makes three. Would you please tell them to get on the bandwagon so Tony can think of something else cool for us all to copy? Grazi.

Gunner, I can't comment on your blog. It's not that I can't bring myself to, I can. It's just that blogger won't let me for some reason. So belated thanks on nodding to those two places for me. My grandmother will appreciate it. By the way, the fist-pounder in the situation you describe bears a profoundly strong resemblance to someone I used to know and respect. Wonder if the same fate could be in store, if indeed you are referring to a real person, which of course I don't know that you are.

Kit, Trina used to drive a truck, and looks real good when you see that beautiful red hair in contrast to what many feel was a pink shirt. I don't think she ever won Phase Five, but she has certainly played it. Mmm, Winston lights in a soft pack, hot coffee, a get-your-ass-off-the-back-of-the-truck-and-move-speakers smile, and an affinity for Norway and physics make her extry special. Don't say it out loud... would hate to blow her cover.

A famous Christmas song is her grandfather.

Hoping for a relaxing weekend, and company.

Is the world ending

Now Kit, as in Jeremiah, is blogging. Can someone name someone who hasn't blogged or isn't blogging?

You should be dancin' (yeah)

Congratulations to Corley and company who will be going to the Big Dance in two weeks, thanks to their win tonight on the Uno. I would like to propose that we no longer refer to schools who are going to the tournament as "going dancing." I think that was cool in 1992 or so, right about the time when "One Shining Moment" seemed like a good idea.

Also, I should make you future educators and coaches aware of a new threat to your career. Don't fall into the same trap this guy did. And if you do, don't say I didn't warn you.

Not Mickelson's best moment

Golf fans, a student sent me this. It just looks wrong, but funny. *hand covers face with nose poking out between third and fourth fingers*

Another way to make money

Russ, MAKE Ellen go to this site, just make sure she doesn't have the credit card when she does.

Also, just heard Corley's band playing Rock 'n' Roll. Gujab!

Pics, Cheese, and Beer

Welcome Corley to blogdom. Scott has been on the internet for over a year, and has an active email account (oooh!). He lives in Wisconsin now, and his pep band will be on ESPN this Tuesday at 9pm. You should check it.

Thanks to Robin, who took a couple of pictures for me at basketball, specifically this past weekend. I don't own a digital camera, and my repeated attempts to draw the things I have seen at basketball ball games onto my blog using the _, |, \, /, (, and ) keys have only resulted in frustration. Fortunately Robin has a digital camera, and knows how to use it. Incidentally, Robin is a an outstanding oboist and musician, and one hell of a model American.

First, as if the ticker on ESPN wasn't enough, here is proof of the arse-kicking we gave Ole Miss on Friday.

Good times.


Next here is most of the basketball band at Wendy's eating Thanksgiving Style after the game.

Driver Buck looks thrilled to be there. I can almost hear the band singing, "We gather together to ask the L..." with an expletive thrown in for good measure.


The next picture requires some explanation. I've been wearing a knit cap that my brother gave me. I wear it all the time because I like it, even though I'm sure people think I'm trying to look cool and don't.

Having observed this, the band thought I needed a new cap. Here's what they chose, very large so you might be able to read what it says...

That's right, it says "Whore Master." Don't ask because, even if I knew, I wouldn't tell you.

Wouldn't believe

First off, Russ, I'm definitely thinking about Ryan. It's stunning to think about, and I think his family's sharing the situation with everyone is beneficial to even those of us who don't know him. It has definitely made me think.

We had an interesting evening. Ladies couldn't quite pull it out, but it was a valiant effort. We returned to the hotel after the game, and dropped five people off who did not want food. The other 25 of us headed out to find sustenance. We found a little place that had three food establishments next to one another, and let them go. After they were finished we got everyone back on the bus. My phones rings. It's one of the students we dropped off.

"Uh, there are a bunch of cops around the hotel, and I asked one of them what was going on. He said that some guy had been shot in the back and they were trying to find the shooter."

Hmm. I've had lots of unusual situations with the band, but this was a first.

Not really being the type to bring a bus full of students to a crime scene (especially when their accomodations were at the crime scene), I decided that we would wait right in that fast food parking lot until the situation cleared up. We, of course, had to make contact with all five of the students we dropped off to let them know what was happening and to stay in their rooms with the door double-locked.

It was interesting watching some of the people on the bus deal with the information. Until you learn not to panic, your inclination is, well, to panic.

In any case, we waited for about an hour. Because we have the cheerleaders with us, driving immediately back to Athens was not an option. I had left a message for the lieutenant on the scene to call me and let me know what the situation was before we would return. I wasn't hearing back from him.

I finally decided that I was tired of waiting, so we would drive by the hotel just to see how bad it was, and maybe speak to an officer to find out what the situation was. All this time, my cell phone was failing to receive calls, which is just perfect timing. Russ, pass along my strongest middle finger to your employer for that. I had decided that, if we didn't like the situation, that we would go in and get the students we had dropped off, and would find another hotel somewhere to spend the night. Then we would come back in the morning, get our stuff, and check out.

As we head back to do the drive-by, a voice mail appears on my cell phone. It was the officer from 10 minutes earlier telling me that they had the shooter and that it was safe to return.

So we did, with a few wrinkled nerves and residual uncertainty... nothing that an extra hour of sleep won't fix.

Trina's right

Well, in one respect, and most certainly not in another.

This day started off as "Most Crappiestest Day Ever" Day. Trina and Gunner gave me a headache last night which I felt this morning. I had to get up at 8 to do my thing (which I know isn't early to most of you, but it is to me... stick it in your junk drawer). I packed and continuously found myself forgetting something.

I finally got to school and had to return home for something I forgot, which begat Trina's adventure with me. Without per diem, we returned to the school so I could handle things with the bus and Trey could return to the bank to get the per diem. I was shocked to return to the school to no bus at all. Paper work foul-ups on someone else's part (not at the school) resulted in the bus being an hour late.

As the cheerleaders are riding with us on this trip, we had to first drop them off at the team hotel. The band has been pretty cool about the fact that the cheerleaders are staying at the Hyatt and we are at... well, the Comfort Inn. Nevertheless, the traffic in Greenville was just as stupid as it was in Athens, which made for lots of fun.

When we arrived at our hotel, it looked like your standard Comfort Inn, except a little more crappierer. But it was clean so it was fine... until many of us began walking to the dining establishments which were said to have been close by. Note that phrase if you click the link. This is what we in the business call bullshit. So many went hungry.

Game was great. Hopefully tomorrow's little spat with LSU will yield a better result than our last two meetings with them.

There was a nice moment or two though. After the game, we returned to the hotel and then driver Buck took about 20 of the members down the road a couple of miles to enjoy a nice sandwich from the Sonic or Wendy's. Sitting with several very cool students, I was somehow cause to make the following statement: "You know, there's a reason they don't put gunpowder in ice cream." While I suppose there is, WTF?

As the six of us crossed the street to meet the rest of the group at Wendy's I was kinda "aww"ed when I saw that the 14 members and driver Buck had pulled tables together and were enjoying their meal thanksgiving style. Robin will have pics of this soon.

What was even cooler was that when they were leaving, they put every one of those tables back where they found them, and the place was spotless. My how things have changed.

Sorry, but...

the other guy's perspective is just as important as your own...

and so is the perspective of the guy whose perspective hinges on guy #1's perspective. The truth is important in an eternal sense. But the truth of the second person's perspective of the first guy's perspective is as important as any truth right now.

Deal or don't. Anyone hungry?

Peanut Butter?

We have a problem

We now have two Sarah's (there's nothing possessive about that but "Sarahs" doesn't look write [sic]) who are commenting on this blog. One is the dear friend next door neighbor who puts up with my crap and makes me try new food which I think I hate but that I like when she cooks it. One is the old friend up north who goes to school at the place where I once really wanted to go to school and said I could make a living as a prostitute.

I can't tell which is which when they comment. The comments could easily come from either one of them, but the inflection would most certainly be different between the two.

What to do?

Perfectly valid questions (and some statements)

Poor Dawgs. My last ever game in the Steg and we just couldn't hang on. Ugh.

I bought a 12-pack of 8 oz. Dr. Peppers, and in thinking about it, I am now convinced that I made that purchase "because they were cute." Sometimes Ellen's influence on me is all too clear.

Has anyone ever been introduced to someone by email? As in, "Hey guys, the two of you have a lot in common so Brett, this is [insert person who will remain nameless for now]." I have.

When we say that someone "shall remain nameless," that's really not true at all. Let's say that it was true. The second someone referred to you anonymously and said that you would remain nameless, I'll bet you would be like really pissed off to have to re-monogram everything and explain what happened to the people who print your checks.

Has anyone ever had mule fritters?

How do you "spill peanut butter" on your best pair of dress pants? Ask me, I can tell you.

Has anyone ever felt like Andy Rooney without all the wrinkled parts?

Crossfade

Pensive. I've been pensive lately... er, most of my life.

I have the John Williams arrangement of Tara on iTunes at home. I've been listening to it a lot lately knowing I'm leaving Athens, and I frequently imagine conducting it as an encore at my last concert at UGA. It probably won't happen, but I have a vivid imagination.

At any rate (tribute to my dad's "anyway" saying), I also have my crossfade setting on iTunes set to quickly play the next selection. So I will play Tara and get into that, and imagine this great ending and then... "The Authority Song" starts.

I love that. It's like you've imagined this huge ending to this huge chapter in your life, and in no time flat the next chapter begins... and what better way than with "The Authority Song?"

Love, whatever that means

I feel neither qualified nor in my place to detail the course of events that has caused my very dear friend to be in pain. But it does bring to mind a question of syntax that has often bugged me.

There is a commercial that has been playing for some time that uses the Nazareth song "Love Hurts" as it's background music. I think the statement "Love Hurts" is untrue, unless one has unfortunate wounds in unfortunate places or fails to stretch adequately from time to time. Can love be tough or difficult? Perhaps, or perhaps it is not love but the results or the periphery of love that are actually difficult.

I think many people mistake the act of love (which in it's purest form is a decision, not an act, an emotion, or anything uncontrollable) for the subject of love. Love is not difficult, in fact it is quite easy. It might be hard to show it, express it, prove it, get it back from someone to whom you give it, or endure it's consequences. But it is quite easy to simply love. Love itself doesn't really hurt, in fact it feels quite nice... so much so that some of us do it without really thinking about the consequences (which often do hurt). Tough love is not love at all. It is actually a tough result of love, and often a tough thing to watch, endure, or inflict... but it is most certainly not love.

And unfortunately, we all endure a very, very, very difficult consequence of love at some point in our lives. It is not love that causes this: it is the periphery, the loved, or the great equation that is fate/reality that does. And it is most certainly no cause to be sorry that we have loved or to even think of not loving again.

Knowing that everyone has to deal with it doesn't make the pain any more palatable. And for the record, the second-worst-thing to being in love-related pain is knowing that someone you love is in it and that there isn't a damned thing you can do to fix it.

Many splendored? Perhaps not. But probably worth it when you cash in your chips.

And just when it seems...

things are all crappy, you get a nice note from someone.

The little transcription I did apparently pleased the composer based on an email he just sent me. It's really nice when someone who knows what they're doing tells you that you might too.

I have got to remember to tell people when they do things right. This guy just salvaged my night and maybe the next month.

Guys, I'm sorry, but I'm not feeling like a million bucks. I hope things don't get dark here, but I would say that's a good possibility. I apologize in advance for being overly sensitive. I'm such a wus.

I keep coming back to this quote: "Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened." It's meaning an awful lot to me these days.

If you haven't already seen Russ's blog, he gives a pretty good account of the weekend. It was great fun to see both of them, and the dinner from last night with the S's and the Smiths was much like old times. I've been blessed and spoiled in this town.

The Lady Dawgs couldn't put it together today, but they will still receive the first round bye in the conference tournament. This is the time of year when I'm gone with our basketball teams to conference (and for the ladies) national tournaments, and I will do my absolute best to give you an update in each and every city.

Here's hoping that we can avoid Des Moines or Missoula.

Clarification

It appears that Dad will not be spending the night in the hospital. For those of you who've written to check and see how he is, thank you. I just don't know much, and one person's dramatic account of the situation is balanced by another's flippant approach to it. I know he got dizzy at the shop today and checked himself in. His dr. suspected a heart attack, ruled that out, suspected a loose clot in his leg, ruled that out, and now we're just waiting on the results of some tests. Never one to be held back by something so trivial as a medical condition, he can now be found back at the shop working.

Don't Speak

I began writing an entry in response to two deaths of which I became aware today, and the fact that my Dad is in the hospital. I was going to rant again about how short life is and la na na na na, when I realized that I had spent ten minutes of my short life talking about how short life is.

I have learned in the last six months that there is no better way for me to kill an enjoyable situation than to talk about it. No details are necessary, but I completely saw myself in Ron Burgundy at the end of Anchorman as he and the News Team were walking through the park. They were legitimately enjoying the time they were spending until Ron killed the buzz by... talking about how much he enjoyed "laughing, enjoying each other's company."

I suppose it's different to talk about a situation after it has happened. Example: Mike Knight and I can laugh about sprinting from the criterium to our car in the North Deck at 10:50 on a Saturday night trying to beat "a deadline." If one of us had said, "Wow, we're really making memories here as we cross Broad," I think we would have felt dirty recalling the situation with any degree of fondness.

I'm not sure it's true for everyone. I have wonderful friends who might say "It's nice to see you again" or "I love being around you" at exactly the right moment and completely fulfill my need for praise for months with a two-second blurting of the truth.

I can't.

So, please know that life is short, there isn't enough time to worry, you've got to spend money to make money, you've got to believe in yourself, your education is what you make of it, there's more to life than everyone else's opinion, music is really cool, our differences are what make us worth existing, be nice to everyone, stop and smell the roses, America rocks, and that if I spend time with you that I enjoy it way more than I would ever be able to say without completely killing the buzz and trivializing the pure joy I get from the fact that you would take a few minutes of your all-too-short life to spend with me.

Welcome old friend Sarah-not-my-next-door-neighbor-but-nevertheless-quite-worthy-of-
love-adoration-and-free-speech O. to the blogsphere.

Thanks to Tony for the recognition today. I promise to list everyone on a list to the right soon (ie. - when my employment status has changed). In the mean time, please check out Tony and everyone else who is kind enough to read and respond.

Never, ever, eat meatloaf that comes from a box. For a better meal, eat the box (spray with butter, 375 on center rack for 22-13 min, allow cooling time).

My friend at athletics gave me a going-away present last night... a basketball inscribed with a note from and the signatures of our men's and women's head basketball coaches. It's tremendously cool, and I can't wait to post a picture (which means it will be 6-8 weeks).

Russ and Ellen will be joining us in Athens for the weekend for no good reason other than simply hanging out (which I think is pretty cool).

The countdown to my departure from Athens is underway, and currently sits at somewhere around 157 days.

I am beginning to think that I may take a regular old retail job in Nashvegas, rather than messing around with a teaching gig. I'm doing the math now, but I am open to suggestions other than the following:

1. Prostitution (although if you tell me I would make a good one, you might make me feel good, as long as it's the right kind... more of a Fred Garvin, and less of a RuPaul, model)
2. Pharmaceutical Sales
3. Mobile Communications Retail
4. Band Secretary
5. Custodial
6. CEO (though I will listen to the right offer)
7. Anything which contains the word "clean"

I am devoid of any other ideas today, which I suppose bodes well for my future in songwriting.

The glove

Here is my nephew with his Daddy and his new glove. Sorry for the funky pic. Looks like he's enjoying it.

No violation

Good news. I am as yet unviolated. Please do not interpret that as an invitation or a challenge.

Doctor's offices remind me of how short life is, with all the hokey Dr. Phil language normally associated with that sentiment. Feels like a automotive repair shop, like you're going in for your 50,000 mile checkup. Hopefully your doctor doesn't try to sell you the virtual equivalent of an unneeded air filter when you visit. You know your time is ticking down and they just want to see what they can do to keep the wheels on the road as long as possible. Wow, anyone wanna watch "When A Man Loves a Woman" or "Terms of Endearment" with me?

Athletics has added new banners to the side of the light poles surrounding the coliseum. They depict action shots of the various sports that play in the Stegosaurus. I am hoping to live in a neighborhood that allows me to do this based on the events of my life at a given time. If I'm in a frustrated writing mood, said banners will depict me, head in one hand, mechanical pencil in the other. If I'm being lazy, I will be seen laying on a couch with the remote control in my hand, looking around a can of Pringles to see the tube. If I'm in one of my four-times-yearly cleaning modes, you'll see me with all of my clothes on the recliner, folding a t-shirt, with a big Martha Stewart grin on my face.

I convinced Trina that I had an extra kidney, but in fact, I do not.

Guess who's coming to blogger

The knower of physics and things about Europe now has a blog.

Now, I'm off to freak out about a concert that hasn't happened yet.

The word "Hail" sounds a lot like the word "hell." Isn't that funny? Suprised no one's ever written a joke or cheesy pun using that. Hmm. Weird.

I was out getting dinner with a dear friend tonight and got caught in the hail storm. We saw a transformer (the real thing, not the toy) explode behind Publix. Pretty colors, pissed off customers. It always amazes me to see a part of a city completely dark.

As I was heading back, trying to avoid traffic lights, i decided to pull to beside a building to avoid the hail for a few minutes. Then I thought about how bad my paint job already looks, and realized that this was one of the few times that this was an advantage. While the rest of Athens-Clarke County ran for cover, I could proceed with reckless (hopefully, get it, it's a homonym) abandon and not be concerned with further damaging my clearcoat. Might be time for an income.

Good weekend! Good friends, good times, and Georgia men won! Woo hoo.

On Friday, I had coffee downtown with a good friend. A very friendly gentleman was introducing himself to every person on the good end of a dog leash. He would then engage them in conversation about their pup, and was just terribly enthusiastic about them... much like Molly Shannon on Dog Show. I hope you remember, "I... uuuhlike ....nnnnDAWGS!" One person he stopped committed an infraction of Rule 6.7A. She referred to the way that her dog "interacted" with other dogs. I just don't understand this interaction thing.

Good dinner with buds Tim, Trey, and Rus([s]el)(ty)... Dave was a latecomer, works for a living. We counted things. We were joined by Jen for a few at the 'kstone, and there was loud music and philosophy. Linds joined us as the Funkles played a kicking show. Gunner danced like a twenty year-old... may have pulled his flemenon (ouch!). Then home.

Sunday was bball. This game is what I will deem the Futility Classic. With 8:45 remaining in the 1st half, the Dawgs led... 9-4 over the Plainsmen. Wouch. It got better, and we won, which gets the boys a gold star. Saaalute.

Today has been writing and working. Nice change.

The docket this week includes a concert which will hopefully come together Tuesday and a "routine" physical at the doctor. Just so you know there is nothing "routine" about a physical after 30, so if I look violated Wednesday afternoon, it's probably because I will have been. Joy of joys.

May you never be ashamed of who you are.
May you never wish you were anywhere other than where or when you are.
May others call your flaws "quirks" and your failures "things you need to work on."
May your worst days be remembered as such and not as the norm.
May you value clarity of thought, but never at the expense of the joy of not knowing.
May you be strong enough to act when you determine something must change, and may those you loved continue as though nothing ever did.

Act I

If I ever direct a movie, instead of "Action," I'm going to say "Get ready, get set, GO!

(Scene: Intramural Field #1, August many years ago. A major university marching band is on the field learning a halftime show. Ominous clouds have begun sweeping in from the west. Lightning is striking, and the two directors on the tower are counting the seconds from the bolt to the boom. The natives are getting restless as many of them are holding 50-pound lightning rods)

Brett: Folks, rest assured that when the lightning is five miles away we will send you to your cars. So until then, let's try to get the rest of this closer on.

(The brass players laugh, the woodwind players bitch. A cell phone rings. The non-Brett director answers the phone, as the contractor who is building the addition to his house has been needing to get in touch with him)

Doubletree: Hello... hey Mr. Contractor, I'm glad you called.

Brett: Ok, guys, let's take a look at page 6. Face the dot and take 16 equal size steps to get there. Kick it off.

Doubletree: Shingles? You need to order more?

Brett: Easy! Easy! Kit, you're closing the interval... smaller steps!!!

Doubletree: Well, how much is that going to cost me?

(A sky-wide flash of lightning interrupts the run. Band members can be heard counting seconds: "One, two, three" at qtr note = 88.)

Brett: Those aren't seconds. Count slower.

Brett (whispering to the other director): Seriously, that lightning is getting awfully close. We need to send them in.

Doubletree (turning away from Brett and the band so he can hear his cell phone more easily): Well, don't buy them at Home Depot, we're already over budget!

Brett (to band): Alright, set the dot.

(Another flash of lightning, followed by thunder less than a second later. Woodwinds scream, brass players get pissed.)

Brett (to other director): Dude, we need to send them in... this is flat-out dangerous!

Doubletree (to Brett): Excuse me, can't you see I'm ON THE PHONE!!!?

And CUT!

I was driving home from the 'kwood today, trying to reach Cooper. Instead, Chuck (at the idiot) picked up. He said I should come down tonight to meet Texas Country Sensation Pat Gr*en. He was very cool.

Here's a tip for you aspiring songwriters, though. When the star asks if you are going to his show that night, don't make any excuses. Just say yes. They'll never know the difference.

Remove foot from mo... wait.

Remove head from ass. Then remove foot from mouth.

That's better.

This is so dum

First off, I'm sure some of you have figured out that the word "business" at some point in history meant "the act of being busy." I still think that's cool. Dunno why.

I had a day full of business today. The weirdest thing happened in the office (sorry for those of you who read my away message to this effect).

Trina (AKA "Trey") is our new secretary (def: "One who secretes"). Trina handles that office like a well-handled office. She answers the phone promptly, courteously, with a low voice and an unidentifiable accent.

You must know the following for this story to make sense. Most university phone numbers have the prefix "542." In order to dial within the university, one must dial (or "mash" as my first high school band director would say) the number "2" followed by the four digit suffix. In order to dial the band room, one inside the university would dial "2-1505."

Trina fielded several phone calls from a fax machine. We determined by the ring that the call was from within the university. After several frustrating attempts to answer these calls, Trina decided to forward one of these incoming calls to our fax machine. When she did, we received the fax that the person in front of the fax machine intended to send.

Once received, Trina realized that the transmission was indeed not intended for us, but rather another office within the university. As she began to call the sender to give them the unfortunate news, she visually scanned the fax trying to determine how this person might have gotten the band office confused with the other office in question.

I heard her begin to giggle in a fashion that was most certainly expressive of embarassment for the sender as she explained the error to the person on the other end of the line.

"Ma'am," she said, "someone in your office has been trying to fax a document to our phone number, but that isn't the fax number on the cover sheet. Apparently, that person was accidentally dialing..."


"... the date."

Our phone: 2-1505
Today's date: 2-15-05

Moral of the story: It's better to do nothing at all than to do something stupid.

In just two minutes, this possibility will not occur for another one hundred years. I'm sure by then, everyone will have figured out that it's much easier to just walk things from one place to another.

The hair thing

Seriously. Let's do a before and after here. Ready? Good.

Before



and after



You know, just a simple "Dude, you have like no hair on top would've been nice. I hope you all are interacting nicely on Valentine's Day.

This went out today (without the asterisks)

(I think they should be called "astrices")

February 14, 2005

Dr. D****d L**e
Director, Sch**l of *****
The Univer$ity of *******
*** R***r R**d
A*****, ******* *****-****

Dear Dr. L**e,

I am writing to notify you of my intention to terminate my employment with the Univer$ity of ******* at the conclusion of my current contract. I am deeply grateful for my experiences at *** over the last thirteen years, and will always recall my time here with great fondness.

As you know, my departure is a result of my wish to pursue other interests. My desire to advance my songwriting career has necessitated my relocation and therefore my non-renewal of employment.

Personally, please know that I greatly respect your leadership of the Sch**l of *****. I feel that the school has a sense of “direction” that is greater than at any time since I became affiliated with it in 1992. I am enthusiastic about the future of the Sch**l of ***** under your direction.

Please also know that I greatly respect the current leadership in the **** area. J**n C********e and D***d R*****s are superior musicians, educators, administrators, and gentlemen. I have the greatest confidence in their continued stewardship of the program, and I believe the best possible future for the bands of the Univer$ity of ******* lies in the hands of these men.

Please accept my most heartfelt thanks for all you have done for the school and for me. I wish you and the Sch**l of ***** the very best, and will always be proud to have been associated with this first-rate institution.

Sincerely,



Brett ******


Cc: J**n C********e
D***d R*****s

V-Day

There was a time when this meant something different, but it's what it's.

Three things.

First, Lindsay sent me a picture tonight of me on Jan. 1, 2004 at ye olde Cap One Bowl. Would someone please tell me I am balding!!!!???? I had no idea it had gotten that bad. JC!!!

Second. Sonic still rules.

Third. OK, Valentine's Day, rack, ga gaw ga gaw (insert fart sound). Anyone who is treating this day as profoundly different than any other is missing the point 363 days out of the year. Good luck with your minivan, and may Viagra somehow not work for you.

Sup

Sorry me no bloggy this week. Up late doing shtuff nightly. Here's a recap for those who wish to keep up with my life. Oh, and for those people, would you fill me in on what I'm up to when you get a chance? Thanks.

Monday I recorded quite a bit. For those who don't know, I've been unable to record since mid-September. It was nice to get back to it, and I'm excited about the new material, though there's a problem or two in the lift.

Tuesday, I worked like a dawg. Then Dad came to town and I took him to the Blue Collar TV taping. I think he really liked it. He seems to be in good spirits.

Wednesday, I busted hump on several things trying to get ready to not be available for the rest of the week. Then I went to celebrate Carter's birthday in Dacula. He's four. I bought him a baseball glove. He no likey. Then I came home to hang with my neighbor. She took me downtown. It was quite fun. Then she gave me the last part of my Christmas present, which is probably the coolest gift I have ever gotten (exception: the time Trey, Leigh, Tim, Rusty, and Ellen cleaned my house while I was gone to Midwest and the now infamous Colorado trip). You can see it if you come by.

Thursday. Headache, and basketball. I kicked a band member out of rehearsal for the first time in years. I was bummed. The bball band was in rare form, which means they were completely normal.

Friday (today). Did a concert band camp in Sandy Springs with a killer band. Got to conduct lots of lit I have always wanted to conduct. Great time, great pay. It did take me over 2.5 hours to get there from Athens though. Not cool.

Now here I am, completely exhausted. So there.

Playing the saxophone is like riding a bicycle... you'd best wear a helmet.

(?)

My Imitation of the Philadelphia Eagles

Walk Around Aimlessly
Choke
Walk Around Aimlessly
Stumble on a chance to win
Walk Around Aimlessly
Choke
"Good Game"

On a major news network, just moments ago, an ad appeared for a new shaving product called "Titanium Turbo." In this ad, the announcer expressed confidence in the product by saying "We think it's the best value in shaving today."

I am comfortable with globalizing fields and markets in a single word, so long as the field or market has one of two things: a professional organization or a hall of fame. For example, the following would be acceptable statements:

"The Expos have the best record in baseball." (???)
"My father is in diagnostic imaging and my mother is in real estate."
"One day, I want to have a career in wrestling or country music."

These would not be acceptable:

"Lethargy and it's standard-bearers face an uphill battle against the fitness movement."
"That drag was the most satisfying in smoking history."
"The plain grey coffee cup was perhaps the most groundbreaking in all of pottery."

The end is nigh. Obviously.

Tips for a rewarding retail experience

As the title suggests, I spent a portion of my day doing my part to help improve the U.S. Gross Domestic Product. As a part of my never-ending quest to help educate the American Consumer (and I think you are all aware of my extensive history and work in this area), I am providing several tips for you to consider for your next session of retail therapy.

1. When purchasing boxer briefs, check the size before placing said briefs in your shopping cart.
2. Check the size once again, before removing briefs from packaging.
3. Check the size one last time before trying on the briefs for the first time (no, I don’t “try on” my boxer briefs as soon as I get home… or do I?)
4. Males only (ha!): When purchasing a Leann Rimes CD from a brick-and-mortar purveyor of undergoods, be sure that you take the appropriate precautions to prove your masculinity to the attractive female customer service representative. Some recommended precautions might include:
- Make certain that the cashier overhears you discussing a very specific automotive product with another store employee. Don’t ask where the automotive section is, as this would imply that you rarely visit the automotive section, which is the exact opposite of the impression you are attempting to create. Instead, you might let her hear, “I was disappointed to see that you guys don’t carry belt tensioners for the mid-90’s Fords.” She will think you are hot.
- “Pad” your purchase with “non-girly” goods. Buying the Leann Rimes CD itself is not an infraction, unless you can get her to believe that you 1) are buying it for someone else or B) that you have enough masculine qualities to make up for the soft place in your heart for the music of Ms. Rimes (who, I have just been told, is actually not related to Busta. Interesting.).
Examples of things that would be effective “pad items” might include: Any tool that does not appear in “Baby’s First Tool Kit.” (A wrench doesn’t get it done. A drimel tool does.) Any DVD set of fighting-related activities (ie – rastlin’, Ultimate Fighting Championship). Camouflage Gear (hopefully she will be able to see it in your cart). A T-bone. Steel-toe boots.
Examples of things that would not be effective pad items: Feminine Hygiene Products (Best case scenario, she thinks you’re buying all of this for your significant ubbler, which defeats the purpose in the first place). Any album by a Simpson, a Timberlake, a Twain, or God-forbid an Osmond. Anything with Martha Stewart’s name on it. Latex gloves.
- Pretend in whatever clever way that you can that you are buying it for your mother.
5. Do not “sling” the bag containing the eggs into the cargo area of your SUV.
6. It is not customary to “tip” a Walmart employee.
7. Never, ever, ask an employee where you can find the aloe, petroleum jelly, or any type of lubricant other than 10W40.

Happy shopping, America.

I just walked up on my friend Greg praticing a Schwantner piece on marimba. We were interacting, discussing that Schwantner's music can be difficult to absorb on its first listening, but that it became much more rewarding over time. Greg then made the coolest statement about it: "Yeah, it seems to be accesible in its repetition."

Well said, Greg.

Text Books and Disasters

Two things: (Oh, yeah. Hi!)

1. If they were trying to turn our campus into a Houghton-Mifflin Textbook, I think they might have succeeded.

I was in the Ramsey Center today, drying off and dressing after the ars-kicking I had received (useless quote of the day: “Clothes don’t make the man, they make the man less naked). I overheard a conversation between two gentlemen in another part of the locker room. There was nothing else going on, and it’s in pretty good taste for one to make sure he’s not “browsing around” in the locker room… so one’s ears tend to take over.

I wasn’t so much “listening” as “hearing” their banter. I really didn’t care what they were saying, and I don’t know that a lot of “trade secrets” really float around college campuses. In any case, this was apparently a reunion because there appeared to be some catching up going on (I determined this by the use of context clues, such as “Long time, no see!” or “Yeah, it’s been awhile, good to see you again.” Try it. You’ll like it). I was drying between my toes, as they tell us we should, when I heard something awfully strange. At this point in the conversation, we know that Conversationaler A (Thanks, W!) is now working at bum-ba-bah department, and parks in the north deck. We know that Converser B is working at yada-blah department and parks by wherethehellever. Converser B says to Converser A, “Yeah it seems like the last time we interacted you were over at Human Resources.”

Wait a second. Interacted? Really!!?? Who “interacts?” Does any of you use that term when you’re referring to anything having to do with contact with another human being, be that contact talking about vintage automobiles, discussing clothes, or snuggling? Do you say, “I went to my girlfriend’s house. We interacted, caught Spidey 2 on DVD, then had some Bagel Bites?”

I think these people need to hang out, or talk, or speak to each other. But I don’t think people need to be interacting so much. It can’t be any fun.

2. I’m going to warn you that this might offend you. I won’t refuse to post it though, because I’m knot goeeng two edit this blog becuz I’m worryd uhbout uffinding yoo ineemoore.

I think tragedies are awful and that we should have less of them in real life. 9/11 was obviously an unspeakably horrific event that dramatically changed people’s lives in the worst possible way. Multiply that tragedy by some 100 and you get the tsunami which obviously destroyed lives, families, and dreams. I would choose never to make light of such an event. So I’m not.

But it does stun me how we seem to require a disaster to come together and financially assist those who need it. And we can raise a lot of money by putting stars on tv and having them sing and dance and read and make cool faces.

(Editor’s note: The sacrilege begins now. If you don’t know me, I highly recommend that you stop reading now.)

But I’ve got to make some money somehow. And I’m thinking that a disaster might do the trick (Oh, I know what you’re thinking. “Hey, Brett. Doesn’t your love life count as one already?” Ah, touché, Grasshopper. Shutup). So I am planning a very small-scale disaster for early March. My goal is not to make 10 million dollars with this disaster. I was frankly just hoping to get enough for a nice dinner at Mia Madonna and a bottle of Advil.

So I am announcing “Sneezing Fit 2005.” The basic plan is that I will begin sneezing uncontrollably when speaking to a beautiful woman at the Manhattan. Things will have begun going really well, and she will say to her not-quite-as-cute friend, “Wow he seems interesting.” She will just have turned back to me to ask me what I think about country music when I will accidentally plunge into a sneezing fit, scattering mucous and dreams of a meaningful relationship ‘round the bar.

People will look at me with sympathy. And we'll have a tv show about the money I need to make it up to the poor girl. I'll walk away with about 31.00 USD, and you can walk away knowing you did your part.

Jessica Simpson isn’t much better than Ashlee.

The Philosophy of Me

Well, I'm finding out that several new readers beyond the original one are now reading, so welcome. Unfortunately I'm not going to be really funny tonight. So if you're in the mood for some comedy, maybe wait 'til tomorrow. If you're into a little of my own personal philosophy that may mean nothing to you, by all means read on!

If you're new to this or to me, you may not know that I once decided that everything in life must be dramatic or painful. This can be a lot of fun, but not really. So lots of times I will turn what many may think to be a molehill into my own personal mountain. I made that up myself. Likey?

Any case, the new struggle to become comfortable in my own skin is well underway, and I haven't even listened to the Jessica Simpson song!!! But this is kinda necessary if I'm going to all strike out on my own to Nashvegas and survive five to ten years of often unfair criticism and rejection with no one in town to bring me a little bottle of booze or a copy of Maxim.

So the last two days I've finally let go of some small but strong "things" I thought I had to have. But I wasn't really confident enough to say definitively that I had let go, and if there are two things I hate then one of them is being wrong. The other will wait. We'll have a contest to figure out what the other thing I hate is (HINT: It rhymes with "eeen beans.")

And now I think I have let go. It's not so much a thing, or a person... a possession or a desire. It was more of a pattern of thought. So I believe that the key to keeping myself out of that train of thought is rather simple (but most certainly not easy).

It is simply being... and nothing more.

I believe I have spent these 31 years, not observing or watching the world around me, not learning or absorbing everything else. I believe I have spent it watching me. I've been observing myself from the outside in, constantly critiquing my every "thought and deed" and trying to make sure it lines up with the expectations of those who, quite frankly, don't know me.

Not to be a relativist, but I believe that you can't possibly know what I need. You probably have suggestions, and believe me, I appreciate those when they come out of an honest mouth.

But the trick for me, at least for the last 36 hours or so has been to crawl into myself (Rusty, stop snickering.... Rusty!!!). And yes, it is somewhat physical. It feels like my eyes are sinking into the back of my head and aren't poking into what you're doing. They're not reading into you. They're just watching, and they're watching you in the context of me, rather than me in the context of you and your 6+ billion fellow Earthlings. Not that I think I should observe and not participate, just maybe observe and participate when I am.... called? (hmmm)

So, maybe the next time you see me, maybe you'll think I'm cocky, depressed, or disinterested. Or maybe you'll think I'm (as they say in Garden State) "in it." And I am. "It" is me.

Join us tomorrow for pointless observations of pointless things. And, if you're lucky, perhaps we'll find a new pop star to whom we can feel superior.

Or I might just be sleepy.

I think I just quit fighting. I think it might be because I just won.

Nice job, Dave! Or what I saw of it anyway.

So this is a corollary (I hope that's the right use of the word) to what I wrote earlier. But here it is.

Everyone is crazy! And I mean more than a little bit. Everyone is completely screwed up in the head. Everyone watches Silence of the Lambs and says out loud "Man, that is screwed up crazy," but goes to sleep and thinks of something just as screwed up. Everyone is fed pornography and says, "That is ridiculous" then leaves and asks themselves what that would be like (and for some remember what it is like).

Everyone has this little quirk that they can't get past. One person drinks too much. One sleeps with anything with two legs (God forbid more). One has a commitment thing. One holds the clutch down all the time. Another wears sweaters with lint all over them. One can't find a reed that works.

One teacher sleeps with students, another can't relate to them. One guy is so tight with his money that it tears his marriage apart, another is so loose with it that he can never afford to retire. One woman sleeps all the time, the other can't relax.

So, here's to your quirk. May it make you anything other than normal.

PS - When I go back and listen to editing I've done in the past, I fall in love with those pieces again. Though I'm definitely ready to do something new, I hope I never find myself without new music to completely buy into and feel like I had a little something to do with bringing to life.

PPS - Let's all welcome February, which is traditionally my best writing month of the year. SAA-LUTE!

Savannah, the city (not the dog)

Hello from Savannah, the City of Brotherly Love! (looks up into his inner brain, quickly checks his facts, then smiles and nods, knowing he's right).

To say that the that this year's conference has been eventful would be somewhat accurate, and somewhat inaccurate, but mostly amibiguous. So I will elaborate and let you decide.

I brought my friend Bryant with me to Savannah. He is starting a new business geared directly toward bands... specifically, he supplies alcohol to band directors, and needless to say, business is booming!

(Editor's note: Bryant does not supply alcohol to band directors)

We arrived at the Hyatt to find that it is in the midst of what is known as "renovation" which is a big word that means "Tow thu hell up." I was thrilled to find that I had to pay $15 per day for valet parking, which makes perfect sense, as sitting there not watching my car probably pays very well. I pay with a smile!

The conference is in its first year of being held at the new International Trade Center. It's rather charming. The best method of getting from the river district to the new center is by....

Ferry. Yes, you ride a boat. It's probably pretty awesome for summertime conventions, but the suck factor is greatly increased as the winter winds mock your skin for being exposed to the elements. Thanks, God. Nice job on winter. It's a real hit.

We sound checked the Wind Ensemble in the ballroom in which we were to perform. It was just that, a sound check. We were then treated to a fine dinner of sandwiches brought to us by the trade center. They forgot the napkins, which was really cool. The performance came and went, and was received enthusiastically. People clapped and sometimes stood and clapped, rarely in the middle of a piece of music, confirming that the tradition of concert ettiquette is not lost on modern society. JNC received a couple of awards and was built up by his colleagues in public in order to make a point. Though he would never knowingly allow this to happen, it did and needed to.

Following the performance, we moved promptly to The Office, and many drinks were consumed. This was pleasant.

The following morning we returned to the center for the "reading session" which was just that, a reading session. There really is nothing like sight-reading a piece of music in mixed meter in front of 300 of your colleagues. It was the best.

A nap was in order next. The 30-minute nap turned into a three-hour nap. I managed to plan much of my life during this nap. Unfortunately I did not write it down, and forgot the whole thing as I was startled by Housekeeping. There's always next year. Wait... there's not.

After returning briefly to the conference, I ate dinner, and (you guessed it) we returned to The Office. It was quite fun listening to individuals tell others how highly they viewed them, then turn around and call that person a gutter slut to someone else. I had to pretend to be our harp player's boyfriend for a few minutes as we attempted to get rid of a gentleman in an Auburn hat who thought she was purty.

As you in the great white north (greater Atlanta) were waking up to ice this morning, we were waking up to cold winds and rain, the knowledge that we had nothing to do today, and the inability to travel. Neato! So all day, we have been tooling around the Hyatt, talking about farts, and finding other ways to waste time. I'm sure there will be exciting events tonight that are financially unwise.

That's pretty much all there is to tell. I'm hoping the streets clear up a bit tomorrow. I have no desire to be trapped in Sandersville, Georgia again.

State of the Whatever

This is another one of those times when I'm going to sit down and write, though I don't necessarily know that I have anything to say tonight. So, how about if I just update?

Response: "That sounds good, Brett!"

Excellent. Glad we agree.

Tomorrow is the somewhat annual trip to Savannah for the GMEA Conference. This is big because the Wind Ensemble will be performing there for the first time since 1993. I know it's unlike me to get too excited about band (the activity, not the people) these days, but I'm excited that the program is taking this step. This has needed to happen for a long time, and I'm glad it is.

We're premiering a transcription I did of an aria for soprano and winds. It's pretty, and pretty depressing. But it will be nice to be musically productive, which is my preference, versus sitting around administrating all the time. It will also be nice to conduct the WE again. I haven't done that since 2001, the "Short Ride" and Schwantner year.

Some of you who aren't still living here in God's Hometown are not going to know what I'm talking about when I say this, but I have finally given into the pressure and joined the Facebook. All that really means is that now I can talk to and keep up with a lot more people at Georgia than I have been able to in the past. So if you see some names you don't recognize popping up on comments, it's because you don't recognize them. Er, whatever.

Any case, not much creativity in me tonight. Nothing's wrong, just not really in a place where I can comment on the uselessness of toenails or give you a new quiz. Busy couple of days coming up.

Note to self: Shutup. Just shut up.

Go get 'em, tiger.

Randoblog II

My next bit of total randomness... enjoy.

I had a discussion with a group of people tonight regarding the outcome of the following potential fictional battle: Jesus Christ vs. Spiderman. Everyone was saying Jesus would win, and I swear I don't think they get it! Spiderman can spin webs!!!

Gunner is right about fear. I don't know why it took me this long to realize that everyone else is just as scared as I am, and that no one has the answers. Cheers!

Some females think that the term "girl" is an insult. Please tell all females that you know that I don't utter it as an insult. I think of myself as a boy, and I think of females whom I consider to be roughly of my chronological or emotional age as girls. Plus, woman sounds like it should be on the police blotter or in an Enjoli commercial.

I'm going to hell for the Jesus discussion.

I wrote the following quiz for a girl I've been talking to a lot lately. You can take it yourself, or you can declare me an idiot. Don't care.

Do you prefer:

Sandals or tennis shoes?

Coke or Diet Coke (trick question)?

Paul or John (Beatles, not apostles)?

Surprise gifts that you really didn't need/want or gifts that you knew were coming that you picked yourself?

CNN or Fox News (MSNBC is not a valid answer)?

A guy who's graying or a guy who's balding?

Country or western?

Rhythm or blues?

Milk or honey?

Which of the following do you consider to be true:

"Haste makes waste" or "he who hesitates is lost?"

How about this one?

"Don't sweat the small stuff" or "It's all in the details?"

Random questions:

If someone orders a plain cheeseburger, is it because he is boring, or because he really likes the taste of beef and cheese?

Do you find any validity in this statement: "I would rather be alone than wish I was?"

Last question: Would you rather have a front porch with a swing and rocking chairs, or a back patio with a hot tub? (hint: both might be possible, but for the purposes of the quiz, ya kinda gotta choose).

End of Quiz

I don't seem to be too humorous today. Too bad.

Now be careful out there.

from Brad Barnes:

"Dude, how do you have time to...? uh!!"

Toenails

I'm sure there is some evolutionary reason why we have them, but I've not found a contemporary use for them.

Let's compare with the numerous uses of fingernails for a moment, shall we? (yes) Fingernails are oh so useful for scratching. One may scratch himself or herself (often to the great dismay of many an onlooking female TV baseball spectator). One may rub the silver off of a lottery ticket in the absence of change. Said absence might be a motivating factor behind purchasing a lottery ticket in the first place. One might choose to scratch a blackboard to annoy one's classroom peers. (Aside: I am convinced that the rise of teen pregnancy and drug use in America's youth is not due to the supposed moral decline of our entertainment media, but rather because the innocent destraction of aggravating one's cohorts by scratching a blackboard is no longer possible thanks to the rise of dry erase boards.) Once can pick scabs, pick eye boogers (carefully), and in dire circumstances use one's fingernail for resistance in popping an unsightly and terribly ornery pimple. Lunch anyone?

Classical guitar players grow their fingernails out and use them to pick their nylon Strings of Love. Girls love this.

In the absence of strong teeth, one might use one's fingernail to open a stubborn canned beverage. One can bite one's fingernails to curb nervousness (you KNOW who you are). Pesky small objects, needles, and not-too-advanced splinters may be secured by the use of one's fingernails.

"Wow!" one might say. "I guess fingernail's can come in really handy!"

Right you are, pupil!

And now let's look at the uses of toenails.

They can be painted. That's pretty much it. So the next time you start feeling all good about yourself, remember, part of you is absolutely useless.

"Now go take on the day!" - Dr. Laura Schlessinger

Jamnfest

Janfest starts today (tomorrow to me, but today to you faithful blog readers). This will be my 16th Janfest, including when I was a high school student. That's just sick.

For some reason, a misguided rural Georgia mom yearly mis-pronounces or misspellz the name of this festival as the following: Jamfest.

If it was called Jamfest what could possibly be going on? Here are some possibilities.

1. 800 lovers of preserves, jelly, and other fruit-based sweets would descend on Stegeman Coliseum for three days of tasting, sharing, and critiquing one another's homemade jams. You can be certain to encounter much frivolity, and probably a fair number of insulin injections at this event. What fun?

2. 800 flannel and Birkenstock-wearing (well, that's kinda me, minus the flannel) part time musicians would join at Legion Field to hear Fish, what's left of the Grateful Dead, and various other jam bands. Special clinics around campus include "That's Just Parsley: How to hide your stash of pot in a guitar case without drawing the ire of the TSA," "The Fourth Chord: Expanding the horizons of your harmonic language," and "Who's Counting: Successful methods for making your songs under twenty minutes in length."

3. 800 athletes with pain on their faces meet at the Woodruff athletic fields to compare seemingly minor injuries to their digits. While most of the event normally consists of this pain-sharing, the much anticipated highlight of the weekend is the appearance of some dude who knows how to pull on a digit in exactly the right way to unjam it. Non-participants should make it a point to avoid the Lumpkin at Carlton Street area at this point in the event, as the residual effect of this much finger-pulling can tend to be nauseating to the weak of stomach.

4. 800 urban-dwelling optimists converge on the 10 Loop at College Station Rd. at 7:45 AM every day for three days. Feeling that voluminous traffic has received "an unfairly negative reputation," these individuals meet to set the record straight and embrace the positive effects of traffic jams. Each session should be assumed to start 15-40 minutes behind the published schedule due to... well, you know.

Considering these possibilities, what kind of parent would possibly consider sending their kid to Jamfest? It's more than a mis-pronunciation, it's bad parenting.

Sometimes...

... I'm just so unpredictable. You just can't tell what I'm going to to do ne...

Dial-up sounds and missed opportunities

I know. I shouldn't be on dial-up anymore. So you get on-demand internet and I get more whiskey. Priorities.

Any case, I was just dialing up aol... I know, I shouldn't be on aol. See above... er, whatever. I had the modem sound up and my iTunes up and running "Pink Houses." As the modem started, the pistons fired, and the turbines of free speech began to spin to the sounds of modem and "Ain't that America, for you and me," I became more excited to be connecting to the internet than I ever recall.

As I raised my arms in victory, I identified a lost opportunity for ISP's in the day when dial-up was king and our great land was in love with Toad the Wet Sprocket and Home Improvement. "They" should have found a way to replace the modem sound with a theme song for their ISP. The aol one is obvious, although late at night as the nation was dimming its lights for another few hours of sleep, the theme song should have changed to "America" by Simon and Garfunkel. I don't know what Compuserve would have used. Prodigy should probably have used a Prodigy song, though I don't know that "Smack My Bitch Up" would really have been considered "customer-friendly."

Perhaps this missed opportunity was the true reason for the dot-com bust.

Welcome, Gunner

A quick shout away from center to the Gunner who has entered the realm of those who have developed a dependence on self-expression. His blog is up and running, and he begins with an excellent parable on fishing. The Gunner is wise.

Sleaux Sunday

First off, kudos to Russell for the new appearance of his blog. Very sexy.

The responses to my previous blog have been a little slow, but so far Mike and Russ are tied for first place. I'm very excited for the rest of you (well who reads my blog? uh, Steve, Sarah, Lindsay, Trey, Tony, Ellen, Will -if he still has a computer- and possibly Molly) to submit yours. Come on now, quitters forfeit their right to succeed.

It has been a slow Sunday. The Lady Dogs of UGA defeated the Auburn Tigers today, in what could best be classified a total blowout. Though some say that seeing a Georgia women's basketball game is a must, I completely disagree. They're all blowouts. Games at home are almost never close, and I repeatedly find myself browsing through my phone hoping to find the one amazing feature that I have somehow missed, or coming up with something else stupid for the band to say during the SEC action.

Speaking of that, for some reason, the Redshirts have decided that the following cheer is appropriate and meaningful for basketball games:

(to the rhythm of the famed "LET'S go BULL-dogs" or "GET her DIG-its" cheers of basketball band lore):

"GIN-gi-VI-tis" [clap - clap - rest - cl - clap]

They recently have been attempting several different physical maladies inside that same rhythmic frame. Among them are:

"IN-grown TOE-nail"
"AC-id RE-flux"
"FI-bromy-AL-gia"
"IM-pacted WISDOM tooth"

and

"GOU-uu-UU-ut"

As Dan Quayle once said, "What a waste it is to lose one's mind. Or not to have a mind is very wasteful. How true that is."

Do we really need all of these quotes?

A dear friend was at my house the other night and commented on the relative cleanliness of my kitchen, which those of you who know me know is monumental. If cleanliness is next to Godliness, then I'm pretty much in hell. She made a comment to the effect that this might mean I don't cook that often. I shook my head, said "Yeah, I guess you're right," and thought no more of it.

I was cleaning my kitchen tonight, which those of you who know me know is monumental. For some reason, I felt the need to make her statement seem more profound... to sort of immortalize her observation and turn an off-hand comment about a room in my apartment into a report on the human condition.

Why? I dunno. It's not like we don't have a wealth of correct and flat-out wrong wisdom from the last several thousand years of human existence. I'm not exactly Confucius. But I did it anyway. Funny how when you listen to it but don't try to read too much into it, it sounds profound. But when you truly identify the meaning of the quote, it really adds absolutely nothing to the collective wisdom of our culture.

So here's the quote: "Clean kitchens tend to be quiet kitchens."

What? Clean kitchens tend to what? Who gives a damn what clean kitchens tend to be? That's not exactly "The only thing we have to fear is fear itself" or "You can't build a reputation on what you are going to do" or "Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die." But I did it, and I can't undo it.

So I think it would be a worthy waste of time for you to submit your own quotes. Preferably these quotes should mean nothing. But they should sound like you have two doctorates in particularly deep sub-disciplines of philosophy.

So please submit your quote by commenting on this entry. Quotes will be adjudicated one the basis of 1) profundity of sound and 2) absence of meaning. The winner will get the satisfaction of winning, unless she is cute and single in which case the details can be worked out later.

Until next time, keep in mind, "The best things in life are the things we remember."

Reblog

I took down yesterday's blog because I didn't like how I had written what I tried to write... the complications of a night on the town with the Gunner. So let me try again.

Miss Saigon was fantastic. The things that those men and women do, their willingness to expose themselves (mostly figuratively, except in "Hair"), and their raw talent is stunning. The production was visually and aurally beautiful. It's important to me to see things like that regularly, and I'm looking forward to a life that will allow me to do that, both in terms of time and finances.

I was also stunned by Tim and Leigh. They are such different people from one another in ways that many people think are important. I'm starting to realize that they aren't that important (those things). They are in luv, though. And that's cool too. It is refreshing to see people who feel that way about each other... who move heaven and earth to make each other happy, but who also exist as individuals. I learn a lot from watching them, and really appreciate their friendship (along with a lot of other people).

I've been revisiting a song I wrote for Rusty and Ellen some time back. Just on my mind, and a melody that I still intend to use at some point. Get me to sing it for you. I like the lift but the bridge could use some work.

"Shout Out"

No offense to any of you who uses that phrase but...

Dear friends, I think it's time we retired this phrase, this "shout out" phrase. I understand the need to recognize the existence, importance, and contributions of those who are important to us but who can't be present when we happen to get the mic on a TV show, or who aren't necessarily regular readers of your blog, or who aren't able to be on stage with you at the talent show. But folks, this phrase must be replaced.

If you recall, "shout out" entered the American vernacular by way of The Arsenio Hall Show. Since that time, Arsenio has become the Monkees of 1990's television talk shows. Come on, does anyone still pump their fists and go "woo, woo, woo" other than when one is calling the dawgs? Does anyone still tell a joke and say, "Just another thing that makes you go, 'Hmmmm...?" Hell no.

I'm sure Arsenio is a good person, perhaps a God-fearing man, and for a while there he gave Carson a run for his money. But isn't it time we retired this one last remnant of the Arsenio Legacy.

Just a thought. Any suggestions?

Feeling It

Ok. I'm feeling it n..... wait, no.... Yes. I am feeling it.

Not Feeling It

As indicated by the heading for this entry, I am not feeling it.

Love notes and ghosts in Stegeman

Tonight was a VERY strange night between the rickety walls and disconnected ceiling of Stegeman Coliseum. There was something in the air from the start.

First of all, I would like to point out that Spike indeed did not hug me, saving me from having to fulfill my threat of several days ago. The team waited so long to come onto the court that the sound booth "ran out of music" which means they weren't prepared to switch "playlists." So for the first time in a long time, the Redshirt Band played before the team came onto the court.

In the midst of this change in plans, for some reason the game management person (who's name rhymes with Fohn Fateman) could no longer hear your's truly. I could hear him and I could talk to everyone else but him. This phenomenon is known as an "impossibility" meaning someone somewhere was screwing something up. I had a new headset for the beginning of the game.

When the lights came up (they don't really come up, they open the shutters), two entire banks of lights were....

...extinguished, like a lost lover's scent, or a dream that has passed unrealized...

or like a light that has been turned off. We killed time as they solved the problem by turning the old lights "on."

About 2 minutes into the second half, a band member asked me for a pencil. Suspecting hijinx, but nothing that could potentially damage someone's person or emotional well-being, I obliged. I start hearing whispers about "checking yes or no" and "which one" they "should give it to." The next thing I know the entire band is laughing...

and a Dance Dawg is blushing. Mike, you would have messed your britches. So I had to ask what happened.

It seems that one of our "part-time members" whose name rhymes with Fobert Lundy was at the game on a night when he didn't have to be. He was in what we in the business like to call "street clothes" and was seated behind the band with a couple of friends. The most reliable report I received says that the recipient of the pencil wrote a note which contained the following query:

"Do you love me? Check Yes or No

From,

The guy behind the band"

He passed it to one of the really cute Dance Dawgs. She blushed, checked yes, then apparently sent it back to him, knowing that this was typical band silliness.

At this point, the band is laughing, making fun of the person whose name rhymes with Fobert. Fobert-rhymer is embarassed, proclaiming his hatred for all of the band members, and flashing a look of intended revenge in his eyes.

As I called up a tune for the 8-break, a few members suggested that we change the selection to the never-too-overdone "Hey Baby" in tribute to this love connection. Though we've never actually "rehearsed" this selection as a band, I chose to do it anway.

Editor's Note: At this point, the band had good cause to lead the "Thrice Your Score" cheer, as the Lady Dawgs were thrashing the Hatters of Stetson University. They were looking in directions other than courtward for entertainment, as was the crowd.

So we begin playing "Hey Baby." All of the audio and video engineers and game management personnel knew what was happening. But the big surprise was when the band began to sing. The new lyric was as follows:

"Hey, hey Ashley
Rob wants to know
If you'll be his girl"

Ashley was apparently the name of the Dance Dawg whom the Fobert-rhymer was purportedly attempting to court. Rob is short for the real name of the young man whose name rhymes with Fobert. For the record, Ashley was on the court dancing at the time, doing her damndest not to laugh her butt off in the exact place where Michelle-the-Georgette (my ex) tore her ACL in 1999. Fobert-rhymer was stricken with the worst look of horror and shame I have ever seen on a clothed person.

As the song ended and play resumed, the band wasn't finished. They continued to sing quite loudly for several minutes, earning the curiosity of much of the Stegeman Hall throng of onlookers. Fobert-rhymer's shame only worsened, and grew to a fever pitch at which point he finally couldn't contain his urge to approach Ashley and tell her he didn't do it. As he descended the metal stairs to clear his name, the band caught the action out of the corner of its collective eye and screamed as though Fobert-rhymer had just fouled out of a big game, "Gooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!"

Unfortunately, this was right in the middle of a Georgia player shooting free throws so I had to put an end to it. Buzzkill... always the buzzkill.

And for a nice additional touch, one of the custodians came up and asked me "when" he "could get one of those fancy red hats like the band." We had just finished a time out, so there was NO WAY someone would call a time out while I was gone. So I headed to the storage room to retrieve a hat for the nice man. Sure enough, I hear a whistle. Followed by another whistle, and Dave Johnston's voice: "Stetson calls a time-out. That'll be a full time-out."

"Sunuva....," I said as I threw the hat at the poor fella and ran back into the main area of the coliseum screaming over my headset, "I got it, I got it" to keep promotions from using canned music when they have a perfectly good band sitting right there. I looked like I had been in le pissoir taking care of business.

I'm sure the people who regularly write the Athens Banner-Herald about the poor sportsmanship of the band will soon be complaining of the band's lack of focus and the director's poor sanitary habits upon his exit from the restroom.

blah, blah, blah!

blah, blah blah blah!! blah!

numb, nothing blah absence. No not nothing blah. Unless bl blah &*%$ blah freaking humbug. Nil not blah empty.

blank rasa purged blah gone out audi bl missing huh? zero naught zilch zip nix bare vacant clear unavailable free plain void.

blah

blah

My mom's birthday is tomorrow, so I went to Gwinnett to have lunch with them. Carter has an eating disorder... he can't keep ice cream off of his shirt. My dad's "new" Caddy is a "lemon." Landon is going to turn out to be one of those people who is all over the place, the type you can't keep up with. Carter is going to sit there and watch him and wonder why he's so lucky.

I saw Napoleon Dynamite again this weekend. It's really good, but it is much better with a large group of people. Saw Anchorman again, and was pleased. I too love "a nice pair of slacks," but I prefer jeans.

Sonic

As I sit here opening your window into my world, my fingers are greasy. One may ask, "Brett, why ARE your fingers greasy?"

Simple.

I'm eating a delicious bacon cheeseburger from Sonic. When I opened the foil package to reveal my burger, I noticed something unusual. I eat burgers from a lot of places. Wendy's cheeseburgers are always greasy, and they have that extra meat from the square patty hanging from the edges of the bun. McDonald's cheeseburgers are consistent... I expect that the next 1/4-lber. w/ cheese I eat will be exactly like one I got in 6th grade. Burber King burgers are kinda, "eh, whatever."

But this Sonic burger is different. Here's how...

I can tell it was made with love. And that, my friends, is why Sonic is "America's Drive-In."

Buh, buh, buh!!!! uh!

There is a very specific category (I wonder if the Brits say "ca-TEG-or-ee") of human beings who have this need to include not only effect, but also cause in EVURRY LITTUL THING THEY TELL ME. I call these people "suckthelifeoutofmes." Me, I just have to talk and get things off my chest and bore you with the mundane details of my life, but these people do that, then tell me why.

So, if we're ever speaking and you tell me a fact, I will probably pretty well be engaged in our conversation. If you so much as say the word "because" without my asking "why," I apologize for the inevitable wincing you will see in my face. It's nothing personal... well it is, but I don't mean for it to be. Forgive me in advance, and try to consolidate.

Damnit

Did it again. Hang on, I've gotta go shave. Back in a bit.

Not sure i have anything to say...

... but I see you all. This whole blogging business was to have been therapeutic, or so I was told by more than one of you, and now I feel this pressure, this unforgiving pressure to post every single day.

So, I am posting but I'm not sure I have anything to say. So I am literally going to say exactly what comes into my head, and not be too concerned about it making sense... kinda like Larry Munson's "Insight on Sports" without the growl, or like shower-sitter Ellen S. all the time, minus the boobs.

I found out that someone I really think is cute is Jewish, and that made me smile. What made me smile more was when I saw her eat a piece of pepperoni off of a pizza. Birth control is a mind-boggling thing for me. I don't take it, it just really screws with my head. I was busted text messaging someone at the game tonight by the person running event management. Guess how he busted me... he text messaged me "Hi from the scorer's table."

(Inserting new paragraph just because)

If Spike hugs me one more time I'm going to take off my pants and hump his leg. Beer should taste better than it does. Everyone should see Napoleon Dynamite and believe in it. I am going to start wearing yellow and green more often. I am tired of living by myself. I want a job that does not require me to wear a tie, but encourages me to wear clothes. Everytime I think about the fact that my mother thinks the word "license" is plural, I laugh, and sometimes I belly laugh.

"Honesty (everybody sing) is such a lonely word." Although I don't know that everything that isn't honest is necessarily dishonest. Just as there is a difference between not being sure and being "unsure." One day, computers are going to be very important. Can you believe we're talking about terabytes now? If most of the people I know have a blog and can respond to mine or IM me on a regular basis, does that mean we can't hang out? If we do, what ever are we going to talk about?

I think I might start telling girls I have crush on them, and when they say "Really," I'll say, "Nah, i'z just messin' wif ya." Apple and Comcast have a brilliant marketing thing going, independent of each other. I'm concerned that IM language shortcuts might ruin the written word. ;-) I'm not watching TV anymore and I'm not sure why, but I feel behind. I met someone yesterday who is taking Noassitol.

I got my hair buzzed yesterday and it looks remarkably mediocre... whelming at best. Bad habit of late... getting out of the shower, putting my clothes on, getting online, then realizing I haven't shaved. I am finding out that I have some pretty serious Pavlovian reactions to certain sounds. I wonder if there is a cool part of town in Nashville where you can sit and have a nice cup of coffee and just enjoy being with someone you care about like there is in Athens, complete with cool small town scenery.

A girl of whom I am very fond said the following to me by IM yesterday: "You're different." I asked how. She said, "I don't know, but you are." I think that's good, and wish it was good enough. Did you ever check your email, knowing good and well that the email you wanted to be there wasn't going to be? I am getting tired of people asking me if I will remember them when I'm famous. So please pass along to everyone that I'm not going to be famous unless my kid falls into a well or I am wrongly accused of a crime that grabs the attention of local news and a DA with an itchy trigger finger and political ambitions. Run-on sentences suck. Also sentences with no verb.

I have finally realized that my habit of watching the last 10 laps of a NASCAR race with the sound down and John Adams' "Short Ride in a Fast Machine" blaring is just flat-out retarded. I look forward to continuing that. I dreamed that Loretta Lynn had brain cancer, and I'm really glad she doesn't. I have been getting mad at several of my friends lately because of things they have done in my dreams. The solution? Stop taking advantage of me in my dreams.

And lastly, one of my favorite people of all time gave me this quote the other day: "Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, chocolate in one hand, margarita in the other, body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming--'WOOHOO what a ride!'" That's why she's that.

Perhaps I will make more sense tomorrow.

Shower

If I could, I would spend the rest of my life in the shower. I really see only two major problems with this.

1. The logistics of a social life. Let's just say that all relationships would move very quickly.
2. Wrinkles.

On second thought, that's a bad idea. Breathe deep everyone. I will continue to shower once or twice a day, but pledge to you that I will not so much as think of sitting down and getting comfortable.

Errata

After seeing tonight's orange bowl halftime show with Ashleeee Simpson and reviewing the responses to my previous entry, I would like to amend the previous entry as follows:

"I think pop music expletiving sucks a$%."

Grazi

Eureka (not the city or the vacuum cleaner)

I have this terrible sense of insecurity and guilt buried deep in my soul. I have been trying to figure out the source of this guilt for the better part of 31 years, and I finally have found it.

I like pop music.

Not so much the Ashlee Simpson type, though I must admit I like a lot of her songs, and that knowledge is causing me several physical symptoms, including a nasty case of gout which I won't describe any further. But I was cleaning my house (do not laugh) last night with the door open (it's rather balmy in Athens right now, parenthetically speaking of course) and running my iPod through my dinosaur stereo in the den. What selection did I play after my current "theme songs?" "Sailing" by Christopher Cross, the live version. And when the band kicked in, I smiled and said "yeah."

One might think I should keep this to myself, but I am not going to apologize for who I am anymore.

I am a pop music lover. Take me or leave me.

Change, openness (if that's a word), etc.

I hate to be so thinky all the time on this blog, but most anyone knows that I have a one-track mind and can't help but tell more of the truth than is often to my advantage.

I am amazed that I'm still okay with all of this but I am. It still just feels right. Yes, it was tough encountering all of those "lasts" and a bit tough to hold it together when someone came and told me what I meant to them. But I haven't been sorry at any point.

I also began to think about the first thing I'm going to work on before I leave, and that is being "open..." or not attempting to dictate the world around me or being picky about the way that reality chooses to present itself. I found in my very early attempts to do this that it made me comfortable. I found a lot more in people that was of benefit to me than I had chosen to see before. I'm going to try to keep that up, because I felt so much better around people when that was the case.

And I'm going to try to deal with the fact that life has changed in more ways than this one. Frankly, everyone knows now that I'm leaving and may be tempted to let me be because they may believe that I don't have anything else to offer them in the all-too brief time I have left in the place I have felt most at home. I hope that doesn't happen, but it's likely to. Just another one of the tragedies of being true to yourself.

Remember.... I ain't gone yet.