The Week In Reverse, some commercial music, and a quote

• Meghan and I saw Charlie Wilson's War this evening. I thought it was quite good, and thought-provoking in an all too familiar way. Having seen it, I am an even bigger fan of Philip Seymour Hoffman than I was before.

• At the beginning of the film, the trailer for Cloverfield appeared. This is one of those films that I don't think I would watch at home, but that I would watch at a theater. I am betting that I will be seeing it alone.

• Last night, Meghan and I made our way to the Stegosaurus for Georgia's basketball victory over Georgia Tech. This is the first time I have been to a men's basketball game since I worked at the university ending in 2005. Little has changed.



Meghan frequently accuses me of approaching the camera poorly. Pot. Kettle. Black.



The Hoop Dawgs had a good night in a season that has been better so far than prior ones, but not quite what many had been hoping for. I often wonder if we'll ever have another great season.

Remember '95-'97? "The Tub?" Taking out the 8 and 1-seeds in the NCAA tournament, just before losing (in double overtime) a game we should have won in Denver? Playing in the final game of the conference tournament? I miss looking forward to almost every night at the coliseum, and I hope days like that return.

• On Tuesday, we finally saw Jesus Camp. It was extremely interesting. It was particularly interesting in light of activities that took place over the weekend (which I may discuss at a later date).

• Monday was obviously the B(C)S title game. I had a great time watching the game, but whatever. I'll bet Fox isn't just real thrilled, considering this.

• Many of you know that there are some instances of commercial music that simultaneously freak me out and attract me. I have found yet another example, which happens to be minimalist (or just repetitive) and the longest commercial in history.

It also contains some really encouraging information. < /sarcasm>



• I have been reading Jimmy Webb's book Tunesmith. It's been a fantastic read, and has me excited again about my druther occupation after a period of time when I had asked myself whether or not it was worth it. Nearing the end of the book, my favorite passage is in reference to an advertising agency, and follows:

Their creative staff (fine arts executives) will come up with the "pitch," the storyboards, "lyrics" (they insist on calling them "copy") and a handful of musical concepts. These are the guys who can get tears in their eyes telling you about a new name they have come up with for a douche.

- from Tunesmith by Jimmy Webb. © 1998, Jimmy Webb

New year, same old damn bullets

• School begins for Meghan this coming Monday. This would mark the official end of the holiday season, and that bums me.

• Speaking of the end of the holidays, I went to Cumming Forsyth County yesterday to help Mom and Dad remove and store the Christmas decorations. For those of you who have never been to my parents' house, you should know that Christmas items are to their home during the holidays as cuss words are to a federal prison. It took a little over five hours to get everything down and packed away.

That is, by far, the most depressing thing about the holidays - putting Christmas in a box, and putting that box in the basement.

• In more positive news, Georgia is slated to play Georgia Tech in basketball in Athens this Wednesday. Officials are hopeful that there will still be five eligible players enrolled at the university at tip-off.

• I was in line at a fast food restaurant this afternoon. The gentleman who was delivering the food through the second window had a large visible tattoo on his bag hand. And that, to me, was just strange. In my mind, I imagine people who get tattoos as very proud individuals. To plunge in stature from one worthy of tattoos to fast food employee seems like a significant fall to me. I don't know. Whatever.

• It seems like I have to trim my fingernails every other day. The frequency has begun to bug me so much that, after realizing today that it was time once again, I whined audibly about it. To make matters worse, this will theoretically continue for the rest of my life. That prospect is a little more overwhelming to me than it should be.

• If you're a fan of Lost, then you may know that the (probably strike-shortened) fourth season begins on Jan. 31 at 8/7c on your local ABC station. You may not have been aware that billboards for Oceanic Air have been popping up in certain key cities. If you are as crazy about this show as I am, you may enjoy visiting the site mentioned at the bottom of the boards, when/if you have time. I never thought I would like this show as much as I do.

"... a stupid idea thought up by intellectual midgets trying to protect greedy college presidents..."

I am so late to the show with my novice Sugar Bowl commentary, but I still can't get over what a horrible game the BCS caused to take place.

The first thing that comes to mind is how poorly the players of both teams have been treated in this situation. The Georgia players earned the right to play a competitive game against someone whose opposition would give them a chance to test their own mettle and prove their own greatness. They were robbed of that opportunity by:
- a BCS that required Hawaii to be chosen for one of its games, and...
- either the Sugar Bowl or Rose Bowl administration which could not get far enough past now meaningless traditions to create one compelling game.

The Hawaii players have also been mistreated by being allowed to participate in the Football Bowl Subdivision (puhhhhlllllleeeeaze... can't we call a spade a spade?). The FBS is far too crowded by fiscally elite institutions to accommodate the inclusion of schools that don't have the ability to compete. Players who should be at this level don't go to schools where they don't have soap in the shower. Whoever is leading kids to Hawaii to play football with hopes of a D-1 national title is either greedy or stupid.

The media's poor-mouthing for the Hawaii program is charming and all. But it fails to take into account that the NCAA makes accommodations for schools who don't have huge budgets. There is no room for whining about resources at the highest level. I have absolutely no sympathy for a university which puts its students in this position, nor do I pity students who decide to play for one (Besides... you live in effing Hawaii... you have nothing about which to complain).

I know that sounds elitist, and I hate that. But the fact is that the division is so big that we can't even come up with a consensus champion in most years. In its excessive size, the NCAA includes far too many schools that simply do not have the money, fan bases, or available talent to compete consistently with the fleet afoot. The NCAA should honor the intent of its divisions and reduce the size of the FBS so that all of its student-athletes participate in meaningful and compelling activities, rather than by continuing to sanction the misleading of its supposedly most valued associates into unrewarded excellence and empty victory.

Next, Fox announcer Thom Brennaman's commentary about Georgia's continuing to play football in the fourth quarter was short-sighted and inappropriate. (This is, of course, no surprise. Let's see, what did I call the Fox Broadcast of last year's title game? Oh, that's right... bush league.) When you're playing a team with an offense that is as potent as Hawaii's was most of the season, you can't score too many points. Plus, when you consider a few of the immodest margins Hawaii hung on its opponents this year, no two-digit winning score is too much - especially when it is brought about by players from the second and third string offense.

Oh, and Fox... let's not forget that you or your parent company brought us "Who Wants to Marry a Multi-Millionaire," "When Animals Attack," "COPS," "The O'Reilly Factor," and "American Idol." Your moral indignation is, to put it mildly, misplaced.

In spite of all of these whining points, there are very bright spots among all of the shit the college presidents and television networks have left us. The young men who represent our school have done so as well as I could ever have hoped they would. Our coach has led with class (yes Florida, class) while refuting the notion that admirable people must allow themselves to be pushed around. Our team is in great shape for what could potentially be a most memorable season.

But that taste... I can't get that taste out of my mouth. That disgusting taste that James Carville (with whom I frequently disagree) tastes as well. Greedy, small-minded "leaders" are sacrificing my favorite sport for their own gain. And I am over it.

What's going on

My trip to Chicago was very nice. In case I haven't told you, I was the tour escort for the orchestra from this school. It was not a terribly work-intensive job, so I had a fair amount of time to venture down to the Hilton and participate in the sober portions of the Midwest festivities.

The time available to spend with dear old friends was woefully insufficient. But I was able to get a lot of very good information about a new musical pursuit that I have been considering. I will fill you in on that as it develops. Just know that I'm very excited.

After way too much time away from my woman, I returned to Athens for way too little time with her. Then I was off to Forsyth County for time with my folks.

Christmas has changed quite a bit since my brother has had kids. It has changed more drastically since he moved his family to Nashville. For the first time I remember, there were no gifts exchanged on Christmas Eve (or "Christmas Eve Day" as my Granny would say) or Christmas Day. It was very nice to spend no-pressure time with my parents and grandmother. I miss them very badly, and have realized more as I age how good they have been to me. I hope I give them a bit of that back.

Meghan came to Forsyth County moments after my brother and his family arrived. The "stuff" portion of Christmas ensued, along with all of the pandemonium that typically accompanies it. Between my renewed appreciation for my folks and the joy of being with Meghan, it really was the best Christmas I remember. I am hoping for many, many more like that one.

"Stuff-wise" (which seems increasingly insignificant every year), it was also very nice. My folks gave me an 80 Gb iPod to replace the one that has been tits up for about a year. They also gave me a portable tailgating grill, which I know will get a great deal of use in the coming years, and a cool rolling laptop desk for the den. I also got some great clothes and some arranging/theory texts, which are to me as a stuffed toy is to a dog. My brother and sister-in-law gave Meghan and me a gift certificate to Farm 255, where we have really wanted to eat but haven't wanted to finance. Two dear friends also gave me a framed print of "Seven Tubas," which I have wanted for years. More gifts to come soon.

I've got friends in town now for the new year, and I can't wait for the Sugar Bowl. I also have a turkey sandwich sitting beside me that isn't going to eat itself.

Overheard at Midway (by many)

||: "The moving walkway is ending... The moving walkway is ending... The moving walkway is ending... The moving walkway is ending... The moving walkway is ending... The moving walkway is ending... The moving walkway is ending... The moving walkway is ending... The moving walkway is ending... " :||

Unpacking, laundry, recovery, and packing today. Home tonight.

December Demons

This complaint is two-pronged, and really silly. I suspect it is born out of a little-self confidence issue that comes from not being formally trained in my current occupation, along with a tendency in some to find fault easily and in others to find sources of amazement easily.

I recently have been writing an arrangement for a saxophone ensemble (and three, two, one, snicker at a volume of your choosing). As I began, I thought carefully about the key in which I would write considering the range of the melody versus that of the instruments for which I was writing, the intonation tendencies of the family into which those instruments belong, and the form of the arrangement (which in this case would include a significant modulation). Without too much effort, I chose the key of F Major - a key that any decent wind arranger will use on a frequent basis.

As I began writing, I began thinking about the key of F. And it occurred to me that even "F" wasn't a great choice, as the notes F and C are terrible notes on the E-flat and the B-flat horns respectively. On the other hand, the notes A and E are wonderful notes on the same instruments, and they would play key functions (no pun intended) in the arrangement because of its jazz style and the frequent occurrence of major-seventh chords therein. Thus I began looking for another key that would fit the guidelines that I set forth at the beginning, including the presence of a nice key a minor third above the tonic for the modulation.

In this quest, what I found was that there isn't any great key. I could find a significant amount of problems in every key I considered. That brought me back to the spring in which I was writing for a grade six high school band, and the director wanted to rid the arrangement of the two B-naturals in the tuba part (I almost always write them up when I encounter them) which where not at huge moments in the show. And as I thought about this, I grew even more frustrated at the complications of the horribly imperfect tonal system that we have, and began to be convinced that I simply didn't know what I was doing.

Last evening, I was in a discussion with an undergraduate student who studies music at a university within my region of the country whose Director of Bands is an arranger of note (again, no pun intended) and someone whose work I have admired since I was in middle school. The student was talking about taking the arranging and orchestration course with this professor, and I became pleasantly jealous of the opportunity has we was receiving.

As this student continued to rave, he was using large words - strong words like "unbelievable," "amazing," and "mind-blowing." As he did so, my jealousy began to fade just a bit. I can count on two hands the "amazing" musical or academic experiences I have ever had. And short of the discovery of new buttons on an instrument or a groundbreaking-ly effective system of making students able to implement the complexities of interesting tonality in a simple manner, I found it very hard to believe that the course was that amazing.

And then, the Midwest Demons crept in. And they began to tell me what they tell me every year at about this time. You have no idea what you're doing. There is a world of information that everyone but you possesses, and you can not have it. You're a fraud.

It happens every year. And I hate it.

At the end of the day, I know it isn't true. There are handshakes and pieces of paper that lend instant credibility to some, whether they actually warrant it or not. Though I realize this, I often find myself unable to stop thinking about how some components of my professional life might be different now if I had focused more diligently or chosen a selected mentorship or two more carefully.

It happens every year and I am far too young, even still, to be asking questions like this.

I have no idea who thought it was a good idea to give me a suite at the Hyatt, but they did. I hate that I will have to enjoy it alone.

Man, if FDR were here, he would be all over some room service.









Also, my group isn't even here yet, and they're already an hour and forty-five minutes behind.

Dan Fogelberg exits.

David D0ver introduced me to his music. While it was a bit on the soft side, I liked it more than I ever admitted. Rest in peace, and thanks for the tunes.

I'm off to Chicago, with an entire football season's worth of unwritten blog entries awaiting attention. I am really hoping to get some of these out during my travels.

For those of you who are Chicago-bound: I will be there, but will working for the travel company. So I won't be around a whole lot, and I most definitely will not be participating in our traditional downstairs-bar-tomfoolery... until Friday. I'll be over around 9pm Friday night. I hope I catch you there.

Adjudication Sheet - NHHS

Music - I (Comments on tape)

Visual - I (Comments on tape)

General Effect - I (Comments on tape)

Arrangements - III (Comments reviewed every night when I cry myself to sleep)

Interview - II ("Found someone?" Where? In a shoebox? Didn't T. Nichols find something in a shoebox once?)

Helluvah Mayor of Norcross

In case you haven't heard, there will soon be a new mayor of Norcross. And yes, it most certainly is that Bucky...



... and not this Bucky...

.

The B(C)S

I am sure that Georgia will get its title in the not too distant future. And I am sure that I will be excited when it happens. I will unfortunately have to pinch myself before I get too many drinks into the celebration. I will have to remind myself that there is no national championship.

The "Football Bowl Subdivision" is too big to determine a champion, which is exactly why it is the only sport and division in which the NCAA does not recognize a champion. So we're all, myself included, getting worked up over something that doesn't exist.

But I did take a few things from this weekend:

- Kirk Herbstreit and ESPN are both whores.
- LSU made a mistake by giving Les Miles an extension. They caved and they will regret it. Les Miles sold his soul to the Devil, and he should begin feeling a special warmth in his ass-area any minute now.
- Georgia has every motivational item they will need for the Sugar Bowl, and every game next year (especially the LSU game). I am not the first to say that I hope they associate the disappointment they feel tonight with the way they played on October 6.
- I would be remiss if I didn't say that the BCS is bullshit. Ask a Mizzou fan.

Mark Bradley says it better than anyone in a column that insures that I will continue to read him for some time to come. It took me four words of Terence Moore's column to remind myself why I am not, however, a subscriber.

Trash talk

On my way home this afternoon from the Thanksgiving weekend with family, I spoke with Meghan briefly to let her know that I was on my way back to Athens. I stopped at a local Wendy's for a bite. I stopped at the QT as I often do for a tankful of cheap gas and a cupful of convenient coffee. And then I was on my way.

As I approached the Athens Perimeter, I took a brief detour to the Oconee County Kroger for a couple of toiletries that had begun to run low over the weekend. I scooped up the paper remnants of my coffee and meal stops, and crushed them in my hand as I lifted myself from the car. On my way into the Kroger, I stuffed the trash in the can outside the entrance thinking little of what was in the bag.

After shopping, I returned to my apartment and began the errands that follow a return home. I put a new trash bag in the Gigantic Trash Can of Death. I emptied my pockets and suitcase of coins and deposited them into the Gigantic Change Bucket of Love, put dirty clothes in the hamper, replaced newly unused luggage in the closet where it belongs, and retrieved the new computer from its hiding place.

I sat for a moment wondering when I might see Meghan tonight, and realized that I hadn't heard from her in quite a while. I began looking for my cell phone, and realized that I had, at the very least, not put it in one of its two normal resting places. I popped onto G-Chat to see if I could find Russell, and I sure enough did. We did the good old call-and-listen drill to no avail.

It was at about this time that I began to get that sinking feeling that the Wendy's bag I put into the container outside Kroger may have contained my phone. Because Meghan was still out of town, there was no one to accompany me who could call the number to avoid my having to swim through the garbage bag of a public trash can. Via G-Chat, Russell talked me out of going and buying a new phone. Instead, he proposed to call me five times at exactly 3:30 pm. I accepted.

I arrived at the Kroger at 3:10, with little plan other than to wait around for his call. Just to avoid an uncomfortable situation, I went ahead and spoke to the man at the customer service counter. He made sure there had been no phones turned in, and assured me that it would be fine if I dug through the garbage in front of their store in case Russell's call confirmed my suspicions. For the record, if this had been Publix I am relatively sure that employees would have been lining up to dig through the can for me.

I went back outside at about 3:20 pm and stood in front of the store without any apparent purpose, trying my damnedest not to look like I was getting tricky. I listened carefully, in spite of the fact that it was not yet 3:30 pm. In moments, sure enough, I heard the unmistakable ringing of my own phone muffled by other people's shit and the shell of a plastic garbage can. Having thought better of the idea of sifting through garbage in the rain in front of Kroger, I explained myself to the employee who was collecting shopping carts and asked if he cared if I took the garbage bag home. He shrugged his shoulders.

I opened the can, pulled the bag out, and tied the top, already seeing a Wendy's bag that I believed to be mine inside. I traipsed through the parking lot, protected from embarrassment by a cold windy rain that made everyone just want to be at home under a blanket. I threw the bag in the trunk, entered the car, and turned the key. As I left the parking lot, I noted the time on my clock (3:27) and began to expect a series of phone calls through the back seat.

As expected, I heard the phone ring behind the whistle of the wind and the white noise of the rainfall as soon as I hit the bypass. The combination of sounds continued almost all the way home. It made me giggle a bit, but in truth I was really happy not to have to shell out another hundred dollars or so for a phone that I probably won't like. It doesn't seem like a big deal, but it is for someone who finds himself attempting to undo the often costly effects of his clumsiness more frequently than he cares to admit. I was just a little happier about this than I probably should have been.

I arrived at home, opened the back door, and opened the garbage bag just outside. Protected by gloves, and tempted to don a condom just in case, I went straight for the Wendy's bag, opened it, and found my phone inside. After a nice rubdown with a Lysol wipe, I was on that phone with Russell thanking him for his help.

This makes two Sundays in a row on which I have had to manually search a used garbage bag for an item of value. I am going to try to buck the trend this week.

Of course you should trust the government!

• I am really glad that we got out of Saturday alive. The relatively flat play of the first half is something about which a lot of people were rightfully worried. Between the Celebration against Florida and the Blackout, I was becoming afraid that CMR would have to slaughter some type of live animal in order to maintain that kind of enthusiasm. Fortunately, they were capable of surviving even when the coach was out of carrots.

• When it became apparent on Saturday that Georgia would have some difficulty winning without dancing girls or fireworks, I began thinking a lot about the responsible motivation of young people in significant pursuits. I had already been thinking about this in light of Alan and Michael's discussion of the raison d'etre of each of their programs. The flat first half only confirmed my feeling:

The only sustainable reason for the pursuit of any activity that requires significant dedicated time and effort is the activity itself. Put another way, "If playing football for a school with a very compelling 115-year football tradition in front of 93,000 raving fans in America's greatest college town in the most competetive league in your sport isn't enough to get you excited enough to play with the greatest enthusiasm of which you are capable, then nothing will consistently motivate you." Audiences (whether professional or novice) can be and often are fickle, trendy, or simply absent. You, on the other hand, will be present for most of the things that you do. It's probably a good idea to make sure you enjoy whatever that activity is. If you're lucky, maybe someone else's opinion will be similar to yours.

• A little utility trip to the Mall of Georgia this evening turned into a lovely dinner and pre-holiday mall-strolling. I found myself reviewing the past year of my life as I thought about the upcoming festivities.

I don't think it has ocurred to me before how much I truly treat the holidays as an inventory period. It can be a little sad, because it reminds you that those who are slowly slipping away from you are doing so. It can also be downright beautiful when you compare a walk through the lights and the scents of the mall alongside someone you love against your rushed marches of the past.

I don't know. This time of year just makes me think a lot.

• Without posting his full Googlable name, can anyone identify the person to whom this ass belongs?


(Note: I most certainly didn't take this picture.)

Why I Haven't Been Blogging

HT: DawgPost via Georgia Sports Blog

I just erased a four-paragraph writing about my enjoyment of last Saturday's blackout. The more I obsessed over the entry, the more I realized that I couldn't begin to tell the story that my memory recalls, so I will let it remain a memory. Kudos to those who have been able to make it make sense in text.

As I began to revisit the failed attempt, I noticed that it had yet again been over a week since I wrote in my blog. There was a point in time in which my blogging habits were the internet equivalent of Old Faithful. That has most definitely ceased to be the case since I moved, and I don't apologize for it.

If you haven't figured it out, life has changed quite a bit for me lately. If you had told me in January that I would find myself living in Athens, Georgia again for a year, I would have told you that I would be as attentive and appreciative as possible during that year. If you had told me back then that I would find the person I have found, I would have told you that I would be spending my time learning what I needed to learn about her and enjoying the time I had with her.

I distinctly recall one year ago. I had just had a wreck in Nashville. I was terribly lonely, and I wanted to be in Athens. Somehow I now find myself happy, very far from lonely and seven minutes from downtown Athens.

By the time I blink twice, my daily time with Meghan will be more scarce and I won't be living in Athens. And just as I found myself loving the moments in which I found myself on Saturday, I have recently felt that it has been best for me to spend less time writing about the experience I am having and more time having it.

It has been a very wise use of my time.

Back in Bullets

• First and foremost, many of you know that my dad is in the hospital with heart concerns once again. No need to comment with thoughts, prayers, etc. I already know. Regardless, he had tests today and will undergo heart catheterization at St. J0seph's tomorrow. More when I have it.

• Meanwhile, I am scheduled to go to Nashville with Steve on Thursday. We toyed with the idea of going to the CMA's on Wednesday. And then we semi-jokingly agreed that we would be there at some other point anyway. Thursday it is, assuming all in the first bullet is going well.

• I am some two weeks into my ownership of this. I am very happy to be recording again, and am repeatedly amazed at how much generally happier I am when I can do so.

• Are you wearing black Saturday? I absolutely despise the idea, but I'm totally in because the players asked. Although I'm not fond of the requested attire, I am completely jacked about the game.

• Speaking of the game, it would be really really cool if the Athletic Association wouldn't interrupt the Georgia-Bulldogs Cheer at an important point in the game with one of the Chrysler commercials disguised as a Bulldog Music Video (Georgia vs. Troy, 4:34 First Half).

Like really cool...

In fact, if they do it again, there is no way in hell that I well ever buy a Chrysler. Come to think of it, there is no way in hell that I am buying one anyway.

When are these Tech grads going to learn? Say it with me people: When you go to a strip club always, always, always, always use cash. HT - Meghan

My vitals

I have been thinking about my health a lot lately.

With a couple of friends fighting their way out of serious long-term illnesses, I am reminded that I am as mortal as they come. I have recently experienced some extremely minor health nuisances that could have been signs of a greater problem had they become chronic (They have, for the record, subsided as expected). In addition, I will be forced to change health insurance as of my birthday due to my move to Georgia.

The pessimist in me worries about the worst imaginable product of all of these circumstances. In the back of my mind, I worry that I may have contracted Mad Cow Disease, and that the new policy won’t cover the necessary treatment because it would be a pre-existing condition. I then worry that the illness will present as horribly as possible, and that my friends will be forced to hold car washes to help defray my medical costs. Unfortunately, these car washes will be shut down due to the drought. As a result, an unattractive nurse will walk into the Mad Cow Ward of the local hospital, lift me into her excessively flabby arms, and carry me out of the hospital. Once outside, she will deposit me into a ditch from which my friends will walk with their heads down and shaking, wishing there was something else they could have done.

I know.

Seriously, though. The combined traits of worrier and dreamer that I possess have the capacity to make my worst medical fears seem very real, especially when my health coverage is in flux. I can worry myself into an amazing frenzy over a cough or a canker sore, and every little itch, bump, creak, tingle, or asymmetrical fart will further convince me that something is wrong… bad wrong. At some point, reason returns, and I become calm once again.

This has happened before, but this time is different. It is different in that I now value my life in ways that I have not valued it before. I am rather sure that this is because I am sharing much of it with someone else. It is no secret that I endured a bit of self-destructive behavior in my twenties, and that remnants of that behavior splashed into my early thirties. Though I have often made the statement that “the leading cause of death is life,” there are decisions that I made back then that I would change if I could. Every time I get a chest cold, I regret every drag from “back when” because I know I inhaled as a result of a lower valuation of my life than I now acknowledge.

Fortunately I do have my health (*knocks on wood*), and I am lucky (really?) enough to have realized how much I love being alive under circumstances which allow me to do something about it.

I guess I tell you all of this to get to a point. I clearly haven’t been updating you on every piece of minutiae in my life lately. That is largely because I have been spending a lot of time enjoying it and not very much time thinking about it. Things are wonderful. I am very happy. And I am awake and doing my best to appreciate every moment.

Minesweeper the movie

HT - Macenstein