Let's Get Physical

This week at work I've been listening to Bach's Cello Suites. It sent me right back to my years as a trombone player, because I would often play the Suites as part of my practice. They're not written for brass instruments, so there were a lot of things I couldn't do, but it was a good workout. It's the kind of thing I'd save for a couple hours in, when I was super-warmed up. You know when you're in shape and you run, and you get to that point when you can go and go and go? That's how I felt when I got to the Cello Suites.

Sometimes I miss the physicality of the trombone. I'm not really the kind of person who works with her hands or plays a lot of sports. But one of the interesting things about playing an instrument is that it's 50% mental and 50% physical. That's a big part of what made practicing hard -- if either your mind or your body is tired, it doesn't get a break. I'm rather spotty with my exercise, so there were long stretches where playing the trombone (and carrying it around) was the most active thing I did.

I actually felt a bit athletic when I played. Brass instruments are all about the air, and that kind of breathing affects the whole body. Even my walk was looser and more relaxed after I'd been practicing. Try it: For a full two minutes, take the deepest breaths you possibly can, one right after the other (without hyperventilating). Feel any warmer? Yeah.

I read in book of trumpet exercises that "you are the instrument." At first I dismissed that as a weak "Be the ball!" kind of concept, but now I see there's a very real way in which it's true. Sound is vibration, and a brass player produces that themselves. It starts with the air, and you buzz your lips (a.k.a. "chops"). The horn just focuses, amplifies and projects the sound. Nearly every note I can play on the trombone, I can buzz without it. The trombone can't make noise. Unless you drop it. Then it's percussion. Or sporting equipment.

Hey, speaking of, here's a joke: What's the range of a trombone? Answer: 20 yards if you've got a good arm. Yuk yuk.

Anyway, it's funny what you miss.

Beansprouts Ruin Everything!

Does anybody really like these things, or are we just supposed to eat them because they're healthful? I mean, how desperate for sustenance do you have to be to start eating beans before they're fully grown?

And they look like sperm. Appetizing.

Who thought to put scoop-fulls of this stuff in a plastic container next to the croutons at the salad bar?

Blech blech blech.

Blech, I say.

Maybe if You Put Me in Some Glasses and a Button-Down T-Shirt, I'd Look Like a Computer Programmer

My brother's wife is reading a book about a particular religion. It includes the story of two brothers who killed their sister-in-law "because God told them to." She told us about it and I said, "I've been thinking that for a while now."
"Thinking what?" she asked.
I grinned at her.
"Oh, thinking that God has told you to kill your sister-in-law?"
I grinned some more. I find that smiling and not speaking after declaring that you've heard the voice of God is the best way to assure people that you're completely sane.

I do hear the voice of God, but I gotta say a good two-thirds of the messages I get don't involve commands to kill.

When I do kill, it's mostly spiders and ants. Not aunts.

I'm thinking of writing a manifesto, though. What do you think of this for a title: "The World's Best-o Manifesto." Pretty catchy, huh? In your face, Ted Kaczynski!

Easy Peasy, Lemon Squeezy

My brother had his first official flight as a commercial airline pilot today. He's had 8 years of training and professional experience as a military pilot, including 3 years as an instructor, so he knew what he was doing. But it was still a milestone, and a test. I asked him a couple days ago whether he was nervous about it, and he said that there are always some nerves when you're dealing with an unknown, but it should be easy.

"Can I quote you on that?" I asked. "Next time I'm flying and there are nervous people on either side of me, can I tell them, 'Hey, no worries! My brother is a pilot and he says it's easy. The only thing easier than flying it is letting it fall out of the sky.' "

I hear he did quite well, which is not a surprise. He was the co-pilot, but the pilot let him do everything, and prove himself. He took off and landed. (For those nervous fliers out there: Please don't worry. These men are capable, and I've placed my life in their hands with confidence. Now back to the exaggeration and humor. Roll with it.) Which brings us to more Undesirable Intercom Announcements:

Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain. I'll pretty much be doing squat for this flight. My co-pilot, a rookie, wants to have a go. Let's give him a big hand! I'll be turning off the intercom so you can't hear me scream. As far as you know, everything is fine. And if you feel a big thud, that would be the plane hitting the ground, and we're pretty much home-free at that point anyway. We're all about building a young pilot's self-esteem here, so please think of something positive to say upon exiting the aircraft. Even if you have to lie. He might be big, but he's sensitive, and kind of a crier. It's not pretty. Enjoy your flight. I'll be popping my Valium now. Nighty-night!

Lost in a Daydream

The gentleman walked onto the bus. It took him till the next stop to sort through his small change and put it, coin by coin, in the slot. All the while he said to himself, "A daydream, a daydream." He then slowly made his way down the aisle, stopping to look directly at people and say to them, "A daydream, a daydream."

One man got onto the bus, and as he passed the gentleman he was told, "A daydream, a daydream."
"It's all a daydream," he agreed.
The gentleman liked this, laughed, and began saying, "It's all a daydream. Ha ha! It's all a daydream."
This was interspersed with directions that I hoped he'd be able to follow: "She said 'Elm Street.' "

I smiled when it was my turn to be looked at and told it was all a daydream.

As we passed stop after stop, he continued to make his way toward the rear of the bus. Before I got off, I could hear him behind me, adding one last bit of wisdom:

"I'm free, free as a bird. She said I was..."

Granna Gets a Onesie

I have this great zip-up blankety thing, with sleeves and holes in the bottom for my feet. I think the official name for it is "slumber sack," but it's pretty much a grown-up onesie. My dislike for the word onesie aside (it seems lazy to me to call a one-piece item of clothing a onesie, and it doesn't lend itself to phonetic pronunciation; it looks like oh-NEE-see), it's a great item to possess if you're cold all the time, like I am. It's like a blanket that comes with you wherever you go.

Mine is red, and my brother says it makes me look like a deflated Teletubby. I'm not allowed to wear it outside.

But I did wear it to my grandmother's house for Christmas! It don't get much snuggier than curling up in my onesie when the North Dakota temperature is in the single digits outside. Granna thought it was so comfy-looking that she decided to get one for herself. She liked my color, too, so Mom ordered her one just like mine. Now we match. You won't be able to tell us apart.

Unless we start talking. I'm more sarcastic, but she's the one less likely to take crap. And she can tell stories that begin with the words, "Back in the bootlegging days..."

18 Wheels a-Rollin'

Last night I saw Smoky and the Bandit for the first time. That is one classic piece of American cinema! I knew it existed but it hadn't solidly registered in my consciousness until the My Name is Earl episode where Randy wants to go to the Camden County fair and see the Trans Am Bandit drove in the movie. Then the Jerry Reed song, East Bound and Down, played while Earl and Randy messed with some poor guy's golf game (you kind of have to see it). Now that I understand what it's about, I can't get that song out of my head. Which is fine. I like it.

East bound and down
Loaded up and truckin'
We're gonna do what they say can't be done...

I've long thought I had a redneck in me trying to get out, and this movie is bringing it that much closer. Now I want a cool "handle." I want a basset hound named Fred. I want to get messed up in a bar brawl and somehow enjoy it. I want to race some Coors across state lines with Sheriff Buford T. Justice on my tail.

But mostly I want to have witty CB chatter.

After that movie, my life seems so... below the speed limit.

Rowr

You know what I like better than dinosaurs? Mammals. I like the fur. The feathers thing was a nice middle ground, but fur wins out. I don't know much about the movie 10,000 BC, but it has lots of big furry animals running around, which appeals to me. And saber teeth. Those are cool.

A long time ago I wrote about wanting a woolly mammoth as a pet. Still do. Now I'd like to add a saber-toothed something to the list. Weren't there animals besides tigers that had them? A tiger would be OK, though. I could have a kitty door for him, like the Flintstones. Anybody remember that cat's name?

So, what's on my pet list now? A big dog named Snort, a woolly mammoth, a saber-tooth of some kind. I saw a giant sloth once at a museum. That might be cool. But kind of close to a bear. I could just get a bear. I saw a car commercial several years ago that showed a big bear making himself comfortable on a red couch, and I thought the bear looked even more comfy than the couch -- like a big bean bag. And I wanted one.

Mom, if one follows me home, can I keep him?