Happy Halloween !

mwuhahahahahhaha

A reason to make noise ...

I just got the "official" email ...

I'm confirmed for the panel
at WBA prelims in Pasadena.

Hooray!

It's Halloween Week ...

... so here's something REALLY FRIGHTENING for your Halloween week enjoyment!

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Weekend in review ...

I had a kick ass weekend that kicked my ass. This was the first weekend in a quite long series of weekends that I didn’t have a judging gig which means that I got to see my kids perform on Saturday.


Ok …

They were awful …

They were great …

They made me cringe …

They made me jump and down and clap

I’m so proud of them that I plan on working their tails off this coming week in preparation for the show at the Grape Bowl next Saturday … which I will miss because I’ll be off judging somewhere else once again ... but it’s a wonderful problem to have and I'm not complaining ... and there's the added bonus of cocktails with a Rene-friend afterwards.

See you on the other side :)

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Kid Lessons with Adult Translations ...

I can’t help but wonder if it’s not the earliest lessons … those learned before we have reason, logic and common sense on our side … that stick with us most.

For example ...

September 1962 ... the first day of kindergarten. I instantly fall in love my teacher ... Miss Detty. I love the kid-sized kitchen and the big wooden blocks, the neatly stacked puzzles, the cups of fresh (and really pointy) crayons and all the wee tables and chairs. We colored pictures of Jack-O-Lanterns that day. I colored mine purple. I’d never heard of a Jack-O-Lantern. Everyone laughed at me. We watched a filmstrip about sea lions and then had a duck and cover lesson. The smell of the heavy rubber curtain is oddly pleasant. The end of the day is story time. We’re all seated expectantly on the floor in front of our teacher. I have to pee really bad but I just can’t raise my hand and bring myself to ask to go the girl’s room in front of the entire class. So, under the cover provided by my highly starched 1950’s puffy dress, I pee right there where I’m sitting. The story ends. The school day ends. I get up, walk away from my piddle puddle none the worse for wear and, fortunately, unnoticed and meet my mother outside to walk home. She asks me about my day and I tell her everything in detail ... except for the part about my puddle.

Kid lesson … if I don’t get caught then I haven’t done anything wrong.

Adult translation … I can speed down the freeway and it’s okay so long as I don’t get a ticket.

September 1962 … still kindergarten …everyday my mom gives me a nickel to put in my shoe for me to give to Miss Detty because she collects our nickels and places a milk order with the school cafeteria for delivery to us to go with our afternoon "snack". The best thing about milk in the afternoon is the little milk wagon we use to pick up the delivery. Two “good” students are chosen every day for this task. The lucky kids get to leave the classroom and pull the little milk wagon all the way to the cafeteria where they get to fill it up with milk cartons and bring it back for the class. I get to do that a couple of times during the year but not as much as I’d like because being “good” means not talking and that’s really hard for me. The second best thing about milk in the afternoon is the small wooden container with a shiny glass front that's chock full of red striped straws and if you press the little wooden handle on the side a single straw drops out just for you and you get to put it in your milk carton. Mesmerizing. One morning at recess I'm at the tippy top of the jungle gym and my nickel falls out of my shoe and all the way down to the tanbark far, far below. I scramble down to find it but it’s hopeless. The bell rings and I forget all about it as I run to get back in line and go inside. Later that afternoon the little milk wagon arrives and,without thinking, I take a milk and drink it just like every other day. Then ... Uh oh. Someone who paid for their milk didn’t get one. Someone took milk that shouldn’t have. Someone took milk without paying for it. I realize with horror that it’s ME. I’m mortified. I begin to cry. I cry so hard I can’t explain what happened. I cry so much Miss Detty has to call my mom to come and pick me up early.

Kid lesson … perfection guarantees to save you embarrassment and big girls don’t cry.

Adult translation … be ridiculously hard on yourself, strive for perfection so you can do everything right all the time no matter what … and never, never let them see your moment of weakness.

October 1963 … first grade, first month of school, and somehow (probably because I was talking to my neighbor as usual) I don’t hear the lesson being given, and as a result, I confuse the word “red” with the word “blue”. A mimeographed ditto is handed out. On it are four chubby airplanes sporting smiley faces. Two of them have the word “blue” written under them and two of them have the word “red” written under them. Color appropriately. I color all my “blue” airplanes red and all my “red” airplanes blue. The teacher (whose name I don’t remember because I never felt like she was on my side) is sitting at the big “reading table” at the side of the room. She tells everyone to make a line around her table and bring their papers to her. One by one we hand her our papers. Some kids get them all correct and get a big red star written on their papers. Some kids only get some of them right (and I still wonder about those kids really) and get a big red “OK” on their paper. I give her my paper fully expecting a big red star and instead I get a big red “F”. Ummm uh oh. Everyone stares at me. None of us knows what this means until the teacher loudly explains that it’s because I got all of mine wrong. The teacher doesn’t explain anything to me, she simply thrusts my paper at my chest and tells me to “go home and study”. So that’s what I do. At 10:00 in the morning I take my sweater, my beloved plaid lunch box and my big red “F” and make the two block walk home alone ... where the realization of a new problem promptly confronts me ... I’m not allowed to cross the street! I stand there in front of the “rest home” that’s directly across the street from my apartment house willing my mother to come out ... of course she doesn't ... I'm not supposed to be there for another four hours. Because I'm totally afraid to break the rule about crossing the street, the events of the morning finally get to me and I start to cry. The old people in the rest home must have been watching me for awhile. Finally one blue-haired old lady came out to where I was standing on the sidewalk. Somehow I tearfully communicated my problem to her and she took my lunchbox in one hand and my hand in the other and walked me across the street right up to my front door. Let’s just say my Dad (who wondered how a small six year old girl could be allowed to just walk out of school unnoticed) and the principal, Mr. Phillips, came to know each other pretty well that day. That the principal never forgot my name and never forgot to ask if I was doing okay whenever he saw me after that. In fact, later that year when that same teacher sent me home for wearing pants to school on a very cold day (back in the days when girls weren't allowed to wear pants ever), it was Mr. Phillips who drove me home and explained it all to my mother. Fortune smiled on me halfway through the school year and that teacher ended up getting really sick and leaving school for the rest of the year and we got a brand new teacher named Miss Purse … and I loved her dearly. It’s because of her that I not only became a reading superstar but learned about “bundles of ten” and “borrowing and carrying”. Despite my adamant self-imposed rule never to cry at school again ... I did anyway ... on the last day of school when I had to say good bye to Miss Purse.

Kid lesson … most adults “in charge” are good people but some just aren't … and some people hurt your feelings ... and sometimes they'll do it on purpose ... and it's possible to love adults that aren't in your family

Adult translation … always question authority, value relationships but above all protect your heart

And I still have those airplanes with the big red “F” on them in my scrapbook.

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Official “Unhappy Blog” Alert …

... avert your eyes while you still have a chance


Well ……… the Ayala show stole the wind from my sails. There are some substantial and rational explanations for this but mainly (although note, not exclusively) it’s just me doing that thing I do and being ridiculously hard on myself. Ah well. It hurts for a bit but it always makes me better in the end.

The night was cold and damp and I guess that’s what made my tape recorders (yes plural … recorders) choke (unbeknownst to me) which means that Chino got a completely blank tape and that ALL of my back ups and accountability are defunct. I actually think I did a pretty good job but no one will ever know that because my accountability tapes are crap. Sadly you can hear the intro to each band “Hi this is my accountability for _____” and then the tape drags and you hear the next “Hi this is my accountability for _____”. Nothing in between the greetings but alien blips and bloops. I recouped as best I could by turning in a total written accountability and now I’m just crossing my fingers and hoping that will be good enough. I hate being forced into doing something out of the norm from what everyone else is doing but I especially hate it when I’m already the one already wearing Milk Bone underwear in a dog eat dog world. Other than that written accountability, all I have to speak for my own performance Saturday are my numbers and my rankings. Sigh. I want to slit my wrists but, after all, it’s just marching band … and I’m not brave enough to anyway. My vow this week is to figure out, once and for all, how to use that dastardly little digital voice recorder I bought so this never happens again. In the meantime I have to content myself with my written accountability being safely tucked in an overnight envelope and sitting somewhere in a courier van winding it’s merry way to its destination in Walnut Creek.

Note to self
I hate electronic technology. Perhaps this is why I’ve never owned a vibrator. I mean really isn’t that the last place I want to trust something electronic?

My Elkies performed on Saturday night at the Oakmont show and I’m sorry I wasn’t there. Based on what I’ve heard so far, it didn’t go very well … well hell that’s not accurate … sans the candy coating, from what I’ve heard it was actually genuinely awful. I don’t know the particulars yet but I find myself not even wanting to go to rehearsal tonight to find them out. Damn! I knew the opener would be a mess … no big surprise there … but I really expected the middle of the closer to be the guard’s saving grace. Sigh. I need to go kick this problem, whatever it turns out to be, squarely in the ass at tonight’s rehearsal. Period.

Note to self
This weekend holds an important lesson …. as incredibly and truly hideous as some of the performances were that I witnessed at the Ayala show, I still have to doff my hat to those programs and the effort I saw on the field exactly because I know, first hand, how nearly impossible it is to teach a field show in the brief 6 weeks between the first day of school and the first performance of the season. Congrats to all those bands I saw on Saturday who pulled it off … whose shows, although mostly a hot mess, made it to the field in some semblance of a real performance.


So ….. today’s tentative plan is to whine pitifully and feel sorry for myself until 5:00 pm at which point I will officially get over myself, lick my right index finger and hold it up in the air in search of a breeze. Thus I will find the wind I need to fill my sails before 6:00 tonight.


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Anxiously awaiting my next fix ...

Last Saturday I judged field visual for the first time ever at my first ever WBA contest. Judging has its obvious rewards but field judging has one I never counted on … until I felt it.

Saturday night the temperature dropped 20 degrees in two hours but I was nervous … well, ok scared … and my adrenalin was pushing so hard that it kept me warm. So warm in fact that I didn’t even need a jacket. As the first band came to the field I walked out to the front side line, tape recorder in hand, desperately hoping I at least looked like I knew what I was doing. I noted that I had that pre-performance queasy stomach that is just my body’s way of letting me know that “we” are about to put our butt on the line again. Thanks body. I knew you’d kick in sooner or later and remind me that judging is, after all, just another kind of performance. So I began to breathe in through the nose and out through the mouth, filling my red blood cells with oxygen and calming myself down. I "fell back on my training" and did a little self-talk. Ok self. We’re alright now. We know how to do this. We’re prepared. We practiced. We deserve it. Here we go. Feeling ready I walked about 8 steps down the 40 and onto the field and was struck by how familiar everything felt. No longer nervous because it felt almost like a welcome home, I noticed that the grass was green, the lights were on, the air was cool on my skin and that there were uniforms all around me. Right then the drumline started that all too familiar warm up and that sound, in what I can only explain as a conditioned stimulus response, made me turn toward the bleachers to see the audience. Huge and wonderful. I looked around to see who else saw them and was thrilled to see that most of the guard was looking up and already making that first connection. Right on! As the band found its opening set I was suddenly surrounded by a flurry of guardies hurriedly setting their equipment and hugging one another for good luck and I got a stab not of longing but of BElonging.

I didn’t know that being on the field during a performance while not performing could be something so special. I’ve watched field shows for years, I’ve been in field shows and I’ve been up close and personal with performers during rehearsals. None of that began to touch the intensity and almost perverse intimacy of “watching” a performance from its middle as it happened on the field. The energy was like a living thing with depth, width and weight. Being in the thick of the show gave me the freedom to hear the sounds, experience the energy, feel the pulse and rhythm of the show and to be anywhere I wanted to be … I was a tuba, a flag, a snare, I “marched” alongside the flutes, the bass drums and the mellophones. I saw the gathering condensation on the flagpoles still waiting to make their debut, saw the taped fingers, the sweat and the intense facial expressions of the snare line, saw the bandaged ankles and straining muscles of the colorguard and heard everyone gasping for air … for this a sound on the field too … and I immediately appreciated this activity on a whole different level. I’ll never be happy at a field show in the stands or the box again ….. and I find I’m supremely jealous of those who’ve experienced this rush at its most highly competitive level for that must truly be the ultimate marching high.

I’ve never felt what I felt on Saturday as a performer. I don’t know that it’s possible to do so but as an on-field observer, I get it …I so get it … and I can’t wait to get it again.

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a) sobering, b) surreal or c) all of the above ...

So earlier today, and just for the heck of it, I googled myself and lo and behold found my name on a blog belonging to a local colorguard kid ... and a couple of things changed forever.

1) It brought home to me how much influence, and therefore responsibility, I have as an adjudicator. It's not as though I didn't realize that on some level and it's not as though I don't always take my audience into account. I'm fully aware of who I'm talking to and I try to put my commentary together in a logical and educational way ... but today when I read "a 90 from Jojo and I can now die happy" it made me appreciate the immature and fragile feelings of these high school kids and I will carry my new-found appreciation with me into the judge's box forever more.

2) I've removed my current name and my colorguard "moniker" from my blog because there's no back-flow device in place and information that flows one way can surely flow the other. I don't want these kids knowing anything about me other than what they see when they look up into the judge's box.

I feel like I've been slapped ... and I'm thankful for it.

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All the leaves are brown ....

... and the sky is gray <$1 to Mama Cass>

I love Fall … leaves are turning, the air is showing it’s first signs of crispness and my desire to hibernate is increasing.

As is now typical of my Fall seasons, colorguard has consumed most of my free time over the last few weeks. The rest of my world has been a typical washing machine of events …colors have faded, reds have bled and socks are missing and as usual life is it’s own blend of peace and bedlam.

September 22 I spent the day with Golden Valley. What can I say about Golden Valley? Up close they are your typical high school girls; a mixture of chipped neon nail polish, rainbow colored barrettes and too small t-shirts … but on the move they are incredible. I was totally impressed with this guard. They’re disciplined, skilled and intent on becoming the best they can be. They were like a herd of hamsters scurrying to greedily scoop up and store every crumb I put out there for them. I loved working with them and I’d like to think I made a difference. I hope so anyway and I hope I get to do it again someday.

September 29th was the first band review of NCBA’s 07 season and I was there with my Elkies. I’ve done a fair amount of nail biting over this review. Zero run-throughs with the band and limited performer skills were the foremost reason for that. Then on Friday night, in the last hour of the last rehearsal and, in what felt like a suicidal move, I made the critical decision NOT to wrap the guard around the band at this review. Understandably, I prepared myself for the worst score in civilized man’s history but comforted myself with the knowledge that at least we’d be putting our best foot forward … no pun intended. Well, I don’t know who those kids on the street in those Elk Grove guard uniforms were but they did a bang up job. The score was middle of the pack and a pathetic 68 and I sincerely don’t care. Given that we basically did half a performance it’s a fair number that comes as no surprise … what WAS a surprise, and an especially good one at that, was the quality of the kid’s performance. It was eye opening and it’s given me a whole new perspective on the potential of this program over time. I love who I’m working with, I love who I’m working for and I’m stoked for TOC … and next year.

I watched a number of bands after the Elkies performance. As an adjudicator for (and often a loud defender of) NCBA I find myself in a pickle for I’m embarrassed by the auxiliary adjudicators placements and scores for Armijo and Golden Valley that day. I’ve wrestled with this since Saturday and almost a week later I’m still certain that had I been in the box that day I wouldn’t, couldn’t, have seen it the way they did. The tough thing is there’s no way that I can say anything about it. It’s not my job to do so. It’s a lot like being a marching member in that it’s my responsibility to just put my head down and do my own job and trust that those around me are doing the same. I wish (oh how I wish) there was an education director or caption manager, or some other position within NCBA that monitored the adjudication process. The tough thing is that I really think they were wrong and I’m right. Either my ego is out of control (and yeah it happens all the time) or they don’t understand the parade art form, the parade criteria and how to really apply it. The next review and the next set of adjudicators will likely write the end of that story. We’ll see.

So this weekend I am butt cheeks to the wind at my first WBA assignment. Here’s to hoping this little minnow can successfully swim in a bigger pond and that some veteran shark doesn’t come up behind me and bite me in the ass in the same way I’ve just done to last weekend’s band review adjudicators!!!

I’d certainly deserve it though if they do ... but I hope they only do it in their blog like I just did ... heh.


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Click ...

The kid moved home lock, stock and barrel last night.

I don’t know whether to be sad or happy that he’s had to press the reset button .....


..... but I believe he’s made the right choice


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Self Check ...

Time is flying … most likely due to the fact that I’m teaching three nights a week I guess.

I alternately love and hate teaching. It’s rewarding wrapped in frustrating. I find it most worthwhile when I see a struggling kid’s lightbulb finally go on. You know that moment when you believe you can actually see the wheels turning in a kid’s head followed by an audible “click” when understanding finally dawns … and their face lights up with a smile. Those are the rare moments that make teaching really worthwhile. The money is nice, but it’s far, far, far from the best reason to do it.

Woodcreek High School invited me back this season to design and teach their parade routine. We had our third of four scheduled rehearsals last night and I walked away thinking that, even though it’s not part of the agreement, I’ll probably be going back for a fifth one. I won’t leave them hanging in the breeze. I will impart all of the knowledge it’s possible for me to impart about this parade routine before I ride into the sunset. The four (that’s right, just four) kids in this year’s guard are all working really hard and, with an entire month still in front of them before their first review, all five of us have high hopes. Right now I’m still watching them by peeking through my fingers but I expect to be really proud of them in another 30 days.

I’m also teaching Elk Grove High School a parade routine. The story is pretty much the same there but with three times as many kids. That just proves that bigger isn’t always better! It’s the same struggles in a different venue. I’m hooked on these kids too and am committed to dragging them, kicking and screaming if I have to, to the next level. The challenge is getting them to visualize what that next level is like so that they go willingly. It’s harder than it sounds.

Both bands have this weekend off so I’m using my Saturday to make the long-ass drive to Merced where I was invited to work with Golden Valley. I feel truly privileged to have been invited. Golden Valley is one of NCBA’s finest and has, in my opinion, the best equipment handlers in the NCBA circuit. (Yeah maybe it’s hokey so what) I’m honored that they value my input. Ok … intellectually I grasp that the invitation speaks to my growing rep but, cuz I KNOW me, it’s hard to make myself actually believe that. Make sense? Once again this season I find I have to keep pinching myself to make sure it’s all real.

I’m deeply embroiled in working on the Elkies field show. I’m overflowing with ideas but my creative juice is a bit damned by the kid’s abilities. It’s like trying to create a masterpiece using only three colors. No worries though. This year will be about building the kid’s skills and making Elk Grove a band/guard that kids want to join. Next year … damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead!

The rainy, dreary day is making me a bit melancholy and introspective. Funny, I usually love cold and blustery days. Hmmmm. I think a bubble bath with a glass of wine and a book is definitely called for.

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Happy Birthday Week ...

Last week was my birthday. You heard me right. Last week. All of it. It seems appropriate to me to take a whole week to celebrate 50 years of the winding road that’s been my life so far.

Last weekend was the highlight of my birthday week. On Saturday I had planned to go out with Stubert and a couple of friends to throw back a few margaritas and laugh out loud a lot. I’d had band camp all day and ended up leaving later than I wanted to so I called Stu just to let him know I was finally on my way. He told me his truck had broken down and his Dad was working on it.

Pause.

Visions of cancelled fun bounced around my brain until he finally said “can you come pick me up”. As if he had to ask! “Of course” I say and head up the freeway bound for Roseville.

I arrived at Stu’s in record time but 40 minutes later than planned. I knock on the door and his sister Terri answers. She tells me Stu is in the backyard. My first thought is why isn’t he ready? But no worries because a second look at Terri assures me that she’s clearly dressed for fun so I head out to the backyard to gather up Stu and stuff he and Terri into the car but am instead totally amazed to see one, two, no three, no FIVE, count ‘em five, friends all standing there yelling SURPRISE at me! All I could say was “Oh my God”, “Oh my God”. I was, for once, at a loss for words.

I was surprised. Even more I was stunned. Stunned by what truly fabulous friends I have. A friend who will turn himself inside out to plan and pull off a super surprise party for me. Friends who will drive two or more hours to spend time to celebrate my birthday with me. Friends whose presence is more than enough presents but they bring presents anyway.

I am so very lucky to have all of you in my life.

Thanks for the best 50th birthday I could have ever thought to ask for.

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Thought for the day ...

There will invariably
be people who
don't accept you
And in that case,
you must be your own
badass self,
without apology

Love is like ...

... a stunning little pair of clip-on rhinestone earrings my mother used to keep in her jewelry box when I was a child. When I’d open the box, there they would be nestled snuggly in the corner sparkling and winking up at me from their burgundy velvet nest … the exact thing I needed … so attractive and so irresistibly charming that I simply had to put them on. Once on, they had the power to transform me into a fairy princess. Suddenly I was prettier, smarter and more talented and the world was mine to conquer as I’d pirouette around my parent’s bedroom like a prima ballerina. Within minutes I’d become aware of pain in my earlobes as the clip-on part of the earrings would begin to bite into the tender flesh there. Pain so soft at first that it was easily ignored as I happily spun around the bedroom ... but soon increasing in intensity at an alarming rate and finally becoming so unbearable that I’d abandon my fantasy, rip the beautiful earrings from my ears and cast them aside! Afterwards I’d lovingly pick them up and place them back in their velvety nest … until the next time that I opened that box … the next time those earrings would wink up at me and sparkle … the exact thing I needed … so attractive and so irresistibly charming ... and, even though I’d know it would eventually be painful, soon enough I’d be pirouetting around my parent's bedroom deep in fantasy once again.


Love is just as painful as those earrings ... and every bit as impossible to resist.

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Stealth Mode :off:

In case anyone in my family is looking for me ... here I am

Jonette Roy
Jonette Montemayor

No cell anymore. Land line is 602.275.3237

Happy Googling!


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Happy 33rd ...

33 years ago, while I was on a bus somewhere between Itaca, New York and Santa Clara, CA, my friend Stubert entered the world ....... and the world hasn't been the same since!

Happy 33rd Birthday Stu! May your wallet always be fat, your lawn always be green and your birthdays always be happy!

Love you!

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Thought for the day ...

Why is lemonjuice made from artificial lemon flavoring and dishwashing liquid made from real lemons?

Hairpins do more than hold your hair back ...

I’ve always heard life choices are akin to “Ys” in the road of life. The generally accepted principle is that once you’ve chosen your path you can’t simply back up and choose the other path. I accept that, short of time travel, you can’t move backwards in time and have subsequently lived my life shackled to the idea that life moves ever forward … much like a parade with penalties for stopping … and have chosen instead to just take my lumps and live by the philosophy that even if you put the spoiled milk back in the fridge it will still come out spoiled. Last night while mulling over the Ys in my road of life, I had a crystal clear moment of clarity.
The road of life isn’t necessarily straight!
While some people’s lives may be an interstate moving swiftly along, mine is a winding mountain road full of treacherous twists, changes in elevation and hairpin turns … much like a luge run in fact. After some reflection, I now see this as an advantage for a deadly hairpin turn, while it can be scary, can take me really close to territory I’ve already traveled … where the terrain and the view are familiar to me … where I can recognize the potholes in the road and avoid them this pass.

I’m strapping on my seatbelt, hunkering down behind the wheel and welcoming those hairpin turns as opportunities from now on.

Everybody gets high, everybody gets low,
these are the days when anything goes
Everyday is a winding road
I get a little bit closer
Everyday is a faded sign
I get a little bit closer
To feeling fine

<$1 to Sheryl Crow>

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Vegetables, schmegtables ... hand me the ice cream scoop!

In true Jojo style (no holds barred, throw all caution to the wind, throw all common sense out the window, commit 100% before you have the details, etc) I have embarked on a low-cal diet. It's been a week and a half and it's been pretty good so far and I've learned a lot including the fact that dieting is as full of paradoxes as the rest of life. A hard boiled egg, much ballyhooed to be the "perfect" food is far from "perfect" at 211 calores. Shoot, for 211 calories my "perfect" food is an entire cup of Blue Bunny Low Fat Vanilla ice cream at 160 calores. An oreo has half the calories of an apple (with this knowledge firmly implanted in my brain I resent eating fruit but do it anyway for the vitamins and the antioxidants ... sigh). Big Macs and Super Stars with cheese should just be outlawed and, in fact, all fast food should bear a skull and cross bones warning label and have the same sales restrictions as tobacco. NO ID? No french fries for you!

Mostly what I've learned is that eating low-cal is much easier than it was 15 years ago when I tried it last. Technology now provides so much variety it's crackers! Literally. You can now buy little 100 calorie sacks of crackers and cookies and snack cakes. It's a holiday everytime I go to the grocery store. There's been no food that I've had to give up. Notice I said food -- alcohol is yet to be researched. I wish I'd known about all this when I was marching cuz the combination of a low-cal diet and drum corps would have turned me into a sliver of my former self. Nonetheless, I'm giving it a shot now and I'm not finding it all that difficult to eat 1200 or fewer calories a day. Sure weight loss will be slow but the goal here is really a healthier heart and lower blood pressure and those are already peeking over my horizon. My resting heart rate dropped from 106 to 91 in the first week. I haven't graduated to the point of worrying about carbs, proteins, etc but I'll get there. In the meantime, while I may never be svelt, I now know I can eat healthy and feel good and for some inexplicable reason this makes me feel really, really, good.

I'm going at this with the same tenacity I go after everything else with -- so I I've got my teeth in it and I plan to shake it til it dies.

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It’s all good …

After having orthopedic surgery earlier this summer to repair a couple of broken bones in his hand, Kevin is finally getting his cast off.

Chris has returned to school at the San Francisco Academy of Art College .

Band camp starts next week and I’m full of anticipation and excitement over the creative process!! My only worry is that 9 minutes won’t be a long enough show for me to squeeze in everything I want..

Work has slowed down to a manageable pace, home is plugging right along, every one in my world is healthy and happy, so I guess you could say I’ve found my rut again for my glass is more than half full these days … and it’s about time!

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We are so great .......... ?

The 2007 Renegades are crumbling to the point where they are dangerously close to no longer being the Renegades I fell in love with (who still own a piece of my heart). This is because they’re not pulling together off the field. Instead, in a decidedly non-Renegade fashion, they’re sniping at each other in public forums. The negativity is palpable and obvious to everyone in the drum corps community … and damned embarrassing! Members and leaders have forgotten that they’re simply individuals that comprise a greater whole. They've forgotten that the Renegades won’t succeed or fail due to the actions of individuals … no matter who those individuals are are or what they’ve contributed … or, in some cases, think they contributed. To phrase it as a cheesy cliché there’s no “I” in “TEAM”. To paraphrase a well known saying “it takes a village to raise a drum corps”. “We are so great” means nothing if individuals delude themselves into believing they are the impetus for positive results or the catalyst for positive change. Hear me when I ssy. No one individual is that important. The Renegades are bigger than any one person. The Renegades will go on without you and if you don’t believe that, then it’s your time to move on.

In my experience, the Renegades have proved the marketing hype on the field 100% of the time. That, my friends, is why “we are so great”. A legacy has been established and traditions begun that the 2007 Renegades now have the responsibility of shouldering and carrying on. So here’s hoping that you get your collective head out of your ass and remember that one of the Renegade’s greatest traditions is class.

“7” belongs to us ALL ... so go represent!

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It's a bitter pill ...

... that I’m dreading swallowing but I know I have to and I know there’s a blessing to be found in it … I just have to look.

Looking backwards sometimes helps me with these things.

In the summer of 1963, right before my birthday, my Dad had a near- fatal accidentat work. He was guiding a truck as it backed up into a trailer hitch and in some bizarre turn of events, the details of which were never explained to me in a way I could fully comprehend them, his head got caught between the truck and I don’t know what and his skull was fractured. According to my Mom the doctor said his head was “squished like a cantaloupe in a vice” (great bedside manner huh?). Not realizing the extent of his injuries, my Dad walked away, got in his car and drove home so he could “lie down”. My Mom always relayed the next part of the story as “he walked in the front door with blood trickling out of his ears and pupils the size of pinpoints”. I don’t remember that event but I do remember wondering what a pinpoint was. It’s comical what a kid’s mind will stick on. I remember writing my Dad a plethora of get well letters over the course of his long hospital stay and ruthlessly devouring my Grandmother’s entire box of pretty pink stationary in the process. I remember trying to sit still and be good for seemingly endless hours in the hospital lobby while my Mom visited my Dad and I remember silently and vehemently hating all the nurses because THEY wouldn’t allow anyone under 14 into ICU … even ME ... how could they not see I was special? I vividly recall the day my Dad was finally discharged. I was wearing a navy blue sleeveless dress with a big, stiff sailor’s collar and I proudly rode on my Dad’s lap in his wheelchair all the way to the car. I know I was mentally wagging my tongue at all those mean old nurses. Some things never change … although the wagging tongue has been forever replaced with my middle digit.

As a result of that injury my Dad was put into a rehabilitation program that gave him an opportunity to go to college. He did four years in two and his graduation put our little family on a new and better road and changed the outcome of all our lives.

Blessing disguised as a bitter pill.

Once in a while there’s gonna’ be a bitter pill you've gotta' step up to and just swallow … and not to let it choke you to death!

Finding out I can't march DCA will not choke me to death ...

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Walking FAILS as a sport ...

and it's NOT fun, it's just a mode of tranportation ... man's orginal transportation at that.

Stu asked me if I wanted to go walking with him last night.

My reply = Hell no, I’d rather chew tinfoil.

I hate walking. It's not fun, it's work. Like walking 1.5 miles each way to a bus stop for 4 months and dreaming of driving every second of it. Walking is a big negative experience to me. You walk when you miss the school bus, you walk when your car breaks down, you walk when your friend decides to stay at the party later than your curfew, etc. I've always hated walking. Walking is too much like a punishment. My hatred of walking is why I spend so much time driving in circles in retail parking lots.

Yet I’m willing to spend my summer weekends running around aimlessly on a football field and getting nowhere.

Walking is a by product of golf just like it is in drum corps. I like to golf almost as much as I like to march. Golf = Hit the ball as far away from you as you can then walk up to it and hit it again as far away from you as you can. Lather, rinse, repeat for about 350 yards where the whole endeavor finally disintegrates into a 20 minute game of marbles using a really big marble and dropping it into a hole.

There are times I can’t explain myself. This is just one more of those.

Last night the California Cool Kids got together to "Chop" ... to review and solidify what we think we know in preparation for the next DVD's imminent arrival from the "Wonderful World". I remembered far more than I thought I did and am now not nearly as worried about having a great outcome at DCA as I once was. Now I'm looking forward to the cheering crowd and I'm finding that all my concerns evolve around whether or not we make finals. Then again, that happens around this time every year so no worries!

Highlights …

I’ve signed on to teach at Elk Grove High School this year. Band camp starts the week of August 13 and I’m excited because I haven’t worked on a field show in about 30 years!!! This should be fun!

I’ve been tapped by a friend to write the parade routine for Ygnacio Valley High. This is a band I’ve always liked on the street so I feel a real responsibility to get it right for them and I’m looking forward to meeting them.

I’ll be working a couple of rehearsals with Del Oro High School on their weapons basics. I guess they got tired of hearing me whine into my tape recorder about their technique and are giving me the opportunity to fix it. Hooray!

So I have a couple of remaining weeks of relative couch potatodom and then I’ll start really burning my candle at both ends again and I’m looking forward to the challenge.

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Peace Descends ...

I’ve just finished paying my bills online and still have a little smidge of money in my pocket. I’m elated and as I sit at my desk sipping a latte, munching a muffin and taking stock of my life, I find that my glass is half full. There’s something positively rejuvenating in knowing that I have two complete days stretching out before me in which I can do anything at all or nothing at all … and it’s Friday the 13th so I shouldn’t be at all surprised that today is a very good day.

Tomorrow is Bastille Day and my Dad’s birthday. Growing up we always celebrated those two events in tandem and I’m thinking that I might journey to Napa tomorrow to the Domain Chandon where I’ll spread a blanket on the lawn, nibble on some bread and cheese, and do a bit of celebrating and reflecting with a bottle of Brut.

Happy Bastille Day!!

Blue Funk Emergence ...

Sounds like a rock band doesn't it?

I’m bored today but happily emerging from my blue funk that I’ve been in for the past few weeks. Ya’ gotta’ love those hormonal swings don’t ya’? At least I hope that’s what it is because I don’t think I’m capable of handling any real mental illness … but then isn’t that the whole point of a breakdown is not handling a mental illness? Anyway, it seems like menopause is lurking on my horizon and I don’t know whether to ward it off or welcome it with open arms. I miss my mom. She’d know what to do.

In the midst of my funk I’ve been training a new field office manager to start in August at my company’s St. Helena site. It’s been a very long month. Let me just sum it up by saying that training her is equivalent to having a vicious, salivating, Chihuahua chewing on the cuff of my pants everyday … except this Chihuahua has a voice less appealing than a dentist’s drill running at high speed. The upside is that I’ve earned quite a few accolades here at work and now enjoy a reputation as a saint with the patience of Job … the total antithesis of my usual reputation … and it’s because I’m the only one here not yet totally climbing the walls as a result of her presence but that’s only because I pray everyday that God won’t let me kill her. So far he’s interceded quite nicely but I hope August gets here soon.

Speaking of dogs … I think my dog Teddy may be going senile. Seriously. He’s about 10 and that translates to 70 in dog years. Prime time for Alzheimer’s in humans, right? I don’t know if it exists in the canine world, and maybe Teddy will be the first dog ever to get it, but he keeps straining at the leash and barking at strangers and he has NEVER barked at ANYONE, EVER. It started about a week ago and it’s the weirdest thing he’s ever done … well, outside of eating out of the cat’s litter box (mmm mmm good, Almond Roca for dogs, crunchy on the outside and chewy on the inside!). If he keeps this up I don’t know what I’ll do. It would be awful to put Grandpa down just because he has Alzheimer’s but it might be exactly what happens to Teddy in my wacky and wonderful world.

No big weekend plans. No big plans in general. Just a lot of puttering and fumbling around. I’m having a hard time finding my groove in this empty nest stage of my life and don’t feel like doing anything about it right now … or doing anything at all right now … and so, for right now, the plan is to have no plan and so I’ve given myself permission to do absolutely nothing at all guilt free. I think my groove will best be found by just hanging around the house ... for now.

Last night on TV there was yet another male comic making jokes about women and yeast infections. I’m tired to death of this as fodder for jokes. Women! Every chance you get, remind your men that those “yeast infections” that they bemoan and make so much fun of are identical to what they so happily carry around on their feet like a badge of courage and call “athlete’s foot”. Get over it already! Hmmm, maybe we should start calling it “athlete’s hoohoo”. Quick, who do we know at Webster’s?

The “kids” and their “girls” are coming over for dinner on Friday and I’m looking forward to them and all their fuss. I have the whole weekend to recover, right?

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What a Wonderful World - Part II

Wednesday we touched down in Minneapolis about 6 a.m. and headed to Matt and Jen’s house where Stu and I crashed like zombies until 2:00 pm! Later that evening the four of us went to fellow-Chopper Jess’ house where we ate spaghetti and pretended to work on parade hats for awhile before coming home to crash once again. Wednesday was really all about sleep and getting on the Minnesota clock.

Thursday was about rehearsal. Stubert and I did a bit of rehearsing on our own with brooms and dust mops before the real thing that night with the full corps. By the end of Thursday night I was thinking I’d bitten off far more than I could chew.

Friday was a free day and Matt (best host in the wonderful world) took us to the Mall of America where we met up with some fellow choppers and did the roller coasters and the log ride. Jen caught up with us later in the day, we did the roller coaster three more times (and I lost my voice from screaming … what a break for everyone else right!) did a bit of necessary shopping for costume bits and then had dinner at “Bubba Gump’s”. It was a very good day.

Saturday = SHOW DAY! It began with a 5-hour rehearsal block. Funny thing about those rehearsals, they’re a LOT like Renegade rehearsals. It’s hot, you sweat, you run, you cry about water breaks, you learn yo’ shyte … and then you go put your costume on and do it for the crowd. The crowd was enormous! And so appreciative of the folks on the field. I will say unabashedly I’ve NEVER received a reception like that from a California crowd.

After our performance we went back and cruised the souvie booths, said HI to a few Cali friends and then watched Madison and Santa Clara’s performances. Ok … it’s not a popular opinion but it’s mine. I like Madison’s show. Sure, it’s competitively vulnerable in spots but I like the way the show starts the moment you see them, their guard is a lot of fun to watch and there’s some drill moments near the end that will be really exciting once they’re clean. I loved, loved, loved Santa Clara’s show and, if I’d had my voice I’d have sure let it be known. When the hornline went down on both knees my heart started to pound and then there it was! Four counts of the bottle dance! Woot! And it was thrilling to see them outside of California and in the competitive thick of drum corps. It brought back some good memories. 1st or 7th or whatever at DCI, this is a stellar year for SCV and I’m happy to see it happen.

Saturday night we went to the legendary “Patrick’s” – the self-proclaimed only drum corps bar in the world. The walls at “Patrick’s” are lined with pictures of VFW-era Midwest corps and the menu boasts pizzas named after “The Cavaliers”, “Chops” and the “Governaires” … and the margaritas are positively slamming. Ok, so I got a little snockered. It was a good time and a great chance to get to know some of the Choppers a little better. They are some very cool people and I really appreciate how they’ve welcomed us so completely into their family.

Sunday = SHOW DAY! It was a repeat of Saturday except that as soon as we got off the field we had to head for the airport. So the corps circled up and sang the corps song and bid us farewell and safe journey. I’ll admit, they got to me and I’m looking forward to our next trip in SIX WEEKS. That seems such a long way away.

Highlights …

The Mall of America (aka MOA) is a really neat place. There’s one of everything and two of some things. It’s 4-stories tall and is equivalent to about three good-sized California malls and has what equates to a small Six Flags amusement park inside of it. It’s definitely an all day event.

We performed in front of the biggest crowds I’ve ever seen at a drum corps show outside of prelims and finals. The size of the audience at both shows was overwhelming but was still nothing compared to their unbridled enthusiasm. A totally different vibe than what I’ve ever felt in an early season California show. What a great reception they gave us.

While we were hanging out in the parking lot after rehearsal on Thursday night, I realized that my Vanguard star had fallen off my jacket somewhere out on the field. It was nearly 10:00 at night and the field was now black. Despite the odds, Stu and a couple of Choppers walked the field with me to look for it but it was just too dark to find it. A quiet, yet ultimately effective, APB was put out on the star and on Saturday morning it was handed back to me. Some of the members had gone back to the field on Friday morning to find it. Eureka! And I still find it hard to believe that they went to so much trouble to make sure I got it back. It’s just another example of how generous and welcoming these folks are to the cool California kids.

Minnesota’s harsh winters make for an interesting water slide ride somewhere near the airport. The entirely enclosed waterway tubes travel outside a hotel but the entrances and exits are safely tucked indoors. It’s a constant source of interest for Stu and I and we stare entranced everytime we drive by it. I’m thinking we’ll have to break down and ride it one day.

I now believe that being in a senior corps in California is like existing in a plastic bubble. Sadly when you’re in that bubble all you really have to keep you going is what you read on DCP and your own hype. The trouble with DCP is that it’s nothing but conjecture because until everyone hits the same field on the same day with the same judges it all means nothing … and it’s never been much of an indicator of the true outcome of events (or I would have a DCA medal around my neck by now). The trouble with hype … well its hype. I’m excited to be outside the bubble for now and I can’t help but feel lucky to have this unique opportunity to see things from the outside looking in.

I’ve now been to the Valley of the Jolly Green Giant! I didn’t know it was real but it is. It’s located in the town of Blue Earth near Le Seuer (and I think he has some peas named after that town). It was little kid thrilling to see the big Jolly Green Giant sign.

I’ve discovered why so many people from other corps are quick to make cutting comments about Minnesota Brass members … point blank, they are an arrogant bunch. I’ve been arrogant in the past, as has my bunch, but I was an ignorant teenager at the time and at least had something to be arrogant about. These guys … mmmm, not so much. Yeah, I said it … you know what they say about opinions … this one is mine.

I vandalized something for the first time ever … No worries, it’ll wipe right off. Related to the paragraph above? Positively! Regretful? Absolutely! I regret that I had to leave for the airport and didn’t get to see him find it.

All in all it was a good trip. And while I find myself all the time saying “I can’t believe I’m doing this”, I’m truly glad that I am. Thanks Stubert!

Thought for the day ...

Evidence that God really does have a warped sense of humor ... the platypus

Oh, I'm leaving on a jet plane ...

... <$1 to composer John Denver>

If you’re in the Midwest in the wee hours of Wednesday and you feel a disturbance in the force, don’t worry … it’s just Stu and I flying overhead about to drop into Minnesota for another weekend of drum corps insanity. We’re leaving on the red eye Wednesday morning and will arrive in the land of 10,000 lakes around 6:00 am or so. We have all of Wednesday and Thursday to do whatever we want so who knows what random chaos will ensue. Wednesday’s tentative, yet wacky, plan is to find and conquer the Mall of America … and yeah, that excites the 15 year old slice of me … I’m jazzed. We have rehearsal on Thursday night where I expect we’ll learn new work and/or drill and there may be a guard rehearsal on Friday especially for Stu and me to get caught up a bit ... maybe caught up enough to actually perform in a show this weekend. Stu and I worked together last Friday night and, thanks to the DVD Matt Kilinowski (superb host and videographer extraordinaire) sent us, I’ve been making gouges in my living room ceiling ever since (guard geeks you know what I mean). A big shout out and a hug to Matt and to David (Tiger Beat cover boy who performed the work on the CD for us). Thanks guys. You totally rock! So now I’m feeling ready to absorb some new stuff and will be packing a lot of Advil so I can make it happen.

Speaking of packing, I’m NOT listening to anyone who has lived in MN, driven through MN or had a third cousin twice removed who says the weather is “whatever” in MN at this time of year … I’m packing for HOT rehearsals and cold nights. Date u beddy much!

Highlights …
I still need shoes
I still need gloves
I came up with a costume that I didn’t have to sew it … whee!
I’ll be leaving on this little “tour” with about $20 in my pocket (and I have to laugh about how some things about me will just never change) … eh, maybe that’s a good thing … and hey, at least I’m consistent!!!

In the meantime, nothing flies without fuel … so see you drinking beer at the airport!


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The ReneReview ...

As submitted to DCW ...


San Francisco Renegades Drum and Bugle Corps -- “Dusk to Dawn”
There was a palpable energy surge in the stands as the San Francisco Renegades took the field. The crowd was clearly anxious to see what the Renegades would do this year to push the envelope once more and entertain the audience. The Renegades didn’t disappoint. The show opened with a central levitating coffin from which their vampire drum major, Mistress Kelli, emerged setting the tone for the show. Using a mix of some now familiar Renegade tunes smartly blended with a taste of something new, the Renegades gave their interpretation of what evil lurks between dusk and dawn. The choice of “My Immortal” as their ballad proved a stroke of genius. Its closing solo, played to the backfield by Rich Duarte, was the most touching and poignant moment of their show. Moments of brilliance were evident in the colorguard and it looks to be the most talented colorguard the Renegades have fielded in their existence. Bravo! The San Francisco Renegades seemed to have had their strongest early-season performance in their history and this can only bode well for them as they head into DCA. The marketing juggernaut known as the San Francisco Renegades is clearly poised to once again show us all that “Loud is Good” and “Drum Corps is Evil”.


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Closure ... It's a Good Thing ...

So my senior corps life (aka my second childhood) came full circle on Sunday night ....

I was at work one day in June of 2001 just minding my own business when the company president walked into my office and handed me an envelope containing 6 VIP passes he had to the “Moonlight Classic” that night. He knew a little bit about my drum corps geekiness because he was my boss in 1997 when I marched in the SCV alumni corps. As a Stockton business leader, he’d gotten roped into buying a spot in the Moonlight Classic program and, as a result, had these tickets he didn’t know what to do with and thought of me (and I’ve been to a lot of Raiders football games on that same dime by the way so I’m not complaining). Anyway, I took the tickets and we went and that’s where I discovered the existence of the San Francisco Renegades. I clearly remember standing up in my bleacher seat and screaming down at my husband Fred, over the really LOUD Renegades, that I didn’t care how far I had to drive, I was gonna’ do THIS. For the record, I was hooked by Mambo. Anaheim played it in the 70’s and I’m a HUGE Anaheim fan. So, there I was at my first Moonlight Classic since 1976 and I’ve been there every year since making this past Sunday my 7th Moonlight Classic in a row.

This year I went so I could write a contest review for Drum Corps World. Imagine that. I’m writing a contest review for Drum Corps World … well and who knows … it may end up in the editor’s trash can … but I wrote it and it was a lot harder to do than I’d thought it would be.

While I was at the show I saw friends made when I marched SCV in the 70s, friends made when I marched the SCV alumni corps in the 90s, kids I taught in high school band now taking their own shot at drum corps and a gang of Renegades that I know well and like … well, and some that I tolerate ... and I couldn’t help but notice how being a Renegade has permanently expanded my drum corps experience … from performing, to teaching, to judging to now taking a stab at writing a contest review. These are all things that wouldn’t have happened had I never been a Renegade.

Highlights …
I was surprised by the number of Renegades I’d marched with and considered good friends who walked by me and pretended they didn’t know me when they saw me … hmmm … I guess we weren’t really friends after all.

I was surprised by the number of Renegades I’d marched with and barely knew who went out of their way to say “hi” or give me a hug … hmmm … funny how situations like this tell you who your friends really are.

I was surprised that the Renegades did not tug at my heartstrings when they performed and surprised that I didn’t go all wet and nostalgic and miss being on the field with them … hmmm … surprise, surprise … I thought this would be really hard. I guess it means I left when I was ready to.

I was surprised that the Vanguard did tug on my heartstrings and that I got a little verklempt when the announcer said “from Santa Clara California, the Santa Clara Vanguard”. I guess it means I left before I was ready to (but I apparently learned my lesson and made sure the next time).

Santa Clara beat Blue Devils!!!!

I’m glad I was there on the SCV/BD Alumni Corps “SCV” night. It’s funny how marching in the alumni corps in 1997 and 2002 has made all of those tunes so meaningful for me … and no big surprise … “Send in the Clowns” made me go all wet and nostalgic … good grief!

So my senior corps experience … well, at least in California … has come to and end with some really decent closure. I feel done. I feel good …… na na na na na na na <$1 to Joe>

Now it’s onto Minnesota and another drum corps chapter that is sure to stretch my drum corps horizons even further.

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Rock Star Moment ...

Look who made the cover of "Drum Corps World"

;)

lots of emails later ... here's a clearer picture

'Arr Matey ... a new pirate

About two weeks ago I got a new kitten. He’s a boy and is about 11 weeks old now. He’s sinewy, scraggly, orange …. and extraordinarily fast. I got him from Sara (Christo’s girlfriend) and I think he’ll be a good addition to our family o’ pirates.

Chris had been calling the kitten “Smalls” (as in “you’re killin’ me Smalls” from the movies) for several days before he finally brought him home. I had wanted to name him “Hollywood”, a name I thought would go with “Motown” (my other kitty’s name) but Chris had his heart set on “Smalls” so we compromised and decided to call him “Hollywood Smalls”. Sounds like a mobster or a porn star huh? Somewhere in the second week I developed a tendency to call him “Mort” and I have absolutely no clue why. Maybe Mort is his real name and his nickname is Hollywood Smalls. I dunno’.

For the first week Motown ignored Smalls completely. Now, two weeks later, Mo and Smalls have an agreed upon indoor race track on which they chase each other between the hours of 3am and 4am daily (to my great dismay and often peril). I’ve had to start closing my bedroom door at night to avoid becoming road kill. It’s simply defies science that a grand total of 3 pounds of cat can make so much noise.

Teddy the dog is adjusting but he still does his best to simply blend into the carpeting when either cat enters the room. The collage of puncture wounds and scratches on my legs make me wish I was beige too and could just blend into the carpet with him.

Oh … and we’ve recently started calling the kitties Motown and Smalltown …

Yo ho ho and a bottle o’ rum

L'adieu à la Grenouille

Soupir.

La grenouille a été vendue à un homme nommé Franc. Il a promis de prendre le bon soin de lui.

J'ai perdu un bon ami.

Adieu mon ami.


:(

What a Wonderful World - Part I

I've always wanted to be an import ... and now I've actually done it. Another drum corps dream realized.

I needed Monday to sleep walk and recover from the weekend … and now I’m ready for a brief synopsis.

We boarded the plane just before midnight and I was excited to see the flight was only about 30% full with tons of open seats. As soon as the seat belt sign went off, I jumped up and claimed an entire row of 3 all for myself. Knowing Saturday would be a jam-packed physical and emotional day, I made a point of going right to sleep …….. for all of 25 minutes ……. at which point I woke up with the internal temperature of an iceberg. In fact, I think I woke up just in the nick of time to save my nose from breaking off completely like an icicle off a barn roof. After that I really couldn’t sleep at all and my main pastime became avoiding hypothermia and cursing myself for checking the bag that contained my jacket. We arrived in Minnesota about 6:00 am (thank God for warm airports) where we were greeted by Matt Kilinowski. We made a quick stop at his place to change into rehearsal clothes and pick up his darling wife Jen (who reminds me a lot of my son Kevin’s girlfriend btw), and then, fueled by Mickey D’s and a cat-nap in the car we hit the field. For any ‘gades who read this … if you think you feel like a rock star going to DCA, try showing up at someone else’s rehearsal for maximum rock star hype. Wow!

The first day was a 10-10 and it was hot. (I hate all of you people who told me Minnesota would still be cold at this time of year.) There was a lot to cover and it was really tough with no sleep so I just kept my eye on Stu and just tried to keep up with him. I had one near melt down when I found out that I’d spent two hours learning the wrong drill because I’d been given the wrong drill spot. That was more than compensated for by the surprising knowledge that I can throw a pretty effortless and decent four on saber … and yes, catch it and go on. Overall the day went well. Chops Inc. is a great group of people. They work hard but they know how to have a good time and, best of all, they don’t take themselves too seriously. They still recognize that this is supposed to be fun. For the most part, the guard is really young and, like any guard, there are varying degrees of ability. They’re a close group and remind me a lot of the Reneguard in ’02 in terms of how they work together and with the corps as a whole. The entire corps was universally warm and welcoming and I was continually impressed with how they went way out of their way to make us feel welcome and taken care of ... midwest hospitality?? I say this only because it surprised me … I don’t know that I’d expect as warm a reception from everyone if I were, oh say an Empire Statesmen, walking into a Renegade rehearsal. I think us California kids kind of hang back and wait to see what the new kid's got. It's the kids from God's country versus the Gods from kid's country if ya' know what I mean.

After rehearsal we were told we’d be staying at John Meyer’s (the corps founder) house near the rehearsal site. Turns out that practically the entire corps stayed there as well … and that’s the norm. Probably because, much like Renegades, most of them don’t live close to where they rehearse. That night was a great opportunity to make a few friends, watch some Chops DVDs and began to get some sense of Chops history through conversations with some of the members. I learned a little bit about “the circle” – to protect the minors certain activities are forbidden within “the circle” of the corps and it’s a rule that makes absolute sense IMO – and what’s expected of me as a Chopper. So … I hid my beer in a plastic coffee mug, took a dangerously hot shower, and someone made some fabulous Italian food that really hit the spot. Beer, a shower and good food was a guarantee that I was going to pass out from exhaustion standing up if I didn’t go to bed … so I did … and I don’t remember anything else until someone knocked on the door Sunday morning.

In true Renegade style, Stu and I were late to rehearsal. The only ones late to rehearsal. We represented well.

Sunday was a much easier rehearsal day. That’s 100% due to a decent amount of sleep and the fact that the weather was identical to Treasure Island the entire first half of the day. We put equipment work on drill and did many, many, many run throughs. By the end of Sunday we had drill for the opener, the production and the ballad with equipment work in spots. I was comfortable enough at that point that I would have been happy to do a show. At the end of the day, I still had the energy and enthusiasm for a few more run throughs and THAT has NEVER happened before.

Afterwards about a dozen or so of us gathered at Chipotle and I learned a bit more about some of the Choppers. Too soon it was time for Matt to take us to the airport and home. The flight was a lot more crowded but I slept regardless. I got home about 2:30 and hit the sack deciding not to think too far ahead to Monday and the real world until the alarm went off. I put myself to sleep doing run throughs in my head. I didn’t even make it through one.

So I’m off to a good start (and Stu was his typical Diva self … he’s such a sponge). I will confess that my anxiety level is a little high knowing that I won’t be going back for SIX weeks and knowing that I will always be in catch-up mode, but the trade off is worth it. It’s only a three weekend rehearsal commitment plus DCA and I still get to be on the 50 yard line in front of a couple thousand people doing my thing on Labor Day weekend. That leaves a lot of lifetime in between rehearsals to just enjoy the summer at home and if it means I have to duck in and out and do just parts of the show I’m so okay with that. I think this is going to be a really good adventure. I’m looking forward to making some terrific new friends and becoming a full-fledged Chopper when we return at the end of June … when Stubert and I will march our first show of the season !!

o o
O


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Minnesota Bound ...

I cannot believe I’m really doing this but here I go.

In approximately 24 hours, 36 pages of drill charts in hand (if not in my memory) and accompanying my good buddy Stu, I will board a plane bound for Minnesota to join Chops Inc. at their May camp. Up to this point the idea of marching Chops has been a bit surreal. Sort of wishful thinking. Now it’s suddenly staring me right between the eyes and is very real and just now … yeah, it figures … I’m realizing how truly unprepared I really am for this grand adventure.

Here’s hoping I don’t make a total ass of myself in the skills department.

Wish me luck … Stu doesn’t need any, he’s every Diva’s Diva.

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Sidebars galore ...

My Grandma used to say “I’m so T-U-R-D tired, that I could F-A-R-T faint”.

I’m so continually tired this last two weeks that I’m entertaining the notion that something may actually be wrong with me. I think my grandma’s little saying that’s been ping-ponging around in my brain for weeks has finally hit the “hey dummy, make a doctor’s appointment” button in my brain and is making it flash neon. I’m sure it’s probably just stress that’s worn me out but it’s time for a professional opinion. It’s the norm for me to deal with the current crisis and break down after the fact (almost like a reward - and truthfully I actually consider that a strength of sorts). So maybe it’s just that -- my body knows the current crisis is over and its break downing … damn it.

Sidebar: I've always been resentful of those people in my life who break down exactly when times get hard -- all I wanna' know is when do I get the luxury of a breakdown?

I feel like a little tin can that got dragged behind the “just married” sign for a couple of miles. Maybe I’m just getting old. Well, then again, I’ve always been “getting” old so maybe I’m just finally leaving the denial phase of getting old behind me and moving right on to the anger phase. Full alert! Anyway, I’m dragging so hard my butt’s leaving a trail everywhere I walk.

So I’m moved. I have my shiny little penny of an apartment (see model photo). Right now it looks nothing like the model because it’s filled with a ginormous couch and a series of brown cardboard boxes but sometime this weekend it will morph into a modelesque nest … and maybe then the cat will stop hiding under the bed. As I unpack boxes I’m finding surprisingly little in the way of necessary supplies. I didn’t realize that I’d left so much behind. For example, I had no towels. Not a one. No dishes, no glasses, no knives, no cookware and really no kitchen gadgets of any description. I ventured into Walmart for the most basic of supplies, but even after that little shopping adventure, my wish list remains longer than the line for the ladies room at the Super Bowl. The shopping is fun … the waiting to have the money to shop, eh, not so fun. I take comfort in the knowledge that building my nest over time will make it that much more special to me. Wow, there’s a new Hallmark card in that thought somewhere.

One of the bestest ever things about moving is that I have HBO and On-Demand back (and that makes me wanna’ do a happy dance), so I have tons of movies to catch up on up and plenty of time to do it in (and that makes me wanna’ do a happy dance too). I finally saw “The Devil Wears Prada” (which was eh, ok) and “The Lakehouse” (which I loved probably because I’m fascinated by the space/time continuum … well and Keanu Reeves is a little-bitta’-ok too).

Sidebar: I wonder if men like that really exist or if they’re just urban legends? I suppose if they did exist then songs like “Where Have All the Cowboys Gone” and “I Need a Hero” probably wouldn’t exist … it's not scientific but it's good enough for me and a thought-provoking topic for another day.

So I made a movie date with good buddy Stubert to watch “Running with Scissors” On-Demand and I’m really looking forward to that. I’ve already got popcorn and everything!

Sidebar: I adore having things to look forward to

Maybe I can get my obstacle course of brown cardboard boxes dealt with by then.


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On top o' the world ... or at least close

Today I have keys to a teeny tiny (postage stamp tiny) apartment. Getting here has been all consuming for the last 30 days but I’m here damn it and, as a consequence, today is a very good day and it’s the first day in a long series of days that I haven’t felt like it’s a dog-eat-dog world and I’m wearing Milk Bone underwear.

I nearly didn’t move into the new little apartment at all as three days ago my boss informed me that the company would like me to move down to a med center project in Santa Maria. It figures!!! I sit around for months and months with no place to be waiting for some life changing event to happen to me and it finally comes two weeks AFTER I’ve just signed away the next twelve months of my life. Oy Vey! I will miss the beach that I very nearly lived by but things happen for a reason and I trust that my guardian angels are doing their job with due diligence. So I will see you at Home Depot buying goodies to personalize my new postage stamp sized space (say that 10 times quickly) and wondering if lavender is a good color for a kitchen. Yes, that’s right, lavender.

Anyhoo ….

On the judging front I got some good news in the form of my first ever assignments for WBA. I’m excited! It’s a great opportunity for me to stretch my little judging wings in yet another circuit. Last weekend I judged a parade in San Jose for NCBA. Ewwwwww is my first impression of spring band season. Yuck is my second. Next Saturday I’ll be judging a parade in Stockton … and then moving my entire household. Thank goodness for good friends! The only true consolation for pulling double duty that day are the many margaritas we’re all sure to consume afterwards in celebration of Cinco de Mayo … or finishing the move, take your pick.

So once again I have a home base … a foundation … a fortress … a sanctuary … a place of respite from everything that has come before … a place to begin again … and I gotta’ say I’m feeling more than a little triumphant right now.

It's a good thing I have a sense of humor ...

I had the wildest dreams last night. At one point I was in a hay wagon with Fred and Alton and I was wearing a 1975 27th Lancers rifle uniform. Next I was taking the field as a 27 rifle with a big furry hat that didn’t fit right and I was screaming at everyone that they forgot to teach me the show! Suddenly I was transported to owning a toy store where my sales clerks had accidentally tagged everything at 69 cents and merchandise was flying out the door and I was losing money hand over fist, so I’m screaming at everyone not to sell ANOTHER SINGLE THING and simultaneously warding off a savagely angry, incredibly ugly, sore-encrusted, toothless, Asian woman accusing me of doing the D&D with her husband?!?!?!?!?!?!? What? Needless to say I woke up more tired than I was when I went to bed the night before. When I first woke up I just sat comatose on the edge of the bed for about 10 minutes. I think I might have actually been asleep with my eyes open. Yikes. Stress does really scary, scary things to the brain.

My outlook today is not at all helped by the fact that my feet are positively killing me. It’s so bad that I don’t even want to walk to the copier a mere 15 steps from my desk. It’s because yesterday I was in a particularly stylish mood and decided to sport 3” heels at work. Truly, I don’t know what possessed me. I might as well have stuffed my feet into the paper shredder beneath my desk. Today I’m wearing my favorite clogs and recovery is slow but imminent. As soon as I get home I’m shoving the 3” heels waaaaayyyy under the bed.

I went to lunch today on a quest for three things: gas (for the car, not me), a car wash (because it’s as close to a relaxing bubble bath as you can get in a lunch hour) and a Rodeo Burger (because they’re .99). I handily accomplished all three. Funny thing about the car wash ... there was no dryer ... so my car was still wet when I went through the BK drive through and the BK manager who handed me my Rodeo Burger asked me if it was raining ... despite the sunny, dry day we could both clearly see. I gaped at him for a solid 10 seconds without saying anything before taking the bag out of his hand and driving away thinking “Good grief! Now I know why you work at Burger King”. I then made like Greta Garbo and ate my lunch “alone” in my car. I needed the quiet time after the insane morning zoo that is my job. I was at a point where if one more person spoke to me I was going to tear off their arms and use them to beat them about the head and shoulders. Seriously, I sometimes feel that I’d accomplish just as much with a greater degree of success if I worked with toddlers or trained monkeys instead of this group of “professionals” I work with. I think I may have an inkling of understanding as to what causes people to “go postal” and I’m beginning to think that working here is smothering my spirit … if not killing it outright. The bottom of the totem pole is no place to be. Vent, vent, vent and exhale … that’s what the blog is for.
On my way back from lunch I noticed an oversized delivery van parked in the front of the building. It had the words “EMAIL”,
“PRINTING”, “FAXING” and … “FULFILLMENT” boldly emblazoned on its’ side. Hmmmm … what if “fulfillment” really was something you could get delivered to you out of an oversized delivery van? I know I’d place a big order … how about you?

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I knew it all along ...

You Communicate Like a Man

When you communicate, you like to get to the point. You're not afraid to say what's on your mind - and leave it at that. Talking about your emotions drains you. You rather keep them to yourself. You prefer solving problems to wallowing in your sorrows.

Do You Communicate Like a Man or a Woman?