The Stupidity of Human Beings

Sometimes, humans can be complete failures. I know y'all know what I'm talking about. We've all been there. Most of the time, the failure is completely inconvenient. Maybe you've rushed to a meeting or an occasion with a loved one. Maybe your car broke down, or you tripped down a flight of stairs. Either way, that stupid failure has prevented you from doing what you wanted, like getting to an important interview for your dream job or getting to see someone you love preform something.

You're probably wondering where I'm headed with this. Yes, I've had quite the inconvenient and ironic failure, probably the worst in my life. I'm attempting to make myself feel better by saying that we've all screwed up major-league style at some point in our lives, but soon I'm destined to find out that it's just me, and all of you will be laughing your head off at my mistake. But hey, because of who we are, it's only human nature to screw up with all of our everyday-life opportunities, right? Or is it just me?

List of stupid things I've done in my life chronologically (excluding about 14,864,838,679,393 things):

Fallen off a bookshelf
Fallen off a horse
Fallen off a chairlift
Fallen on a volleyball court
Fallen off my skis
Fallen out of a car

Yeah, I've fallen a lot. But what about you? Hasn't someone else fallen off a horse? Slipped on a banana? Most people I know have broken their leg skiing, so it's normal for most of my friends to spend their winters on crutches. Hey, accidents happen. Unless, a sibling or someone made you do it. Then you might want to punch them in the armpit and knock them back into last Tuesday.

Me? Oh, yeah, nothing too bad. I just broke my finger. By slamming it in a door. You might ask, Why is that so bad? Pfft, I only broke one of the two fingers I actually need to play trombone. It was quite ironic, though. On a typical Friday, I was walking all humpty-dumpty into the band room. Until I met the door of torture. Conveniently, it's painted red like the color of pain. Me with my instrument and all my pointless school crud was trying to get in without setting anything down, so I ran and shoved my hand through the door frame as it was closing. As soon as it hit, I knew it did something, so I pulled my hand out and went to the emergency room.

The current state of my mangled hand

Yeah, so now I can''t practice for two days while the swelling goes down. Why is that so bad? Cause practice is good for you, kids. Plus I just got my music for an awesome trombone 5tet thanks to another trombonist, and I can't even play it! Talk about inconvenient. Not only this, but my band also has two rehearsals until a concert. Gahhh, the pain! Physical and emotional.

By the way, I bet you're wondering how I managed to type this post with my fingers in a bind...

Two Band Concerts and a Solo in a Jazz Band

You'll never guess what happened a few weeks ago. An exciting, amazing, nerve-wracking experience that happens about five times a year.

IT WAS CONCERT WEEK.

Now, let me explain to you what that means. Since I am in two school-related bands, it means two concerts. Not the typical one-performance-and-then-we're-done concert, but two concerts with multiple compositions per band. There was three bands performing at each concert, and I had to sit through two performances both nights. One concert was for classical music, and the other was for jazz.

First up, classical. We worked really hard to pull this concert off. Or at least I did. The Symphonic Band would be second on stage, after the junior high band. We played pieces called  Abracadabra,  Dance of the Trolls, and Earthdance. We did not play as well as the rehearsals went, which is typical because of nerves and people and things. The band really only played Earthdance four or five times in rehearsal which was weird because after the piece was played, the director mouthed the word "awesome" which means we apparently, to his point of view, played it sort of well.

A few nights after the concert, there was Pep Band. The Pep Band was the last of the season, but it was still a good one. We played along with the director's hand signals and had a great time. Our school played against another football team we hadn't beaten for a while. Of course, we still lost to them, horribly, but it was fun to be up in the stands with my friends again. We pretty much stuffed Swedish Fish in our mouths and played our horns at the same time for majority of the game, which was an absolute blast.

A small cluster of the best pep band in all of the land

The second concert was the jazz concert. It was on Wednesday, October 29th, and I'll probably never forget it. It wasn't because my band played a good song, nor was it my first concert with them, but half of it was because of something I didn't even have a choice in. Concerts are usually what I look forward to, as everyone else does because that means our hard work and swollen embouchures are finally going to pay off. However, I was absolutely dreading this concert about two weeks before I would be on the stage.

My last class is my jazz ensemble class. Since my bus doesn't leave for ten minutes after the bell, I usually lag behind after everyone a little everyday. I would put away the chairs and the music stands, and compliment people on their playing. After, I would take apart my trombone, thank the director, and attempt to squeeze my ginormous instrument out the door an onto the bus. Out of the blue, on one spiffy day, the instructor decided to approach me. 

"Hey, you're planning on soloing in the concert right?"
"I don't know, I haven't really thought about it."

"Do you want a solo?"

"Uhhh... well, I don't know if I would be a good play--"

"It doesn't matter anyways, you're gonna solo. I wasn't gonna give you a choice."*
*I do not remember exactly what he said, I just remember the part about not having a choice in the soloing

My face:

To a person like you, you may think that being forced to do a solo is a great thing. By being forced, it might mean I'm good at playing trombone in a sort-of-maybe-sounding-good way. Playing an improv solo is definitely not anywhere close to sort-of-maybe-sounding-good. During the solo, I will have to drag my butt out of my chair, drag it to the front of the stage, and play into a microphone. Doesn't sound too hard, right?

Except for the fact that it's an improv solo. For all of you that don't know what improv means, it basically means to make up on the spot without practice. Yeah, and I have to do that in front of people. All week I practiced scales, just so I could play in the right key while performing stuff that I don't even know how to write down on a staff. While in class, the solos I played went okay, but the on-stage rehearsal was just crud.

On stage, I screwed up all of my playing during rehearsal. We had a small audience, witch threw my nerves off quite a lot. I couldn't reach notes and I forgot all of the accidentals. Plus, when my solo came, I dragged my butt to the wrong microphone. Not only that, but when the vibes were supposed to play, they didn't. So what did I do? I stood there, waiting for a cue, like an idiot. My directer stopped the the music, pointed to the vibes, and cued us off again. After that, I awkwardly dragged my butt off of the stage.

Just letting you know, this is the stage I play in front of people on

Image courtesy of Cisco

Then the concert night finally came. I put my jazz black on and put my horn in the car. It was absolutely terrifying. The drive to the concert was only about fifteen minutes, but it seemed like four days. I walked into the band room, which I have no idea how because my knees were shaking so much. As usual, I put my instrument together and talked with my friends. When I was warming up, I worked on my improv. I played a small phrase that consisted of nervous thirty-second notes and a high register. When I stopped, none of my friends seemed to care. Devon on the other hand, was proud.

"Did you guys not just hear that? She just LAID IT DOWN!"

Being the shaky bag of flesh and bones that I am, I laughed and high-fived Devon. I continued warming up, until the instructor told us the stage set.

After minutes of waiting, I was eventually on stage. I sat down in my lead chair and waited for a downbeat from the director. He came out and talked to the audience a bit, which did not make my spider-infested torso feel any better. After just about a little bit of forever passed, he turned around, gave a downbeat, and left the stage. We, as in me, were playing the chart pretty okay with only a few mishaps here and there. Then the director entered the stage again to cue my solo. 

As mentally prepared as I was (I wasn't), I dragged my vibrating and jumpy spider body to the mic at the front of the stage. I played a small tune, which thankfully ended up in key. Then I did a small bow, which from the audience it looked like I broke my leg. As I was walking back to my chair, the director gave me a small clap and a "Good Job" that made my limp facial muscles smile. The band burned through the rest of the charts, and we got off the stage.

When we walked back to the room, my friends Ryan, Max, Molly, and Amber all congratulated me on my solo. I guess it's a good thing to do something that scares you every once in a while. It leaves you with the ability to do something greater than you ever though you could. 

Pep Band

...
...
...
... I have decided to tell you about something that goes on in my life.
... My irregular life as a musical geek.
... That I spend at Pep Band every few Friday nights.

Pep Band is something my school band does to help the cheerleaders cheer on the football team every time we have a home game. Usually, it consists of me getting together with my instrument section, buying absolute junk food, having a blast, then having a sugar hangover while cleaning the crud out of my horn the very next day.
   

Image courtesy of Park City High School

                 

1. fun |fən| noun

    Madly cramming Swedish Fish in your mouth while all of the other members of the section make       fun of the local high schools' football team

Hhmmmmmmmmmmm.........

Sounds like my Friday nights are better than yours.

One very special pep band was a night I will never forget. It was Homecoming, of course. Out of the four games we have had, that one is my outright favorite. To me, it was not just another game, but a night where it seemed as if everyone were floating on the clouds.

It all started on a Friday, which makes everything good automatically. After school, we had Marching Band practice (Marching Band IS A SPORT) to rehearse our part in our field performance. Unlike Pep Band, Marching Band is not required of band students, so only real band geeks were in Marching Band all summer. Out of the large assemblage of trombones the band program has, only seven were in Marching Band, consisting of me, my brother Nathan, Barski, Molly, Hunter, Jake, and Dominic. We all got really close over the summer, which made that night even better. After practice, the sweating cluster of instruments and players went into the instrument storage room to put horns away, although we all knew we'd be pulling them out again within three hours. 

Then after high-fives were given and the I-can't-wait-for-tonight's-performances were said, a group of us from Marching Band went to get food. I rode in Jake's car with Molly, Nathan, and Barski on the way to the restaurant. We had loads of fun, but mostly we made fun of the golden-oldies coming out of the car radio. Not only this, but because we were a car full of trombonists, we made jokes about the trumpets.

What is a gentleman?

Somebody who knows how to play the trumpet, but doesn't.

What do trumpet players use for birth control?

Their personalities. 

Why did the chicken cross the road?

To get away from the trumpet players.

How many trumpets does it take to change a lightbulb?

None. They can't reach that high.

How do you know when a trumpeter takes their kids to the playground?

They don't know how to swing.

Stop it, you're killing me! Alright, I'll stop, but I'm no murderer.

We are all also fans of cheesy jokes. Not many of us like corny ones, though. Although these are jokes about trumpets, there is one exception. The band directer, Mr. Taylor, is a trumpet player. He is an exception because he plays trumpet very well, plus he understands a ton of things about music. And he knows how to swing.  

When we got to the restaurant, we pulled a ton of tables together for other band geeks who were going to join us. Then we got in line for food, which I was thankful for, because after running around on a football field depriving my muscles of oxygen, I was hungry. When we sat down, there was an awkward silence other than the growls of stomaches and the clacking of teeth. As we devoured our food, others filled in the table around us, talking about the latest news and such.

As we sat at that table, it was a great environment to be put into. It felt like we were a large family that had one thing in common that made us the geeks and nerds at school, but here we were all just great friends with a love of music. Brett, one of the two Drum Majors, was with us, sharing stories of his experiences with music. Brett is an amazing bass player who also happens to sing jazz. He is one of the two best jazz singers I know today, and he is good, really good at it. 

- A Dirty Story - 

Once upon a time, I was leaving the restaurant with Jake and Quinn. We were his car again, laughing and poking fun at everything. Quinn, riding shotgun, was telling a story about something, and I made a comment that might have ticked him off, I'm not sure if he was being sarcastic or not.

Quinn - "F**k you!"

Me - "Now or later?"

Jake - "You can move to the back seat with her, and I'll keep my eyes on the road."

Awkward.

When we pulled into the school, we were late for Pep Band. I ran into instrument storage, hastily put together my trombone, and changed into my red t-shirt. I was really excited and jumpy, despite the Coca-Cola I had the previous hour. I ran into the main band room and grabbed a spot at the end of my section. We went through the pieces we played during the game and grabbed our things to leave. 

This is where the fun starts. It was Homecoming and the stands had the biggest audience than any other game, which made the circumstances better to play under because we wanted to sound good. As usual, the game started off with the school song and the first play in the game.  Since I don't understand football too well, I mostly chatted with my friends. Every once in a while, the band would play a tune directed by either Mr. Taylor or one of the Drum Majors. If you haven't been to one before, football games are really loud. In order to know what song we play, we have hand signals for the songs, similar to what the refs have on the fields. I have no clue how the band remembers what to play, because we have over 25 different signals, like two fingers for Number Two and an invisible sandwich for Eat 'Em Up.

We pretty much played and talked for the first quarter, but second quarter on was the best part of the night. At the beginning of the second quarter, Marching Band was excused from the stands to go to the band room and get ready for our field performance. We had to change into our spiffy uniforms in a blink of an eye, which was not easy due to the fact that our uniforms have multiple layers and parts. The entire band has the same pair of shoes called Speedsters. Then the overalls, similar to slacks but more durable. On top goes the splendid red jacket with glitter, but that's not it. We have matching white gloves we have to slip under the sleeves of our jacket without wrinkling either of them. Almost last, comes the glitter-covered gauntlets that velcro over the sleeves of our jackets. The most amazing part is the hat. It is a tall cylindrical  red hat with a black shiny bill. It has a small stripe of glitter and white on it, with a white plume on top. Putting on the hat basically defines the essence of life for the entire time we have the honor of wearing them.

After magically putting the fabric onto our bodies, we went outside, made an arch, and played through the performance with piano dynamics. Then we waited for half-time, our hearts beating in time to the drum line in the stands. Soon enough it came, and we marched onto the field. Have you ever felt like your liver turned into a snake that was crawling around your other internal organs just trying to screw things up for its own enjoyment? Yeah, that was basically me. We waited for the entrance beat from the drum line on the sidelines, in separate lines for where we stand. 

As the beat came, we marched onto the field with as much pride as our shaking snake-infested bodies let us have. We turned around, and the entire crowd was watching, although only momentarily. We burned through the first song, I Can't Turn You Loose. As usual, I was gasping for air as my burning muscles threatened to drop me on the ground. Then the drum beats for Starships had started. We somehow pulled this song off without to much of a problem. We made our formations, Darth Vader and a starship, and we were onto the last note. We turned around, headed off the field, and practically floated back to the band room. The performance was over.
 

  Image thanks to the Park Record

We took off of our uniforms, and waited for others to change out. The heavy breathing, the fast pulses, it was perfect. Everyone congratulated the seniors; they wouldn't march with us again. We then walked back to the stands, and continued to play through the game happily.

Game over. everyone put their stuff away and waited in the band room. Mr. Taylor ended the night with a "Good job, band," and also told us how people could hear us from three miles away. They would call to tell him the band sounded great from that distance.

Yeah, my Friday night literally sounded better than yours.