On Yule and Tide

Phew.

Okay, 24 Christmases down. You may have noticed that I haven't written for a while, and I can't say as I have a good excuse. I mean, it does seem silly that, being in Boston for the holidays, I should write on a site dedicated to my Houston adventures. On top of that, I have been in the annual "What Now?" kind of mood that begins around Christmas, peaks at New Year's, and then usually fades quickly afterwards. During this time I assess my life as I see it, peruse mistakes and successes of the past year, decide where I want to go from here, and, of course, practice little if at all. Think of it as a little Spring Cleaning for the Soul, only it happens in December and usually things end up just as messy as they were before. Okay, maybe Spring Cleaning is not the right metaphor.

Well, I've said that much, so I might as well get into it a little. Is there a point to my being in Grad School? It feels right, because it's what I want to do. But the chances of succeeding at it seem so slim. I could probably make a much better living doing something else, practically anything else. What I'm asking myself right now is: at what point, if ever, will I realize that I will not be a success playing the trombone, and go into something else instead? It won't be soon, of course, because I will at least finish school. It's not costing me anything but time. But when I graduate, and I'm working full time in some office somewhere to support myself while practicing and taking the occasional audition, how long will I last? It's difficult to think about now because it's not a decision I will have to make for a while, but I really would like to know what I will decide.

Kurt Vonnegut wrote: "If you really want to hurt your parents, and you don't have nerve enough to be a homosexual, the least you can do is go into the arts."

Okay, that's enough for now. If you want to read more, look for my series of books coming out soon: Spring Cleaning for the Soul.

Oh, by the way, speaking of Christmas, I'm a star again! Check out this video, courtesy of thepetersonproject.com.

And, last thing, I've been reading this book by The Sports Guy, Bill Simmons, about the Red Sox. If you're a Sox fan and you haven't read it, I highly recommend it. My favorite quote so far: "By the way, I have to question any Red Sox fan who would marry a Yankee fan. Unless you have never been laid before and this is legitimately your only chance to have regular sex, it's simply unacceptable. Would you marry someone from Al-Qaeda?" Now that's quality sportswriting, people.

Until next year!

On BBQ and Tomatoes (sort of)

So today I had the pleasure of listening to 26 high school trombonists from around Texas audition for their region band! Before I tell you about the experience, though, I should provide a disclaimer that should explain why I would never wish this fate upon anyone, no matter how much I disliked them for other reasons, who was not deeply invested in the trombone and the teaching thereof. In Texas, if you are part of your high school's band, you must take private lessons (which are not paid for by the school; how does that work? It's still unclear to me), and you must audition for region band. So I was expecting a huge audition, with lots of students, and therefore lots of judges.

But nothing could quite prepare me for what a fiasco it really was. There were five judges in each room, and a total of 38 rooms, 3 for tenor trombone alone, which means a total of (carry the 1) 190 judges. Assuming there were approximately 25 kids in each room, you would get close to 1,000 kids running around. I don't know how many buses that would be. The guy in charge (wait, no, I mean "in charge") said that other regions had changed the way they did these auditions, having a first audition at each school before the kids got this far, which sounded like a great idea to me. But he then went on to say, with some pride, I might add, that they had stuck to their system, which was working just fine for them, thank you very much. I really wanted to raise my hand at this point and move that this guy, whoever he was, be sacked and replaced by someone with some god damn sense, because This. Could. All. Be. So. Much. Easier.

And why, while we're on the subject, did each room need five judges? When I auditioned for the similar bands in Massachusetts, there was one judge. There was no screen. You walked in and looked your future in the eye. That judge then gave you a series of scores, usually from 1 to 8 or 1 to 10, depending on the level, each one for a certain aspect of your playing, such as tone quality, articulation, intonation, or rhythm. This system worked fairly well. But no, the Texas system is quite different. More on that later.

Here are some highlights, good and bad, from the experience:

-They fed us barbecue! When we got into the room where we were supposed to meet and nobody seemed to have any idea what was going on because not everyone was there yet, soon we began to see people coming into the room with food. So we went and stood on line for food, which was delicious home cooked barbecue. Usually in these situations I am more grateful for the food than for the payment I receive, and this was no exception.

-When we got into our room, the head judge read out the rules, then called the first few kids up to the "ready" chairs, I guess so that they could get ready to play. In a different chair, I, I guess. Then he said "you have one minute to warm up," after which followed the unmistakeable sound of 26 high school trombonists warming up simultaneously.

If hell only had a soundtrack.

-The sheet which told us how to keep score was completely indecipherable and infuriating, which are not good qualities for something that is passing itself off as "instructions." On it, I was told many things, most of which I did not understand and therefore ignored. I managed to figure out that I was supposed to listen to a major scale, then give it a score. Okay, I can do that. Wait. A score...from 0 to 25? Why such a large range? It's one major scale. Okay, well I guess I'll just go in multiples of five, can't be too hard. Then, next, I listen an excerpt from the first etude, and give that a score as well. A score from 0 to...75? No, that can't be right. "Your combined score will then be out of 100." Fuck, they really do mean 75. So I'm supposed to hear 30 seconds of trombone playing, and then pick a number, any number, between 0 and 75? Wait, it gets better. This pattern repeats three times: scale, etude, scale, etude, scale, etude, and the total score is out of 300. 300! No wonder they told us to bring a calculator, which I of course did not, confident in my ability to add numbers from 0 to 10 in my head.

Anyway, this complete pigfuck of a system had the following result in my scores: The student who very obviously (to me) should have placed first did place first (on my sheet). The students who placed second and third also played quite well and got the placement they should have (again, on my sheet). After that, the placements that I had in the end seemed even to me to be a little bit random. I couldn't really remember after the first three who had played better than whom, so the rest of them could have come in any order whatsoever. This wouldn't bother me so much, but, get this, 8 (eight) (eight!!!) students from our room alone advance to the region bands. So my top three deserved to advance, but what about the other five? Couldn't they have been just about any of maybe 10 of the others? Granted, combining the scores of the five judges probably evens things out a bit, but couldn't I possibly have sent some deserving and hard working kid home in tears from not making the band because I picked the wrong number from 0 to 75?

Imagine, just for joke, that you are a farmer. Your specialty is growing tomatoes. Your tomatoes sell well, for the most part, and you enjoy growing them, though you don't feel as if you have been doing it for long enough to be called an expert. Somehow, you are volunteered to be a judge at a county fair, where you will be judging tomatoes. You are presented with three tomatoes each from 26 young growers, who have just started growing tomatoes recently. Also, most of these tomatoes were grown hurriedly and in bad conditions. Your task is to give each tomato a score from 0 to 75. Oh, yeah, and your total scores will most likely affect whether these young people eventually spend the rest of their lives growing tomatoes or find something better to do (usually law or investment banking, it seems). You get the idea.

But they did feed us good food, I did get paid, and afterwards I got to relax for a while in Craig's hot tub, so now all is right again in the world of Chris.

On Cricket vs. Baseball

Tonight I played darts for FOUR HOURS, which might not sound like a long time, but believe me, it is an incredibly long time to be throwing sharp things at a board almost nonstop. I was okay at the beginning, actually won a game or two, but then got a little worse. That's when I started drinking heavily. And wouldn't you know it, after a few drinks, I became a dart throwing machine! I couldn't miss! The last game was a five-way free-for-all which I of course dominated all the way through. I ended up winning by the slimmest of margins. It was good that it ended when it did, too, because last call at the Ginger Man had come and gone by that point, and I think the bartenders were waiting for us to leave.

So, yeah, a dart marathon is always good. Tomorrow I get to go and tell high schoolers how to play the music for their region band auditions which are this weekend. Then on Friday, I get to go and listen to lots of high school trombone players play the same three pieces over and over while I give them scores based on how well they do. That's right, I'm judging region band auditions! How did I get this job, you might ask? Well, I'm not sure. But it was handed down to me, probably through a long list of people who came before me on the list of "who would be okay to judge high school trombones and either make or ruin their careers in music for the rest of their lives." But, luckily for me, and unluckily for all the poor high schoolers who have to play for me, the job came to me, and I am getting paid to sit and listen to trombones while I circle and add numbers on a score sheet.

Actually, this should be a pretty easy job, and one for which I am quite well suited. I have, of course, heard the region band audition pieces hundreds of times by now, and know them quite well, so I will know who can play them and who can't quite quickly. But still! Responsibility!

!!

Okay, I've been drinking, which explains my darts prowess this evening, so I'm going to hit the hay. Or the sack. I guess "bed" would be the correct term. I'm going to bed.

On Quick Endings

Okay, this is really starting to get strange. Classes have ended. A whole semester has passed. It's December. I went to a Christmas party today. There are decorations on all the houses.

It was 80 degrees yesterday.

Granted, today was a bit chillier, and I've been told by many that this winter so far has been unseasonably warm even for Texas. But still. There's no snow, only rain. It doesn't feel like the holidays yet.

We had our last class on Friday, Grad Music History Review. It was decided a while back that the theme song for that class is "I Don't Want to Wait" by Paula Cole, perhaps best known for its role as the theme from Dawson's Creek. So we sang that song at the end of class, as we walked out in slow motion, waving goodbye. Which is why it makes the list. Also, it's a pretty great song. Fits well into the falsetto range.

So less than two weeks and I'm back in Boston, getting used to the cold again and trying to forget for a short time that I am now a Texan. I'm looking forward to going home, it just doesn't feel like a full semester has passed. I can blame it on the weather, and that may be part of it, but really I think this semester just went by way too fast. If things continue like this, grad school will be over before I get a chance to enjoy it. But there's still plenty of time left, right? Some?

On Gobble Gobble

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!!!

On Musical Insights Into One's Mind

Earlier I was singing a song out loud, as I so often do. In fact, it was "Can't You See" by The Marshall Tucker Band, which I think I heard earlier on the radio. Somehow, though, this quickly merged into "Maggie May" by Rod Stewart. I have no idea how I got from one song to the other, or what the two songs might possibly have in common (at first glance, absolutely nothing). I also think it has been quite a long time since I have actually heard "Maggie May," which raises interesting questions about why it came to me then, of all songs.

But this gave me an idea. I want to keep track of what songs I sing out loud as the day goes on. Usually, I am singing something I have recently heard, but sometimes it is something entirely random. At least it seems entirely random. Maybe by keeping a list of recently sung songs I can begin to see trends. Perhaps this will give me some kind of insight into how my mind works, which songs I associate with which other songs, and so on. Or maybe it will just be kind of fun.

To the right, below the links, you will see a list of recent songs that I have sung out loud, the songs at the top being the most recent. Please feel free to send me comments about trends that you might see developing. I will also try to keep a complete list for my own records, if I can remember to.

So, some ground rules. The songs have to come to me randomly, or at least partially so. It can be a song I recently heard on the radio, but not a song that is currently playing while I sing along. Any time I can be said to be "randomly" singing a certain song out loud, that song will go on the list. The experiment would work much better if someone else were keeping track of which songs I sang without my knowledge, since the very fact that I am aware of the experiment means that I am probably subconsciously altering the results. But, it will have to do, and I will try to be as fair as possible.

Speaking of being aware of the experiment, I just lost the game.

On New Favorites

This is my new favorite song. You might need to watch the video first for context, but you should love the song either way.

On Slide Lubricant and Third Position (tromBONE heheh)

Today, being Thursday, afforded me with another chance to drive 45 minutes outside of the city and teach trombone lessons to high schoolers all afternoon. Now that I've settled into the routine of it, gotten more comfortable, and worked up some kind of rapport with my students, the hours do not drag by quite as slowly as they used to.

One of today's highlights was when my second student, at the beginning of his lesson, noticed that his slide was not moving very well. In fact, I had noticed in practically every lesson up to today that the noise made by his slide moving was almost louder than the noise coming out of his bell, but I hadn't said anything. He asked me if he could use my spray bottle, which was full of water. I gave it to him, and he gave each side of the inner slide one tiny spritz before handing it back to me.

"That's all the water you need?" I asked, about to ask him to try some more.

"Oh, yeah, that's much better," he replied, while working his slide back and forth, producing the same sandpaper sound. I asked him what kind of cream he used on his slide.

"Pond's Cold Cream," he replied. "It works real well unless it gets too dry. That's why it's good when we're outside."

I assumed he meant during marching band practice, which was often outside. But that didn't really explain his statement. Why was his slide better outside? The humidity? Was he relying on the humidity to lubricate his slide? Because the Pond's sure as hell wasn't doing very much on its own. I felt like asking him what kind of sick bastard told him he could put Pond's Cold Cream on his slide.

By the way, as a side note, I just Googled Pond's Cold Cream, and, according to the Unilever website, here are some possible reasons why you might want to put the stuff on your trombone slide:

-To remove hidden dirt and make-up from your trombone without clogging your trombone's pores.
-To deep clean without drying your trombone, so it looks and feels touchably soft and radiantly clean.
-If your trombone has had an allergic reaction to another lubricant, don't worry. Pond's Cold Cream is Hypo-Allergenic (The package does not state this, but it is!!).
-The special blend of cleansing ingredients and natural emollients softens as it deep cleans so your trombone slide feels smooth - never tight or dry.

Smooth...not tight or dry...that actually sounds pretty good. Maybe I'll try some myself. Besides, I've been looking for a way to get lipstick off of my trombone slide (that's another story). But I can't say that this is the worst case I have seen. When I was in high school, I knew someone who would spray their slide with Lemon Pledge. Apparently, he had to wipe it off whenever he was done playing, because if you left it on, it would dry and stick to the slide and then you couldn't move it the next day. Hmm. Not such a great lubricant, if you ask me. But, to each his own, and trombone players are an eccentric lot, to say the least.

Next time, stories about a different student who can't tell a G-sharp from a dump truck full of flaming tires (hint: one of them is in third position. Third position, God damn it. PLAY IT IN THIRD OR I WILL WRAP THAT TROMBONE AROUND YOUR SKULL).

On My Various Disguises

Yesterday I went with the other members of my studio to our teacher's house to eat lunch and have our pictures taken. He has a picture of each trombone and tuba player on the studio wall, so it was our turn as the new students to get our pictures taken. Though Mr. Waters had a great new idea for this round.

He said that he had an extensive collection of hats, which, when we got there, we discovered was no overstatement. The man has quite a few hats. So his idea was that we all wear a different hat in our pictures. We thought that was a little strange, but it could be fun. So we picked out our hats. I wore an old army helmet, which was extraordinarily heavy. After we chose our hats, however, Mr. Waters seemed unsatisfied. He started talking about "props" that we should use, most of which ended up being weapons of some kind, and put different clothes on us. So basically, we were putting on costumes for our pictures. I had the helmet and a big camouflage jacket. Mike, who is Jewish, briefly considered the Nazi helmet, but then decided on a hat not unlike the one worn by the scarecrow in The Wizard of Oz. He then found a straw to chew on, and Mr. Waters gave him a shotgun to hold. Oh no, it was a real shotgun. I don't think it was loaded. Colin was wearing a sort of rastafarian knit cap, which was mulitcolored and had long black "dreadlocks" hanging off the back. Having nothing to really go with that, Mr. Waters decided to dress him up otherwise like a pirate (at least this was the end result). He wore a puffy shirt and had a large knife between his teeth. I can't seem to remember what kind of hat Mark wore, but he was holding a long knife, which was actually a World War I bayonet (where does he get all this stuff?). Then Mr. Waters himself dressed up in a cowboy hat and shirt, holding a pistol (this time a toy).

It was a fun time, like Halloween all over again, and I'm sure the pictures will be hilarious. What I'm still slightly concerned about, though, is putting them up on the wall of the studio. What will prospective students think? Anyone who walks into that room not knowing us will only see a bunch of guys in silly costumes holding dangerous weapons. I'm not sure what kind of first impression of a school that will be.

Then today I dressed up again, this time to appear in a film on my friend Steve's website. The video should be up sometime next week, so I don't want to give away too many details, but it involved wearing ridiculous amounts of camouflage face paint and running around the woods with our trombones. It's a movie about Thanksgiving. While we were running around the woods, though, we found about 15 of the same huge and scary looking spider on large webs between the trees. They looked something like this. Seriously, these guys were everywhere you turned. Deciding that anything that ugly couldn't possibly not be poisonous, we proceeded with extreme caution. Thankfully, the filming concluded with nobody getting bitten and dying.

On Karaoke and a New Haunt

Since leaving Oberlin, I have missed many things about the tiny, isolated college town where I spent five long years. Not least of these was the only bar in town, the Feve. How many nights I spent there buying cheap drinks and getting my clothes nice and saturated with the ever-present cigarette haze I couldn't begin to guess. I have had a craving to return there for a while, but, sadly, no opportunity to do so. I have also recently had quite a hankering for some good Karaoke fun, which I hadn't had since that fateful night in the 'Sco last spring (Josh and I were so often on the stage that we were eventually no longer allowed to sing, at which point we had to assume false names).

Who would have thought that I would relieve both of these cravings in one night? As unlikely as it may seem, last night was that night. In the search for something fun to do, we were pointed by one of Lilly's many casual Houston acquaintances in the direction of a bar called The Proletariat. It turns out Friday night is Karaoke night at the Proletariat (which I think I might begin to shorten to "Prole," with credit of course going to Orwell), a smoky dive bar where the lighting is dark enough and the crowd eclectic enough that if you squint you're suddenly back in that familiar place. It may be thirty degrees warmer than it should be, the street outside may be Richmond Ave. in Houston instead of Main Street in Oberlin, and the Republican quotient in the room may be a good fifty percentage points higher, but somehow it still feels right.

Plus, Karaoke! There were a few regulars there who I think showed me up, but I still did pretty well. I sang Tiny Dancer by Elton John, which had a pretty good reception, and then later With or Without You by U2. One guy sitting near the front liked my rendition of that song so much that in the middle he came up and handed me something. I thought maybe it was a lighter, or something else appropriate that I could wave over my head solemnly while I sang. However, when I looked at it, I realized it was actually a pen. I wasn't sure what to do with it, but I was oddly touched that he wanted me to have it. When I finished, he high-fived me, and I tried to give him the pen back. A very serious look came on his face, and he said, "No, man, you keep it." So I still have it here, but I can't quite bring myself to write anything with it.

The best part of the evening, though, was getting home and realizing that, for the first time this year, I had spent the night drinking and having a great time with friends at our regular place (which the Prole has now become), and my clothes reeked of smoke as a result. I never thought I would miss that smell.

Oh, by the way, here's a Halloween picture:

Brief check-in

Halloween is a fun time. On Friday I went to a party dressed as Napoleon Dynamite, and even did the dance from the movie. I was told it was amazing by several people, some of whom I don't even know. Pictures will be forthcoming, hopefully. Of course, since I got all dressed up on Friday, I now feel as if Halloween has come and gone. I keep forgetting that it's actually tomorrow, since I don't plan to dress up again, or go trick or treating, though I have seriously considered it.

The next week will be fairly busy, but then next tuesday I will be done with everything, at least for a few weeks. Then end of classes and finals and stuff, and I'm sure there will be plenty more to do that I don't even know about yet.

Ok, I'm going to sign off and go to sleep.

The More Things Change...

The more they seem oddly familiar.

The World Series is upon us, and I find myself rooting for the local team. As I drive around the city, I see billboards cheering them on with the words "We Believe." When I turn on the television to watch the game, I see "Go Sox" lit up in the windows of skyscrapers. The underdog is down three games to none, and once again I want to believe in the impossible.

Other things that I thought would change have also stayed the same. It's a clear Texas night in October, but the temperature right now is a chilly 46 degrees. And while the Rice Football team may indeed be a step up from that of Oberlin, which holds the record for most consecutive losses by an NCAA team, the Owls do hold the longest current losing streak. Maybe they'll erase the Yeomen from their dubious place in history.

In other news, I am once again published, albeit on the internet, so it doesn't really count. But it's a math article that is based partly on some work I did last year as part of my honors project. The proof that I was working on then was completed by Ben Purcell, a student at Oberlin, who then wrote up most of the paper. It's about playing games with binary strings! Check it out at http://www.oberlin.edu/math/Research/Burns-Purcell.pdf. You can also get there by going to the math department homepage, http://www.oberlin.edu/math, and clicking on the button for "student research," which I think is pretty cool.

On Kicking Back

Today I played kickball!

I felt as if I had regressed, having not played kickball since probably fifth grade. By sixth grade we didn't really have organized recess, and plus if we did it would totally not have been cool to be playing kickball. Of course, sixth grade was also the time when I started to pay far too close attention to what was "cool," and it showed when I ditched the sweatpants I loved so much in elementary school for the hip middle-school jeans and flannel shirt combo. If only I had known then how much of a failure I would be in the "being cool" department (hey, pretty, popular girl, I play the trombone and sing in the boys' choir. In any kind of competitive physical event, I am hopelessly useless, but I am quite good at math. Do you want to go out with me sometime? Oh, you need to think about it, okay, take your time. I'll just...be over here...acting cool...), then maybe I could have wasted less time trying to blend in with the crowd.

And I could have spent more time playing kickball! This would have been best, because, as I suspected but couldn't quite remember, kickball is enormously fun! I'm still somewhat useless at it, but at least most of the other people playing were not much better. We even grilled up some burgers and hot dogs for the occasion. It was the perfect activity for a perfect sunday afternoon.

Then I watched the Astros lose. Not even my second choice baseball team can win any games, it seems.

Now, to end, here is a short list of things I have learned in the past few days:
-If you're going to a bar in Houston to watch the Astros play in the World Series, you should plan to get there at least three hours early. I would recommend watching at home instead, or, if you don't have cable, at someone else's home, preferably on an HDTV. That way you can tell exactly how many days it has been since each of the players has shaved.
-Bars in Texas are required by law to have at least three deer heads or other animal heads mounted on their walls. At least, that is how it would seem.
-Best place in my neighborhood for a caesar chicken salad: Jason's Deli. On University, West of campus, across from Urban Outfitters.
-If your mother and her lover kill your father, and you spend your entire life planning your revenge on them, even if it does work in the end, you'll just die anyway. It's unclear why, and it's kind of a bummer, but that's just how it is. (Okay, I got that from an opera, but I think it's pretty good advice for us all)

On Hiatus

The internet once again has crashed at my aparment, so I have been without the sweet soothing wireless signal beaming around for the past week. Apparently, our phone line went dead, or was cut off for some reason, which then of course caused the modem to stop working. That was what the SBC service man told us this morning. Okay, so we should call our phone company and ask them what gives. Hey, who's our phone company again? Oh yeah, that's also SBC. So, uh, while you're here, SBC guy, uh, what gives? That's what I want to know. Thankfully, he said it should be back on by tomorrow morning. Actually, it hasn't been so bad without internet, I've gotten to the gym more often than usual, and I've made some good video game progress. I'm so glad I so productively used the time I would have otherwise wasted.

Lots of stuff coming up in school, most of which seemed a long way away until some point during the past week, when I realized it really was quite soon and I was vastly underprepared. There's a studio recital, a sub audition for the Houston Symphony (same day as the recital), a mock audition in Brass Rep class (the next day, same excerpt list at least), and I just found out about a forty minute presentation that I have to give that week in my opera class about two characters from Elektra whose names I can't even pronounce. Why did I take this class? Anyway, I'm going to be busy, but chances are I'll often be up and posting when I should be sleeping. That is, if SBC didn't lie to us again. Which is a big if.

Off to rehearsal.

On Job Skills and "Qualifications"

So after reading this comic about attending class vs. not attending class, I am very confused about whether I want to attend class tomorrow morning. I probably will, though, since there's really not much else to do. Plus it would only be my second class this week, so it's definitely not asking too much that I be there. It's a funny comic, though. I especially like the phrase, "What the heck is wrong with everyone in this universe?" Brilliant.

My class this morning was cancelled due to some Jewish holiday, so what did I do to get the most out of the free time? That's right, I slept in. Then I taught high schoolers how to play the trombone, something for which I still feel that I am enormously underqualified. Is this how all teachers feel? I can't seem to escape the feeling that I'm getting paid way too much for the little work that I have to do. Basically, the first few weeks of lessons consisted of me helping these kids practice the same three pieces week in and week out. They have to learn three pieces for their Region Band auditions, which everyone in the school band has to take, for some hellish reason. They're also all required to take lessons if they're in band, which is why I get to spend five hours of my Thursday every week in a High School band room. A few of these kids could easily play the pieces, and play them well, if they would just practice, which they do not. The rest, many of them ninth graders, are desperately in need of something a little easier to start them off. I've started to bring in some new stuff for them to play, but I still feel as if I have no idea what I'm doing. Does that feeling go away eventually? Here's hoping.

Come to think of it, the only jobs I ever had where I felt as if I belonged there and was qualified for the work were as a camp counselor and a construction worker. As a counselor, I got to play with five year olds all day long, something which I am, admittedly, quite good at. And construction, at least the job I had as a laborer, means do what you're told and, otherwise, stay out of the way. For me, that meant mostly ripping up carpeting, which is a fairly mindless job. It's either still on the floor, or you already ripped it up.

Other than those two jobs, I had a stint as a tutor, mostly for math, but also for various other high school subjects. With the math I could get by, but a lot of the time I felt as if I was no help at all. That's probably not how it really was, I probably did help, but I felt like I wasn't earning my pay. The same applies for my job the past two summers as an accounting intern at a law firm. I basically sat there and performed menial office tasks when asked to, which sometimes didn't happen very often. And I was paid well for it. That was the job that taught me how to get the most out of my internet surfing. When you spend eight hours a day in front of a computer and get basically nothing accomplished, you must be an expert surfer.

So really, while it's great that I have been able to find these cushy jobs, and I feel very fortunate to be overpaid, there's often a bad feeling that goes along with that. It's the feeling that I should be doing more, that someone is paying me good money and I should be performing at a level at which I have not been performing. With the law firm, they could spare the money, but with lessons, as with tutoring, I have almost always been paid directly by the parents.

Maybe I can make it up when I have children by overpaying their music teachers.

Some Haiku

So I think something weird and unexpected has happened. I'm having a craving for some Bubble Tea. I can't fully explain it. I don't think I would particularly enjoy it once I got it, but I want a Bubble Tea nevertheless. I composed a Haiku in honor of this moment.

Late at night it comes:
Strange craving for Bubble Tea.
Please hold the snot balls.

It was Emily who likened the tapioca pearls in the tea to snot balls, and I am forever in her debt for the delightful imagery that accompanies this comparison. I was considering an alternate last line, in which case the poem would look more like this:

Late at night it comes:
Strange craving for Bubble Tea.
Tapioca Kills.

For this line, I am indebted to Brian Zeller. Of course, he and Allison did manage to ruin the mystique that I had been trying to build up around the tapioca by saying that it comes from a root. Come on, guys, I was having fun with that. I didn't want to know what it really was.

I recently read an article about Tom DeLay in Newsweek. Okay, I read most of the article, then got so mad that I think I threw the magazine across the room before I got to finish. Did you know he kept eight bull whips in his office when he was Majority Whip? Guess what state he is from. You got it! T-E-X-A-S! The stars at night are big and bright, and just when you think you've seen the bottom of the humanity barrel, this great state produces another winner like Delay. And now he's indicted on money laundering charges.

My favorite fact from the article was that DeLay has blamed school shootings like the one at Columbine High on, now read carefully or you might miss his subtle logic, day care, teen birth control, and the teaching of evolution. I mean he must be some kind of genius, right? Nobody is seriously that stupid. His brain must simply be functioning on some higher level that the rest of us can't understand. How do you get from teen birth control to Columbine? I think that was the point at which the magazine learned to fly.

Ok, sorry. I don't know what made me think of this and want to write about it. I guess since I grew up in Massachusetts, then spent five years in Oberlin of all places, and am now living in Texas, I'll need to vent from time to time. I tried to write a Haiku about the money launderer, and this is all I could come up with:

DeLay of game, five
Yard penalty, Bigoted
Texan with a whip.

Not too clever, I'll admit. I never claimed to be a poet.

I have to hand it to Houston that, for a city in Texas, it has a surprisingly lively arts scene. Tonight I saw Charles Wuorinen conduct a performance of his own piece, Ashberyana, written for Baritone voice, String Quartet, Piano, and Trombone. The guy playing trombone, Jim Pugh, is a great player from New York. He came to Rice to give a masterclass yesterday, and I got to play for him then. It was quite a good piece, and great to hear some good contemporary music again. It's one of those things Oberlin has that you just can't find most places.

Tim Weiss, CME,
Carrying four mutes at once.
I want it all back.

Not Quite a McSweeney's Review Waiting to Happen

I tried Bubble Tea for the first time today.

"Bubble Tea, like, Tea with bubbles?" I asked.

"Sort of. They're little Tapioca balls," Emily replied.

"Oh, Tapioca, okay. Wait, that sounds terrible."

"No, it's really good!"

"Nothing in my 23 years of experience in this world could possibly lead me to conclude that you are speaking the truth."

Okay, so I'm paraphrasing slightly, but you get the idea. I wasn't exactly thrilled with the prospect, but Emily, my housemate, was so keen to see my reaction to her favorite treat that I went along silently. When I entered "Tapioca Express," I half expected to see the walls lined with Jello Pudding Snacks ("Jellllooooooooooooo Pudddddinnnnnnnnnngah!" in Bill Cosby voice). Instead, I saw a menu with about a thousand choices on it, each of which was repeated in Japanese after the English, just in case I wasn't already completely confused. Emily was helpful in that she told me to choose from the "Milk Tea" options, which limited my choices significantly. I asked her what the other options were, and she seemed to have as little idea as I did. Snowball Tea? Disgusting.

There were little cups of the tapioca balls on the counter. "What is tapioca, exactly?" I asked, staring at the black spheres. The only resemblance I could find was to caviar, a substance which I definitely did not want floating in my tea. Little did I know that my question is one of those few fundamental questions which have no answer known to humankind. "Nevermind," I added quickly, fearing that the head of the girl behind the counter was about to explode. Emily ordered Thai Milk Tea, which I guess is essentially Thai Iced Tea with tapioca. I opted for Peach Milk Tea. "With Tapioca?" I was asked.

"But of course."

It was peachy, milky, pleasant at first. Then the small creatures began, of their own volition, to swim up my straw like salmon to the mating ground. I got three or four in my mouth, and before I could react I was chewing. I was drinking and chewing. Remember in grade school when you would try really hard to get good at patting your head and rubbing your stomach at the same time? This is that feeling in beverage form. The tapioca didn't really taste like anything, and wasn't all that unpleasant, just strange and foreign. Overall, it was good. But this is the craze sweeping the nation? Tapioca in your frikkin' tea? I'll believe it when Starbucks starts putting Tapioca in their Frappucinos.

Headline of tomorrow: Starbucks 'Tappucino' Number One Beverage in the Country, in part due to new "I'd Tap That!" ad campaign. In other news, 'Tapiocum' added to Periodic Table of Elements as part of latest efforts to solve the riddle of the origins of Tapioca.

I've decided to be Napoleon Dynamite for Halloween. I already have the "Vote for Pedro" shirt. If anyone has any suggestions for where I can get some boots or glasses, please let me know. Apparently, Halloween is a pretty big deal here at Rice, and I don't want to disappoint with a half-ass costume.

I read this comic a long time ago and loved it, and I just found it again and laughed just as hard. I thought I would share.

OK Bye!

1000 Hits!

The milestone has been reached, one thousand hits since I added the hit counter. This is obviously a big day for me, I'm sure you all understand.

In other news, it's Friday, officially the beginning of Fall Break, though it's only four days long (including weekend days), which is not much of a break. Plus I'm playing in a masterclass on Monday, so I'm still fairly busy. No break for me!

So a Friday night was spent at bars, first at the Armadillo Palace, which has, I swear to God, a huge freaking armadillo statue out front. The inside is no less tacky, with various deer heads, bull horns, saddles, etcetera, littering the walls. There was a five dollar cover to go in and listen to a pretty good country band. Then we moved to the Ginger Man, where we found quite a few music school people. Now I'm back home, and my housemates are both gone, which means a Friday night alone.

One ex-girlfriend called me tonight, and another sent an email about sending invitations to her wedding this summer. Oh yeah, she's engaged. Pretty strange, if you ask me. Anyway, I think I'm going to crash. Just wanted to celebrate the thousand visits, even though most of them were automated programs trying to post comments advertising porn or something like that. Still, keep reading, and keep those hits going.

Go Astros.

I Hate (read: Love) Baseball

There was a point during the 2004 ALCS at which I gave up all hope. I forgot the wise words of Yogi Berra and decided that the Red Sox season was, in fact, over before it was over. There was only one more loss in the next four games against the Yankees between my beloved team and another frustrated offseason. I sat in the Feve that night in Oberlin (oh, Feve, how I miss you), drank scotch whiskey and wondered aloud where I was going to get enough money for all the alcohol that I would need to get through yet another year of my hopes and dreams being crushed by the Damn Yankees.

The next day, the Sox won. Then the next, and after two more wins, they were in the World Series. It was a wonderful time, but I will always regret that one moment at which I had officially and completely given up on my team. Just as Saint Peter had denied his friendship with Jesus, I threw off all affiliation with a team that I thought was done for. Then the cock crowed, the prophecy was fulfilled, after 86 years without a ring the woes of the '86 team were put to rest, 1918+24(Manny Ramirez)+34(David Ortiz)+33(Jason Varitek)-5(no more Nomar Garciaparra)=2004, and on a night when the moon was red, the Red Sox were World Champions. It was then that I realized the error of my ways.

So again I am faced with a choice. The Sox have dropped 2 straight in abysmal fashion to their White counterparts, and are one loss in the next three games away from elimination. And that's before even getting the honor of being beaten silly by the Yankees. I could give up now, go to a bar (sadly, not the Feve), and drink to next season. But I won't. These damn guys keep me holding on to the bitter end. They've done it before, they could come back. Two games at Fenway, then in game five anything could happen. So go on, keep prolonging the agony, boys, because that's baseball. And I love it (read: hate it).

Sox Win!!!

Well, the weekend has come and gone, and I have to say it was a relative success. I played two concerts on Friday and Saturday with the Shepherd School Symphony Orchestra (the acronym of SSSO doesn't really sound any better), and I was largely tuned in as the Red Sox took two of three from the Yankees and became AL Wild Card Champs. Today's game was on at Two Rows, a bar near campus, where Sundays just happen to be $1 draft days. Nothing beats a Sunday afternoon with cheap beer and a win for the Sox.

Other than that, it was kind of a lazy weekend, which is the way I like it. I have to say, though, that it seems strange to me that it is already October. I mean, the high temperature each day is consistently around 90. I guess this is what counts as Fall in Texas. Maybe during the coldest part of winter I'll stop sweating whenever I go outside.

Ok, bed time. I still have five days to get through before my next lazy weekend.

A Long Story

As Rita hovered in the Gulf, they were saying that it would still be a Category 5, with sustained 140 mph winds and gusts up to 160 when it passed directly over Houston. So we decided to leave. Lilly has family in a town called Delray, TX, which is about 200 miles north/northeast of Houston, and normally a three hour drive. On Wednesday afternoon, Chamber Orchestra rehearsal was cancelled, as well as all activities at Rice from then until Monday, including the concert that was supposed to be Saturday night. After dinner, Lilly and Emily departed for Delray, while I stayed behind, preferring to get a full night's sleep before driving on Thursday. It turns out that I needed it.

When I awoke the next morning, I found out that it took the girls a total of 11 hours to reach our destination. On the way, just outside Houston in a town called Humble (don't pronounce the H, it sounds like Umble. I have no idea why), Lilly's car broke down. So Emily picked her up and they drove the rest of the way together, which ended up being good anyway, because they were both falling asleep from driving all night. They arrived in Delray at about 8 in the morning.

I left Houston at about 11:30, which was late, I realize now. I would have had (slightly) better luck leaving earlier, I think. As it was, I got on Route 59 and took it through downtown with no problems. I hit traffic for the first time just north of the city, and decided that I would take the next exit and try to get around the highway traffic on back roads. This also ended up being a mistake, because as I headed East from the highway I hit even more traffic coming up from the coast east of Houston (which is where the hurricane ended up hitting in the end). So I sat in bumper to bumper traffic for what had to be at least 8 hours. For most of this time I was in a hellish area known as Tarkington Bayou. Not only was it easily 100 degrees outside (somehow I was able to leave my AC on the whole trip, and didn't run out of gas), but there were bugs everywhere. I mean everywhere. These buggers were coating the outside of my car for a good couple of hours as I crawled through the bayou. They were some kind of flying, ant-like beasts, and they came in pairs, landing on my windows locked in a strange mating position, facing in opposite directions with their abdomens connected. It was completely bizarre, and I hope I never have to go back to that place.

The road I was on eventually intersected with 59 again, and all the traffic was getting on, so I once again took a back route, this time one recommended to me by Emily, since she had taken it before with much success. It was then that I dodged traffic for the first time in a long while. But it didn't last long. I hit another jam, this one worse, when I got onto a back road leading to the town called Point Blank. I would sit for about 45 minutes to 1 hour without moving, then move at about 5 miles per hour for 5 or 10 minutes, then sit again, then briefly move, and so on. For the entire night. Finally, around 2:30 am, I pulled close to the town of Point Blank. A 15-year-old boy then approached my window, and asked "D'you need fuel?" I answered no, and he told me to get in the left lane, that I would get around faster that way. I did as he said. There were a few of us in the left lane, which was basically the wrong side of the road, rolling by an endless line of cars in the right lane waiting for gas. There must have been a line 100 cars long for that one gas station.

Though I could have maybe used the gas, I was at about half a tank, I was glad not to have stopped there, because after I got through the town, the traffic was once again moving nicely, and stayed that way for the rest of my drive. When I got up near Lufkin, I stopped for gas at a station with much less demand. It was only another hour or so before I pulled into the driveway at Lilly's uncle's house at 6 in the morning. In total, I spent 18 hours on the road. I stopped twice, once for gas, and once early in the drive, near Tarkington, when I pulled off to the side of the road, opened both passenger side doors, squatted in between them, and urinated.

I slept for about four hourse before I was awakened by my next challenge. I found out then that Lilly, Emily and I were sharing the house with Lilly's Father's Cousin's Neighbor's Daughter Sarah and her 8-year-old son Thomas. Thomas woke me up at 10 on Friday, and didn't leave me alone for the next three days. In an effort to keep him entertained somehow, I showed him Back to the Future. He loved it, of course, since it's a wonderful film, and immediately wanted to see the next two movies. I thought his attention span wouldn't last, but over the three days that we were in the house, he watched all three movies in their entirety. I guess it's not that unexpected, though, an 8-year-old boy stuck in a house for three days is going to need something to do.

That night, we went to Lilly's Aunt Genevieve's house for dinner, where we had Chicken and Dumplings, sweet corn, cornbread, field peas (otherwise known as beans), salad, and macaroni and cheese, with a delicious pound cake and peaches for dessert. After dinner I learned to play dominoes, specifically a game called 42 which is played like Bridge, only with dominoes.

Saturday morning was when the storm began. Thomas woke me up at 9. It was raining hard all day, and there were periods of heavy wind, but no serious damage or flooding. By the time Rita got to us, she was a tropical storm. At night we went over to Genevieve's house for Chicken Pot Pie. After dinner we played dominoes.

Sunday was a beautiful day, and Lilly wanted to take advantage of it by going out on the lake fishing. Thomas woke me up at 9, and by 11 we were heading out. Lilly and I were taken out on the lake by her uncle Cary, and we were joined by her uncle Steve in his own boat. Lilly caught three fish, but I caught nothing but a bad sunburn. Still, it was fun and relaxing just to be on the lake. For dinner we went over to Lilly's uncle Richard's house (all these houses were on the same street, where Lilly's family, on her father's side, has lived for years), and after dinner we played dominoes and a card game called Phase 10. We decided we would head back to Houston early Monday morning.

The drive back was nothing like the drive up. We left Delray at 6:30 am and reached our house in Houston by about 9:30. We hit basically no traffic, not even the detour that we thought would divert us from 59 where a barge had hit a bridge. But that was cleared up, and it was a straight shot. Houston had missed the worst of the storm, the most damage I could see in the city were down branches in various places. It was good to get back, though I was exhausted from so much driving and from lack of sleep due to the early riser who kept waking me up for the past three days. All in all, I was happy to be back.

Things are just now getting back to normal, I'm starting to become quite busy, as I was before our little weekend vacation. Rita could have been a lot worse, but it was still good to get out of the area and have a little time off.

Exhaustion

Yes, I'm back in Houston. I drove back yesterday morning, we left around 6:30 am expecting to be driving all day, and it only took us three hours to get back. That's the same drive that took me 18 hours last Thursday, when everyone with a pulse was getting out of Houston. Apparently some people stayed away, because not many people were coming back when we were. Anyway, the internet is not working again in our apartment, possibly due to the hurricane, since I think I could blow on the modem and make the internet stop working in our apartment. Otherwise there is no damage to our house or neighborhood, other than some fallen branches. A complete account of the trip, where I went, what happened, and how I entertained an 8-year-old boy for three days will be forthcoming, as soon as I get the time to write it.

Here are some pictures

Of me, stuck in traffic, around hour nine.

McSweeney's

Hey, I'm on McSweeney's! Check it out here. It should be close to the top of the page. If not, click "Edit" then "Find (on this page)" and then search for "Burns."

Fajitas and Hurricane Ritas

Okay people, first and foremost, it's Josh Bisker's birthday today (yesterday in Japan, today here. It's confusing, but this way he gets two birthdays, which is totally sweet!). Before you read on any further, you should go to his blog, http://biskerboy.blogspot.com (or just click the link at right) and wish him a happy birthday. Seriously, even if he doesn't know you (even if I don't know you) you should leave a comment on his blog. He would love it a lot.

Okay, secondly, Hurricane Rita is apparently set to hit the gulf coast of Texas sometime late night Friday/slash/early morning Saturday, and people are already talking evacuation. I just read that there is an official 10% to 19% that Rita will pass within 75 miles of Houston. So I might be an evacuee for a day or two while the storm blows through, but I'll keep you posted on how everything goes. Because we have quite a bit of warning on this, because we have Lilly's uncle's house to go to about three hours North, and because Houston is above sea level whereas New Orleans most definitely is not, I'm fairly sure that everything will be fine. Still, recent events and images I have seen are scaring me a little bit, so I'm taking all necessary precautions.

Until next time, then, when I will regale you with Hurricane stories, maybe.

New Developments

1. I had an audition today for a solo part in a piece we are playing in Brass Choir, and I won! That means that I will be playing a solo cadenza on the Brass Choir concert later in the semester. The piece is Fanfares Liturgiques by Henri Tomasi.

2. Journey is playing a concert in Houston this Friday, the 23rd. I am extremely tempted to go, or at least to try to get tickets. This may very well be my one and only chance in this lifetime to hear such classics as "Faithfully," "Open Arms," and "Don't Stop Believin" performed live. I'm listening to Journey right now, in fact. And singing along. Loudly.

3. I was finally able to beat level 2 of Q-Bert recently, which meant that I reached level 3 for the first time ever. And it's damn hard. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to stop playing this game.

4. The Jr. Bacon Cheeseburger, which used to round out the famous dollar menu at Wendy's, now goes for a steep $1.29. I want to know who is responsible for this price hike. Seriously, that's not cool. Next thing you know, one precious Jr. will cost more than a gallon of gas. If only the gas was as delicious (trust me, it's not).

5.
Highway run
Into the midnight sun
Wheels go round and round
You're on my mind
Restless hearts
Sleep alone tonight
Sendin' all my love
Along the wire

They say that the road
Ain't no place to start a family
Right down the line
It's been you and me
And lovin' a music man
Ain't always what it's supposed to be
Oh girl, you stand by me
I'm forever yours...

Faithfully.

Truer words were never spoken. Let alone screamed in high tenor range. Oh, Journey, how I love thee.

On the Real Reason I Want Internet So Badly

The internet is back! SBC finally decided to start letting us use what we have been paying for! And, as a result, posting will be (somewhat) more regular (maybe?). To celebrate this achievement, I am going to go play Q-Bert!



Beware: If you click the link above, I must warn you that this game is extremely addictive. It's also quite difficult. Let me know if you get to Level 3, because I will have to hate you forever.

On a Week in the Life

Hello, I'm back. It's been a while, but we still can't seem to figure out how to get internet to come into our apartment. The CD came yesterday that was supposed to fix everything, and of course it did not. Our downstairs neighbor Jordan spent about four hours last night trying to make it work, and all he learned was that apparently our account with SBC is still considered "inactive," which means that they are charging us for internet, but not sending any actual internet signal through our phone line. The plan, the last I heard, was to call back today and scream at whoever answered the phone, but I'm trying not to involve myself too much, so I'm not sure if that's going to happen or not.

Anyway, lots has happened since my last post. Most notably, I attended the wake and funeral for my grandfather. It was a sad time, especially for my grandmother, my dad, and his brother and sister. It made me think a lot about family and made me miss my sister, who is studying abroad in Buenos Aires for the semester. Though it was sad, it was good to see my parents and the extended family.

On Wednesday I went to Minute Maid Park to see the Astros cream the Florida Marlins, thanks in large part to a dominant performance by Roger Clemens, which was made all the more impressive by the fact that his mother had died the night before. I hadn't seen Clemens pitch since he was on the Red Sox and I was quite young, so I was very happy to see him pitch again. After the game, they showed a video in memory of Mrs. Clemens. All in all, it was a memorable experience, and hopefully my first of many visits to the ballpark.

This is the view from our seats in right field. I think that's Juan Encarnacion in right for the Marlins.

If I looked over to my right, I had a good view of the "short porch" in left. No homers reached the porch on that day, sadly. Notice the Citgo sign above the train tracks. I think they're trying to steal some of the good Red Sox karma with a Citgo sign of their own. Too bad it's puny and weak compared to ours.

Last night I went with my housemates and several others to a Ravi Shankar concert downtown. Ravi and his daughter Anoushka both played the sitar, which was amazing to see, even though we were about half a mile above them in the last row of the highest balcony in Jones Hall. That's the hall downtown where the Houston Symphony plays, and where the Rice trombones played in the lobby before the Symphony concert last weekend. I didn't take any pictures to post here, because you wouldn't have been able to see anything. Still, it was quite good.

After the concert, we went back to the Flying Saucer. We walked in just in time to see Manny win the game for the Sox with the bases loaded in the bottom of the tenth against the A's. He was hit by a pitch. It wasn't the most exciting way to win, but I was happy that I got to see it, even if I only saw the very last at-bat. Though I'm starting to get worried because, just like I knew would happen, the Yankees are refusing to go away. They're now only a game and a half back in the AL East race, and if they should pass us there, there's a fair chance we wouldn't win the wild card spot either. It's getting down to the wire, and I hope our Sox are up to the challenge. All I can say is GO SOX! and GO INDIANS! Keep those dirty yanks out of the playoffs.

'The Spirit of Pigcinnati'

Elderly woman in Cincinnati airport: "What is all this business about flying pigs?" I thought it was an appropriate question.

Tonight, a Tuxedo; Monday, a Suit

The internet once again no longer exists in our apartment, for reasons that are impossible to understand. We switched the phone line to our name, which for some reason also required changing the phone number. So the phone number got changed. At which point, the modem and router that we are using both began to work, and we had internet. Then we were told that the internet would be switched into our name on Friday. Friday was when the internet stopped working. Apparently, now that the internet is in our name on the new phone line, we need a startup CD (which is "in the mail") to have our computers recognize the internet. Can anyone explain this to me? What has changed from when we had a new phone number, same modem, same internet connection, and working internet, to when we now have the same new phone number, same modem, internet on a different account with the same company, and no internet? My guess is that the CD will do absolutely nothing, and it will become apparent at some point that we need a new modem, which will take 4 to 8 weeks to arrive. Stupid SBC.

Tonight I and the four other trombonists in my studio are playing in the lobby before the opening night Houston Symphony concert, after which we get to go to the concert for free. Then tomorrow morning I am leaving the house at 4:30 am to catch a 6:20 am flight to Long Island for my Grandfather's funeral on Monday. He passed away on Wednesday. I am looking forward to seeing my family, as this has been a hard time for everyone. I am also hoping that going there will help bring some closure, as being far away and hearing about this has up to now seemed very surreal.

Well, for now, I will sign off, for I must go change for the concert. I will be back in Houston late Monday night.

Stream of Consciousness

The past two days have been kind of a blur. How strange to be in a new place, starting a new world, separate from the old. How strange when an event both expected and unexpected comes upon you suddenly and puts both worlds into perspective. How strange when independence and dependence, loneliness and companionship suddenly share the same meaning, carry the same emotions.

I played darts tonight at a bar called The Ginger Man. We won the first game, Elizabeth and I, somehow, against Jory and his friend whose name I forget already, but lost the second. The whole time my mind was racing. It's hard to say what it was I was thinking about, like when you are lost in thought and someone asks you what you are thinking, and suddenly your train of thought disappears, and it's impossible to remember exactly what it was you were thinking. All I can say is there are a few people that I suddenly want more than anything to see, to talk to in person. Some I will get the chance to see very soon. Others I cannot, because they are so far away.

So far away. One of those things that keeps taking on new meaning. If I move around enough in my lifetime, will I eventually find one place from which I can measure all the others, a sort of absolute zero on the scale of how far away I am? Perhaps, but I would never know it when I got there.

In every heart there is a room,
A sanctuary, safe and strong,
To heal the wounds of lovers past
Until a new one comes along.

Maybe my real problem when people ask me what I am thinking about is that I'm never thinking about one thing. Thinking about one thing leads me to thoughts about another thing, which leads to another, in some random order, until my thoughts have touched everywhere once, and then they start over again. What am I thinking about? Everything. It's either that or nothing, there's no in between. Nothing is just an easier answer. I can't even stay on one subject when I'm writing, I'm always jumping around, so that the end result is unintelligible to anyone but me, when in all likelihood all I needed in the first place was someone to understand what I was trying to say.

And now, the eternal struggle: Do I press that button down there, putting this crap all over the internet for anyone (and everyone, as it seems) to read? They'll all think I'm crazy, they'll sympathize, try to comfort me, that's not what I want. But if that's not what I want, then why did I write it? I'm not used to people knowing so much about me. It's not my fault that I'm not nearly as forthcoming in person as I am in writing. Well, okay, it's my fault, but only because I can't think of anyone else to blame.

And we'll keep working on the problem
We know we'll never solve
Of love's uneven remainders,
Our lives are fractions of a whole.

On Furnishings and the Lives They Lead

Here is a picture of our living room!

I just took this picture, and now it's on the internet. Wow. Technology, man. Yes, we have a black leather sofa. No, we didn't pay a stinking cent for it. It is covered with that colorful blanket in order to keep the southwestern theme to our decor. No, not really. We put the blanket on it because we got the sofa for free from a lady who had apparently kept it outside for quite some time, and it was very dirty. But we cleaned it (somewhat) and covered it, and now it's a perfectly good leather couch. The most difficult part about it was that it is extremely large and heavy, and the only way into our apartment is up an extremely rickety wooden staircase:

Ooh, creepy picture! But as it turns out, we got the couch on the same day that Lilly and her mother were paying four friends (in beer) to carry stuff into the house, so they had the fun job of getting the huge couch up the rickety stairs.

The coffee table in front of the sofa may look a little small, but you should have seen it before we put the top on it! The wooden top to the table is not actually attached to the rest of the table. Emily bought the bottom, which she thought was a coffee table, but is more like a pair of shelves which are meant to go in a closet or something (Target can be pretty random sometimes), as they are too small to really be a table. But we found a piece of wood (our place was oddly full of random planks of wood) and now it resembles some kind of coffee table.

You can kind of see our table and chairs in the "dining room" past the sofa on the right. It's more of a breakfast nook than a dining room, but it's nice. Anyway, the table and chairs are Ikea, but we got them from a couple that was moving and couldn't keep most of their stuff. A table, two chairs, a TV stand, another chair that is kind of falling apart that they threw in for free, and a blender, all for $55. Not too shabby. Other than that, there isn't really a story behind anything else in the room. You can't see Lilly's six-foot candelabra in this picture, it's off to the left, but it's gigantic and strange and gives me nightmares.

Today was Labor Day, which meant a day off from all my labor. I was going to put a joke here about the irony of a woman going into labor on Labor Day, but then I couldn't decide if that was actually ironic or if by making the joke I would risk being compared to Alanis Morrisette, so I decided to leave it out. I don't actually know of anyone who went into labor today (do you? That would be hilarious!) but it just popped into my head.

So anyway, tomorrow is Tuesday, and as the day after Labor Day, it holds no special status at all, which means it's back to class for me. I have another lesson tomorrow, which will be my second, and which reminds me that I should probably get some sleep tonight. With that in mind, I will sign off for now. Before I do, though, I want to say quickly that I do not intend, with the lighthearted entries on this blog, to ignore or make light of the disaster and tragedy going on around me as a result of Hurricane Katrina. I am new to Houston, but several thousand people have arrived here recently from New Orleans who are even newer to the area, and are without homes or food. Despite the fact that I live only a few miles from the Astrodome and Reliant Stadium, I have seen little of the effects of this migration. As a student at Rice, I feel very sheltered and very fortunate compared with those around me. Right now I am not sure what I can or should do, but hopefully I will have an opportunity to help in some way. Until then, my prayers are with the victims here in Houston and elsewhere all around the Gulf Coast.

On Things That Should Never Be Put into Writing

Today in the parking lot I saw a huge black truck with a small yellow sticker on the bumper. At first I thought it was a parking pass, but when I got closer, I saw that it said "Hunting License" on it. Hmm, that's strange, I've never seen one of those on a car before, though this did look like the kind of truck you would take hunting. I stepped in for a closer look, and that was when I saw what it really was.

It said "Terrorist Hunting Permit." And under that, it said "Holder may hunt day or night, with or without dogs."

At first I was just shocked. After it sank in, I became angry. I wanted to slash the huge tires on this truck, something to show them that bad things happen to bad people. It really made me mad. Then I realized that this was the first time since I had gotten here that I had become angry just by being in Texas, or around Texans. Up to this point, it had just seemed like a novelty. Even when I heard about what Emily saw in a store around the corner from our apartment, a little ceramic orange traffic cone to be used as a paperweight or something to put on one's desk, which read "If we outlaw all the guns, what will we use to shoot all the liberals?" Or something along those lines. Even then I wasn't mad, just kind of amused at the absurdity of it. But this bumper sticker, for some reason, had the opposite effect.

If you're reading this, terrorist hunter, I despise you. You're the reason nobody wants to live in Texas.

On Poetic Justice

Sigh. Well, I asked for comments, and I got them. And while I must agree that Eva Longoria is at least one of the sexiest TV stars of all time, I was not all that pleased with the comment spam that resulted from my entreaty for more comments. Therefore, I have made it so that you cannot post a comment without verifying that you are a human being by doing one of those "type what is written above" word verification steps. If anything, this will be annoying to my actual readers, and I will get fewer comments, but I have come to accept that. I guess Jill was right, it's impossible to know exactly who is reading this.

Today there was a brass pizza party and I had my first lesson, which involved, among other things, playing Autumn Leaves with lots and lots of slide vibrato. It was strange, and I'm not quite sure what it accomplished, but I do know that now I am supposed to practice slide vibrato regularly. Perhaps there is a good reason behind it, for as we all know, trombone teachers work in mysterious ways. Or was it that other guy, what's his name...oh yeah, Jesus. Either way. All in all it was a good day, but a long day, with a lot of playing. I think I am going to go home and rest.

We might finally get a TV soon, and then...transcending history and the world...a tale of souls and swords...eternally retold.... I'm very excited.

On Michael Jackson and UFOs

So since I put the counter on this site, there have been 57 hits in a matter of two days. This is all well and good, however, I am struck by another fact, that in the past two days, there have been exactly zero new comments. Comment, people! Just click where it says "x comments" and that will bring you to the page where you can write whatever you want. I want to know who is reading this thing, and I made it possible for absolutely anyone to comment for that exact reason. For example, I just found out recently that my parents have been reading this (Hi, parents). That's fine, I'll admit at first I was upset, since I thought there might be things on here that I wouldn't want them to know. But there aren't, and so I say, read on, parents! But it would be nice to know who else I am sharing stuff with, so please drop me a note, however brief. I think you can even comment anonymously, if you're into the whole secrecy thing. But if you absolutely refuse to comment, then at least drop me an email, tell me how much you love (or hate) reading this thing. It will make me feel better. And that, in turn, will make the world a better place. For you and for me and the entire human race. Heal the wooooooorld.......

Today was a good day. I had my seating audition for orchestra, and was pleased with how I did. I also met with my teacher for the first time since school started; the studio went out for barbecue at a place called Goode Company. It was excellent barbecue. Then after that we went out to the Flying Saucer, which is a bar downtown where they have $2.50 pints on Mondays (anywhere outside of Oberlin, this is an excellent deal). It was my first time downtown, and it seemed nice. At least, it seemed like it would be nice in the daytime. At night, it was kind of deserted, except for the numerous homeless people, and other bar patrons like us.

Tomorrow is also shaping up to be a busy day. I have class, then studio class, then brass rep, and then my first lesson. Then Wednesday, we start orchestra! The way everyone keeps talking about the orchestra here, I am very excited to start playing in it. Then on Thursday I start teaching, which is exciting though a little scary at the same time. A big week in the making.

On the Brighter Side

Here is a view of my life here in Houston. It's kind of fuzzy, but on the left in the foreground is Alice Pratt Brown Hall, the main building for the Shepherd School of Music at Rice, where I spend most of my time during the day. This view is at night, with the skyline from the medical center in Houston as background on the right. Bear with my lack of photography skills, I just got the phone today, and I was slightly inebriated when I took this.

The internet works in my apartment! That means now, instead of being online sporadically during the day, I will be online consistently and over long periods, mostly at night! Hooray! In other news, the electricity works again, the stove was fixed so that the apartment no longer smells like natural gas (or maybe that's just how Texas smells...), and I now have two teaching jobs. I am teaching in two high schools about 45 minutes Northwest of the city, one on Tuesdays from about 6:30 to 8:30 or 9, and the other on Thursdays from about 3 to about 9. I'm going to be raking in the dough. Hopefully I will be able to stop myself from spending it all.

It has come to my attention recently that, while this page was intended to contain information about both me and Houston, specifically contained in humorous anecdotes about things that happen to me when in or around Houston, everything I have posted so far has been mostly about me and not as much about Houston. In fact, whenever I do mention Houston, it is usually to complain about the driving or the weather. In light of this fact, I would like to say the following positive things about this city which I must call my home for the next two years.

-The sky here is beautiful. I don't know what else to say about it except that it's not fair. The rest of the country should not be deprived of this view of the blue sky mixing with fluffy clouds at all times of the day, changing to any number of colors at sunset. Often when I am walking or driving around, I feel like the sky is not real, like it was painted on a cliff by Wile E. Coyote, and I am about to smash head first into that cliff (I hate that coyote!). I wish I could describe it better.

-People here, when outside of their vehicles, are quite courteous. If I'm waiting in line at CVS (it's around the corner and 24 hours, so I'm there often), and another line opens, and the cashier motions to the man behind me to go over, the man invariably will point to me and say, "He was first," as if there is this predetermined order to the world, and far be it for him to try to skip a turn. I thank him and proceed to the checkout, and everyone is happy. In New England, the man behind me would have pretended I wasn't even there, and cut me without a second's thought. It is something to think about.

-I consider myself to be an excellent long-distance driver. In short sprints, I will often be outrun by sporty cars and their constant lane-maneuvering. But over the long haul, my slow and steady pace will win every time. As a long-distance specialist, I have always considered the highway to be my friend. And nowhere am I among more friends than in Houston. There are highways everywhere. The streets are practically highways themselves, with as many as six or eight lanes in places. As much as I complain about the traffic and the bad driving, I want to also say that I appreciate the amount of road space available to me here. It makes driving on Main Street feel like riding a bicycle down a football field.

Well, despite my best efforts, it seems that I have run out of good things to say about Houston. I will go try to think of more in my sleep, and perhaps there will be more good news in the morning.

A Truly Sad Day for Us All

R.I.P. Big Clunky Cell Phone with Antenna Attached by Krazy Glue 2003-2005

Now I have a new cell phone! And it's awesome! I would take a picture of it with my new cell phone and show it to you, but that would cause some kind of rift in space-time. But trust me, it's awesome:

On Darkness as Helplessness

The electricity is out in my apartment. It's completely dark.

I would be mad, be cursing at the electric company, but the situation was entirely avoidable, had I only called the company earlier to put the electricity into my name. Granted, I called on Monday, which was the day our lease started, and they said that the electricity would start in my name tomorrow. I knew that today was the last day that it would be in the name of the previous tenant, so since the woman on the phone at the electric company didn't say anything at the time, I just assumed that they wouldn't turn the electricity off today just to turn it back on tomorrow. That would be a waste of time and money, right? What company could be so inefficient?

But guess what! That's exactly what they're doing! Tonight, no electricity. Tomorrow, it comes back! Which is good, but it also probably means that they can charge us for the visit to turn it back on. Not to mention the inconvenience of holding us without electricity for one day. Sons of bitches. And since it takes three days to turn on electricity (Why? What about this could possible take three days? I drove across the fucking country in three days! Is their service man in Boston right now, and can't come flip the fucking switch until he drives here? What the fuck?), there is nothing that I can do to get the electricity turned on tonight, according to the nice customer service lady I talked to on the phone today. She said that since I called Monday, our electricity was coming on tomorrow, while the previous tenant's electricity was turned off today, as scheduled. So I asked her when tomorrow the electricity would be turned on, and she said, "Some time during the day." Well, yes. So I asked if I could request that it be early in the day. She said "No, but hopefully it will be turned on soon." I said "Yes! Yes, hopefully it will!" Then I thanked her sincerely and hung up the phone.

I can't help but feel responsible, even though this wasn't really my fault. Still, I am forcing two other people to live in a second floor apartment in Houston without air conditioning or light for one night. We stored our perishable food in our neighbors' refrigerator, so that's not a problem. It's just an unnecessary hassle.

On the brighter side, it seems to be cooling off nicely outside as it gets dark, so maybe the apartment won't be completely unbearable, and I might get some sleep. Also, today was a good day as far as feeling more settled and at home. Lilly arrived, my other housemate, and it feels better to have all three living in the house. We still lack a lot of necessary furniture, but we can fix that soon. We also met our downstairs neighbors (in whose fridge our milk is currently not going sour) and they are quite nice and seem like cool guys. We're even going to split wireless internet six ways, which is excellent, if we can get it working. And I acquired a studio key yesterday and practiced there for the first time today, which strangely made me feel more like I belonged than practicing in the practice rooms. I hope that, as the next couple of weeks go on, I will get more into the routine, start teaching, and generally fall into the idea that Houston is home and the right place for me at this time.

Though I'm not sure how long it will be until I stop missing Oberlin.

On Valhalla and Nesting Rituals

So I'm slowly getting used to life in Texas. Today I bought a dresser (of sorts, really a cabinet) at Target, and once I get it assembled and I'm unpacked and all moved in, I'll feel a lot better. We still need to find furniture for the common spaces, but that can wait a little while.

Last night I ran into a couple of the other new Graduate trombonists while practicing, and I went with them to Valhalla. Valhalla is the Graduate bar on campus. I was lucky I was with someone, because it seems like a place that you would never find unless you knew where it was already. I'm not entirely sure that it would even be visible if you weren't looking for it. You get to it by going around the back side of one of the buildings on campus (the engineering building?), and entering what was described to me as a "midget door." That's exactly what it looked like. However, there were no midgets inside. We walked through a hallway that was painted with weird scenes depicting Norse Gods and dragons and other mystical things, and into a tiny room that was pretty much a bar and three to six tables. It was a complete hole in the wall dive, and it was great. Beer was 85 cents a cup, or if you wanted the expensive stuff, $1. I got drunk with the studio, as well as another trombonist, Mike, who graduated last year. Then we went to a Mexican place called Ruchi's, which is open 24 hours and had some of the best Mexican food I've ever had (keep in mind, I was drunk). All in all, it was a good night, and an important first bonding experience for the studio.

Then today we had our first Brass Rep class. I played the first piece, and then stayed to listen to some of the second. The brass department sounds pretty damn good, I think. I can't wait to play in the orchestra starting next week.

Now I am going to go home and assemble my cabinet. Maybe, depending on how long it takes, I can finish unpacking afterwards, and tonight can be my first night spent at home in Houston.

On Adventures in Shopping, Texas Style

It seems that there is some truth to the rumors that everything is bigger in Texas. I had my doubts, thinking that perhaps this was just another unfair stereotype, but these doubts were put to rest when I tried to buy a loaf of bread.

I was bored yesterday afternoon, so I went in search of a grocery store, so that I could do some minimal food shopping. I just wanted to get pasta, pasta sauce, some soup, peanut butter, and bread, you know, the bare essentials. After a little bit of driving around town, I found a place called Fiesta. Fiesta seemed to be a rather large supermarket, but it did pride itself on its low food prices, so I thought I would give it a try. It turned out to be a rather normal-sized supermarket on the inside, with all the usual food stuffs. I got everything I was looking for, and then I went for the bread aisle.

I just wanted a loaf of bread. Not too big, not too small. Just enough for me to make peanut butter sandwiches for the next few days or so. The first loaves I looked at were Fiesta brand bread, probably not any good, but cheap, only 89 cents. 89 cents for a whole crapload of bread. This was the biggest loaf of bread I have ever seen, it was like two loaves in one bag. I went down the aisle to look at the other brands of bread, and they were all the same, it was a big two for one sale on bread, only you couldn't buy just one loaf, they only came in huge double-sized bags. I went back down the aisle again and picked up the Fiesta brand bag, and paid for the food. As it turns out, it was quite cheap. I think Fiesta might become one of my favorite places to shop. At first I thought I should try to find someplace with normal-sized loaves of bread and shop there instead, but then I realized that I would have to go out of state for that. After all, everything is bigger in Texas.

Well, tomorrow I move in to my apartment finally, and I have my first class as a graduate student. Then things look like they will pick up later in the week as the semester gets into full swing. So until next time, faithful readers, have a wonderful day.

On a New Life and Impending Adulthood

The time has finally come. My trip is at an end. I am in Houston.

I got in yesterday, driving into downtown Houston right smack in the middle of rush hour (6:00 to 6:30 pm central time). The traffic was so bad that it made me never want to drive in Houston again. "Too bad!" said Houston, "there's basically no public transportation. You gots to drive!" Then I was all like "Damn, Houston, that's cold. I thought we were friends." And Houston was all like "Whatever, man. I don't even know you." I tried to reason with Houston, but by this point he was completely ignoring me.

But that was not my worst or last encounter with driving in Houston. I went to a job interview today in a suburb northwest of the city, to teach private lessons in trombone and euphonium at a high school. The drive there took me on about five different highways which wind and intersect in and around the city. Traffic was terrible, even at 2 in the afternoon, and the fact that I had only a small idea of where I was going made it that much worse. It was worth it in the end, because I got the job, but now I'm trying to cope with the fact that I have to repeat that hellish drive on a weekly basis all year long.

Today was my first day of graduate school, and it was a long and busy day. So far it is very strange to be a graduate student in a completely new place. It's very weird somehow to be on a campus that is my campus but isn't Oberlin. I won't list all the things that I did today, but there have been a few things that have really made my situation hit home. I think I will share those with you.

-My new Rice ID says "Graduate Student" right there under my name. It's not quite like having letters after your name, but it does make you feel accomplished.
-When I was talking to the band director at the high school, who also went to Rice for trumpet, he never really asked for any credentials, though I did give him a resume. At one point he said "I know that since you go to Rice you must be good and you must know what you are doing," and that was enough for him to hire me. I didn't realize that the simple fact of what school you go to could hold such sway.
-Entering the high school where I will teach was the first time I had been in a high school since I had recently been a student myself. I at first wondered if people would think I was a student, but then when I saw the students I realized how preposterous that was. I looked much more like a teacher than a student. Walking into a high school as a teacher for the first time somehow seemed like a crash course in becoming an adult. I'm not sure if I'm ready, but I'd better get ready fast.

Now I'm tired, but I have the whole weekend to get some rest before classes start on Monday. For this I am extremely thankful.

On International Friends and Old Jokes that Die Hard

DrivingdrivingdrivingdrivingdrivingdrivingdrivingInternet! Hey, I found an internet connection at my hotel! That means I can update my blog!!!

So yeah, I'm here at the Comfort Inn outside of Tuscaloosa, Alabama, and, thanks to Josh, I no longer have any fear of getting an elephant caught in my pajamas. At least for tonight.... But that's irrelephant. The important thing is, I've been driving for two days, traveled over 1200 miles, and I'm almost there. Just one more day, and Houston will finally feel my wrath.

Thanks to all who have called while I've been on the road, it's been good to talk to people, especially those in other countries who I haven't talked to in a long while. It's not often that I get phone calls from Japan and Guatemala in the same day!

The drive so far has been good. There have been a few landmarks, such as the Pink Cadillac Diner in Lexington, Virginia, and of course driving by Fort Chiswell is always a pleasure (Fo' Chizzwell, ma nizzwell!). But I have also learned a lot. For example, I learned that with a few small adjustments (removing headrest, reclining chair, putting down sun visor, pointing slide at opposite corner of windshield, slouching slightly) it is entirely possible to practice trombone in the front seat of my car. That is, as long as you don't plan to use seventh position. Which I don't!!!! I found this out while I was in the tiny northwest corner of Georgia that separates Tennessee from Alabama on I-59 south, and it started to pour rain hard enough that I pulled into a truck stop to wait it out. With time on my hands, I decided to see if I could get some practicing in, and lo and behold I could, even with the back seat full of boxes! I am a veritable Jack-of-all-trades. That didn't make any sense.

Anyway, signing off for now, hope to see Texas soon, and when I get there I will report on whether the stars at night are indeed big and bright.

To respond:
-Of course I knew that the M&Ms had been training, that's what they do! Never underestimate the power of the M&M.
-I wasn't making fun of Russian gymnasts, I think they're extremely hot. Talented! I meant Talented!
-Don't make fun of maths, or mats as the Canadians call them.
-You would like Lolita, you pervert. You like 40-year-old men.
-I try to steer clear of New Jersey. Like yesterday, I could have driven through and messed with it some, but I think it's better this way. Though I did mess the hell out of Pennsylvania. I think Ohio has had enough of me for now, I've messed with Ohio quite a bit in my day. As for Indiana, I hate that fucking place. Next time I'm driving through there, look out, it's going to get seriously messed with.

On Texas and Other States Not to be Messed With

Tomorrow I leave. Starting in Newton, I head Southwest until I hit Mexico, then I turn and go back just a little. Actually, it's not quite that easy to find Houston. On Tuesday I will leave Massachusetts, drive through Connecticut, into New York, across to Pennsylvania, and then a brief visit with Maryland and West Virginia on my way to Virginia. About halfway down Virginia I will stop for the night in the town of Lexington, where many important revolutionary war battles were fought...wait...no. Nevermind. I wanted to drive until I was tired, feel it out as I went where I should stop each night, but my mother nixed that idea. I had to have reservations. So now I do, and they are in Lexington, VA.

My second reservation, for Wednesday night, is in Tuscaloosa, Alabama. I get there by driving down the rest of Kentucky, into Tennessee, then down to Birmingham, and just a bit further west to Tuscaloosa. Though I visit half the number of states on Wednesday that I visited on Tuesday, the distance is almost exactly the same. That's because Southern states are bigger and more boring. Interesting! I meant to say interesting! The keyboard slipped.

Then Thursday, the final leg of my drive, I leave Tuscaloosa traveling west into Mississippi. When I reach Jackson, I turn south and head towards Louisiana. Then finally, west into Texas and to Houston, where I arrive (if all goes well) on Thursday night.

Total distance: 1,854 miles. That's over 70 marathons. Thankfully, I'm not running there. Mostly because I wouldn't be able to carry all my stuff.

Tip of the Day: If you haven't seen The Aristocrats yet, go see it. It's hilarious.

On Vending Machines and Probability Theory

I will begin by assuming that anyone reading this is familiar with the concept of a vending machine. You put money in, press a few buttons, and the snack food or soft drink related to that particular combination of buttons drops from a height ranging from 6 to 24 inches to the bottom of the machine, where, after pushing a trap door open, you can retrieve your chosen item. Well let me just say that the vending machine here where I have been working for the summer functions slightly differently. I used to think it was merely a harmless variation on the original.

Until today.

I went this morning to the kitchen to get a cup of tea (I stayed up last night finishing Lolita and was in need of some caffeine...by the way, I'm sorry, it was well written and all, but that book just didn't hold my attention after the first hundred or so pages), and decided, as I often do when tempted by the evil vending machine, that I wanted a bag of M&Ms. It is my last day of work before shipping off to Houston on Tuesday, so I decided to get the candy even though there were two other people standing in the kitchen at the time, and I usually prefer to be alone when admitting a certain weakness for chocolate in a thin candy shell. I put in my dollar, pressed the appropriate combination of buttons, and the M&Ms fell...not quite far enough.

You see, the trap door present on most vending machines is mysteriously absent on this one. Instead, there is a chamber in the shape of a cylinder on its side. The food falls into the chamber, then if you follow the instructions to "push down" on the protruding piece of plastic, two cylindrical plastic shells move in opposite directions around the chamber, the opening at the top through which the food just fell closes, and another opening appears towards you, showing your food lying in wait. Until today, the only defect of this system that I had found was that, if the previous user did not move the cylinders back to their original position, it was sometimes necessary to first lift up on the plastic piece, to open the top so the food falls in, and then push back down again, which is a small price to pay for delicious M&Ms. However, there is also a ledge on either side of the cylinder, just above it and out of reach, which I never noticed before, because it seems far too small to support any snack food. My friends, it is on this ledge, leaning straight up against the wall, above and to the left of where they were supposed to land, that my M&Ms now stand.

Three other men (a third had entered) watched as I moved the cylinder up and down, opening and closing the compartment, hoping that the M&Ms would fall in. They did not. On the advice of one of the men, I began rocking the entire machine back and forth, but to no avail. Then another of the men came over and started to punch the machine with his fist, right where the bag stood, mocking me. No help. Finally, the third man, not wanting to be left out, grasped one side of the machine as I took the other, and we lifted it up on one corner as far as we could, shaking it violently at an angle of about 45 degrees to the floor. Nothing. I feigned indifference and left, silently vowing that I would return, 65 cents again in hand, and I would have my M&Ms.

I waited a few minutes, to make sure that the kitchen would clear out, then I returned. I was alone. I put the money in. I pushed down on the lever, so that the top of the chamber would be closed. I'm not sure why I did this, other than in the hope that the second bag of M&Ms would fall in the same direction as the first, and would hit them and knock them over, and I for some reason thought this would be more likely if I closed the compartment. Well, the second bag did fall in the same direction as the first. It did hit the first. But rather than dislodge it, as I had hoped, it stayed. On the ledge. Right next to the first bag. I stared in disbelief. Remember, or realize, since I am telling you for the first time, that this ledge is no more than a centimeter in width, and it was now carrying two bags of milk chocolate M&Ms. Perhaps had I chosen peanut this wouldn't have happened. But I didn't want fucking peanut. I moved the cylinders, up and down, up and down. Nothing. I couldn't believe what was happening. I repeated my motions of earlier, rocking the vending machine back and forth. To my great relief, this did actually succeed in dislodging the second bag, which I am eating as I write this. The first bag, I assume, still resides on that small ledge, crying out to me that it will never be conquered, it will remain there for eternity.

Indeed, I leave work today never to return. I will be over a thousand miles away by next Thursday, and the M&Ms will have won, my surrender will be complete. I have, since the incident, come to terms with this fact. But I am still baffled by the probabilistic implications of what just occurred. The chance that two consecutively vended bags of M&Ms would follow the same trajectory, the top of the bag falling to the left as the machine pushed it out, one full and perfect somersault with a quarter turn over the fall of about 12 inches, a perfect landing, perpendicular to the glass, on that tiny ledge, must be microscopic, not even to mention the chance that one centimeter-wide ledge could hold upright two full bags of M&Ms. Like Russian gymnasts these bags landed on that balance beam, perfect each time, just like they had practiced over and over as they waited in line for their turn to jump. So my question is, what kind of strange singularity was this? What other aberrations, defiant of physics and mathematics, could be possible within this kitchen? I shudder to think.

I realize that this is an overly long post, and it is not at all the bold new beginning I had imagined for my Houston Adventure Blog, but as I sit savoring my $1.30 bag of M&Ms, I can't help but think that this incident, strange and new and completely inexplicable, is the perfect way to end one phase of life and begin another. Physically, I am still here in Boston, and yet I feel as if I have just begun a long journey.