Second verse same as the first

The 24th of July is usually filled with, well, the usual. There's a big parade up in Salt Lake, family gatherings of some type in the evening, and then fireworks at night. However, yesterday was my favorite Pioneer Day to date, thanks to five old British men.

While enjoying the cool weather and "rides" up at Snowbird with my family, I received a text from a cello buddy of mine inviting me to attend the Herman's Hermits concert out at Usana with her and her family. Herman's Hermits? Oh yeah, the guys that sing Henry the 8th or something. Sure, why not.

Last night I was reminded of how much I love live concerts. I'm not sure why I do, but I do. Perhaps it's because I've only really gone to two in my life. At both, my presence brought the average age of the audience down by about 30 years. Just kidding, but seriously, there were a lot of old people rocking out to Kansas, and Hermie's band.

To make a long story short, I'm very grateful for the British invasion. Think of all the good bands that have come over and rocked the American continent harder then we could have done on our own. I mean, you've got The Beatles, The Bee Gees, The Rolling Stones, The Who, Elton John, The Cure, Depeche Mode, Coldplay...the list goes on and on...and of course, Herman's Hermits. I believe our playlists would be much shorter without them.

So yes, that's how my 24th of July holiday night was spent-- blowing my eardrums out for a bunch of hilarious 60 year old men who had killer-sweet accents, and who knew how to rock and roll.

What's worse then a physical? Not much.

Yesterday I went to my pediatrician for a pre-surgery review and some shots. Once again, I came out feeling quite violated. This happens every time I go in to see that woman. She's a nice lady, and probably a good doctor. But I still don't like what she does, and never will. Trips to the doctor, when you are healthy, are one of the worst things you can put yourself through. This is why I hate going:

• The Waiting Room: The only things I like about this part are the tank of tropical fish in the middle of the room, and the occasional magazine of interest lying around. But I could do without the snot-nosed, sickly kids running around like they aren't sick, and the awkwardness of filling out that sheet they give with questions like, "Are you sexually active at the moment?" or "When was your last period?"

• The Nurse before the Doctor: Fortunately, these guys get easier to deal with every time you come in. They are so predictable. All they want is your height, weight, temperture, and blood pressure. It's the same questions every time too. No, I'm not taking, or allergic to any medications, thanks. The main problem I have with these guys is that they tell me what I already know, and they get paid for it! "OK. Looks like you're six foot seven, and weigh three hundred pounds." Gee, guess who could have told you that? Maybe the person you're torturing.

• The Pre-Physical: Not only do you have to answer those stupid questions on the sheet, you get to discuss them with the doctor herself! But again, it's a predictable routine. Yes, I wear my seat belt. No, I'm not feeling sick or ill. No, I'm not sexually active at the moment. No, I don't plan on being soon. Yes, I'm sure. See? Piece of cake. The hardest part is not being sarcastic with your answers. I was very tempted to give her all the wrong answers, just to mess with her mind. Good thing I didn't, or I'd have been there a lot longer. But then...

• The Physical: There aren't many things in this world that make me uncomfortable by just thinking about them, but this is one of them. Yesterday's episode was no exception. Always a scarring moment, always. I really could have told her that nothing was wrong with me. She didn't need to look. Or feel. Ok, we're done.

• Urinating in a cup: This part can't be anything but awkward either. The worst is when you don't have to go, and they make you drink water and wait. As I sat in the bathroom, I was extremely tempted to just take the cup, dunk it into the toilet, and then put it in that little cubby hole and wait for a response. I wonder what they would have done. Would they have been mad? What do you say to that? "Nice try. Now go pee for real this time." I don't know. But it would have lightened my very dark mood. Perhaps next time I shall bring some yellow food coloring with me and give it a shot. Oh, I almost forgot. Afterwards, the nurse told me that my urine looked fine, but that it was very concentrated and I need to drink more water. Again, something I could have told her. Can you see how all of this really isn't necessary?

• Shots: Can you believe these people? After having the nerve to do what they did, they go and stick me. Usually shots and blood drawing doesn't bother me. Usually it doesn't hurt. Usually I can't even feel it. Yesterday was an exception for some reason. The three shots didn't hurt much, but I felt them, and my arms were sore for the rest of the night. Thanks a lot.

The appointment ended with a discussion between my mom and the doctor about my acne problems. It was as if I wasn't even there. Yes, I have zits, thank you. Thanks for noticing. Geez. No wonder I walked out to the car completely cheesed off.

Grade Goons

I promise that I'm not some nerd who calendars in the birthdays of the Beatles. I just remember when they are, and for some reason I seem to blog on those days, though usually not for the sole purpose of acknowledging them. This post wasn't intended to be about Ringo. And it won't be. I'm just going to give him the spotlight for a few seconds, and then I'll get on to what I came here for in the first place. Today, July 7th, is Richard Starkey's birthday. He is 66 years old I believe. To be honest, I'm surprised that he is still alive. He's the oldest of the Beatles, had the most health problems throughout his life, smoked heavily with the rest of them, but he's still around to tell the tale. Pretty nifty. Happy Birthday Ringo.



The real reason I'm here is to say that I'm sick of grade goons. Grade goons are people who are obsessed with getting the best scores in the class, and go around to everyone saying, "Wha'dja get?Wha'dja get?" or "How do you think you did?" to make sure that they're better then everyone else. I know that some people really are just curious, and have no intention of using you to boost their self-esteem. But there are a few that I have to avoid on test days because it gets so annoying.

I used to be one of these goons myself. I really would ask certain people about every assignment and test, just to make sure I did better. I would have thoughts like, "Oh. Well, if I do better then him, that doesn't matter because he's stupid. But if I do better then her, then I must be really smart." Horrible, I know, but I guess I was that insecure. I'm not like that at all anymore. I hate comparing scores with others.

I totally forgot that the grade goons would come around after school was over, because this summer, we get our AP scores back. Curse those stupid things. Everyone says they don't really matter, so why do we act like they do? I don't know. But I haven't enjoyed people going out of their way to make sure they did better then I did. Thank goodness the mailman is late. It's bought me some time and comfort.

Grade goons shouldn't bother me. I know they shouldn't. Why do they then? All I wish to say to them is this: Get a clue. 30 years from now, or heck, even 3 months from now, it won't matter. In fact, it doesn' matter now. So bug off.

When I get older, losing my hair...

Today, Father's Day, June 18th, 2006, is Paul McCartney's Birthday. Did I mention it's his 64th? Well, it is. Pretty impressive I'd say. Of course, we've all heard the song When I'm Sixty Four. And we all waited for this day when we could celebrate Paul's 64th, just because of that song. I'm listening to it as I type this up. I was hoping it would sound different, or more special for this occasion but somehow...it doesn't. Or does it? Then we come to this lovely little lyric, "Will you still need me, will you still feed me," It appears not. Apparently, Paul's latest wife is divorcing him. That's kind of funny. Anyways, happy birthday Paul! We could sing Birthday on this day as well, I suppose. Wowza.

Children of the Basement

You may not realize it, but there are many among us that I like to call Children of the Basement. They are unique in several ways. I never noticed them until I became a child of the basement myself. I'm here to inform those of you ground-level or attic people how to pick a child of the basement out of a crowd. The examples and stories shared are true.

1. Children of the basement aren't afraid of spiders, generally. That's because we live with them. I used to hate seeing spiders crawl across my floor or on my wall, but now it's so common that I don't even flinch. For example, the other day I was cleaning out my closet, and after I had removed all the stuff lying on the floor, I found four spiders. Two were dead, one was hiding in his web mansion located in a dark corner, and the other raced out of my shoe when I picked it up and proceeded to zoom across my hand. No big deal.*Squash...*Vacuum...problem solved.

2. Children of the basement don't adjust to warm weather clothing as quickly as others. We tend to wear long sleeved shirts and long pants a few weeks after most have pulled out their tank tops and shorts. The reason is that we wake up in a freezing basement! We can't help but satisfy the need for heat, forgetting that outside it's ninety degrees. The added layers cause us to perspire more then usual during the day, so some children of the basement end up being pretty smelly. We're very familiar with "sweat pits."

3. Continuing with the clothes, children of the basement usually look like they dress in the dark. That's because we do. Sure, most of our basements are lit with lightbulbs. But man-made light doesn't reveal all that sunlight can. The only sunlight that children in their basements will see is what few rays can shine through the tops of window wells. It's very common to see us wearing pants with grass stains, navy blue nylons with black shoes or pants, shirts with food on them, or clothes that we wore the day before...and the day before that. Sorry, but we can't tell until we get outside. And by then, it's generally too late to do anything about it. Last week, I had a friend who came to school, then realized that the blouse she was wearing was see-through! It was a dark brown shirt, so she hadn't noticed when she put it on at home. When I asked her if her bedroom was in the basement, she was surprised and told me it was. I wasn't surprised.

4. Mornings are hard for basement children. If you want to see something funny, turn on the light in our rooms while we're sleeping and wake us up. I've been told our faces contort and we get all squinty-eyed. We do that when we walk outside too. I'd imagine most people react to light that way, but apparently with us it's more amusing. Come to think of it, we are more comfortable in darker rooms. Also, we don't jump out of bed as fast as we should. The reason for this goes back to the temperature issue. It's much warmer under covers then outside them.

Having read this, can you think of someone you know who might be a child of the basement? Why don't you ask them...you might discover that they are. Or, better yet, are you child of the basement that relates to this?

My Top 5

There are a lot of good songs out there, it's true. I tend to like most types of music. Give me a sweet bass line, and I'll start to drool...or dance. Or both. Once upon awhile ago, I was asked to name my top ten Beatles, just for the fun of it. It was silly, because the list changes all the time. But it made me wonder if I had a top ten "any song" list. That's ridiculous was my first thought. I like too many songs. However, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I do. The following five (in no particular order) will always be listed on top of Brittany's Favorite Songs. You'll probably notice that there are no Beatles songs here. They don't count, for they are a category unto themselves.

Linus and Lucy
Yep, that's right. This is that catchy Charlie Brown tune that everyone should be familiar with. It's fun to listen to and play as well. I don't think I could ever get sick of this song. Too much fun.

Jerk It Out
I first heard this song last summer when Becky and Garrison took me home from chemistry. We all pretty much went crazy. Pretty much. Ever since, I've just really liked this song, probably more then I should. The lyrics make no sense, and it's the same little tune over and over. But it's catchy, and that's what counts.

Superstition
I'm not sure why I fell in love with this song. For some reason, it's found a place in my liking, and it's here to stay. Like the previous two songs, and the two to be listed, it's catchy. I can't listen to it when I'm trying to do something productive, like clean my room, because I start dancing.

Stayin' Alive
I heart disco music. This song is amazing. Many fond memories are tied to it. It's another that can always get me to dance.

The Sweetest Thing
The funny thing about this song is that it's not my favorite U2 song. Weird, eh? That's kind of strange that it passes up the others in the long stretch. This song never fails to cheer me up. It's also fun to tinker on the piano with.

And there you have it. All these links to wikipedia are kind of to really interesting. Please don't judge me or my musical interests by this list. I tend to be a classic rock, jazz, and classical chick, but most of these songs don't relate to those broad fields. These five are just random songs that have and will continue to stick with me. I guess that in order for a song to qualify (as these do) for my top five to ten list, it has to be catchy, have a fun bass line, make me want to dance, and I can't ever get sick of it. Without one of those factors, the tune will fall short.

Death by Strings

Oh, my laws. I knew it was going to happen. There was nothing to do but put on a smile, and act pleased. But I tell you, it was tough. I wanted to wince, chuckle, laugh out loud, and cry at the same time.

Practicing for a wedding tonight. Sight reading a bunch of music we were. Pulled out Lennon-McCartney For Strings, Jane did. "Isn't this great? It's your favorite!" Paul proclaimed. "Here we go," Brittany thought.

I'm telling you, there are tons of terrible Beatles arrangements and remakes (my favorites thus far being Ticket to Ride by the Carpenters, and In My Life by Bette Midler), but the worst are with strings. When I say strings, I mean violins, mostly. Come to think of it, jazz choirs aren't so good either. But anyways, it's bad. I had to ask which song they were playing when they played Penny Lane. It was that unrecognizable. I actually own a string quartet plays the Beatles CD , or something along those lines. I accepted the gift politely. I couldn't wait to listen to it. Not because I expected something cool, but something disgustingly entertaining, rather. And it is.

In conclusion, I've uncovered the worst yet. It makes for an excellent (but true) riddle. What do you hear when strings play Norwegian Wood?

All talk, and hopefully some action

From what I’ve seen, summer plans have been the hot topic of conversation lately. I thought it would be good to make a list of my plans because the ideas come and go. If I don’t store them somewhere other then my head, I have a feeling they’ll disappear till next summer. So here you have it:

Get a job: Lame, I know. I figure I’m only in high school once, but I’ll spend the rest of my life working in one way or another. Why not live life while I have it? The reason: my parents. Actually, it’s not all that bad I guess. I’m a pro at wasting time, and filling up my schedule tends to eliminate this problem.

Learn the Napoleon Dynamite Dance: Those in attendance would agree that last summer’s attempt to master this art was pathetic and a total flop due to the awkward situation created by an unexpected visit from a certain neighbor’s boyfriend. However, I plan to conquer and succeed this summer. Who’s with me?

Join Marching Band: This is another one of those things I said I would do last summer, but didn’t. What’s more high school then marching band? Exactly. I’ve always fancied the idea of getting really tan from practice, hanging out with the band geeks, toting a big brass instrument, and investigating this so called, “love bus”. We’ll see how this turns out.

Jaw Surgery: The optimistic new surgeon says that my mouth will only be rubber-banded shut for 2 weeks max, and that he can do the single-jaw surgery and bone grafts at the same time. Should be a joy. Heh, just kidding, we have an update. It's booked till September. I would cross this off, but some have made specific comments on it, and it would throw off their numbering system. Can't have that now.

Learn how to read: Be it a book, magazine, newspaper, or cereal box, I plan on picking up the pace and reading it. I’ve decided there are too many benefits connected with reading to not do it more then I do. Too bad it took me all these years to figure that out.

Finish the Beatles: This is probably the trickiest plan, and might end up being the least likely to occur. I don’t think I can be a true fan if I haven’t heard their stuff, even if all of it isn’t great. I figure I have less then 100 to go though, which is really cool.

Become: A pool shark, a badminton bum, a hiking machine, a sudoku pro, and a biking fool. Now that would be TST.

Touch my toes: This is self explanatory. Definitely the most accomplishable. Tis just a matter of doing it. The hard part is getting past my knees.

I figure this list will grow with other tiny adventures as the seconds tick by. I plan on adding to it as they're thought of. Feel free to come along with me on this journey. To all of you out there with plans for the best summer ever, I say this: Good luck, and may the force be with you!

Homework On A Friday Afternoon

I wouldn't have put a heading here if I didn't have this assignment

This is a picture of a klipspringer. Description: Short body, massive hindquarters, and sturdy long legs. Stands on tips of truncated hotyves. Head wedge shaped on short neck, with big rounded ears. Horns wide set, upstanding spikes. Coat rough, hairs air filled, brittle, and loose (good insulation and padding). Color: nondescript, grizzled, yellowbrown or brown; ears with black border, white inside with radiating lark lines. Scent glands Huge preorbital glands opening in bull's eye of naked black skin.


What word would be fun to bold? loquacious

Whenever I hear or read the word italicize I immediately think Italian


Let's see...what else do I have to do? Oh yes, linkage.


Deal or No Deal happens to be another of those lame television shows that really are a waste of time, but you watch them anyways. It is addicting. There are two addicts living in my house, actually. As you can see, the show isn't an original, and that is a relief.


Perhaps Miss Campbell will give me extra credit for italicizing twice.

My latest hobby

Some of the earliest footage of our family-videos includes me retelling The Cat in the Hat for my great grandfather. I couldn't read, but I had the entire book memorized, and I could retell it if I had the pictures to guide me.

Every year at our extended family Christmas party, the kids put on a talent show for their parents. It's usually a musical event/piano recital. When I was ten however, my mom decided it would be a nice change to have me memorize The Night Before Christmas and tell the story while she held up the book and turned the pages.

When I was in seventh grade, I participated in the South Jordan Middle School story telling contest. It was an assignment for all seventh grade English classes. We had to memorize a short story, then stand up in class and retell it. The two kids with the highest score from each class could advance to the school "competition". I was very surprised when they told me that I would get to go on. Surprisingly, I ended up having a blast retelling the story to a kiva full of students, and I got to skip out of running the mile in gym that day.

I believe these things led to my love for memorizing random things. Newspaper articles, poems, notes from friends, whatever, if it's interesting, I might memorize it. I know it's weird, but I do this occasionally. For instance, I liked memorizing those stupid poems and chants for Mrs. Yates class just because they were fun to recite later. This week, I read a funny story and randomly decided to memorize it. That was fun, so then I remembered that I wanted to memorize the lyrics to The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald and did so.

Now I need your help. I'm going crazy! I need something good to memorize. Any suggestions?

Good things come to those who wait

It seems that cool things always happen on rainy days when Daphne's around.The two of us decided to show school spirit and attend a regional swim meet in Murray. When? Awhile ago. By the time we got there, the parking lot was full and we would have had to park at least a mile away. There were people coming in and out of the building though, so there was a chance we could snatch a spot up close. Sure enough, there was one. Daphne drove towards it, and as we approached we saw a big white SUV that wanted our spot as well. You don't argue with those big vehicles, they always win. Circling around again, we found a spot that was even closer then that one was. We got all excited, until we sighted another car that was going to take our precious spot. Great, just great that's 0 and 2, I thought. However, the lady that took our first spot was headed towards it on foot. She saw us get upset at the red truck that was going in for our prime second choice, and like a saint stood right in the middle of it until he had passed so we could take it. Amazing I tell you. We couldn't have parked closer, which was a blessing in the pouring rain. It's like they all say, good things come to those who wait.

Oh, and in case you were all wondering, I did get to see the Smelly Old Goat swim, for once in my life. She was amazing, and won the race I saw her swim. You little champ you.

Close encounters with the Rand kind

Before I begin, I'd like to mention that I had the hardest time getting a picture of Rand on here. I had a better one in mind, but it wouldn't load, darn it all. Oh well, the monkey look will have to do.

Rand is an interesting character. One minute he's your best friend, but mess around and he's your worst nightmare. You don't want to tick him off. When I first became a manager, I lived in constant fear of his wrath, especially on game days. As the season progressed, I figured out that I could relax and that he's harmless. However, before we managers ever do anything, the question is always, "What will Rand do if..." Being my mischevious and slightly rebellious self, I have had a few run-ins with this man. Fortunately, I'm still alive. If you've already heard these stories, stop reading now.

Run-in #1: The Bathroom Story

Once upon a time, it was very hot in English, and I took the hall pass to get a drink. I hardly ever use the bathrooms in the English hall (remember this). As I was getting a drink from the fountain in between the two bathrooms, who should come down the hall but Mr. Rand Rasmussen. It was just the two of us in this very long, empty hall.

I panicked because I didn't have anything to say, and I knew that he was going to say something to me on his way to the bathroom. The last thing I wanted to do was looked like a stuttering idiot in front of Rand, thinking it might have uncomfortable consequences later. So, I thought that if I went into the bathroom as if I was planning on it, stood in there for a few seconds till I knew he was in the bathroom, then left and went back to English, I could avoid an awkward situation. "Sounds like a plan," I quickly thought to myself.

Forgetting that the bathrooms are switched in the English hall, I nonchalantly stepped towards the boys bathroom, pushed open the door, and entered what I thought was a safe zone. Before I saw the urinals I heard Rand holler, "I wouldn't go in there Packard!" Confused, I turned around to see what he wanted, and then my heart sank as I read the words "Men's Restroom" on the door. He laughed, and I quickly replied "Yeah, good thing you were here to save me," as he entered and I exited.

As I walked back to English, I heard him talking to someone in there, so I'm glad I didn't go in far enough to be seen by anyone. I couldn't believe that in my attempt to avoid attention, I drew it all to myself. So much for being smooth.

Run-in #2: The Hat and the Stick Story

When the season's over, the managers get to sit up in Rand's room and do whatever they please once "The Book" is done. We check our email, talk, write on the board, talk, watch old games (yes, we are that bored) , talk, scrapbook, talk, and once in blue moon we do homework.

When the cat's away, the mice will play, right? One day Rand was gone, and I thought it would be fun to parade past occupied classrooms throughout the school wearing Rand's sponge-like Spalding basketball hat and his gigantic glasses while waving his pointer stick up and down like Professor Harold Hill. It was fun, actually, but I'm afraid the fun didn't last.

While practicing my baton skills, I dropped the stick and it broke. It was one of those "time stood still" or "life flashed before my eyes" moments. This wasn't just any break either, it was a wooden one. You know, the splintery, not very clean kind? I ran down to the woods room with two other managers, all of us feeling that this was my death day. To cut to the chase, we found some Elmers glue, and went back up to Rand's room.

As we opened the door, we could hear him and realized that he had come back. I booked it down the hall. Hate to admit it, but I went and hid in the bathroom, like a chicken. I was so scared standing in front of the mirror with his stolen hat and broken stick in my hands. I eventually worked up enough courage to go back, and I walked in like nothing had happened.

He was on the phone when I came back in, so he didn't notice me put his hat back on the shelf. He did catch me trying to rubber-band his stick back together though. To save time and space, I'll color code our conversation: "Why are you putting those on my stick?" "Oh, well, it's broken." "How'd it break?" "It was...uh...dropped." "Did you drop it?" This was it. I thought I was a gonner, seriously. Who gets away with breaking Rand's stick? No one. "Yes." "Hey! It's alright! I broke it yesterday, and accidentally swore in front of my class! Now I'm going to have to get a new one!"

Huh? The stick was already broken? Did that really happen? Yes, it did. I came off victorious again, with my life mind you.

I found it!

Awhile ago, I went to The International House of Pancakes with a bunch of friends for breakfast. This was during the UBSCT testing that we priveleged juniors and seniors did not have to take. Outside, twas grey and overcast, and as we were driving back to school, a really cool song came on the radio. I hadn't heard it before, and was in awe. Looking out of the rain-streaked car window, I imagined myself in Montana on some ranch, and then when I realized that the song was about a ship, I imagined myself at sea. This six-minute or so long song ended, but no DJ came on afterwards to inform me of the name of the artist or the song title. Disappointed, I walked through the school for the rest of the day with the tune in my head, convinced I wouldn't get to hear that song again.

Three days ago, I was messing around on iTunes and my dad came into the room. I showed him around, and he was impressed. He actually gave me a dollar to buy White Room for him. But anyways, as we were sitting there waiting for the thing to download, I told him about that title-less song I had heard a few months ago. He asked me to hum it for him. I did. He identified it immediately. "OH! That's The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald! By Gordon Lightfoot. You like that song?" I was shocked. For months I'd been thinking, "Gee, I wish I knew what that song was," and as it turns out, all I had to do was ask my dad.

I've listened to that song many times since then. Tis kind of my new love, or my "song of the week". Is it weird that I really like it? Apparently, it was overplayed in it's day (1988). The song itself is six and a half minutes long, the drums don't enter till one minute and thirty-six seconds into the song, it's the same little tune played over and over for fourteen verses, there's no chorus... but I still like it. It is a true story about the sinking of the SS Edmund Fitzgerald. How cool is that? It made for very interesting reading on Wikipedia. I've decided that I'm going to learn the lyrics to the song, though it will be a challenge. You all should too. And for the record, I think that Edmund Fitzgerald would be a sweet name for a fish or a big dog.

Why I love bagpipes:

I heard once that people who like bagpipes must have a reason for their liking. For some, it's because they are Scottish. If you're not Scottish and still like them, then the answer is that you are insane. That may be true of me, but I have another reason for loving bagpipes.

On Tuesday, March 14, 2006 I sat down to write my U.S. History World War II report paper about my Grandpa Brien. You just can’t sum up a war experience in two pages, 12 font, double- spaced. I wrote this paper using a book called “Reminiscence” that my grandmother put together after recording my grandfather’s experiences as he told them to her. It’s not very long, but it’s very powerful, to me at least. I’m not one to get emotional usually, but I was crying before I even got to the part that told of him being beaten by the Nazis. I can’t express in words how awful it feels to find all this out about my grandfather now that he’s gone. Just reading about all the training he went through, the places he visited, and thinking about him being up in an airplane dropping bombs over Europe made me think, “Holy cow! That was grandpa Brien!?!”

While I was reading about the Death March he was on, I stumbled across the story within the story that I had heard many times before: Grandpa and the bagpipes. He came down with dysentary, and he had to get out and walk alongside the sick wagon just to keep warm. At a halt, he rolled over into a ditch and decided that was it, he was done. However, right as he gave up to die, he heard bagpipes coming up the road. The sound they made, and the sight of the British prisoners marching by in their kilts revived him and kept him going the rest of the way. Hence my love of what Robert Kirby calls, "an instrument of mass destruction."

I didn’t appreciate him as much as I should have when he was alive. I honestly remember thinking, “What a grouchy, old fart!” a few times when I was younger. You know how old people are. They don’t act like the used to. My dad and I joke sometimes that the first lesson my grandpa will learn in heaven is manners. I wish that I had known about what he did in the war and after it when I would visit him. I love him a lot, and appreciate him and what he did. Blast my stupidity, and taking-things-for-granted-ness. Here’s to you, grandpa!

First post! Yeah, that's right....

So, I have absolutely no idea what to slap down here tonight for the first entry. I wish it were something excited, interesting, mind-boggling....or at least entertaining. I feel like the world is my audience, because this is the internet after all. I don't know what to do with all the non-existant pressure I feel to blog right now. Ok, I'll say this: The other day someone asked me if it would be OK by me to have Cafe Rio cater our orchestra banquet. I wanted to laugh. "Yeah, I think that'll work," was all I could say through my chuckles.