rapid return to winter overnight

welcome to the random rants and raves of a slightly disturbed city boi stuck in the middle of nowhere

"...life isn't a fucking romance novel... life is fucking Jerry Springer..."

Current Entry
Older Entries
Profile
Homepage
Sign my guest book!

Don't Tickle Tigger - 2003-09-10 - 04:52

The Essence of a Marching Band - 2003-04-15 - 04:19

In Beer, We Trust - 2003-03-25 - 03:19

Jealousy and Hookers - 2003-03-07 - 05:53

A Bang, A Scrape and a Raging Ouch - 2003-02-28 - 07:09

My Diary Rings

join my Notify List and get email when I update my site:
email:
Powered by NotifyList.com

2003-04-15 - 04:19

The Essence of a Marching Band


Ok, kids... I have a confession.

And since it won�t shock any of you to know that I�m gay... I have something else.

It�s a deep, dark secret that I don�t like to spread around...

I, Robert Craig, used to be a...

*gasp*

Band geek.

That�s right... in high school, some kids chose track or baseball or tennis...

... but my fat ass chose band.

At the ass crack of dawn, my fat ass was out on the field, stretching for the strenuous marching activities. I had my little formation charts and the corresponding coordinates written down in my own little methodical way in my tiny notebook.

While most of you were still in bed, I was out on the field putting down clothes pins and running the same eight bars of The Sorcerer�s Apprentice with my little clarinet clutched in my hands.

I was one of those losers who ate with the other band geeks in the band room, while Mr. Waggoner told us stories of glory days in Drum and Bugle Corps and having heated arguments over whether or not Lake Park really deserved first place at the last competition.

When the school day was over and most of you either rushed off to the locker room for a grueling practice or home to watch TV, I scurried for the band room to gossip about how the big junior trumpet player and the innocent little freshman flute player were seen holding hands during the third passing period of the day.

I started to wean myself off of band during my senior year, after a fallout with the band director over my choice to miss band rehearsals because of other extra-curricular activities.

When I got to Cornell, I joined the marching band, right away, thinking the same little clique would make me feel at home. Much to my disappointment, the band was all about drinking and fucking things up and they all actually wanted to be at the sporting events to watch the sporting events.

I quit, soon after the realization hit.

So... after I quit the band, I quickly forgot about all of my geekiness and quickly turned into the token gay boi.

But... recently, I have started to really relive all of those moments because of work.

You see, in high school, there were a few kids who did band for one reason only. We went and marched at Disney World.

For four glorious days in the middle of February, we loaded up two buses and made the voyage from the suburbs of Chicago to Orlando to do parades in the parks.

Well... now that I�ve been Magic Kingdom�s parade bitch, I�ve been lucky enough to see all of the bands in the parking lot next to the production center preparing to march down the sacred Magic Kingdom Parade route.

And my favorite pastime is now clear...

Making fun of those poor little band geeks.

I mean... I never realized how god-awful we looked in our uniforms... or really what losers we were.

When I talked with Christy in high school before going out on the field to march, I never really thought a lot about it. I just saw Christy.

But anyone outside of the band saw a three-hundred pound girl with cankles (where the calves and ankles are virtually indistinguishable) who shouldn�t ever be allowed to wear spandex.

Now that I have taken myself out of my little band geek bubble, I am able to actually see the bands.

Which is why I love sitting in the smoking area outside of the production center, staring slack-jawed at the wretched marching bands getting ready to go out.

It�s actually quite a lot of fun. We have a pretty regular group of us, now. We sit and talk about the band�s uniforms, potential gay bois (i.e. any boy with a flute) and people who should never ever be allowed to wear spandex.

As our resident little Asian puts it... �Spandex is privilege... not a right.�

And let me tell you... each and every band director and color guard instructor needs to sign a waiver before being allowed to order color guard uniforms that they understand this and will adhere to it. I mean... I think that it took a fifty-yard roll of fabric to cover just three of the girls in the back of one of the bands, the other day.

*shudder*

Anyhow... the other day, I think I about peed myself.

And what I�m about to say guarantees my express bus to hell...

There was a girl at the back of the band in a wheelchair.

Now... from what I could tell... she didn�t even have an instrument. And we couldn�t tell if there was actually something wrong with her of if she was just too fat to make it all the way through the parade route... but... I saw her... and I don�t know where my thoughts come from... but I just blurted out...

�Hello?! The essence of a marching band is that you march! You are a band. You march. Not roll. March.�

I mean... bless her little heart for being a part of the band and playing her little lungs out...

But...

Marching Band.

A band that marches.

It�s pretty implicit, isn�t it?

But... that was all but forgotten a couple days later when the �Pride of Pearland� came up to get ready and the color guard were all clad in what seemed to be one-piece bathing suits with strips of sequence badly sewn about. The best part, though, was that they were all in white knee-high go-go boots with colored pom-poms at the ankles. The pom-poms, by the way, were larger than grapefruits.

And let me tell you... if these kids were the pride of Pearland... I would hate to see the rest of �um...


So... it�s about 4am... and I�m sitting in an empty apartment.

It�s pretty sad, actually.

I am moving...

... across town...

... sort of.

I�m actually moving out to Clermont... which is right next to Orlando, in some parts.

Unfortunately, I am moving to the part that is furthest away from Disney...

I am going from a three-minute commute to property to a thirty-five minute commute.

Ugh.

I love my apartment, here... but it was just getting to be waaaaay too expensive.

So... I�m moving out to a three-bedroom, two-bath house... all by myself.

And I don�t have to pay rent.

Yes. No rent.

Thank the lord.

My friend from high school�s mother bought a second house out there... just to have a second house.

And so, I have to pay utilities and mow the lawn every couple weeks... and we�re even.

Yay, me!

But... we shall see how long I am able to stand the commute. We have an understanding that it�s a trial basis, right now... and I am free to look for another place and move at any time...

*sigh*

So... we�ll see how it works out.

I�ll be offline for a few days until I get a phone line installed up there... but... hopefully, it�ll be worth it.

As for now, I�m cleaning lots and getting everything all packed up.

But... I have to be up in five hours to finish moving before going and doing three parades at the Magic Kingdom, tomorrow...

Ugh.

Hopefully there�ll be a few bands to make fun of to keep me good and awake, tomorrow...

later, kids...

~robert

previous - next

about me - read my profile! read other Diar
yLand diaries! recommend my diary to a friend! Get
 your own fun + free diary at DiaryLand.com!

Contact me:
E-mail - [email protected]
IM - Dameon8888