Marching band - A way of life

I took a different route to work this morning, and on my way passed by a sight that took me back in time: the local high school marching band was practicing. They were in a local park next to a very busy road, giving them an ever changing, yet ever present audience to show off their evolving formations and semi-rehearsed songs.

All through middle and high school I was a bit of a band geek. I played (and still play, sort of) both the cornet and the trumpet. First the cornet, as that is what my brother played. Then the trumpet, as it turns out only my brother played the cornet.

Where I went to high school, marching band was a big deal. If you wanted to play in the regular band, you had to play in the marching band. As a result, we had just under 200 kids in the group, which in a school of 800 is significant. Our band leader was a traditionalist, favoring old standards (“Old Man River” comes to mind), rather than the more contemporary stuff (“Eye of the Tiger” comes to mind, as, after all, it was the late 80’s/early 90’s). And we always stayed in long straight lines, unless we broke off into lines of eight people to make circles. This was cause for lots of teenage angst, as we wanted to be the cool marching band (think “Drumline”), but we did what we were told.

What we lacked in panache we made up for in numbers.

I think I could still do some of the routines if pressed. I could certainly play several of the songs, along with our fight song and alma mater.

A highlight each year was going to the annual Marching Band Festival, held at Hofstra University. It was a total showcase of good, clean dorkiness, and we took it very seriously. Extra rehearsals (two a days!), extra practicing at home, lots of chatter in the cafeteria…

It was a televised event.

As the biggest band, we often went last, and we stormed the field each year with our time-honored entrance of running on to the field in precise steps, with eight steps equaling 10 yards. Each step was counted off in a mumbly way, except for when you hit each 10 yard line and the final stop, at which point you shouted.

If you can imagine, it sounded something like this:
“ONE two three four five six seven eight
TWO two three four five six seven eight
THREE two three four five six seven eight
FOUR two three four five six seven eight
DOWN!” (<-- = stand at attention)

The hometown crowd loved it. Man, those were heady days.

Oh – the uniform. As with any marching band, that was a critical component. Ours were a bit brutal – dark green wool pants, matching blazer, a thick vinyl overlay for the jacket with a big “H” across the chest. Plus, a stiff green and white top hat where the requisite tall plume was attached. And white gloves. It was head to toe boiling hot, particularly on Memorial Day, where we marched in the hot sun for hours.

I will say that the polar-ready uniform did come in handy in the winter months. For example, we played at a Jets game every few years (see where marching band can take you?) and I remember it being particularly frigid there. I am sure I had some sort of hot-coals-in-my-pocket contraption to keep my fingers from chipping off my hands.

I went to look up the uniforms to show you what I mean, but apparently they’ve changed it up a bit. Here is what they look like now. Lucky them.

Culturegraph, take 2

My culturegraph made it up to the website this morning - I even like the title they gave to it.

With the bug in me, I am on a bit of a tear. Basically, any song can be detailed in this way if you are so inclined. Not all achieve clever results, though... While it's still fun, though, I'll submit a few more.

Here are my latest that are worth sharing. Hopefully soon to be found on culturegraph as well. The first is a departure from the standard charts and graphs, but I thought it was fitting for the song.

The second is, admittedly a bit obscure. not in the song, which is well known, but in the presentation. My first shot at a visio approach:

If nothing else, it's a fun way to exercise both the right and left sides of my brain...

Very necessary

My good friend introduced me to a site called culturegraph, self described as "accountants meet pop culture." Essentially, pop culture references are transformed into charts and graphs with very clever results. Here are a few of my favorites, but as I don't understand all of them, you should check it out on your own.

I'm always singing something in my head, and P and I often make puns using pop culture references, so I feel like I've been practicing for this type of exercise for years. Here's my first attempt:I also considered creating a mock math equation to read:

Hooker
--Fee
=======
Ho

The actual line goes, "The difference between a hooker and a ho ain't nothing but a fee." Figured that level of detail might be too obscure, though.

Both are from the same song. Can you guess the reference?

iPod iNclinations

I like to listen to my iPod using the shuffle songs feature. With over 7500 songs to choose from, I can get stuck in ruts and forget all the great stuff that is packed into this little magical device. I may have mentioned this in the past, but I am convinced my iPod prefers some artists over others.

I swear, it thinks. It has moods.

For example, I had to take a large amount of Led Zepplin off if it as iPod would always try to get me to listen to them. Once in while, sure. But not every other song...

Today, it is in love with Melissa Etheridge.

Dolly in the house

I'm sitting at my desk, listening to HRH Dolly Parton. A lesser-known track entitled "Baby I'm Burning" just came on, which is a disco/pop-tinged ballad that played B-side to a more popular country-sounding tune titled "I Really Got the Feeling."

The A-side made it to #1 on the Billboard hot country singles in 1979. The B-side, which the record company called a second A-side if such a thing is possible, broke into the top 30 pop singles chart in 1979. There was even an extended dance mix released for play at your local discotheque. I've never heard that version.

Both evidence Dolly's ability to flow with the times, showcasing the keyboard as a central sound element, and foregoing any major guitar action. IRGTF also has some orchestration - truly, it could have been arranged by the same people who brought you "Believe it or Not," the theme song to "The Greatest American Hero."

Listen to them side by side - you'll see.

Anyhoo, near the beginning of the song, there is a line that goes:

"This red hot emotion/puts fireworks in motion/it looks like the fourth of July"

Followed by a falling cascade of keyboard notes. At the moment the keyboard kicked in, all of the papers tacked to my wall bew as if a great wind had blown.

Perhaps it was the fireworks in motion?

Dolly, are you planting some seeds of excitement for what is in store for May 5?

Music makes the people come together

My iPod was totally feeling me this morning. After listening to a podcast or two, I shifted over to shuffling songs, and this is what it produced:

S.O.S – The Breeders
Paranoid Android - Radiohead
Rudi, a Message to You – The Specials
Steady as She Goes – The Raconteurs
Violently Happy - Bjork
Phantom Bride - Erasure
Shame on You – The Indigo Girls
Nth Degree - Morningwood

Not a skipper in the bunch, and som that I hadn't heard in a while. I even let the last song play out as I sat in the parking lot of my office building, savoring the last few moments of “me” time before heading inside for the bulk of the day.

I have been using the shuffle option more recently, partially in response to a recent loss of all of my playlists and rankings. We switched over to being a Mac household (hello, mini!) and I had to convert the iPod over to a Mac-format. The net result of this was losing all the work I’d put in to organizing my music.

As a side note, while the loss of playlists/rankings was initially maddening, I’ve come to look at is as a way to listen to my music collection with a new ear. Re-rank, etc. I’ve even gotten P into the game, sharing with her my selective approach to assigning the number of stars (between 1 and 5, with 1 meaning they are removed at next sync, 2 meaning they can stay on the iPod, 3 meaning I like them, 4 meaning I like them more and wouldn’t mind if they were on the “I don’t know what to play but people are coming over” playlist, and 5 meaning they are truly, truly great. I rarely grant a 5).

I don’t know how others approach or arrange their music, but I am particular in this regard. When I relied on my CD collection, it was organized alphabetically by artist, minus soundtracks/collections which were placed in a separate section (generally the lower right hand corner of the rack). If a new CD was acquired, everything was shifted to accommodate. If a CD was selected to play, its jewel case would be placed, cocked open and standing, on top of the player so I know what’s in there. Everything was always put away.

It was the same when I relied on cassettes, although that was harder given mixes and the less-than-optimal storage options. This was usually a series of 60 cassette “briefcases,” each laden with stickers from all the bands/activities I thought were cool. I still have one of these cases out of nostalgia, and a couple of cassettes (the soundtracks to Pretty in Pink and Footloose) live on our desk in the home office as happy little memories. Has my youth has become kitsch?

What can I say? Everyone has their “thing,” and mine is that I am particular about how music is treated. It treats me well, and I return the favor.

singles remind me of kisses, albums remind me of plans...

We went to see Squeeze in concert on Monday. For some reason they decided to kick off their US tour in a local, small, and great venue in Londonderry, NH. This venue has managed to become a cool landmark in the area, gaining enough of a reputation that people will frequent the place trusting that Scott Hayward, the proprieter, has good taste and will book good shows.


It has also become a place where previously big - and generally of the New Wave sort - bands (Squeeze, Thomas Dolby, The English Beat) come to play. Who would have thunk that little Londonderry would become a destination?


The show was great - they were a tight unit, and knew their audience. Lots of familiar tunes were played ("Up the Junction," "Cool for Cats," "Black Coffee in Bed," etc) with enough other tunes ("Slaughtered, Gutted, and Heartbroken," "Slightly Drunk," "Messed Around") to make the Squeeze fan happy. They could have stretched things out a bit to make it sound less adherent to studio versions, but whatever. A small detail for a band that is a) just starting to play together again, b) not completely comprised of the original members, and c) playing somewhere that is remotely close to my home.

East coast kid, west coast soul

I went to a work-related dinner the other night, and got seated at the "wrong" table. There were some good peeps, but minus a colleague next to me and the guy next to him, all were defined by their job. They were literally shocked that I could enjoy the act of doing nothing. Nothing, of course, being something to me.

The other table verged on semi-inappropriate work conversation with questions along the line of who's on your hall pass list, marry/sleep with/toss off a cliff, etc. Juvenile, but certainly more entertaining than more growing-our-partnership-to-grow-our-business chat. I'd had enough of that already.

At one point, someone from the fun table came over to us to continue a "who would you be if you could be anyone" question that circulated around their table. My uncreative peeps were silent. I said I'd be Cyndi Lauper (and stand by that). Another woman finally piped in, and said she'd be Nancy Grace. Nancy. Grace.

Heavens.

They were largely from California, which was even more strange to me, as I tend to view the west coast as a mellower vibe. I figured all of the earthquakes remind you that the earth is always there, ready to take you out as needed. And knowing that makes you just a little more connected to the power of the earth. Nature always wins.

That's my hippie sentiment for the night.

Anyways, the point of this small story is that I have at times thought I am more of a west coast soul in terms of my preferred pace, but too connected to my east coast roots to ever leave.

Partially as a result of these thoughts, and partially as a result of so much good music coming from CA, I started making a mix on my Ipod. And I am looking for suggestions, knowing that the four of you that read this blog care about music.

Here is the playlist thus far, so you get a sense of what I'm going for:
Grey in L.A. - Loudon Wainwright
California - Rufus Wainwright
California Stars - Billy Bragg and Wilco
Big Sur - The Thrills
The Golden State - John Doe

Note that the Mamas and the Papas are not there. There's a time and a place for everything, and this mix is purposely absent of California Dreamin' and the like.

Ideas?

This week's rundown

It's ironic - when there's a lot to say, it's hardest to find the time to get it all down.

Tonight it's just me in the house, as P is on call at the hospital. Me and the kitties. I got home on the later side, as I went running with a work friend in the evening. It was a good night for it - a fast but heavy storm had just passed (leaving behind the most striking rainbow I have seen in years), and the air was cool. I plotted out a 5-ish mile route, and off we went. It was a nice little loop, and I'm going to do it again on my own.

Having her there with me nudged me to go a little faster and a little farther than I would have on my own, and it was great to have that extra push. She'll soon start a more rigourous training plan for the NYC marathon, but for now she's still pretty lax about things.

Speaking of NYC, I was down there for a meeting earlier this week, and happily took the time to run in Central Park. The hotel was around 48th and 8th, so I headed up to Columbus Circle, into the park, up the west side, crossing at 72nd, then back down towards the hotel. I always get a little turned around upon exiting the park, but quickly found my way back on track.

I arrived at the park around 7am, and was amazed at how many people were already there. It might as well have been 11am on a Saturday. Why is it that the bikers get dressed in full peloton gear on a Tuesday morning? And why is it that I never see them outside the park? It's as if they live there, looping around and around, looking as if they are about to head to the Tour de France.

It was great to be back in NYC. From the moment I stepped off the train it felt like home. Mind you, I've never actually lived in Manhattan. But having grown up on Long Island (go ahead - call me Bridge and Tunnel - I can take it), I spent my share of hours tooling around. I was reminded, yet again, why we will never stay in Manchester, NH.

I considered going to a concert while I was in the city - the True Colors tour was at Radio City that night, and I thought it would be great to see the show in NYC. Particularly Cyndi Lauper, as she's a Queens girl. P and I had gone to see the show in Boston the weekend before, however, so I didn't really feel a great need to go again.

I give P full credit for getting me to go to that show. I thought it would be totally cheesy and I would loathe the crowd. Both of those things were essentially true (loathe might be a strong word, but largely uninteresting), but it didn't matter. I loved the whole thing.

Turns out it was a bit of a queer healing fest of sorts for me. You see, when I was a wee'un, before the whole Realization Thing, I saw Erasure and was totally horrified. Andy Bell was so... utterly gay. I couldn't connect the dots, but I got super uncomfortable. This time around, it all made sense. And let's face it, their music is pure early 90's pop. For which I am a sucker.

Vince Clarke has upgraded himself to a nice Mac laptop, and basically just stood there pressing a button when the next song was to start. Andy B. worked his ass off dancing around. Very impressive.

Debbie Harry still has got it going on. She played some new songs (per her recording contract, I'm sure), and they were quite good. And, hey, it's Debbie fucking Harry. Respect!

Rufus Wainwright played a mellow set, which was in stark contrast to the striped, sparkled, and brightly colored outfits he and his bandmates all wore.

And Cyndi Lauper. Oh, Cyndi. I have loved thee since I was 12. Went to your original True Colors tour, and still recall when you sat on the edge of the stage at Madison Square Garden and sang an a capella version of said song. In a crowd of 30,000 people, you had us all captivated. I still have the concert program, near my saved copies of Sassy magazine.

This time around she was just as good. Sound problems didn't stop her from having the show continue, although it did make for some good live-not-Memorex moments. She also came out into the crowd and stopped right in front of us; I felt 13 again.

At the end of July I'm going to see Squeeze, which will also remind me of the teenage years. It seems to be a summer of tours of my youth. Have I reached that age?

Back in Manchester

Phoenix is come and gone. All in all, a great trip.

A brief recap of the race, and the surrounding trip:

1. The first day I arrived, I went to see Catie Curtis in concert. Totally different than seeing her on the east coast… The crowd was frustratingly sedate. Still, I enjoyed it. Catie is a good storyteller, and generally has an anecdote for each song. Sometimes they fit, sometimes they don’t, but I always find them entertaining, and definitely reminds me of why she is so good to see live. Prior to one of her songs, she looked out into the crowd, asking me to ID myself. She informed the room that I was in Phoenix, hailing from NH, for the road race. She then relayed a story of someone asking her on her plane ride if she was running in the marathon, saying “she looked athletic.” She indicated no, just playing a gig and laughed, as she doesn’t see herself as particularly athletic. (No one asked me if I was running the race on my way out… J ) That little shout out led to some words of encouragement from strangers after the show, which was nice. One guy identified himself as a Nashua native, and we had a little New Hampshire moment.
2. The morning of the race, I went with the rest of the cattle into my assigned corral. I was in corral 14 out of 30. Waited about 30 minutes there prior to starting our actual run – I can only imagine how long corral 30 had to wait… It was an unusually chilly morning in Phoenix – maybe 30 degrees? – and I watched lots of people hopping about trying to keep warm. I managed to find a patch of sunlight, and parked myself there to gather warmth. Between that and my determination to soak in every moment of this, my first ½ marathon, I was fine.
3. The mayor of Phoenix was in my corral. I saw his arms pop up in a political wave when it was announced just prior to our release, but other than that he was just another runner in tights.
4. For some reason, Born Again missionaries decided to post themselves along the first half mile of the race. There were four of them, staggered two to a side, and positioned far enough apart that when one left your site, another one appeared. They were easily identifiable given their enormous neon colored signs letting us know that if we didn’t accept Jesus into our hearts we’d burn in hell (one of my least favorite approaches to making one interested in any particular sect). The first two people were actually yelling at us to accept Jesus, warning us of the consequences laid out in their signage. The last guy was simply wishing us a good run, which I felt was at least a kind gesture.

That whole part was a bit weird, and thinking about it kept me occupied for the first mile of the race. Why here? Why at the start? Was it because we were a captured audience? Do sad, empty-feeling people (which, to me, seem like the most likely candidates for conversion via the neon side methodology) enter into marathons? I imagine this would be a low incidence conversion territory.

Mind you, there were a fair share of deeply religious types running. I saw shirts decorated with “Got Jesus?” or “Running every mile for Jesus” or similar slogans. That seemed innocuous enough, and heck, good for them. It is when it is so forced that it feels somehow desperate.

5. A friend suggested to me that I assign each mile to a person, which I did. It was a soothing exercise. Lots of shout outs to people who hold a special place in my heart. P got both mile 4 and the .1 at the end. J
6. At the 10k mark, I thought back to the Tufts 10K that I had run with P a few years ago, and mentally noted the difference in my conditioning, and simply how my body felt. I still think back to the days of awful back problems and eventual back surgery, and the brief moment where I essentially lost the ability to walk (thank heavens for my fabulous wife!!!). Every time I run I appreciate the various parts of my body working in harmony.
7. Around mile 8, I passed the pacer for my initial goal time. That felt good, and I knew I had plenty of miles ahead of me to methodically break away even further. My time was finally posted: 2:11:47. Works out to an average of 10:04 per mile, which is better than my initial goal of 10:15. Yay, me! My Nike+ thingy should have also provided me with this information, but due to my fussing with it in the early part of the race, I lost about .5 miles, and had to start the workout session on my Nano over again. After kicking myself for the next half mile, I let it go and instead stared out into the beautiful, red hued Arizona hills in the distance. That cured everything, and I was back on my way.
8. All the training really paid off. I felt a blister coming on around mile 10, but as of today I can only feel a little bit of soreness creeping in. My quads might need a little extra attention. But my post race recovery was quick, and I wondered how others prepared when I saw them cramping up. People that, on the surface, look like they would be in better shape than me. Go figure. Perhaps just a bad day for them.
9. I slapped a lot of kids' hands along the way. I have been one of those people that sticks out their hands and yells encouragement to runners from the sidelines, so it was a little like returning a karmic favor. Plus the little kids get a huge kick out of it. I heard a few squeals of pleasure after I made contact and moved on.
10. I did it! I can’t wait to run again.

Next up – the Cherry Blossom 10 miler.

PS – the NY Times article on questions to ask before marriage remains on the top 10 most emailed articles. Crazy. As of today at 8pm, it is back up to #3!

Going Postal?

File this one under, "Did you know?

The Postal Service created a song with more staying power than Cher on a "farewell" tour. What started as a fun side project for Ben Gibbard and Jimmy Tamborello produced a law suit from the actual Postal Service. According to Wikipedia:

In 2004, the United States Postal Service sent the band a cease and desist letter citing their trademark on the phrase "postal service". After negotiations, the USPS relented, allowing the band use of the trademark in exchange for promotional efforts on behalf of the USPS and a performance at their annual National Executive Conference. Additionally, the USPS website sells the band's CDs.

I checked it out - it's true. You can purchase a few of their singles on the website. It seems quite out of place, sitting side by side with a Ben Franklin DVD and "Ultimate Mancini." The description itself seems that it may have been written by Sherman, the kind postal worker who has worked the desk of a small town NH post office for the last 25+ years:

"How do you form a band when you live miles and miles away from your band mates? Telephone? Videophone? Airplane? Train? Boat? Car? No, you use the U.S. Mail. Ok, that problem's solved; all the tracks are laid, the CDs are burned, now what do we call ourselves? This was the question for Death Cab for Cutie's Ben Gibbard and Dntel and Figurine's Jimmy Tamborello.

They decided since the United States Postal Service was the lynchpin of their collaborative efforts, they would name their band, Postal Service.

Using the name Postal Service under license from The United States Postal Service..."

Think they've sold any?

Finally, snow!

A beautiful day to get out and play in it. This morning I went running on the rail trail I frequent. I am learning that as the winter sets in, my normal parking spots shift as well. In the warmer months I park in a lot that is somewhat hidden and generally used as a boat launch. Apparently the launch is shut down come December, as I discovered when I went to turn in and was presented with a bright orange metal rod blocking the way. So I moved into the public parking spot about .5 miles away. My attempt to park there today was thwarted with another orange rod. So, with my seat heat turned to four (out of five), and the snow continuing to fall, I continued on down the road to find a new spot. After traveling down the slippery road for a mile or two and finding nothing, I came back to where I started and noticed a lot across the street... Parked there and prepped for a snowy trail run.

Many think that one of the most attractive aspects of running is the low entry price. All you need is a decent pair of shoes and you are off to the races. While true to a certain extent, this adage only takes you so far when the mercury drops. Cotton becomes the enemy, and the magic of high tech fabrics show they are worth the extra bucks it takes to purchase. Good socks are also a lifesaver, keeping your feet warm even when he snow slips in and turns to water...

That said, I'd like to take a moment to say thank you to my gear. Thank you socks. Thank you pants. Thank you vest (it's inaugural use!). Thank you shirt, which I have worn on basically every outdoor run in the past month. Thank you shoes. Thank you hat. Thank you gloves which, while only worn temporarily, were much appreciated before I was warm enough to stow them away. And, of course, thanks to the Nike+ gadget, which has been my training partner for months.

Does that make me a gear loving geek? Probably, but whatev. I love the stuff, and it kept me not too hot, not too cold. A Goldilocks moment, if you will.

After all that, I posted my best long run to date. Stats as follows:

Distance: 7.03 miles

Time: 1:09:46

Average Pace: 9:55 per mile

For me, that's fast. If I run the upcoming 1/2 marathon at a 10:15 pace I'll be very, very happy. Perhaps it was the colder weather that helped, or the sheer beauty of the surroundings, which held my focus the entire time.

Running any length of time is highly therapeutic for me. It's something I do for myself, and generally alone. The solitary nature of the activity allows me to be totally serious or totally goofy. I can listen to music that I wouldn't readily admit to having on my iPod (Shania Twain comes to mind), think about what is/is not going on in my life, or have a moment where I think the song is actually speaking to me. Yes, speaking to me... Today's lyric that caught my ear was from "Everybody Wants The Same Thing," off of the new Scissor Sisters album:

What is it that you want?
What is it that you give?
Where do you plan on finding it?
How do you want to live?

Love is what I want
Love is what I give
Right here's where I'm finding it
That's how I'm gonna live

This happened to be playing while I was running uphill in the woods, and I applied it at that moment to push me to run harder up the trail. I ignored the love part, and inserted a more general notion of carpe diem. When I got to the top of the hill, I admit I was pretty proud of myself.

Toward the tail end of the run, I saw a pair of mallards sleeping on the newly frozen lake. They didn't even budge when I ran my, perhaps because they couldn't hear my footfalls in the snow. Or maybe they were particularly tired. It was a sweet little moment, and it only underscored my feeling that every excursion has at least one moment that makes it worthwhile. That thought has yet to be disproven.

Once I got home, I showered and changed back into my pajamas. I loved being outside, and I equally love the idea of spending the rest of the day inside with the cats (P is yet again working a 30 hour shift at the hospital), doing nothing in particular. It's lovely.

Happy New Year!

Music, then and now

My friend Hillary is always up on geeky tech news. Living in San Francisco, working as a web designer, and simply being a lovable geek, she has her finger on the pulse. I should have known that I would hear some highly interesting news about one of my favorite web spots, Pandora, from her. With sparkling commentary to boot.

I used to have a fantasy of working at Pandora, which I interpreted as listening to music all day, and marking down elements that distinguish it from other songs. I can recall bits of music over spans of years, a trivial skill that I thought would come in handy at a place like Pandora. Give me a word, and I'll come up with a lyric. Give me a song, and I'll come up with a few that match.

As a kid I thought I could make a living out of creating mix tapes (yes, cassettes) for people. They would give me a topic (think birthday, or love songs... and remember - I was only 11 or so when this brain child appeared) and I would create a tape that would fit the bill. I'd stand out - well, I told myself I would stand out - not only due to the expanse and diversity of my totally awesome cassette collection, but also because of my ability (and obsessive desire) to keep track of the time left on each side of the tape. On a 90 minute tape, I would know how to fill in 8:38 left with a few songs, leaving the minimal possible blank space at the end. I always had a few aces up my sleeve, such as the 42 second "Bright Side of the Sun" by Men Without Hats. How could I go wrong?

In college I signed on to be a DJ for our local radio station. I got to play all kinds of excellent music for myself and the two or three people that likely tuned in. I have some old tapes of that experiment, which I'd made for my mom and she kept along with everything else she keeps. I have them still, and put them on once in a while. They have songs I can not find anywhere any more, and I sound like a child. Not really a way to impress the girls, but I enjoy them.

How I ended up in healthcare is baffling to me at times.