Tuesday, August 05, 2008

PLEASE stop the band posts


So I googled to try to find the 1992's performance.

I haven't found it...yet.

BUT I did find that my high school is in Wikepedia. First, know that the Sudler Flag is for concert bands and the Sudler Shield is for the marching band. It's very rare for ANY high school band to get either award.

And now...I quote the internet from here (which means it must be true)

"There are only ten high schools worldwide that have received both the Sudler Flag of Honor for concert band and the Sudler Shield for marching band:"
  • 9 bands you don't care about
See, internet??!?!? Do you see why I am proud? And yes - my band really did make it - I just didn't want to write all the other bands.

We worked hard. And like I was telling a co-worker today, I learned a lot of life lessons by being in that band.

First, be alert. Which is different than being a lert. Why our director felt it was important to say this about 50,000 times is beyond me. Seriously, we got it the first time. There is no such thing as a lert. So therefore, you have to be alert. Me not laughing or nodding isn't that I don't get it and you need to explain it more. It's that it ISN'T FUNNY OR PROFOUND!

Secondly, yardsticks hurt when a Emily blahblahblah (I can't remember her last name) hits you with one because you didn't make your mark. Yes, people, I was beaten up IN band...not just for being in the band. Okay...I wasn't really beaten up in band...she actually just smacked me on the back of my calf. But it was a hard smack. Why? Because she was uptight and probably wanted to get laid or she didn't know her own superhuman strength. Whatever, I'm over it - I don't even remember her last name. At least she was better than Connie (I do remember her last name - it rhymed with Schmankratz) who would YELL "Kaizen!" at us repeatedly. I get it. It's a Japanese term for always doing better. But if you keep yelling that at me, I can't be held accountable for my actions. Unlike Emily, she NEEDED to get laid. For those that know her and are gasping right now I have this to say to you: WHATEVER. It is true. I'm sure people could have said the same thing about me in high school. And know what? They would've been right.

Thirdly, Lambrecht liked his coffee in the morning. So if he was going to yell at you - afternoon practice was so much better than the morning...because at least you didn't have to smell that breath. Likewise, he has deadly aim in the morning. He would chuck pebbles and rocks off the band room roof at us if we didn't make our mark. I'm not sure what that taught me other than to not mess up in the morning. And, as my co-workers can tell you, I apparently didn't learn that lesson. :)

Come to think of it, why DID I like band?


The Girls' Moma said...

OMG, Anne. That is too funny. Don't forget clapping for yourself. "If you don't clap for yourself, no one is going to clap for you." I think of that all the time.

On another note, you know when you're at a performance and the performer stops performing and there's that awkward place where no one has started clapping yet and everyone waits for that one person to start the clapping so they can all join in?

I am ALWAYS that one person.

Not sure that it has anything to do with Lambrecht, but I'm suspicious that he warped my brain in some way.

happyfunpants said...

I TOTALLY forgot the clapping for yourself thing.

Other ones?

Become the most enthusiastic person you know.

Note to self: just because you're hyper, this does not give you the right to become even more so. I think maybe he wasn't talking to me...but rather to a random bass clarinet player who dressed in all black and gave him the finger every time he turned his back.

In his defense, what other middle aged guy could get tons of kids RUNNING to him with the words "Get there"? Or was it "get here?" I know it wasn't "get it here" because that would be just wrong. I mean, he didn't even have an ice cream truck and we ran to him anyway. We loved him - in some sort of sick sadistic way.

Althea said...

Good words.