Before I move on from the Army and get into the horror that was Allison, I thought I ought to step back a minute and hit on a few things that did happen in the military that are worth mentioning. Sure, I said not a lot happened, and when it comes to the band, itself, it stayed pretty consistent. I imagine if I were actively blogging it as it happened, it would be pretty interesting, but as I'm going in arrears here trying to remember what happened, it probably would get old fast, since I'm no good with details.
But you know, I hit on it briefly in the other post, and I figure I should expand on the other love I had in the Army: Magic: The Gathering. The collectible card game from Wizards of the Coast that I've since sworn I would never play again. And I won't. I won't buy any cards; I won't participate in any games. It ate through paycheck after paycheck and I just can't handle it. But at the time, it was fun.
It was me and Hi Speed that played, and we frequented only two places during our time. One was a game shop where people played the game, and I bought cards off some little kid who always seemed to have weird and interesting cards to get rid of. They didn't much like him selling his cards in the shop, so I said once we needed to discuss deer in the woods (as in bucks, haha), and it stuck.
Our other haunt was a shop owned by an old man, hence we called him The Old Man. This guy seemed to enjoy our company, but he was serious about his business (though he did let me get away with trading a mana barbs for a double land -- yeah, no where close in value). We did buy a ton of cards from him, even though he discouraged it from the beginning. Being the kids we were, we didn't listen.
It wasn't long before Magic became our life. We went to local tournaments, but really didn't do any good, because those guys understood the value of having extra cards in their sideboard deck. To give a brief explanation there, tournament Magic decks usually have 60 cards, and they are permitted a sideboard deck of 20 that they can switch out cards for between rounds (of which there are usually three). My "rack deck" (called as such because the artifact known as The Rack did the majority of the damage) was near unbeatable until someone pulls a black protection out...then I was toast. Happened more than once, so I stuck to non-competitive play.
Most of our games happened at this game shop until the Old Man put up a table for play at his, and we went over to his place as well. It was a lot of fun and served to pass the time when we weren't playing gigs, and I wasn't performing on stage.
Another thing I did with my spare time was watching musicals on stage. While I was in the military, I watched all of the following shows: Phantom of the Opera, Les Miserables, Cats, Evita, Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, Jesus Christ Superstar, Kiss of the Spider Woman, Assassins (those three within 24 hours of each other), Grease, Blood Brothers, and I could swear there were a couple more. I performed in Camelot, Oliver!, Amadeus, and City of Angels. I was all about the stage during this time.
Naturally, the performance that The Queen quite enjoyed the tale of was my part in The City of Angels. I was the bass singer of the jazz quartet, and the part was really quite enjoyable. But the part that cracked everyone up with remarkable consistency, and which got laughs every night was the fact that the show contained a street scene in which the quartet chronicled the search of the detective Stone for the girl, and for this scene, I was in a dress, made up, and everything. It really scared people because I apparently looked pretty good. Couldn't say how true that was, but the fact was that I did do eight performances in that getup, which was only for one song. For the rest of the show (before and after), I was dressed as a male, so I had to throw all that mess on between songs, and then strip it back off before my next entrance. It was nuts.
Not to mention the fact that due to my inexperience with make up, I did have to explain to at least one person I worked with (who had not seen the show -- three of them had) why I still had eye liner on the next day. It was pretty whacked.
The reason for this devotion to the craft was due to my continual work on my first musical. I sought out others to write lyrics for me, but in the end, I finally got an old friend from high school to agree to write lyrics, since he'd written some lyrics in high school that I composed some music to. At the time, he was going to OU, pursuing a degree in musical composition (although he may have been in something else at the time). We'd known each other since we were freshmen in high school and were sort of competitors on trombone at times. At present, he works with his parents on their farm, so we'll call him Farmer.
While I was at the SOM, I was driving with my mother and she commented that a local mega-church had ousted some higher ranking people in their church for disagreeing with the beliefs of the main pastor. I don't know about you, but that had all the makings of a delicious story. So I concocted this tale of a church where they sacrificed someone, and someone in the church threatened to go to the police and the high priest killed him right there. A tabloid reporter comes in to report on the town, but meet someone there she knew from when she was younger. She gets wrapped up in the church and almost killed, but her man rescues her, which ticks off the high priest. The priest hires a bounty hunter to bring her in and get her man to come in too. In the end the hero kills the high priest, but not before he shoots the girl. The end.
The story went through a myriad of revisions. I started writing the lyrics myself, and then went through those other people before I got Farmer in on it. He turned in the opening number and I loved it. Several songs were written during this time as well as the majority of the actual spoken parts of the libretto. Trouble with that was that while I had an easy job, he was going to college and quite busy, so he couldn't devote 100% of his time to writing like I could.
By the time I left the military, which is as far as the rest of this narrative goes, we'd written maybe half the show, and it was rather stalled at that point. I was frustrated with the lack of progress, and Farmer was frustrated at my frustrations. Would we finish it? Eventually. But that happens quite a bit later.
My next audition for the theatre was too close to my military departure and was not meant to be. I've never auditioned for anything since. I've wanted to, and maybe when my life settles down a bit, I'll show the locals how to really act, but for now, I'm off the stage and behind the desk. The tale here goes on like so many others, but those are tales for another day.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
An Engaging Night
Most relationships have a defining moment; something that marks whether that relationship will ultimately succeed or fail. It will be something that also defines the strength of the people involved to the point that when they emerge from it, respect is no longer just a word, but something that has been bestowed and earned. In the drama that followed in our lives, we both earned respect from nearly everyone in how we both were able to handle our individual parts of what was to ensue.
June was to own two very defining moments, exactly one week apart. The first was the defining moment of a commitment to each other; the first step to spending the rest of our lives together. The second tested that commitment to a greater degree than any thought either of us were capable of.
Early in the month, the Queen and I had done some serious shopping for an engagement ring. Being that I wanted her to get what she wanted, we went together. Once we were set, I held onto it until the most opportune time. After all, there was one very important thing that needed to be done before the official question could be popped: I had to talk to her father.
As much fun as I tend to have with the names on here, I pondered a very long time as to what to call the Queen's father. There was no single name I could create that could convey the respect I have for him, nor the position that he holds in both our lives. I honestly tried, too, but in the end, I have to simply call him the Queen's father, and leave it at that. I don't want to risk being either inappropriate or disrespectful to him, because both he and the Queen Mother have been very good to us throughout our lives.
Of course, my most vivid memory of that day when I asked for his permission to take his daughter away from him was him eating the remaining ice cream out of a blue bell half gallon tub. I was very nervous, and let's face it, he's a big guy. Big, as in power lifter big. Inotherwords, he could benchpress me with very little effort. The Queen was out of the room, so I spouted my question: "Can I marry your daughter?" His response: "I don't know. Can you?" The joke ended there. He was deadly serious going forward.
What is the most important thing to a father? That his little girl is cared for. That who she ends up with not only respect her but respect the family as well. He told me he would always be there for us and to never screw him over or take advantage of his goodwill. Then he called the Queen in and asked if she knew about this. She said we'd talked about it, but that was it. He spoke to both of us briefly about responsibility and what we were getting into.
I did promise to take care of her, and I have always tried to. I cannot say I've always done right by them, but I can say I never intended to do anything wrong. As we were leaving, Darth Vader, who was 19 at the time, came running out. He also urged me to take care of his sister, or he would be most displeased. Ok, he didn't say it quite like that, but it fits my character name for him.
So we went out. We went to the pool hall where we'd gone so many times before. I remember she was wearing these Tigger overalls she had. I liked them for a variety of reasons, but mostly because she just looked cute in them. Don't ask me about shirt color -- be happy I remembered the overalls.
Anyway, we played a few games of pool and were going to head of to eat something. I had given a lot of thought as to how I would ultimately "pop" the question. I figured I'd have a little personality about me, but still try to maintain the romantic positioning that she seemed to want. I figured I'd do it after playing pool and before dinner...while walking to the car.
In line with my personality, as I walked around the car to let her in (the way I had to open my doors was to open the driver's side door first, and then reach across and unlock the passenger side door), I tripped over my own feet, landing quite conveniently on one knee. I dipped into my pocket for the ring. It took a moment to do this, apparently, because she asked if I was ok.
I popped back up, box open and asked her to marry me. Her hands went to her face. She was smiling behind them. She said yes. I rose to my feet and put the ring on her finger. She threw her arms around my neck, giving me another yes for good measure.
While I don't remember for certain where we ate after that, I would surmise that we ended up at the Olive Garden, since that's where we went for the special occasion. My memory leads me through the nervous tension that lead up to the moment, and then fades quickly once it happened. While I've worked through this, I've found that to happen with remarkable consistency. Isn't it odd that we vividly remember the trials of our lives, but seems to stop the movie as soon as the triumph happens? That's probably why stories end so quickly after the climax -- nothing interesting happens afterward.
But we know that interesting things did happen afterward. The trials were destined to continue, and even now, so many years later, are the trials starting to turn into more triumphs. It's been a long time since that boy and that girl promised themselves to each other, and thinking of their faces etched with hopefulness makes me think about how much I had to learn about so many things since then. Life changes so quickly, and memories disappear into the past so easily, and yet, when I picture that couple -- the couple that the Queen and I were on that June day -- I cannot help but smile. For even though we're not the people that we were then, I also know that those people are still inside of us, and every once in awhile, we still feel the euphoria of that day -- that day when everything was right, hopeful, and the world was at our feet.
June was to own two very defining moments, exactly one week apart. The first was the defining moment of a commitment to each other; the first step to spending the rest of our lives together. The second tested that commitment to a greater degree than any thought either of us were capable of.
Early in the month, the Queen and I had done some serious shopping for an engagement ring. Being that I wanted her to get what she wanted, we went together. Once we were set, I held onto it until the most opportune time. After all, there was one very important thing that needed to be done before the official question could be popped: I had to talk to her father.
As much fun as I tend to have with the names on here, I pondered a very long time as to what to call the Queen's father. There was no single name I could create that could convey the respect I have for him, nor the position that he holds in both our lives. I honestly tried, too, but in the end, I have to simply call him the Queen's father, and leave it at that. I don't want to risk being either inappropriate or disrespectful to him, because both he and the Queen Mother have been very good to us throughout our lives.
Of course, my most vivid memory of that day when I asked for his permission to take his daughter away from him was him eating the remaining ice cream out of a blue bell half gallon tub. I was very nervous, and let's face it, he's a big guy. Big, as in power lifter big. Inotherwords, he could benchpress me with very little effort. The Queen was out of the room, so I spouted my question: "Can I marry your daughter?" His response: "I don't know. Can you?" The joke ended there. He was deadly serious going forward.
What is the most important thing to a father? That his little girl is cared for. That who she ends up with not only respect her but respect the family as well. He told me he would always be there for us and to never screw him over or take advantage of his goodwill. Then he called the Queen in and asked if she knew about this. She said we'd talked about it, but that was it. He spoke to both of us briefly about responsibility and what we were getting into.
I did promise to take care of her, and I have always tried to. I cannot say I've always done right by them, but I can say I never intended to do anything wrong. As we were leaving, Darth Vader, who was 19 at the time, came running out. He also urged me to take care of his sister, or he would be most displeased. Ok, he didn't say it quite like that, but it fits my character name for him.
So we went out. We went to the pool hall where we'd gone so many times before. I remember she was wearing these Tigger overalls she had. I liked them for a variety of reasons, but mostly because she just looked cute in them. Don't ask me about shirt color -- be happy I remembered the overalls.
Anyway, we played a few games of pool and were going to head of to eat something. I had given a lot of thought as to how I would ultimately "pop" the question. I figured I'd have a little personality about me, but still try to maintain the romantic positioning that she seemed to want. I figured I'd do it after playing pool and before dinner...while walking to the car.
In line with my personality, as I walked around the car to let her in (the way I had to open my doors was to open the driver's side door first, and then reach across and unlock the passenger side door), I tripped over my own feet, landing quite conveniently on one knee. I dipped into my pocket for the ring. It took a moment to do this, apparently, because she asked if I was ok.
I popped back up, box open and asked her to marry me. Her hands went to her face. She was smiling behind them. She said yes. I rose to my feet and put the ring on her finger. She threw her arms around my neck, giving me another yes for good measure.
While I don't remember for certain where we ate after that, I would surmise that we ended up at the Olive Garden, since that's where we went for the special occasion. My memory leads me through the nervous tension that lead up to the moment, and then fades quickly once it happened. While I've worked through this, I've found that to happen with remarkable consistency. Isn't it odd that we vividly remember the trials of our lives, but seems to stop the movie as soon as the triumph happens? That's probably why stories end so quickly after the climax -- nothing interesting happens afterward.
But we know that interesting things did happen afterward. The trials were destined to continue, and even now, so many years later, are the trials starting to turn into more triumphs. It's been a long time since that boy and that girl promised themselves to each other, and thinking of their faces etched with hopefulness makes me think about how much I had to learn about so many things since then. Life changes so quickly, and memories disappear into the past so easily, and yet, when I picture that couple -- the couple that the Queen and I were on that June day -- I cannot help but smile. For even though we're not the people that we were then, I also know that those people are still inside of us, and every once in awhile, we still feel the euphoria of that day -- that day when everything was right, hopeful, and the world was at our feet.
Monday, March 3, 2008
Backyard Chainsaw Massacre
I love chainsaws. They make the cutting of wood very quick, easy, and almost effortless. You know what my favorite feature of a chainsaw is? Those little adjustment nuts that are on the side at the back of the cutting blade. They make it easy when you have to reattach the chain when you inevitably kick it off the blade by cutting. You hit one hard spot, and zip! Your chain's off. But thank goodness for those little nuts. If those weren't there, I'd have a heck of a time getting that chain back on, which would have made those 4 or 5 times taken even longer.
Seriously, though, it was a weekend where I was equally sick and sent out to work by the Queen, who needed a bunch of trees that had been annoying her removed from the premises. You see, after the big, nasty ice storm, there's debris all over the city, and there's to be a debris pickup sometime in the coming days to help deal with the mess. In response to this, we're not only ridding ourselves of the debris, but all the other unwanted trees left to us by the wonderful horticulturalist wanna-be who previously owned our house.
She loved her trees. God bless her, she really did. When we moved in, the front yard had seven trees in the yard along with at least one rose bush, five trees and 2 rose bushes along the front next to the road, and at least fifteen trees in the back along with 3 or 4 more rose bushes (and she even took a couple more of the rose bushes with her!). The neighbors called our house "the jungle" due to its over-abundance of plant life. The insurance company wouldn't even insure it unless we promised to clear up the brush next to the house.
At present, the back yard has four trees, the front has two, and we're going to move the rose bushes from bordering the driveway to somewhere else. I did fail to mention the two trees next to the driveway, but they're not moving yet.
Today, after this weekend where I didn't go into the world's largest retailer at all due to my illness (it was a legit call-in, I promise), I am really, really sore. My arms and shoulders hurt from using the "effortless" chainsaw. Actually, I used two chainsaws -- one gas and one electric. The electric one gave out when it (apparently) stripped a gear. Now the chain won't turn at all. The gas one was doing fine until I tried to cut down a tree in the back yard at its base, and it would cut through it. The Engineer supposes that since we're number three on the list who have used this chain, it is likely dull. Sensible, says I.
What is more dull than a well used chain, however, is waiting for a game from Gamefly. This service is very much like Netflix and Blockbuster Online in that it ships X games per month for any system based on how much you pay for it. But where in three months we'd get 2 per week, sometimes, with the other two with a killer turnaround time of three days between shipments, with Gamefly, we had reduced our subscription to one at a time, and in the month of February, got only one game for our money because not only did it take forever for a game to go back to the company, and forever for them to receive it and then ship another, but our last one got lost in the mail. So for what we put out to play five games over three months, we could have just bought a couple of them down at Vintage Stock or off eBay and be done with it.
While this isn't the worst deal we'd run across (after all, it would have been very cool to turnaround a game a week or so), it didn't quite measure up to the other online services such as Netflix and Blockbuster, which to me, was very, very disappointing. We figured it was due to them not having enough distribution centers or something, so maybe someday, if they can keep it going, they can get enough centers to handle shipping here to the middle of the country in a reasonable time frame.
The final word(s) for the moment: poop drama. That's right. Sassy Pants is still Poopy Pants. For the love of God, what is holding her back from that last stage of potty training? Shooting for diaper threats, but who knows if that'll pan out. We still have some diapers on the premisis, so fortunately we don't have to buy any, but I really want her to put that in the potty, and not in her pants. It's very, very frustrating.
Seriously, though, it was a weekend where I was equally sick and sent out to work by the Queen, who needed a bunch of trees that had been annoying her removed from the premises. You see, after the big, nasty ice storm, there's debris all over the city, and there's to be a debris pickup sometime in the coming days to help deal with the mess. In response to this, we're not only ridding ourselves of the debris, but all the other unwanted trees left to us by the wonderful horticulturalist wanna-be who previously owned our house.
She loved her trees. God bless her, she really did. When we moved in, the front yard had seven trees in the yard along with at least one rose bush, five trees and 2 rose bushes along the front next to the road, and at least fifteen trees in the back along with 3 or 4 more rose bushes (and she even took a couple more of the rose bushes with her!). The neighbors called our house "the jungle" due to its over-abundance of plant life. The insurance company wouldn't even insure it unless we promised to clear up the brush next to the house.
At present, the back yard has four trees, the front has two, and we're going to move the rose bushes from bordering the driveway to somewhere else. I did fail to mention the two trees next to the driveway, but they're not moving yet.
Today, after this weekend where I didn't go into the world's largest retailer at all due to my illness (it was a legit call-in, I promise), I am really, really sore. My arms and shoulders hurt from using the "effortless" chainsaw. Actually, I used two chainsaws -- one gas and one electric. The electric one gave out when it (apparently) stripped a gear. Now the chain won't turn at all. The gas one was doing fine until I tried to cut down a tree in the back yard at its base, and it would cut through it. The Engineer supposes that since we're number three on the list who have used this chain, it is likely dull. Sensible, says I.
What is more dull than a well used chain, however, is waiting for a game from Gamefly. This service is very much like Netflix and Blockbuster Online in that it ships X games per month for any system based on how much you pay for it. But where in three months we'd get 2 per week, sometimes, with the other two with a killer turnaround time of three days between shipments, with Gamefly, we had reduced our subscription to one at a time, and in the month of February, got only one game for our money because not only did it take forever for a game to go back to the company, and forever for them to receive it and then ship another, but our last one got lost in the mail. So for what we put out to play five games over three months, we could have just bought a couple of them down at Vintage Stock or off eBay and be done with it.
While this isn't the worst deal we'd run across (after all, it would have been very cool to turnaround a game a week or so), it didn't quite measure up to the other online services such as Netflix and Blockbuster, which to me, was very, very disappointing. We figured it was due to them not having enough distribution centers or something, so maybe someday, if they can keep it going, they can get enough centers to handle shipping here to the middle of the country in a reasonable time frame.
The final word(s) for the moment: poop drama. That's right. Sassy Pants is still Poopy Pants. For the love of God, what is holding her back from that last stage of potty training? Shooting for diaper threats, but who knows if that'll pan out. We still have some diapers on the premisis, so fortunately we don't have to buy any, but I really want her to put that in the potty, and not in her pants. It's very, very frustrating.
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