Tonight I was forced to preach on not glorying in your wisdom, might, or riches, which, fortunately, I was perfectly qualified to do, seeing as I have always been wise mighty and very rich.
Oh yes.
Well anyway, here's the formula to a really holy sermon:
1. Make it 80% scripture.
In theory, you could make it 100% scripture, but everyone can read the Bible on their own and they don't need you to read it to them. That's kind of the point of a sermon, you know.
Making it mostly Bible verses will sound really holy and yet still sound like you almost don't want to insult their intellect.
2. Make it 3% dramatic pauses during which you stare down the congregation.
People hate being stared down and feeling convicted, so go light on this one. You should probably throw most of it in near the end. You know, during the invitation that an amateur preacher doesn't give.
3. Make it 9% waving your arms around when you talk.
People love this part, but here's one warning: don't point at the ceiling. That's the biggest sermon cliches out there. Unless you do it with both hands and lean back, like Dustin Colquitt. That would be cool.
4. Make it 5% C.S. Lewis quotes.
C.S. Lewis of course has the holiest quotes of anyone. Actually, I rarely hear any. Maybe you're only supposed to quote him on the day of atonement. Perhaps you should reconsider that part.
5. Make it 4% imperfect analogies.
Analogies are awesome, but most are imperfect. Maybe that's why the formula adds up to 101%. (That other 1% is God. It really is.) Maybe it means we're not perfect, but God is, or that what's impossible with men is possible with God. See how holy this turned out to be? Even the post is an analogy.
Hello, what are you doing here? What a waste of time. You could lower a rope or a tree branch or find something useful to do.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Well, well
It's that time of year again. You know, September 22? Yeah, that time. Nice time to be, isn't it?
Well, don't get used to it, tomorrow's going to be September 23. Frustrating how that happens, isn't it? But hey, that's how life goes.
Well, don't get used to it, tomorrow's going to be September 23. Frustrating how that happens, isn't it? But hey, that's how life goes.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
"Darg"
Today, I am going to explain to you the meaning and origin of the word "darg."
Sometimes, when I'm having a conversation with someone (usually online, that's where most of my conversations happen), they'll say something to the affect of, "What?"
Then, I will say, "Darg."
Since saying "darg" is somewhat idiosyncratic to my household (isn't "idiosyncratic" a great word? It's even autological.), they will once again say, "What?"
However, since that is rather ambiguous (this post is starting to sound esoteric), which means they're asking me what "darg" means but I think they're repeating the question, so I once again say "Darg."
From this point on, it's all dowhill.
What?
Darg.
What?
Darg.
What?
Darg darg.
What what?
Darg.
Now before this transforms into some sort of weird two-word rap song, I will explain to you what this word means.
After this.
Is it really a word? Or is it more of a sound? I mean, does the dictionary actually have an etymology on the word "argh," which is almost the same? Or is it a town in Tajikistan? Is that even a real country?
Let's assume it's a word though. (Maybe it's an imaginary word. Hypothetically speaking, though, it will be a word.)
We will also assume that "argh" is a word, even though it sounds stupid and nobody should ever say it anyway.
A=1, so argh=argh. (That's a given.)
B=2, so barg=double argh.
C=3, so carg=triple argh.
D=4, so darg=quadruple argh.
(You usually just skip "barg" and "carg.")
What, you may be asking, is the point of that?
It all goes back to that weird idiosyncraticness, which apparently isn't a word. All it means really is the not-normal stuff that goes on in our house that I shouldn't be putting on the internet but it's ok because nobody who doesn't live in my house actually reads this blog, except maybe for Vicki, who is now moved out. (I'm trusting you on this, Vicki. I believe that you won't be like that dog, whatever his name is, on the Bush's Baked Beans commercials who's always trying to sell the secret recipe.)
The thing is, the inventor of "darg" (who shall remain unnamed, you know who you are) also coined the phrase "quadruple argh."
Somehow, he ingeniously fused those two together, so now both of them make sense.
So now you know, "darg" simply means "argh," except four times more intense and not stupid sounding.
But wait, where did that H on the end go to?
Maybe this is about coolness, because we all know if I had been named Zac instead of Zach that I would have long, wavy blondy hair, play the electric cello, and smell like coconuts.
What? You've never encountered anyone that smelled like coconuts? That's funny, I have. Or at least his jacket did. He wasn't wearing it at the time. That was really weird.
Sometimes, when I'm having a conversation with someone (usually online, that's where most of my conversations happen), they'll say something to the affect of, "What?"
Then, I will say, "Darg."
Since saying "darg" is somewhat idiosyncratic to my household (isn't "idiosyncratic" a great word? It's even autological.), they will once again say, "What?"
However, since that is rather ambiguous (this post is starting to sound esoteric), which means they're asking me what "darg" means but I think they're repeating the question, so I once again say "Darg."
From this point on, it's all dowhill.
What?
Darg.
What?
Darg.
What?
Darg darg.
What what?
Darg.
Now before this transforms into some sort of weird two-word rap song, I will explain to you what this word means.
After this.
Is it really a word? Or is it more of a sound? I mean, does the dictionary actually have an etymology on the word "argh," which is almost the same? Or is it a town in Tajikistan? Is that even a real country?
Let's assume it's a word though. (Maybe it's an imaginary word. Hypothetically speaking, though, it will be a word.)
We will also assume that "argh" is a word, even though it sounds stupid and nobody should ever say it anyway.
A=1, so argh=argh. (That's a given.)
B=2, so barg=double argh.
C=3, so carg=triple argh.
D=4, so darg=quadruple argh.
(You usually just skip "barg" and "carg.")
What, you may be asking, is the point of that?
It all goes back to that weird idiosyncraticness, which apparently isn't a word. All it means really is the not-normal stuff that goes on in our house that I shouldn't be putting on the internet but it's ok because nobody who doesn't live in my house actually reads this blog, except maybe for Vicki, who is now moved out. (I'm trusting you on this, Vicki. I believe that you won't be like that dog, whatever his name is, on the Bush's Baked Beans commercials who's always trying to sell the secret recipe.)
The thing is, the inventor of "darg" (who shall remain unnamed, you know who you are) also coined the phrase "quadruple argh."
Somehow, he ingeniously fused those two together, so now both of them make sense.
So now you know, "darg" simply means "argh," except four times more intense and not stupid sounding.
But wait, where did that H on the end go to?
Maybe this is about coolness, because we all know if I had been named Zac instead of Zach that I would have long, wavy blondy hair, play the electric cello, and smell like coconuts.
What? You've never encountered anyone that smelled like coconuts? That's funny, I have. Or at least his jacket did. He wasn't wearing it at the time. That was really weird.
Friday, September 17, 2010
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Wednesday is Different Day!!!
Well, we managed to pull off a '2' at the State Fair. Adult contemporary.
In other thrilling news, Wednesday is now Different Day. (I got the idea from Randy Ingermanson. I get most ideas from him.) What that means is you do everything DIFFERENTLY. (What did you think?)
Wednesdays are already pretty different around here. We only do Math (when we can help it), it's cleaning day, Puppet Practice, and things that fall on Wednesdays. Wednesdays are pretty important, you know. After all, the Sun, Moon, and Stars were created on Wednesday.
Anyway, on Different Day, you do all the other Different Stuff you don't feel like doing on other days. In Writing, I won't work on the Story, I'll do Character Sketches and other Boring Junk. In Music, I'll review my rep-reh-twa, however you spell it.
Awesome.
In other thrilling news, Wednesday is now Different Day. (I got the idea from Randy Ingermanson. I get most ideas from him.) What that means is you do everything DIFFERENTLY. (What did you think?)
Wednesdays are already pretty different around here. We only do Math (when we can help it), it's cleaning day, Puppet Practice, and things that fall on Wednesdays. Wednesdays are pretty important, you know. After all, the Sun, Moon, and Stars were created on Wednesday.
Anyway, on Different Day, you do all the other Different Stuff you don't feel like doing on other days. In Writing, I won't work on the Story, I'll do Character Sketches and other Boring Junk. In Music, I'll review my rep-reh-twa, however you spell it.
Awesome.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
It's the State Fair. Razzle Dazzle.
Hey guys. It's 4:44 in the morning, and we're waiting to leave for the school to play for the State Fair.
If it stops raining.
It's raining to beat the band around here, and now you know what that expression means. I'm not sure if we'll be going or not if they cancel the band competition, though. I don't even know if it's raining in Hutchinson. I don't feel like checking.
It sure is here though. It's been storming for hours. The electricity's been out at least once. Yes, I am scared of thunderstorms...
If it stops raining.
It's raining to beat the band around here, and now you know what that expression means. I'm not sure if we'll be going or not if they cancel the band competition, though. I don't even know if it's raining in Hutchinson. I don't feel like checking.
It sure is here though. It's been storming for hours. The electricity's been out at least once. Yes, I am scared of thunderstorms...
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Epileptic Dogs and Hot Peanut Butter
Today, before the band went out marching, Terah informed the band that we couldn't march past a certain house, because the day before the person's dog had had a seizure.
I'm sure that the dog has some kind of disorder. I'm sure it's NOT the way the band sounds. I'm pretty sure...
On another note, Sarah made peanut butter cookies today. (She doesn't even LIKE peanut butter cookies.) Well, some idiot used a dish towel instead of a pot holder to take the dumb old pan out of the oven, and APPARENTLY that doesn't WORK as well as it does taking hot plates out of the MICROWAVE.
That stupid victim who shall remained unnamed was not badly hurt, but he did drop the pan. There only turned out to be eight intact cookies left, and those were on ANOTHER pan.
They still tasted good.
I'm sure that the dog has some kind of disorder. I'm sure it's NOT the way the band sounds. I'm pretty sure...
On another note, Sarah made peanut butter cookies today. (She doesn't even LIKE peanut butter cookies.) Well, some idiot used a dish towel instead of a pot holder to take the dumb old pan out of the oven, and APPARENTLY that doesn't WORK as well as it does taking hot plates out of the MICROWAVE.
That stupid victim who shall remained unnamed was not badly hurt, but he did drop the pan. There only turned out to be eight intact cookies left, and those were on ANOTHER pan.
They still tasted good.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Thoughts on The Fellowship of the Ring
Honestly, I liked The Hobbit better. After all, Gandalf never says "Great elephants!" in the Fellowship, and who doesn't love a book where old wizards say "Great Elephants!"?
Anyway, that's not the point of this post. Like in The Hobbit, the ending...draaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagged a little bit. And, Tolkien didn't quite have a grasp on using commas effectively.
Oh well.
However, Middle-earth is a grand creation: dramatic views, figures from antiquity mentioned only in songs and legends, the classic struggle between good and evil, and if you call in the next five minutes, we'll include a free SHAMWOW!
Maybe not.
But that would be cool. If ShamWow had been around, Tolkien would have bought it.
I know he would have.
Anyway, that's not the point of this post. Like in The Hobbit, the ending...draaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagged a little bit. And, Tolkien didn't quite have a grasp on using commas effectively.
Oh well.
However, Middle-earth is a grand creation: dramatic views, figures from antiquity mentioned only in songs and legends, the classic struggle between good and evil, and if you call in the next five minutes, we'll include a free SHAMWOW!
Maybe not.
But that would be cool. If ShamWow had been around, Tolkien would have bought it.
I know he would have.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
The Tragedy Of The Beleagured Poet, Who Was Desperate For Inspiration And Also For Food. Hence The Term, "Beleagured."
A poem.
A rhyme, a rhyme,
My kingdom for a rhyme:
A word that rhymes with 'rhyme,'
But isn't,
Because 'rhyme' doesn't actually rhyme with 'rhyme.'
Wait, did I actually say, 'My kingdom for a rhyme'?
Maybe that's why poets are so poor.
A rhyme, a rhyme,
My kingdom for a rhyme:
A word that rhymes with 'rhyme,'
But isn't,
Because 'rhyme' doesn't actually rhyme with 'rhyme.'
Wait, did I actually say, 'My kingdom for a rhyme'?
Maybe that's why poets are so poor.
A Fable
By Me.
Once, there was a Branch. It didn't realize it, but the tree that it lived on was almost dead. It was withered and shriveled, and would never bear any fruit.
The Good Gardener saw this, and decided to save the Branch from its fate. He cut the Branch from its old home and grafted it onto a strong, healthy Tree, so that the Branch might have another chance.
'My, a strong tree,' thought the Branch, 'and so tall and thick and full of leaves.' The Branch decided that this new Tree was a good place to be, and was content.
Every day the Good Gardener came and watered the tree, and often spoke to it. He told it of many things, of storms and of droughts, of fires and earthquakes. The Branch learned much from the Gardener, and felt that he was prepared for whatever might happen to him.
One day, there was a storm. Lightning illuminated the sky, and thundered vibrated all the limbs of the Tree. The rain poured in huge, heavy drops. The Branch became afraid.
Suddenly, he heard the Gardener's voice. 'Do not be afraid,' he was saying, 'for I have grafted you onto a good, strong Tree. You will be safe here. The Storm will not harm you.'
The Branch was calmed, and it knew that the Gardener would let no hurt come to him. However, after the storm had passed, the Branch found that many of its leaves had been blown away. 'My,' thought the Branch, 'the Gardener never mentioned this. Why did he not tell me? It is very strange;' and the Branch began to doubt.
Soon, it was Summer, and the Tree began to bear its fruit. The Branch look round one day, and thought, 'My, what grand fruit all these Branches are bearing;' but when he look at himself, he had none. 'Why is this?' he wondered, feeling sad. Then he realized that these branches had grown on the Tree, while he had been grafted on by the Gardener. 'My,' he thought, 'that foolish Gardener! Why did he not leave me where I was? It was better there.' If he had thought about it, the Branch would have realized the his old home was bleak and barren, and the Gardener was very wise indeed. However, he could only think about how the other Branches had fruit, and he did not. 'This Tree is no good to me,' he thought, and jumped from the tree.
It hurt when he hit the ground, but he obstinately kept to his choice. 'After all,' he thought, 'I'm no worse off down here than I was up there; and I will bear fruit myself.'
So for many days, he tried and tried to bear fruit, and always it was just out of his reach. 'My,' he thought, 'fruit is hard to produce; but if I try a little bit harder, then I will be sure to accomplish what I want.' So he tried again for many days to bear fruit, and always it was just out of his reach.
One day, a storm came up, and the Branch began to fear. 'I shall surely be washed away,' he thought. The wind blew hard, swirling leaves about all over, and thunder rumbled all around him. Then, the rain came.
It was much more frightening to be on the ground during a rain than in a Tree, where a Branch ought to be. As the water fell from the sky, it surrounded the Branch, who was by now all in a panic. 'What am I to do?' he thought frantically. Then he heard something.
'Do not be afraid,' said a voice, 'for you are a good, strong Tree that I have planted. The Storm will not harm you.'
The Branch realized the Gardener was speaking to the Tree, and ignoring him! 'That stupid Gardener!' he thought, 'can he not see me lying here, about to be washed away in the flood?' but the Gardener did not come to him.
The Branch thought that if he called for help, the Gardener would come; but he no longer trusted the Gardener, and didn't want his help.
Soon, the water rose high enough to lift the Branch up, and the Branch began to float away. 'What shall I do?' he cried, terrified out of his wits. He would have to go where the Storm took him, for it was too strong for him to overcome.
As he began to flow faster and faster, he began to fear that he would never see the Tree or the Gardener again; but why would he want to? He no longer wanted them; but then he realized that he had nothing without them. It wasn't really any better on the ground than in the Tree. It was much worse. 'Help!' he finally cried out. 'I am all set to be washed away and drowned! Help!'
In a moment the Gardener was there, lifting him out of the flood, and carrying him gently back to the Tree. 'My dear Branch,' he said, 'what were you thinking? You had everything you would ever need in the Tree, and yet you jump out and are nearly lost in the flood.'
'I had no fruit,' said the Branch. 'I had been grafted onto the Tree, and didn't belong.'
'You do not understand,' said the Gardener. 'I grafted all of the Branches onto that Tree. They are of all different kinds, and they all bear different fruit in their seasons. You will bear fruit, too, if you are patient, and the fruit you bear will be just as great and grand as theirs is.'
'What if it isn't?' asked the Branch.
'Any fruit that a Branch bears is great and grand in my sight,' said the Gardener.
After the Storm passed, the Gardener grafted the Branch back onto the Tree.
'Why did you not come to save me from the flood?' asked the Branch.
'Because you did not ask,' said the Gardener. 'You decided to leave the Tree. I wasn't going to force you to come back until I knew you wanted to.'
Back on the Tree, the Branch grew full and strong, and bore fruit in his season, and was able to withstand any Storm that challenged him. 'My,' said the Branch one day, 'what a fortunate Branch I am, to be put in this Tree;' for he didn't realize that any Branch would be put on the Tree who asked.
Once, there was a Branch. It didn't realize it, but the tree that it lived on was almost dead. It was withered and shriveled, and would never bear any fruit.
The Good Gardener saw this, and decided to save the Branch from its fate. He cut the Branch from its old home and grafted it onto a strong, healthy Tree, so that the Branch might have another chance.
'My, a strong tree,' thought the Branch, 'and so tall and thick and full of leaves.' The Branch decided that this new Tree was a good place to be, and was content.
Every day the Good Gardener came and watered the tree, and often spoke to it. He told it of many things, of storms and of droughts, of fires and earthquakes. The Branch learned much from the Gardener, and felt that he was prepared for whatever might happen to him.
One day, there was a storm. Lightning illuminated the sky, and thundered vibrated all the limbs of the Tree. The rain poured in huge, heavy drops. The Branch became afraid.
Suddenly, he heard the Gardener's voice. 'Do not be afraid,' he was saying, 'for I have grafted you onto a good, strong Tree. You will be safe here. The Storm will not harm you.'
The Branch was calmed, and it knew that the Gardener would let no hurt come to him. However, after the storm had passed, the Branch found that many of its leaves had been blown away. 'My,' thought the Branch, 'the Gardener never mentioned this. Why did he not tell me? It is very strange;' and the Branch began to doubt.
Soon, it was Summer, and the Tree began to bear its fruit. The Branch look round one day, and thought, 'My, what grand fruit all these Branches are bearing;' but when he look at himself, he had none. 'Why is this?' he wondered, feeling sad. Then he realized that these branches had grown on the Tree, while he had been grafted on by the Gardener. 'My,' he thought, 'that foolish Gardener! Why did he not leave me where I was? It was better there.' If he had thought about it, the Branch would have realized the his old home was bleak and barren, and the Gardener was very wise indeed. However, he could only think about how the other Branches had fruit, and he did not. 'This Tree is no good to me,' he thought, and jumped from the tree.
It hurt when he hit the ground, but he obstinately kept to his choice. 'After all,' he thought, 'I'm no worse off down here than I was up there; and I will bear fruit myself.'
So for many days, he tried and tried to bear fruit, and always it was just out of his reach. 'My,' he thought, 'fruit is hard to produce; but if I try a little bit harder, then I will be sure to accomplish what I want.' So he tried again for many days to bear fruit, and always it was just out of his reach.
One day, a storm came up, and the Branch began to fear. 'I shall surely be washed away,' he thought. The wind blew hard, swirling leaves about all over, and thunder rumbled all around him. Then, the rain came.
It was much more frightening to be on the ground during a rain than in a Tree, where a Branch ought to be. As the water fell from the sky, it surrounded the Branch, who was by now all in a panic. 'What am I to do?' he thought frantically. Then he heard something.
'Do not be afraid,' said a voice, 'for you are a good, strong Tree that I have planted. The Storm will not harm you.'
The Branch realized the Gardener was speaking to the Tree, and ignoring him! 'That stupid Gardener!' he thought, 'can he not see me lying here, about to be washed away in the flood?' but the Gardener did not come to him.
The Branch thought that if he called for help, the Gardener would come; but he no longer trusted the Gardener, and didn't want his help.
Soon, the water rose high enough to lift the Branch up, and the Branch began to float away. 'What shall I do?' he cried, terrified out of his wits. He would have to go where the Storm took him, for it was too strong for him to overcome.
As he began to flow faster and faster, he began to fear that he would never see the Tree or the Gardener again; but why would he want to? He no longer wanted them; but then he realized that he had nothing without them. It wasn't really any better on the ground than in the Tree. It was much worse. 'Help!' he finally cried out. 'I am all set to be washed away and drowned! Help!'
In a moment the Gardener was there, lifting him out of the flood, and carrying him gently back to the Tree. 'My dear Branch,' he said, 'what were you thinking? You had everything you would ever need in the Tree, and yet you jump out and are nearly lost in the flood.'
'I had no fruit,' said the Branch. 'I had been grafted onto the Tree, and didn't belong.'
'You do not understand,' said the Gardener. 'I grafted all of the Branches onto that Tree. They are of all different kinds, and they all bear different fruit in their seasons. You will bear fruit, too, if you are patient, and the fruit you bear will be just as great and grand as theirs is.'
'What if it isn't?' asked the Branch.
'Any fruit that a Branch bears is great and grand in my sight,' said the Gardener.
After the Storm passed, the Gardener grafted the Branch back onto the Tree.
'Why did you not come to save me from the flood?' asked the Branch.
'Because you did not ask,' said the Gardener. 'You decided to leave the Tree. I wasn't going to force you to come back until I knew you wanted to.'
Back on the Tree, the Branch grew full and strong, and bore fruit in his season, and was able to withstand any Storm that challenged him. 'My,' said the Branch one day, 'what a fortunate Branch I am, to be put in this Tree;' for he didn't realize that any Branch would be put on the Tree who asked.
I am the vine, ye are the branches: He that abideth in me, and I in him, the same bringeth forth much fruit: for without me ye can do nothing.
John 15:5
Sunday, September 5, 2010
The Westminster Abbey (and other architectural thoughts)
Today, I was checking out castles and cathedrals and monestaries and abbeys and that type of thing. (On a related note, I know someone who's kissed the Blarney Stone! How awesome is that?) Anyway, Seth and I got into a discussion about the Confused Catholics and their architecture. (I'm buying Westminster Abbey, by the way.)
Evidently, time out of Purgatory is great motivation for building amazing cathedrals. (Or is it their devotion to God? Maybe that's it.) We Baptists are, how did Seth put it, "Down to earth, something about preaching, farmers, and we rock."
Yes, we rock, but we have boring architecture.
Why is that?
Maybe because we spend all our money on food. (Baptists only believe in Six Deadly Sins. There's really no such thing as "gluttony;" eating heartily is gracious and a form of praising God.)
Or maybe because God doesn't care about architecture. He knows it's all temporary. What happens inside the building isn't. (Or at least it shouldn't be.) Yeah, we love bell towers and massive baptisteries and stained glass, and there's nothing wrong with that.
Does God get more glory when we meet in a big, fancy church? Maybe. Maybe people really do marvel at the work people put into that. Maybe people really do love visiting Westminster and the Sistine Chapel.
But do people walk out of there thinking, "Wow, I wish I was a Christian. I've always wanted to be a construction worker."
No.
People should walk out of church thinking, "Wow, I wish I was a Christian. I've always wanted peace and joy and acceptance."
Do they?
Evidently, time out of Purgatory is great motivation for building amazing cathedrals. (Or is it their devotion to God? Maybe that's it.) We Baptists are, how did Seth put it, "Down to earth, something about preaching, farmers, and we rock."
Yes, we rock, but we have boring architecture.
Why is that?
Maybe because we spend all our money on food. (Baptists only believe in Six Deadly Sins. There's really no such thing as "gluttony;" eating heartily is gracious and a form of praising God.)
Or maybe because God doesn't care about architecture. He knows it's all temporary. What happens inside the building isn't. (Or at least it shouldn't be.) Yeah, we love bell towers and massive baptisteries and stained glass, and there's nothing wrong with that.
Does God get more glory when we meet in a big, fancy church? Maybe. Maybe people really do marvel at the work people put into that. Maybe people really do love visiting Westminster and the Sistine Chapel.
But do people walk out of there thinking, "Wow, I wish I was a Christian. I've always wanted to be a construction worker."
No.
People should walk out of church thinking, "Wow, I wish I was a Christian. I've always wanted peace and joy and acceptance."
Do they?
Saturday, September 4, 2010
HEY!
Yesterday, we had what I like to call a "Pep Band Unexperience."
That's where there's supposed to be some pep band, but there really isn't. (Don't tell anyone. Maybe they won't notice.)
First of all, both high school drummers were late, so they missed the bus, so the band room was locked, so they didn't have any drum sticks.
So we had two Junior High drummers. (Nothing against them.)
So we start on the first song, whatever that was, and one of these afore-mentioned drummers starts drumming.
As fast as he can.
Needless to say, we were all a little whiplashed at first.
However, making a brilliant recovery, we brilliantly recovered. (Not that there's any chance this drummer will see this, but he got better as the evening wore on.)
So then, after the two high schoolers showed up and somehow got hold of drumsticks, they decided to sit right behind me.
Brice+quads=vibration. LOTS of vibration, which makes it a little hard to breathe. (Breathing is essential to playing a wind instrument, for you unmusical types out there.)
Well, we survived the pregame session. We decided to play The Hey Song between the first and second quarters. There's a new rule this year that at games, you can't leave the band section.
Well, we didn't leave the band section. We just kind of switched places around so that we weren't near our instruments any more.
That proved to be our demise. (Pep Band Unexperiences are always made better when you use phrases like "that proved to be our demise." Also, repeatedly saying "Adult contemporary!")
See, there were these saxophone players that were supposed to come in first, and they didn't. So then we were like, "Ohhhh, ok. It's a joke. AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
Something like that.
So then, we went to the bus, where Jerilee was explaining about what she called the "Wrath of Jerilee."
Beware the Wrath.
The bus driver didn't seem intent on showing up, so Gage and I decided to walk. He had a cow bell, and I had a trumpet. We decided to go to the state fair by ourselves as a band. We would definitely draw a "1."
We stopped at Dillon's house, where Gage just stood there, trying to decide whether to Ring and Run.
Then, the bus went by. I tried to thumb a ride, but apparently, you can't thumb rides anymore.
"WE CAN BEAT THEM ZACH!!!!" yelled Gage, and we RAN.
NOBODY has ever run that fast. Or maybe it just seemed that way, because we're so out of shape. ("Too many Dr Peppers.")
Good News. We beat them! AHAHAHAHA!
Then, we sat on the steps and sang "We Are The Champions."
Heh heh.
That's where there's supposed to be some pep band, but there really isn't. (Don't tell anyone. Maybe they won't notice.)
First of all, both high school drummers were late, so they missed the bus, so the band room was locked, so they didn't have any drum sticks.
So we had two Junior High drummers. (Nothing against them.)
So we start on the first song, whatever that was, and one of these afore-mentioned drummers starts drumming.
As fast as he can.
Needless to say, we were all a little whiplashed at first.
However, making a brilliant recovery, we brilliantly recovered. (Not that there's any chance this drummer will see this, but he got better as the evening wore on.)
So then, after the two high schoolers showed up and somehow got hold of drumsticks, they decided to sit right behind me.
Brice+quads=vibration. LOTS of vibration, which makes it a little hard to breathe. (Breathing is essential to playing a wind instrument, for you unmusical types out there.)
Well, we survived the pregame session. We decided to play The Hey Song between the first and second quarters. There's a new rule this year that at games, you can't leave the band section.
Well, we didn't leave the band section. We just kind of switched places around so that we weren't near our instruments any more.
That proved to be our demise. (Pep Band Unexperiences are always made better when you use phrases like "that proved to be our demise." Also, repeatedly saying "Adult contemporary!")
See, there were these saxophone players that were supposed to come in first, and they didn't. So then we were like, "Ohhhh, ok. It's a joke. AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
Something like that.
So then, we went to the bus, where Jerilee was explaining about what she called the "Wrath of Jerilee."
Beware the Wrath.
The bus driver didn't seem intent on showing up, so Gage and I decided to walk. He had a cow bell, and I had a trumpet. We decided to go to the state fair by ourselves as a band. We would definitely draw a "1."
We stopped at Dillon's house, where Gage just stood there, trying to decide whether to Ring and Run.
Then, the bus went by. I tried to thumb a ride, but apparently, you can't thumb rides anymore.
"WE CAN BEAT THEM ZACH!!!!" yelled Gage, and we RAN.
NOBODY has ever run that fast. Or maybe it just seemed that way, because we're so out of shape. ("Too many Dr Peppers.")
Good News. We beat them! AHAHAHAHA!
Then, we sat on the steps and sang "We Are The Champions."
Heh heh.
The Wisest Saying In All Wiseness
"A mile in the desert is worse than a mile out of the desert."
--Sarah Neumann
--Sarah Neumann
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