Now where were we?

Hey there blog faithful, it's been a little while now hasn't it? Indeed a full 2 weeks has passed since I last paid a personal visit to your computers, but what a 2 weeks it has been. Let's take a bold unparalleled step and start the rundown from the beginning. And this blog post is extra special because it's my birthday today, no.20, and yes, for those of you wondering, I am celebrating by drinking 20 fifths of gin today. I'm already on to no. 14. It's been quite an experience.

But enough about me and my liver, I'm sure you all would rather hear about the Band and its liver. First things first though, let's all have a moment of silence for our chances to go to Vegas. It turns out the Kal band had just a few more people with automatic Skype-calling scripts and they won the so-called contest (more like a CON-test if you ask me, I mean wait). They said they'll be back next year. Maybe this time they'll let us know it's happening more than 2 days ahead of time.

But now to the perhaps most important event of the past fortnight, BANDQUET. Remember your team/marching band's banquet at the end of the year? Well ours is just like that, except there's also a D in the name. Forgoing our usual rehearsal, we all converged and celebrated not ending Band for another year, clad in a style of dress we like to call rally formal. What's rally formal? Well, it's a little bit like pornography (in more ways than one). You can't define it, but you know it when you see it. I, and a few others, donned the personas of the primary characters from Reservoir Dogs, complete with cap guns and copious amounts of hair gel. I was Mr. Orange, which meant throughout the night, my shirt became more and more saturated with blood (or in this case, Hawaiian Punch).

Perhaps the most significant events of the night, though, were Most Improved and Best Sexion, respectively, which come in the form of Ernest and Julio Gallo jugs. Most Improved went to the Trumpz, who also came away with best Big Game project for building this
A certain assistant athletic director in charge of facilities, though, said it was simultaneously a safety hazard and not allowed because it was attached to the building so now it ignominiously rests in the rehearsal hall, but I digress.

Let's get to the moment that everyone was waiting for, which was the winner of the coveted Best Sexion. In a victory for justice, morality, and puppies, it went to those Regents of Rhythm, the tööbz, aka my sexion. Though somewhat unexpected, we knew it was a long time coming, and express thanks goes out to the past few sexion leaders for whipping us into shape. If you were there, you surely would have heard me exclaim multiple times that this is what winning the World Series felt like. It truly was.

Not content to let the week go by without more debauchery, the following weekend delivered the Band Ski Trip (with equal emphasis on both words), which was great fun, despite the iniquity of being forced to drive on Golden Bear Trail to get there. If this post lacks the usual requisite amount of trite pop culture references, its because my brain is still recovering from that weekend. I mean, you would be slow too if you made a snowman out of cocaine and then snorted it.

Other than those two events, it's been primarily a steady diet of basketball, some more victorious than others, all proving to be valuable experience as the band trains to get its heckling into tournament shape (*fingers crossed*), except for yesterday which brought the Band the San Jose Spring Festival Vietnamese New Year's parade something or other. It was a (figurative) riot to play for hundreds of puzzled Vietnamese immigrants while simultaneously holding up the parade every 2 minutes. Though this year lacked the highlights of Storm Troopers and the Davis Band stealing our songs, we still got to serenade a Catholic church with "Hell" by the Squirrel Nut Zippers and laugh as the bonz missed the golden opportunity to play the French national anthem during "All Right Now", though the tribute to imperialism was not a complete abortion. They managed to muster up "Hail Brittania", but like New Coke, it was still a poor substitute for the real thing.

This week is just your average week, but that's good, because the band needs time to prepare for what some deem the best day of the year, DOLLIE DAY. I don't know about the other sexions, but the tööbz have an epic project planned. What's that Jimmy? You want to know what it is? I'll tell you when you're older. And in the smoothest possible transition (we take lessons from our women's basketball team) next week is the week in which the Band is subject to the greatest amount of smug derision by the larger populace, or as you know it, Tree Week, where the band celebrates arbor day for 5 straight days. I'm sure the Deadspin commenters are foaming at the mouth.