Hi there. Face here! Just kidding it's your old cohort Shotgun with some exciting blogtastic news. Now I must be brief because my dorm is about to deep fry a turkey to commemorate the 1.75 month anniversary of Thanksgiving (true story), but I just wanted to let y'all faithful readers know that the Band, or more specifically the courageous warriors of the bovine-inspired atonal metal 3-d representation of the average distribution of height were featured on the 6 o' clock news and we, always forthcoming in our quest to bring funk to the funkless masses, present you with glorious glorious embedded video of the profile on these media sluts (that's just what we call them behind their backs. Secretly it's all of our dreams to be interviewed by KPIX)
So keep an eye of these brave souls, especially tomorrow when Mike "Benedict Vader" Montgomery comes back to the Farm for a good ol' fashioned butt-whoopin' (fingers crossed). And tune in next week when we dish the goods about how the Band celebrated Martin Luther King Day (hint: it's better than whatever the Arizona band did)
P.S. It was just revealed to us that those scoundrels over at Tennessee won Best Pep Band in the Women's Basketball Coaches Association superlatives for 2009 despite clearly not measuring up and also not having a hot dog in their band. They must have been beaten into submission by hearing Rocky Top 10,000 times in one day.
1.16.2009
1.06.2009
Why Hullo Thar!
It's your friendly neighborhood Spider-blogger, Shotgun here. Well it's 2009, and we're here to keep our promise of MORE BLOG ACTION with a quick ACTIONY recap of the band's winter break, or at least my winter break. For most of the band, winter break consisted of an unholy combination of Stanford basketball victories and "Cooking by the book A Lil' Bigger Mix" (what will the YouTube think of next?). For your faithful PR though, winter break largely consisted of Tivoed Christmas specials and addressing envolopes. You see, young paduwan, the Band cannot deliver the funk all by itself, it sometimes needs help along the way. And so, to show our appreciation over the Saturnalia season, the Band sends various Christmahanukwanzaakuh cards to people that have accommodated us, inspired us, tolerated us, or at the very least allowed us to exist. They looked-a something like-a this.
A selection of this year's recipients include Tara VanDerVeer, Johnny Dawkins, Random Student with PO Box 12346 (if you're reading this, we guarantee there's no anthrax), various members of the Athletic Department, other scatter bands on the front line in the righteous crusade for rock and roll, a disproportionate amount of Dollie families living in Atherton, the Liberty Bowl Commission (I was surprised that one was still on the list too), Diane Feinstein, the Colbert Report, and Orenthal James Simpson at Lovelock Correctional Center. A select few people, such as the Spirit of Troy and Art Bartner, got extra special attention. I personally signed them myself with a pen that just so happened to look alot like a bottle of Elmer's Glue, and my signature ended up covering the entire page. Oops. I think they'll get the message though.
Indeed, I hope everyone gets their forthcoming XmasHK card, though assuredly in about a month me and Staph Tool Diego will have the exquisite pleasure of collecting all the "return to sender" cards and taking those unfortunate souls off the list, if we can't find their current address. But I digress. It's time to get back into the groove of Winter Band, with a bevy of basketball games, and three of the most wonderful times of the year, with the kids jingle-belling and everyone telling we'll be of good cheer (those Xmas carols really stick in your head). I speak of course of Bandquet, Ski Trip, and Dollie Day. More on those later, maybe even a little live blogging? Only time can tell.
In the mean time, I leave you with our Big Game field shows. Ignore the mass-carded distraction going on in the stands during halftime, though frankly I'm appalled that all those dirty hippies are such staunch proponents of slash-and-burn forest clearing. It's really a sad situation.
Until then, smoke 'em if you got 'em.
(I of course am referring to clowns on the basketball court, and certainly not drugs)
A selection of this year's recipients include Tara VanDerVeer, Johnny Dawkins, Random Student with PO Box 12346 (if you're reading this, we guarantee there's no anthrax), various members of the Athletic Department, other scatter bands on the front line in the righteous crusade for rock and roll, a disproportionate amount of Dollie families living in Atherton, the Liberty Bowl Commission (I was surprised that one was still on the list too), Diane Feinstein, the Colbert Report, and Orenthal James Simpson at Lovelock Correctional Center. A select few people, such as the Spirit of Troy and Art Bartner, got extra special attention. I personally signed them myself with a pen that just so happened to look alot like a bottle of Elmer's Glue, and my signature ended up covering the entire page. Oops. I think they'll get the message though.
Indeed, I hope everyone gets their forthcoming XmasHK card, though assuredly in about a month me and Staph Tool Diego will have the exquisite pleasure of collecting all the "return to sender" cards and taking those unfortunate souls off the list, if we can't find their current address. But I digress. It's time to get back into the groove of Winter Band, with a bevy of basketball games, and three of the most wonderful times of the year, with the kids jingle-belling and everyone telling we'll be of good cheer (those Xmas carols really stick in your head). I speak of course of Bandquet, Ski Trip, and Dollie Day. More on those later, maybe even a little live blogging? Only time can tell.
In the mean time, I leave you with our Big Game field shows. Ignore the mass-carded distraction going on in the stands during halftime, though frankly I'm appalled that all those dirty hippies are such staunch proponents of slash-and-burn forest clearing. It's really a sad situation.
Until then, smoke 'em if you got 'em.
(I of course am referring to clowns on the basketball court, and certainly not drugs)
12.21.2008
A Toast to Joe Lewis, the Greatest Boxer of His Time
Twas a cold winter day in the Midwest. A few of the natives and I awoke after slumbering in my Iowa home, rounded up our gear, stepped outside, and decided that 15 degrees was too warm for a journey to Omaha, Nebraska in a vehicle that actually had a working heater (us Midwesterners are a bit masochistic). After a short 2.5-hour drive, the three of us reached Council Bluffs, a friendly Iowa city that housed our hotel for the weekend, and killed some time until the rest of the band arrived. Apparently, the TSA prohibits people from bringing more than 3 ounces of heat onto a plane, so the band was unable to bring any sizable amount of warmth with them.
We were shortly off to rally the volleyball team outside their hotel. The band played fiercely for our goddesses, despite the icy cold death rays that Mother Nature shot at us. We then headed over to the Qwest Center and brought funk to the legions of funkless Nebraskans, Penn Statians, and Texans that came to see their beloved teams play (the stalwart Stanford Fans having already been thoroughly funked). After giving Texas a fair head start, the Stanford women dominated the game and finished 3-2, securing a spot for the Saturday game. Most of us returned to our hotel to make merry and/or play Risk. A few stayed behind at the center and watched some more intense volleyball. I hear that the innumberable throngs of Nebraska fans can be quite loud.
Friday, the traditional day of rest in many modern religions, saw the band exploring Council Bluffs and Omaha. Some of us went to the zoo and threw snowballs at the animals, while others surveyed the local thrift store scene and bought up the county's supply of flannel and three-piece suits. For dinner, we had steak. Some establishments are not quite used to the amount of awesome brought by the band, so we tip well to compensate. The rest of the night saw us fighting off the giant alien robots that frequently attack the area.
Saturday. The band was up at the crack of noon, preparing for the epic battle that was to unfold that night. We again rallied the team before the game, this time in zero-degree-freeze-your-snot-in-your-nose-Mother-Nature-is-Not-in-a-Good-Mood-and-Father-Nature-is-likely-Sleeping-on-the-Couch-Tonight weather. The game was hard fought, but the Stanford Women fell to the onslaught of the Cyborg-Go-Go-Gadget-Volleyball women from Nittany. The band retired to our hotel, and drowned our sorrows in more Risk. Most everyone returned to California on early flights. The locals and I drove back to our abodes the next day, this time in zero-degree-25-mph-wind-gusts weather in a vehicle that again had no heat.
12.15.2008
Things to do in Ft. Collins When You're Still Alive
Hidey-Ho Neighborino! We know we said that we'd wait until 2009 before massacring your RSS feeds, but as I sit on a plane home listening to Richard Cheese take on System of a Down and looking over what I presume to be nighttime Utah, I decided the Band just couldn't wait to talk to you again, even if it is too early in our relationship for that. And while we know you're about to go run some errands and that it's 8 o'clock in the morning, we just have to regale you with tall tales about our recent trip to Northern Colorado. More after what would be the jump, if this were the type of blog that had advertisements (Hey Gawker, sure you don't want to pick us up? We'd be an excellent companion to Deadspin and Fleshbot).
The Band collectively groaned when management sent the e-mail that said call time at the Shak to ship out was 0430 hours. We separately stumbled our way across campus in the blackest of night and into the hallowed stomping grounds, carrying everything we owned (our dorm rooms would no longer be ours when the trip was over, Housing needed them instead). And as we entered the doorway, the 15-song, all “Thunderstruck” playlist greeted our ears and the Pop-Tarts our Social bought us greeted our stomachs, the grogginess slowly turned to grogthusiasm, and with a newfound sense of purpose, we changed into our “uniforms” and packed our instruments onto the bus.
The Band collectively groaned when management sent the e-mail that said call time at the Shak to ship out was 0430 hours. We separately stumbled our way across campus in the blackest of night and into the hallowed stomping grounds, carrying everything we owned (our dorm rooms would no longer be ours when the trip was over, Housing needed them instead). And as we entered the doorway, the 15-song, all “Thunderstruck” playlist greeted our ears and the Pop-Tarts our Social bought us greeted our stomachs, the grogginess slowly turned to grogthusiasm, and with a newfound sense of purpose, we changed into our “uniforms” and packed our instruments onto the bus.
While United Airlines didn't appreciate our cries of “Get Me Off this Tube of Death”, we still enjoyed our flight to Denver, some of us thinking that United Airlines would benefit a great deal from sponsoring Manchester United, especially given the state of AIG, but I digress.
The native Californians eeked with joy when they saw the snow (I think for some of them it was their first time) and we all rejoiced when we saw that right next door to the hotel was a 24 hour IHOP. Some poor souls still had finals to take while the remainder immediately took advantage of the Big Two special for $7.50. All work and no play makes Band a dull boy though, and when those still bonded to the university cast off their shackles of exams, the fun could really begin.
The next two days were a whirlwind of victory and bone-chilling cold. During the games, we rocked our hearts out, giddy that the 15 goddesses sent from Asgard, also known as our women's volleyball team (I frequently am confused as to whether I just saw Mjolnir, Thor's Hammer, in action or if it was Alix Klineman serving) would actually want us miscreants to be in the same building as them. The other teams were less appreciative, though, of our lessons in colonies throughout history and prohibited items on an airplane. That might have been because they came when Florida and Hawaii were serving. Our bad.
When darkness hit, the Band engaged in the most wholesome of merriment activities. We tried our hand at knitting, pin the tail on the donkey, and pick up sticks. Some went over to Colorado State to go to a house quilting bee some fans at the game invited them to. A few frosh got new nicknames after an epic game of charades. We even had contests to see who could drink a rational amount of water at a reasonable pace. Unfortunately we got a little too into the quiet game drawing a complaint from the other hotel guests that we weren't making enough noise for them to fall asleep to. We survived the night, but we certainly felt that extra round of Pictionary in the morning.
During the day, the legal folks took a tour of the New Belgium Brewery. Word on the street was it was quite fun. The remainder explored what it was like to live in an actual college town, though we still love The Tall Tree. We also delighted patrons of Old Town with our trademark brand of symphonic cacophony. Don't worry vice cops, it's not anything like the Old Town in Sin City.
All in all, it was a wonderful trip. We'd like to give a special shoutout to D.P. Dough's for nourishing us with their delicious and affordable calzones, to Colorado State University for accommodating us on our late night snow adventure, and to the volleyball team, for giving us a reason to go to Omaha in a few days (Woo Final Four!!!). Aaron will be on that trip, and I'm sure that he'll provide a similar account of the Band's exploits in an area that looks to be even colder (as if that were possible).
Until then, screw you guys, I'm going home.
12.07.2008
The Future is coming!
And lo, there the band was at Big Game, thankful that we had not been swallowed into the Hayward Fault after taunting it so mercilessly in our halftime show (video soon to come!), watching the seconds tick down on a valiantly fought but ultimately futile football contest. Dean Julie's (the Dean of Freshmen and the South Bay division of the Obama Campaign) leading of an inspired "Yes, We Can" chant after we recovered an onside kick proved to be no match for Kal's junior college transfers, pumped up from the Kal Band's halftime tribute to boy bands. And yea, as the clock hit 00:04 the band rejoiced, for the new staph had officially taken over and the old staph could finally stop pretending they liked this sorry excuse for an organization. For outgoing manager Liz Schackmann it meant her blood pressure immediately dropped 50 points and for incoming AssMan Tim Haefele it meant adding 100 stress balls to his Christmas wish list.
Perhaps more significantly for you, the reader, it means that we have a new PR (Shotgun, that's me) and a new Web Relations/Public Master (Aaron, that's not me) and us two misfits will be manning this blog from now on, with others chiming in when they feel the need to drop some knowledge. What can you expect from your new US Blogators? Lower taxes, more frequent updates, embedded YouTube videos, and free bald eagles for every American citizen.
The revolution will hit in the new year, until then the band lies in wait as we study for finals, and get ready to lay siege to Colorado, as we travel there to follow the women's volleyball team for the 3rd and 4th (knock on wood) rounds of the tournament. Ft Collins has no idea what's about to hit them.
Then it's winter break. The band goes home to rest, celebrate its non-religious specific holiday, and try to erase the trauma of shakethatbear (some mean person sent the link to our e-mail list, google it at your own risk) with 3-hour sessions of Puppy Cam (google it at your own reward). For the saps that happen to call Northen California home and the Old Fartz that couldn't bear to leave the Bay Area, they'll be roped in to playing at the basketball games over break, turning the Shak into Springfield Retirement Castle.
The band will be back early though, to support the men's team as it takes on the pair o' universities from the AZ (much to some people's dismay) the week before classes start. There's no telling what the Band will do to amuse itself without the restraints of academics, but we hope the city of Palo Alto is still standing afterward.
Until then, we leave you with one our best shows of the year, the halftime show from Road Trip (woo!!) to UCLA, replete with commentary by our former Graphix, go to the URL for the fabolous script.
P.S. What Aaron said also. That sneaky ratfink wrote something while I was creating this masterpiece.
Perhaps more significantly for you, the reader, it means that we have a new PR (Shotgun, that's me) and a new Web Relations/Public Master (Aaron, that's not me) and us two misfits will be manning this blog from now on, with others chiming in when they feel the need to drop some knowledge. What can you expect from your new US Blogators? Lower taxes, more frequent updates, embedded YouTube videos, and free bald eagles for every American citizen.
The revolution will hit in the new year, until then the band lies in wait as we study for finals, and get ready to lay siege to Colorado, as we travel there to follow the women's volleyball team for the 3rd and 4th (knock on wood) rounds of the tournament. Ft Collins has no idea what's about to hit them.
Then it's winter break. The band goes home to rest, celebrate its non-religious specific holiday, and try to erase the trauma of shakethatbear (some mean person sent the link to our e-mail list, google it at your own risk) with 3-hour sessions of Puppy Cam (google it at your own reward). For the saps that happen to call Northen California home and the Old Fartz that couldn't bear to leave the Bay Area, they'll be roped in to playing at the basketball games over break, turning the Shak into Springfield Retirement Castle.
The band will be back early though, to support the men's team as it takes on the pair o' universities from the AZ (much to some people's dismay) the week before classes start. There's no telling what the Band will do to amuse itself without the restraints of academics, but we hope the city of Palo Alto is still standing afterward.
Until then, we leave you with one our best shows of the year, the halftime show from Road Trip (woo!!) to UCLA, replete with commentary by our former Graphix, go to the URL for the fabolous script.
P.S. What Aaron said also. That sneaky ratfink wrote something while I was creating this masterpiece.
A new challenger has appeared!
Every year, with 4 seconds left in big game, new staph officially assume their positions. Shotgun and I, assuming the positions of public relations and public master, respectively, have decided to breathe some new life into this infrequently-updated blog.
I'd write something more interesting, but I have to study for my partial differential equations final.
Peace
-Aaron
9.05.2008
I am become Graduate, eater of ramen
Hello again
So it's been quite a while since you heard from us. I bet you thought we were in trouble again! Nope, not in trouble, just distracted.
I guess most young folks in the LSJUMB have lately been far too interested in their day jobs of preparing to be America's lawyers, doctors, and search engine billionaires to take much notice of our humble blog. I say "young folks" because I, like quite a number of my pals, have crossed over and begun to walk in that mysterious land from which the only return is grad school. That's right, I graduated, and am now officially what the young punks call an "Old Fart" (I hear the original term in Mandarin has much more respectful connotations.)
So while the leaders of tomorrow spend their time in labs, running tests for jaded Post-Docs, I've been called up, urged to come out of retirement and ramble on for a few paragraphs. I guess Band knew I don't have job yet (Anyone out there know a TV comedy writer who needs an assistant? Better yet, anyone want to give me a TV writing job? I'll bring my own jokes!)
So here I am. I seem to recall that the last time I wrote here, I told you all what an awesome spring the band had ahead of it. As it turned out, the spring was more awesome than predicted. Over the next couple of days I'll try to scrape the rust off my memory (or maybe it just needs valve oil?) and retell some of the better stories. There were some good times. We played at an after school program, and some of the kids there have a famous NFL dad who really likes us. Who, you ask? Sorry, Band does not rock-out-and-tell. That was also when my academic advisor saw me in Band Mode for the first time. I tried to imagine what it's like to see your negligent advisee with an interest in modern American literature transformed into the tuba player in purple pants and a skunk hat. I liked my advisor, and I felt a little pressure to play well, until I remembered that it was her job to make sure I took that poetry class, not to point out how much I stumbled through "Crazy Train."
Here's a story...it begins at another event for the wee bairns. We were playing for a preschool/kindergarten's family picnic, which happened to also be the birthday of the inventor of the Aerobie flying disc. Earlier in the day, I had honored this occasion by going to Manz field to get a free aerobie, which I brough to the school rally. Since I don't sweat the music thing too much, I tossed the aerobie around with another band dude. We'll call him Wooley, because everyone else does. Now I remember a sloppy throw sending the aerobie over to the water activity table, where it disappeared. Some adept little sticky fingers made off with it. I was distraught, but I figured toys on a preschool playground are communal property, so the little absconder hadn't knowingly committed theft. Fortunately, when Band Time was over and it was Pizza and Juice Time, I saw my aerobie set down at the sand box table, and I quickly reclaimed it. In a charming coda to this part of the story, Wooley hid the aerobie after it was found, causing me to wonder if the preschool wasn't a Dickensian pickpocket academy.
The story continues a week or two later when I brought my aerobie to LSJUMB Senior Rehearsal, during which every senior gets to conduct the band for one song, outside on the grass. After I led the band in an inappropriately "Slow 'n' Funky" rendition of "Ruby Soho," Wooley (yes, him again) and I tossed the ol' flying disc around. Skilled Nordic sportsman that he is, Wooley managed deftly to lodge my precious aerobie in a tree. In the aftermath, a valuable lesson was learned: if one's aeroblie is lost in a tree, and throwing rocks to dislodge it is proving ineffectual, it is not wise to resort to throwing one's shoes in place of rocks. And that's the story of how I lost an aerobie and two slip-on vans in an oak tree at Stanford.
Well we're just startin' the old blog engine up again, so that seems like a good stopping point. There will be plenty more to come if I can find the right mix of bribery and intimidation to get Scott Bland or some other bright-eyed young bandie to be Blogmaster from now on. There could be more Spring Band recap, or perhaps just a whole lotta Football Season. The band is driving to Texas for the game against TCU next week, so maybe you'll get periodic updates from the 40 hour round trip, chonicling Manager Liz's descent into madness. Or maybe we'll let Jill W. tell you about her trip to Tanzania, if we don't think it's way too boring. Who knows? Some of you leave lovely comments after some posts, so how about you tell us what you want to see in the blog. We may ignore it, but even just posting a comment on the Band Blog makes you cool by association.
Class of '08 for life.
Coop
So it's been quite a while since you heard from us. I bet you thought we were in trouble again! Nope, not in trouble, just distracted.
I guess most young folks in the LSJUMB have lately been far too interested in their day jobs of preparing to be America's lawyers, doctors, and search engine billionaires to take much notice of our humble blog. I say "young folks" because I, like quite a number of my pals, have crossed over and begun to walk in that mysterious land from which the only return is grad school. That's right, I graduated, and am now officially what the young punks call an "Old Fart" (I hear the original term in Mandarin has much more respectful connotations.)
So while the leaders of tomorrow spend their time in labs, running tests for jaded Post-Docs, I've been called up, urged to come out of retirement and ramble on for a few paragraphs. I guess Band knew I don't have job yet (Anyone out there know a TV comedy writer who needs an assistant? Better yet, anyone want to give me a TV writing job? I'll bring my own jokes!)
So here I am. I seem to recall that the last time I wrote here, I told you all what an awesome spring the band had ahead of it. As it turned out, the spring was more awesome than predicted. Over the next couple of days I'll try to scrape the rust off my memory (or maybe it just needs valve oil?) and retell some of the better stories. There were some good times. We played at an after school program, and some of the kids there have a famous NFL dad who really likes us. Who, you ask? Sorry, Band does not rock-out-and-tell. That was also when my academic advisor saw me in Band Mode for the first time. I tried to imagine what it's like to see your negligent advisee with an interest in modern American literature transformed into the tuba player in purple pants and a skunk hat. I liked my advisor, and I felt a little pressure to play well, until I remembered that it was her job to make sure I took that poetry class, not to point out how much I stumbled through "Crazy Train."
Here's a story...it begins at another event for the wee bairns. We were playing for a preschool/kindergarten's family picnic, which happened to also be the birthday of the inventor of the Aerobie flying disc. Earlier in the day, I had honored this occasion by going to Manz field to get a free aerobie, which I brough to the school rally. Since I don't sweat the music thing too much, I tossed the aerobie around with another band dude. We'll call him Wooley, because everyone else does. Now I remember a sloppy throw sending the aerobie over to the water activity table, where it disappeared. Some adept little sticky fingers made off with it. I was distraught, but I figured toys on a preschool playground are communal property, so the little absconder hadn't knowingly committed theft. Fortunately, when Band Time was over and it was Pizza and Juice Time, I saw my aerobie set down at the sand box table, and I quickly reclaimed it. In a charming coda to this part of the story, Wooley hid the aerobie after it was found, causing me to wonder if the preschool wasn't a Dickensian pickpocket academy.
The story continues a week or two later when I brought my aerobie to LSJUMB Senior Rehearsal, during which every senior gets to conduct the band for one song, outside on the grass. After I led the band in an inappropriately "Slow 'n' Funky" rendition of "Ruby Soho," Wooley (yes, him again) and I tossed the ol' flying disc around. Skilled Nordic sportsman that he is, Wooley managed deftly to lodge my precious aerobie in a tree. In the aftermath, a valuable lesson was learned: if one's aeroblie is lost in a tree, and throwing rocks to dislodge it is proving ineffectual, it is not wise to resort to throwing one's shoes in place of rocks. And that's the story of how I lost an aerobie and two slip-on vans in an oak tree at Stanford.
Well we're just startin' the old blog engine up again, so that seems like a good stopping point. There will be plenty more to come if I can find the right mix of bribery and intimidation to get Scott Bland or some other bright-eyed young bandie to be Blogmaster from now on. There could be more Spring Band recap, or perhaps just a whole lotta Football Season. The band is driving to Texas for the game against TCU next week, so maybe you'll get periodic updates from the 40 hour round trip, chonicling Manager Liz's descent into madness. Or maybe we'll let Jill W. tell you about her trip to Tanzania, if we don't think it's way too boring. Who knows? Some of you leave lovely comments after some posts, so how about you tell us what you want to see in the blog. We may ignore it, but even just posting a comment on the Band Blog makes you cool by association.
Class of '08 for life.
Coop
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