What a long strange trip it's about to be

Hey there rabblerousers, it's been long, too long since your old pal Shotgun filled that blog void in your life and in this exciting time to be alive no less. Unlike those past blog posts, which were more functions of explosive diarrhea shrapnel hitting the keyboard hard enough to for something semi-coherent, this one has actual content in it, so let's take the red pill and see just how far down the rabbit hole goes (I can't believe that movie's 10 years old either. Speaking of which, it's got a fantastic drinking game that goes with it, but another time).

BULLET POINT ACTION

• After witnessing the women's team assert its soul-crushing dominance over THE Ohio State University (a bit of a conflicting moment for this central Ohio native) and AN Iowa State University, the band gained enough experience points to level up to the Final Four in St. Lou. Those luckier than I can tell you what exactly went down. All I can tell you is that UConn's treachery even extends to the band arena where they paid off the "officials" to steal our rightful Battle of the Bands trophy that we had so gloriously conquered last year.
• Right after, and we do mean right after folks, came the lovely spring tradition known as [Insert Drum Major's name here]'s First Rehearsal. This year, the lucky victim was Byron Vosburg, a wide-eyed, idealistic charge who ascended to the not-podium with visions of working "Aqualung" deep into the night and hammering the ending of "Boogie Down" into our brains to the point of submission, only to be woken up by that shrill annoying sound that either was the alarm clock of reality or the altoz attempting to start "Peace of Mind". Either way, the Band takes the first rehearsal of a drum major to assert that even though (s)he may have some imaginary military ranktitle thing, it carries as much weight with the Band as it would on pre-Napoleon Animal Farm. And so the Band sallied forth a nexus of songs that was as seamless (and impenetrable) as a MacBook exterior. Also we threw pickle juice at him.
• WE INTERRUPT THIS BLOG POST FOR A PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT. Hi there folks, it's Shotgun again, but this time let me be frank with you (preferably of the Ball Park variety). For those of you that actually still attend this so-called university, you may have noticed that it's election season. Now normally, election season is a time for ironic detachment, damning the man, and secretly wondering if the sophomore class president slate is actually more popular than you, or just more adept at making flyers. I know this blogger is too busy making trite analogies to past presidential elections and sports teams to actually engage in the process, but unfortunately in order to continue to exist, the Band must bow and scrape at the altar of the masses in the form of asking for special fees from the ASSU. And so I must ask you, the students and those still pulling an Azia Kim, to vote for the Band for special fees, and give us that glorious money that we covet so much, I mean so we can keep on rockin' out. Another beseechment, please don't ask for your money back later. Otherwise we'll track you down and make you explain to little Billy why he can't have his saxophone fixed after some drunk frat guy ran into it at Band Run. Just look at little Billy's eyes! You know playing that saxophone is the only thing that keeps his cancerous grandma still breathing. The more you know! *cue wooshing star* AND NOT BLACK TO OUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED BLOGGING (and no that was not a typo).
• And so I says to him "Wrecked him? Why yes that is the last part of the diges-oh wait is thing still on? Oh right, this weekend brings something of a rarity to the Band, a brand new experience. This weekend, the Band is road-trippin' it up some strange land known only to the natives as "Sea-attle" for something known as HonkFest West! HonkFest is apparently a festival for unconventional marching bands out in Mass. and last year the organizing folks must have learned about Lewis and Clarke because they decided to open up an ancillary on the Pacific side. Through a casual browsing of the Series of Tubes (or Tӧӧbz as the case may be) the Band stumbled upon their little shindig and thought we could find a home (look for yourself at http://honkfestwest.com/ You might see us right on the front page) and a few/lot of emails later BAM! we're renting vans and super-exclusive cliques are trying to claim their own. My brothers and sisters in the Band Members that Like to Eat PB&J Sandwiches Inside Out have already got our van (as we should, we're kind of a big deal). Will we be ready for it? Will they be ready for us? Do we all have sleeping bags? Is it a federal offense to drive across state lines without wearing pants? These are all questions that will be answered soon enough.
  

Until then though, I must bid you all adieu as my latest effort of procrastination draws to a close.


Oh, just one more thing. The Band now has a the Facebook page. http://www.facebook.com/pages/Leland-Stanford-Junior-University-Marching-Band/79838435759?ref=nf
Go look at it. Be friends with us. Listen to music. Go through the track listing of all of our albums. Leave us threatening wall message. Just please drive up our page views for God's sake. We thrive on those almost as much as we thrive on Capri Sun.

How I spent my Spring Break

Some people like to spend their spring breaks doing crazy things, like going on cruises, taking cheap vacations to neighboring countries, enjoying nature, visiting home, etc. Not the band. Well, not all of us, anyway. We do airtrips.

The end of finals week and the beginning of spring break saw band visit San Diego for the first and second round of the women's NCAA basketball tournament. The women handily defeated UC Santa Barbara and San Diego State, using their mad skills to make it rain on them hos. Unfortunately, they were a bit too good at making it rain, and many band members who had planned to visit the legendary San Diego zoo on our day off were dissuaded by the inclement weather. Instead, some watched movies, some moved watches, and others cooled off in the hot tub. After the second game Monday night, we flew back with the team. We had a few days before our next trip, so some people visited family, while others of us just hung out on campus and played Rock Band.

Our second airtrip involved a busride to Emeryville. The women were to play at Berkeley, in the familiar territory of the Dirty Golden Bear. They decisively defeated Ohio State in the third round, and we were granted a weekend of hanging out and good times. A few band members explored downtown Berkeley on the day off, fighting their way through crowds of sketchy hobos and sketchier hobo-esque Cal students. I took the day to catch up on some reading and enjoy the free cookies in the hotel. Free cookies. Free. Our basketball team returned Monday night to trounce the Iowa State Cyclones. It pained me a little bit to see the team that I grew up with (I am an Iowa native, for the record) destroyed by Jayne Appel, but I quickly got over it.

We travel to St. Louis next weekend for the final four. It will be fantastic.

Edit: So I had forgotten the name of the first team that we played, and checked a bracket to remind myself. The bracket only said UC Santa, so I assumed Santa Clara instead of Santa Barbara. Go figure that UC Santa Clara doesn't exist. I should have just said UC Santa Claus and left it at that.

A Little St. Patty's Day blog action

As we all come to celebrate this holiest of days, brought to you by Jameson, Bailey's, and Guiness, (editor's note: When I started writing this, it was still St. Patty's Day) the Band thought it would take a break from its usual assortment of Capri Sun and Smash Bros. related activities to give you, the reader, a TOURNAMENT UPDATE.

To recap, the band came back from an adventure filled time down in Los An-gull-lees for FIVE DAYS. What could possibly keep the band in one place for so long? The answer is the two wonderfully sparsely attended, somehow still profitable, gloriously pointless but hey it gives us per diems so we're not complaining, Pac 10 Tournaments. The Pac 10 got the somewhat defensible idea that holding both tournaments, for men's and women's basketball, in the same city at the same time would be a good thing but then all of a sudden realized, but what if a school has both of its teams playing at the same time? What are the fans to do? Perhaps more importantly, what are the BANDS to do? Won't someone please think of the children?

Well it turns out that the laws of physics are no match for the will of the Pac 10 commissioner, and so the word came down from on high that the Band could be in two different places at once through some form of mitosis. And while this Band never had to undergo this assuredly painful procedure (it turns out the altoz are CLOSER than brothers) we did get to reap the benefits. Theese benefits manifested themselves in the brand new debut of Supervest Band (trademark pending) which may look like your average Red Vest Band but it's actually ten louder. Crazy. Southwest Airlines didn't know what to do when we boarded the plane with FORTY band members. It was like lightning in a bottle. Sadly it couldn't last, and though they were granted a stay of execution by virtue of us beating Oregon State (a great game by the way, and I finally got in all my Barack Obama-related heckles), the rocking out was just too much for the Staples Center and so 10 of us had to go back to pretending to study for finals.

But during those 2 glorious days for some and the remaining 3 days for the rest, what so ever did the Band do to amuse itself in the so-called Entertainment Capital of the World? The answer came largely in the form of trips to Disneyland (for some), and trips to Roscoe's House of Chicken and Waffles (for all). Oh t'was truly a magnificent time. Interesting hobos were talked to, pointless e-mail lists were formed, midnight runs to taco trucks were made, other bands were cavorted with and made fun of, but perhaps most importantly, U$C fans were made jealous when they witnessed us rocking the fuck out outside of the Staples Center as the champeenship game got out. The band had time to kill so we did one of our favorite things, playing for people that don't initially like us but then do after a few songs. When we left the hotel at 6:30 on Monday it truly felt like an airtrip lived to its fullest.

Oh also, I would be remiss if I did not mention how fun and awesome it was to watch the women's team completely and totally roll through the competition, not even giving them their underwear back at the end, on the way to some number i forgot consecutive Pac 10 Championship. The Band can't wait to see more domination in San Diego coming the following weekend, though sadly this blogger won't be going. The Band had already maxed out the Funk Limit for the airplane and as such could not carry anymore. I will try to get the gory details though and cull through the curds to give you all the cream whenever that trip is over.

Also, it bears mention that the men played and won today in something called the College Basketball Invitational. The Band isn't entirely sure what it is either, but at least the team is winning in it, so I guess it's good.

Until then kids, remember: When you believe in things you don't understand and you suffer, superstition ain't the way.

Holy shit, it's March.

Hey y'all. I know it's been a lil' while since we started this ol' blog up and took it around the block but it's only because we've been hard at work perfectly crafting an extensive recap of Dollie Day and highlights of Tree Week. As the regular basketball seasons end, we start gearing up for that wondrous elusive thing known as airtrips. Making its debut this year is a brand new incarnation of Red Vest Band that I like to call SuperVest by virtue of both Pac 10 tournaments being in the same place (Some place like 400 miles south. The Band's never been there before though). Other potential locations include Los Angeles AGAIN, not that we're complaining though, and Berkeley, and St. Louis if we're really lucky for the women. There's another longshot though, and it barely even bears mentioning, but I'm gonna throw it out there anyway. If the men get really lucky they might make it to the Final Four, and in that case maybe the Band could swindle its way all the way to NEW YORK CITY. I know, it's a pipe dream, but is it wrong to reach for the stars?

We'll keep you posted on those events as they occur and worry not, the official Dollie Day/Tree Week (now press approved!) digest is coming.

Dollie Day has passed

and it truly was magnificent. There were roasted pigs, mudslides, and no casualties. I would provide a full recap right now, but I still sort of have a midterm to do. T'will be forthcoming though. So everyone keep their shirts on, unless your shirt was already off. I don't know what you're wearing when you read this blog. You're probably naked you sick sick person, not that the human body is anything to be ashamed of. But yeah. In the meantime, I'll just leave you with this. This is how the Best Sexion celebrates Dollie Day.


photo courtesy of Robby Beyers
pig courtesy of the Tööbz

It's coming...

So, Dollie Day is almost here. Maybe you're thinking, "So what?" Maybe you're thinking, "What the hell are dollies?" Maybe you're thinking, "Where the hell am I, and why am I missing a shoe and covered in mud?" I can answer the first two for you, but I'm clueless as to the last one (though the answer is no doubt hilarious).

To put it succinctly, the dollies are the band's beautiful 5-woman dance-team/ninja-strikeforce/crime-fighting-league/best-friends-forever. They've got hearts of gold and fingernails that shine like justice. Here's a picture (by veteran band photographer Al ponce) of them in action.
As you can see, they're lifting off for their traditional pre-football-game-flight-around-campus (bet you didn't know they could fly). Anyway, the dollies are awesome and we love them. Unfortunately, the fairy godmother who grants them their powers only allows them a one-year term. We tried arguing with her about this, but we quickly learned that it's a bad idea to fight with a creature who can summon an army of animated pumpkins and who wields frightening powers of transmogrification.

That brings us to Dollie Day. Dollie Day is the annual celebration wherein we choose new dollies for the next year. There is much cavorting, some caloohing and calaying, a bit of dancing, and a brutal Mortal-Kombat-esque fight-to-the-death tournament that yields 5 survivors to be awarded the title of dollie. I won't spoil all the details for you, as there is sure to be some exciting blog action soon (maybe even live-blogging?) covering the events of Dollie Day.

-Aaron

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.