I booked a moving van today.

Uh, yeah, the title says it all, people. I booked my moving van today. I'm really leaving. I put it off longer than I probably should have, but there it is.

Moving is expensive! I don't hope to do this too many more times. I will admit that I'm petrified at the thought of driving a Penske truck across America, but I just keep telling myself that so many other people do it, how hard can it be? Famous last words, methinks.

And I had my last haircut with Rachel today. About a year and a half ago I finally broke down and went to a nice salon to get my hair cut. I'd never been terribly loyal to any one individual about haircuts. But Rachel was so cool and funny, I just had to go back. I think that this final cut is her magnum opus. And now I have to find another stylist. Dammit.

I also have to cancel all my utilities and say goodbye to my friends. I worked damn hard to create a life for myself here, and now I'm leaving. It's just not very fair.

Florida. Sweet, sweet, Florida.

82 degrees and sunny is my idea of perfection. I don't care if its "not the heat, its the humidity" or if "its a dry heat." I have lived in Wisconsin for three years. I spent a year in Finland. I grew up in Pennsylvania (not exactly tropical). I used to say things like, "But I like the seasons" and "The winter isn't so bad."

I have changed my tune. After spending two and a half days in sunny Florida this week, I would like to rescind my previous comments. I don't care about the seasons anymore. Who gives a rat's ass about spring, fall, and winter? Liking the seasons is something that people say to make themselves feel better that they can't live in a climate of eternal summer. And, lets face it, winter sucks. Its dark and cold and you have to put on three layers of clothing every time you think about going outside.

If I can wear shorts and a tee-shirt during the day, and comfortably walk around in jeans at night, I am happy as a clam. (Sidebar: Just how happy are clams? Perhaps I'll blog about that next time.) So when I went to Florida this week to audition for the Florida Orchestra, I was really only using it as an excuse to go to the beach.

Now, my partner on this expedition is not really a "beach guy." He doesn't really like sand, he burns quicker than you can say "lobster" and he doesn't really like seafood that much. I'd like to give RG a big shout out for being such a sport, though. He wanted to leave the beach after about an hour, but we stayed for more like three and a half hours. And he has the burn to prove it. (For the record, he didn't reapply sunscreen, though....)

I was pleased and surprised that the audition went so well. Another future blog post will be the ridiculous process of the orchestral audition, but for now, lets just say that I figured out the system and was one of the five people to advance to the final round. Considering that about 25 people showed up, that's not bad. I felt like I played really well in both rounds, despite not winning the job. Honestly, just moving on to the finals was a great feeling, and really just the boost that I needed.

There's an audition for the Honolulu Symphony in a few months... I'm definitely taking that one, even though the audition is in New York. What a great excuse to live in Hawaii!!!

Get off your stupid Ipod.

Now, let the record reflect that I think that Ipods are cool. RG has one that he let me take to Jerusalem and it's neat. Very useful for travel and plugging into the car stereo for long trips. But as of late, it seems that EVERYONE around the UW-Madison campus can't seem to move 50 feet without it.

I've been witness to a few near-accidents because people are too oblivious on their Ipods to notice that they are crossing a street. Is the sound of the world around you so offensive that you have to drown it out with your music? Can't you just react to the world around you? Why do you have to have a soundtrack for everything?

I don't get it, but maybe I just have Ipod envy.

Your pants are ugly.

Spring has finally hit the upper midwest this week, which means that I can finally put my winter jacket away and wear my sandals again. But the advent of spring leads to some disturbing fashion risks on the streets of Madison. And I'm not out to alienate anyone, but I have a real pet peeve that I need to get off my chest.


I hate it when people wear unflattering clothing.


I am perfectly aware that not everyone is a size 6, and lots of people choose not to work out, or don't have time, or whatever. I'm ok with that. That's not to say that I'm ok with the American epidemic of obesity, but I'm ok with the fact that we're not all supermodels. People come in all sizes and shapes. That's cool.

But clothing comes in all shapes and sizes, too.


If you are a larger person, then you need to pick a shirt that says "L." Not one that says "S." Trust me, honey, the L shirt will actually make you look better than the S shirt. You are beautiful. But you would be more beautiful if you wore clothes that actually made you look good, not like you are trying to look like all the underfed sorority girls on Langdon Street. If I can tell through your shirt if your belly button is an "innie" or and "outie," then it's just too tight. Period.

And low rise jeans... I'm not talking about jeans that just sort of hang on your hips like the jeans I wear most of the time. I'm talking about those jeans that sit BELOW a woman's hips. The ones that look like the only thing holding them up is friction. Yeah, they don't look very good on most women. Dan Savage, my very favorite advice columnist, commented in a column last year sometime about how women shouldn't wear jeans that show their love handles. He got a lot of flack for it, since quite a few of his readers thought that he was "fat-bashing." I think that his best comeback was "Who decided low-rise jeans were fashionable? The same fashionistas who set the beauty standards that are such a torment to fat people everywhere. A true fat rebel would ignore the low-rise dictates of the fashionistas and wear pants that flattered her larger body, leaving the low-rise pants for cigarette-smoking, chardonnay-swilling, solid-food-avoiding fashion victims out there." (Dan generally is a sex advice columnist, but occasionally he branches out into social commentary, which is always a blast to read.)

Men's fashion tends to be less offensive than women's, as a general rule. While our clothing is getting tighter, shorter, and more see-through, men's fashion is getting baggier, longer, and sillier. But there are a few rules: (RG, I promise this isn't aimed at you.)

1) I know that men hate to shop for new clothes. Why would you buy new jeans when this pair from 1996 is just fine? I mean, never mind that they are too short and tapered! They are in perfect condition!

NO. Tapered jeans are not ok. There's a sale at Target right now. Buy new ones and give the old ones to charity. I promise, tapered leg jeans are not coming back into style any time soon. Tapered leg jeans make even the skinniest guy look like a pear. It makes your midsection look ENORMOUSLY larger than it really is. And if your midsection looks that disproportionately large, it probably makes you look like you have a little pin head. And you don't want that, do you?

2) The last man I saw wearing denim shorts also had a mullet and a Nascar shirt. Denim shorts are ok if you are a farmer or a cowboy. Basically, if you work outside all day, its ok to wear denim shorts. Everyone else must get rid of them. They are not coming back into style. Again, sale at Target. Run, do not walk.

3) Your wifebeater undershirt is not ok unless you are wearing it as an undershirt. You do not look cool. You do not look like Eminem. You just look like you forgot to dress yourself the rest of the way before you left the house.

There are entire shows devoted to this topic: fashionable clothing and lifestyles. I'm not purporting that we should all go Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, here. That would be a little too much trendiness for the whole world to handle. But people judge you by how you look. I don't mean that you need to be a little fashionista. I'm just asking that you not look bad, that's all. It's for your own good.

P.S. The Swift Report isn't real, and neither is the Onion.

I went to hear Joel Seigel, former editor-in-chief of The Onion speak on Monday night at the Wisconsin Union Theater's Distinguished Lecture Series. If you aren't familiar with The Onion, please make yourself familiar now. He basically gave a description of how the Onion got started and did a powerpoint presentation of some of the best stuff from the Onion. He's not the greatest speaker I've ever heard, but he had some interesting points. He talked about a few of the headlines that we weren't laughing at because they had come true, like about consumers of fast food suing the restaurants for their obesity.... It might have been funny and ludicrous in 1989, but in 2005, it ceased being funny when it actually happened.

Ok, so, The Swift Report isn't real... but I didn't really look into that before my remarks below regarding Sesame Street. So that's my fault. I take full blame for that. And ever the first person to admit my own mistakes, I laugh openly at my own stupidity.

However, here's the thing: It could be. The fact that I (a relatively informed and really liberal individual) could think realistically that Sesame Street might turn into a God-loving propaganda-spreading children's TV show.... well, you can't really blame me for thinking that was real. (Ok, so you can blame me, but you can admit that it might actually happen.)

So I giggle at my own stupidity, but get a little bit scared at the fact that faux news hit a little too close to home.... Am I glad that Sesame Street hasn't jumped the shark? Sure. But they are cutting back on Cookie Monster's cookies, and I still hold to all of my other comments as well. I wouldn't bat an eye if all of that came true, and that's the scary part.

And besides, all of this posting is an excellent excuse not to study for my comprehensive exams tomorrow morning.

Sunny day, sweepin' the clouds away.....

St. D of the E sends me things to provoke blog posts, I'm sure of it. And I'll take the bait, especially on this particular issue.

I grew up watching, and loving, Sesame Street. We had a dog named Muppet. Kermit was probably my favorite, although I had a pretty high opinion of Grover, Snuffy, and Big Bird. Who doesn't love "Rubber Duckie" and "Rainbow Connection"? And remember the misadventures of Super Grover? Born in 1980, I consider myself one of the first of America's (and the world's) children to grow up singing that lovable theme song, learning about spelling and phonetics from those lovable puppets, counting with the Count, and watching Cookie Monster overeat. I think we all remember when Mr. Hooper died, and how the show so skillfully and respectfully handled a difficult topic on a show aimed at kids who are just beginning to wonder where babies come from, let alone how life might end. I remember when Harry Belafonte sang "Day-O" with Grover, and with the help of Google, I found an impressive list of the show's guests.

I could go on and on about the brilliance of Sesame Street. My mom and I used to watch together, and part of what made it so great was that it wasn't saccharine like Barney or countless other modern kid shows. It had humor that both of us could appreciate. And in talking with friends, we all have our favorite skits and characters. We still remember Telly and the Yup Yups, and who doesn't remember that great opening to the theme song, with the parallel ascending thirds....

I don't think that any of us cared that Bert and Ernie were roommates, or gave a second thought to if they were gay. But we do remember when Bert sold his paperclip collection to buy Ernie a soapdish for Rubber Duckie, all the meanwhile Ernie sold Rubber Duckie to buy a cigar box for Bert's paperclip collection. So both Bert and Ernie gave up the thing that they loved most in acts of selfishness to buy a present for the other. I see now that it is a clever and poignant take off on the O'Henry story "The Gift of the Magi," but I didn't know that then. I just remember learning about what it was to be a good and selfless friend. Are Bert and Ernie gay? I guess my response to that is: Does it matter? Perhaps Bert and Ernie should consider a move to Connecticut, where they can now get partner benefits. At least then they would be able to sleep in the same room.

"C is for Cookie," as far as I was concerned, was a song to teach me that, well, Cookie Cookie Cookie starts with C. Duh. I didn't think that it was a subliminal Mrs. Field's Cookie ad. I knew that I had to ask my mom for snacks, and that it was far more likely that I'd get carrots and celery than a big pile of Oreos. But, damn, I can still spell cookie. Apparently, now, Cookie Monster will be eating more vegetables and learning about moderation. For some reason, "Carrot Carrot Carrot starts with 'C'" just doesn't have the same ring....

Oscar was a grouch. And that was ok. I certainly have met my share of grouches in my time. And perhaps I learned how to deal with them at a young age by watching the other members of the Sesame Street community deal with Oscar. I have never thought for a minute that Oscar was depressed and/or homeless. I always just assumed that he LIKED living in a garbage can. I also always figured that his garbage can was just like his front door. I mean, he was up on all of those boxes and stuff. I see no reason why his living room didn't extend down. At any rate, it never occured to me until about three minutes ago that Oscar was homeless, or in need of medication. But according to this article from the Swift Report,

"Our hope is that with a little help, Oscar can gain some self respect, get a job and begin saving some money. Then it's only a matter of time before he's able to join the investor class," says Elmo. "Why should Oscar be denied the entrepreneurial opportunities the rest of us have just because he's spent the past two decades living in a garbage can?"

I think its too bad that Oscar has to move out and become a republican investor. It never really occured to me that the guy needed help. I always just figured that he liked living in a garbage can and liked being grumpy. Can you really change a monster if he doesn't want to be changed? You can take Oscar out of the garbage, but can you take the garbage out of Oscar?

Beginning this spring, Sesame Street will debut a new puppet named 'Noah,' who is intended to appeal to the show's burgeoning audience of young Christians. The character, whose puppet persona comes complete with an arc, will have responsibility for two letters in the alphabet call-out portion of the show: 'F,' which stands for 'flood,' and 'G,' which now stands for 'God.'

I get that the values I learned from the show are "Christian" values, but I also like to think that they are "Jewish" and "Muslim" and good "human" values. Why do all of these good values have to have a religion attached to them? Why can't the show just go on teaching counting, phonetics, friendship, and sharing without proselytizing to children? If parents want their kids learning about religion from the television, we have at least two stations here in Madison that they can tune into at any time of day or night for a good dose of God.

I understand that Sesame Street is changing. I understand that the show needs to tackle new topics, with a new look. (If they were still showing those skits from the early 80s, the show would just be a joke, just based on the clothing alone.) It seems to me, though, that the show is contributing to the idea that the media is responsible for the actions of our childeren. I know that television shapes our ideas and has a huge impact on children. But if Bert and Ernie raise controversy because your five year old wants to know if they are "gay," well, why don't you talk to them about it? Maybe instead of blaming cookie monster for your kid's obesity, you should teach your kid about healthy habits. I understand the conundrum of the working family, that there is little time to sit down together and actually talk. But like those annoying PSAs, if you're not talking to your kids, who is?

Sesame Street teaches us that there might be monsters under our beds, but that they are friendly and just want to teach us how to count and spell. I'm not sure that Jim Henson would have wanted Sesame Street turning into a vehicle for the Christian right to spread a message of the intolerance of gays and the "homeless." I am proud to be part of the first generation to love Sesame Street, and while I still look forward to singing those songs with my kids someday, I'm sad that the message will be different.

This post has been brought to you by the letters "L" and "R," and the number "24."

I'm getting better! I feel happy!

Those of you "in the know" will recognize the title of this post from the infamous Monty Python skit, "Bring out your dead."

Anyway, that was fairly obscure. At any rate, I'm feeling a bit better than I was a few nights ago. I can now actually successfully do a few things right. Lets hope I do lots of things right for my New World Symphony audition tomorrow at 11:10 CST. Keep your fingers crossed for me, and your toes, too, if you can spare 'em.

I can't do anything right.

Dear Reader(s),

I can't do anything right today, and for that I apologize.

Its likely that I won't be able to do anything right tomorrow, or possibly the next day either.

As a matter of fact, you might want to give up on me for a few days until I can get my shit together. Things just don't seem to be going so well for me in the smaller scope of things lately.

I sucked at playing the horn in the ballet today. Couldn't seem to get my act together and sounded like a fourth grader. RG pointed out a plethora of things that are wrong with my excerpts for upcoming auditions. When I just wanted to go home I made the mistake of trying to perk up and was completely unsuccessful. I tried to tell the truth about how I felt and that didn't work out. I wanted to study but now I'm too distraught to bother. I'm going to go hear my friend JVR's band at Restaurant Magnus tonight. Hopefully I won't fuck that up too....

So if you want me to do something, or say something, or respond to something, you're best bet is to wait a few days. Maybe by then I'll have my act together. Until then, reader(s), I'm going out to drink a beer and listen to some music. Even I can't fuck that up.

L.

Warm Fuzzies

Even if they can't spell, at least they are polite.


I try to keep from posting too many "warm fuzzies" on my blog. But this one is just too cute to pass up.


At the end of this term, I guess George W. will be a LAME DUCK.... hahahahahhahah....

"Balance out your karma... Leave a tip"

Found a new blog today that I just adore. Waiter Rant is a site written by a waiter in a fine dining restaurant about the trials and tribulations of waiting tables. Reading his blog has really taken me back to my days of serving in a pretty nice kitchen. I think that only those who have ever done it can really appreciate the difficulties and hilarities of the restaurant industry.

What I love about this blog is both the accuracies and humanity of it. Food can bring out the best and the worst that people have to offer as members of the human race, and servers really get to experience it all. I could sit here and wax poetic about some of the interesting people I have met in the industry: line cooks, other servers, customers, bartenders, management... Especially now that I work as a musician, I can really appreciate and enjoy some of those memories.

Waiting tables was one of the most important jobs that I have ever had because it taught me to work. There's nothing more satisfying than working your butt off for 8 hours and walking home with FAT CASH in your pocket. It taught me that everyone has a story, whether you are a business traveler who just wants your steak rare, a nuclear physicist traveling to Madison for a conference, or a bunch of crazy Trek employees who really know how to have fun.

I'm glad that I'm not in the restaurant industry anymore, don't get me wrong. I love my job and I love playing horn. But I ran into a girl that I used to work with at a coffeeshop the other day and she said, "Oh hey! I haven't seen you in awhile. Where are you working now?" and it was a slight bit of regret that I said, "Oh, I'm not serving anymore." She is headwaiter at a new place out in Middleton....

We didn't always agree, JPII, but you will be missed.

I've had a special request from AB to weigh in on the passing of JPII, and since I love my readers, I'm happy to oblige. Here I go....

Regarding Popes in general: I'm not a huge fan. I'm not religious and I tend to disagree with lots of things that Catholics believe. When someone says "Pope," I'm usually inclined to think of Ken Pope, the talented and friendly horn repair guy in Boston who I bought my horn from. So I haven't really thought about the Pope until his recent passing, but I've had lots of time to think about it while watching what RG has coined "Pope TV: All Pope, All the Time."

Here's what I don't like about Catholicism: I think that the "sanctity of marriage" is a load of bullshit. I view marriage as a union between two people; not between two people and God. Therefore, I think they have the right to decide to get divorced. I like to think that God understands these things. I also think that God doesn't care if you love other women or other men. I think God loves gays and lesbians, too. I think that you should be allowed to marry whomever the hell you want to marry.

I think that access to safe methods of contraception is a basic right and need of women everywhere. I think that women have the right to have control over their bodies, and are intelligent enough to make their own decisions about children. I support access to contraception to prevent abortions. I support a woman's right to a safe abortion, too, but I see contraception as a safe and extremely viable method of preventing an unwanted pregnancy.

I think that there are individuals within The Church (and not just the Catholic church, but any church) that abuse their power. Geez, there are people EVERYWHERE who abuse power. But with that said, I don't think that Pope John Paul II was one of those people. I think he was an incredibly strong individual who led the church with consistency and dedication right up until the end.

I applauded his ability to stand up against W's immoral war in Iraq. I thought his anti-death penalty stand was admirable and consistent with the teachings of the church (at least the way I understand them). He seemed to truly believe in the beauty of all human beings, and the sanctity of all life. John Paul II was clearly one of the most influential leaders of the modern world, and probably of all time, although only time can tell. Parkinson's is an extremely debilitating disease, and the fact that he could still be such a powerful, consistent, peaceful leader is really nothing short of amazing.

So while I have never really been a huge fan of the Pope or the Catholic Church, I think that the world has really lost one of the "good guys." Did I always agree with him? Surely not. But I'm not Catholic. I'm barely even religious. The beauty of JPII is that you don't have to be Catholic or religious to admire him, and to understand that the world is a better place because of him.

Salad dressing is funny, I don't care what any of you say.

Reader(s):

I don't think that throwing salad dressing on anyone is a particularly great way to get your point across. As far as a method of discussion, it pretty much sucks. I can't think of a worse way to make liberals (or anyone who disagrees with Pat Buchanan, for that matter) look like a crazier bunch of irrational yokels.

But in posting that article, I just wanted to say that its funny. I would think it was funny if it was Michael Moore, John Kerry, George Bush, or probably even my mother. (Sorry, mom.) It appeals to me the same way that I still laugh about the following story:

When my host family came to visit from Finland, we spent a day in Washington, D.C., seeing the sites and enjoying our nation's capitol. It also happened to be raining, and as we were traversing the mall, my dear mother slipped in some mud and fell. She wasn't hurt, and really, it was hilarious. Both she and I were in hysterics, and my host sister and mother looked on in confusion. I could read it on their faces: Why are these crazy Americans laughing so hard about something that is really pretty awful? Then my host mom, trying to be helpful, reached in her pocket and offered my mud-crusted biological mother a tiny tissue. This just sent Mom and I into further hysterics.

So you see, if I can laugh about the slapstick of my mom slipping in mud and coating herself with the soil of our nations capitol, I can laugh about salad dressing. Am I juvenile, puerile, and petty?

Yes. Yes I am.

Tell me how you really feel about Pat B!

Sorry its been so long since I've posted, reader(s). I promise that I have lots to reflect on with the passing of Pope John Paul II and an interesting week on the job, but this story about Pat Buchanan just made me laugh and laugh and laugh....