A Few Personal Comments, And...A Few Impersonal Comments?

There are two things I want to get out of the way before I do anything else, in this here online journal. And they are as follows. The first is targeted specifically at people I know, so anyone I don't know personally (and even a lot of those people) can just skip it entirely. Or read it over, I don't know, if you enjoy seeing part of an ongoing negotiation devoid entirely of context. The second part is targeted at everyone, and you'll see why.

First. This is mostly towards Travis, Jake, Dan, Daniel, Matt, Nolan, and TJ. And, though you'e had less opportunities than most, Stephen. Yeah, you guys. Kate is upset because we keep calling her crazy. Let me interrupt your ferocious denials to say: I don't care who specifically said what to whom. For the moment, I am treating you as a unit. Apparently, she takes the word to mean "mentally ill" whereas we take the word to mean "wacky or peculiar." Different definitions can wreak absolute havoc, as well you may imagine. The simple fact is, cut it out, all of y'all, or two things will happen.

1. Kate will stop hanging out with us and find new friends, and
2. I will, personally, shove a two-liter bottle of Diet Cherry Mountain Dew up each of your right nostrils in turn. Randomly.

I imagine that you'll go along with this, because you enjoy spending time with Kate and also having a nostril that is not warped to freakish Mountain-Dew-bottle proportions. Although it'd be great for party tricks. Regardless. Stop doing it, for real this time. She asked us to stop, we didn't. Now I'm demanding it. Not through my force of will (considerable though it may be), but through a plea for being actual civilized people instead of the rabble of barbarians you usually act like. Not that there's anything wrong with being a barbarian - I mean, the food is better and you get to rampage whenever you like, but those loincloths don't leave much to the imagination - but in this instance, take a hearty dose of good manners and call me in the morning, k? k.

Whoever reads this that's in this group, only one or two of you as I understand it (if more read, I don't know because you don't comment), spread the word to the others that don't. And Stephen, I just know you've got something brilliant to say, so do me a favor and keep it to yourself. It's probably funny, but at the same time mean, so zip it.

The second thing is much more upbeat. It's basically that my girlfriend is the bestest girlfriend EVAR. That's with an -ar, so you know it's sincere. I am a stupid, stupid person, and I constantly forget everything I should be remembering. Anyone who reads this knows this. Anyone who knows me knows this. Anyone who's ever asked me to remember something for him or her knows this especially well.

I was walking to band practice today, with a mind full of superheroes and space adventures. I was looking forward to the trip that we in the UF marching band are taking to Jacksonville tomorrow, for the big UF-Georgia game. For those that don't know, the UF-Georgia game is held in Jacksonville because the rivalry between the schools has reached a blood fervor over the years, and holding the game in neutral territory became the only option for an increasingly harassed administration and security outfit who wanted to minimize the nigh-endless fights and squabbles that result from having a lot of people drink all day and then see their team either win or lose at a big game against their big rivals. Whew, that was a long sentence. Either way, the triumphant winners feel the need to rub it in, and the furious losers feel the need for vengeance. You can see why neutral territory is a desirable thing, in this place. Say what you want about FSU (I have. Often.), but at least their fans don't attack ours, and vice-versa.

But I digress. On my way to band practice, and the thought occurs to me that I didn't take my uniform into the cleaners. 'Oh, wait,' I thought. 'Yes I did. I brought it in on Tuesday. Heh, I remembered.' Feeling more cunning than fifty foxes that had combined into one giant mecha-fox, I walked on further. Then the realization hit me like a sandbag.

I hadn't picked it up.

Practice was in fifteen minutes. There was no earthly way I could get to the dry-cleaners and back before then. Being very late was not an option, I needed the practice to fully comprehend the difficult show we've been working on for weeks. I seemed out of options. And then, a lightbulb popped into existence over my head. I'm lucky I was wearing a hat, or I could have been seriously abraded when it fell on my head and exploded. Brushing away the slivers of glass and filament, I realized I could call my girlfriend and ask her to pick it up for me. I did so.

Me: "Hey."
Her: "Hi, love."
Me: "Listen, could you...do me a favor?"
Her: "Sure. What?"
Me: "Could you go to the dry-cleaner and pick up my uniform? It'll be closed by the time I get out of band practice and I'm leaving before it opens tomorrow." I leave at 8:00 AM tomorrow to get to Jacksonville.
Her: "...Okay. Do you have the ticket?"

I reached into my pocket, pulled out a folded piece of paper, and unfolded it, correctly identifying it as the ticket in question. I praised myself for my clear thinking and foresight.

Me: "Got it right here."
Her: "That's great! You're so amazing, having all of that clear thinking and foresight."
Random Bystander: "Gosh, I wish I was as intelligent and handsome and resourceful as you are."
Me: "Well, not everyone can be. In fact, nobody but me can be. But you'll do fine. Good luck."
Random Bystander: "He...he wished me good luck..." *faints with shock and joy*

It was about then that I realized I had been hallucinating for the last thirty seconds or so. I reached into my pocket, pulled out...nothing.

Her: "Are you still there?"
Me: "Y-yeah."
Her: "Do you have it?"
Me: "...No. I left it at my dorm room."
Her: "So...just bring me your keys, I'll go and get it from your room."
Me: "That's great! Thanks!"
Her: "No problem. Meet you at the field. <3"
Me: I'll never understand how she actually pronounces a symbol like that. "Love you. Bye."

I proceeded onward. As I walked, I postulated what would have occurred had I not had her to help me in this endeavor. Horrible thoughts flashed through my head of arriving at the game tomorrow uniformless, with the director glowering at me and all the band people snickering behind my back. I would remain on the bus, a forgotten, an outcast, while the rest of the band performed. No doubt some wealthy benefactor would choose that day to award all band members wearing uniforms with crisp new $100 bills. We would lose the game horribly, and in
the post-game interview with Coach Urban Meyer, he would pin the blame on his team being demoralized because some dumb tuba player didn't even think enough of them to remember to bring his uniform. I realized I was probably exaggerating somewhat, but I like a little dramatic flourish even in my thoughts of doom, so it was all well and good.

I walked to the field that the marching band usually uses to practice on. That's odd, I thought. Where is the trailer that carries our instruments? Where is the drumline, underneath their usual tree? Where are the students milling about on the field, playing football or practicing their instruments or stretching? Where is, to sum up, the band? A growing horror stole over me as I recalled the end-of-practice lecture given to us yesterday.

Director: "Now, remember, we're not going on this field tomorrow. We're going to Coaches' Field instead."
Band: *murmurs of assent*
Director: "Where are we practicing tomorrow?"
Band: *scattered voices summing up to "Coaches' Field."*
Director: "Correct. It'll be our last practice before game day, so it's important to remember that. You don't want to be late and miss practice.
Band: *mumbles with an undertone of "sure we do."*
Director: "I'll choose to ignore those comments. Now you, Luke, where are we going?"
Me: "Coaches' Field, sir."
Director: "Good job, Luke."
Assistant Director: "Excellently done."
Band: "Three cheers for Luke! Hip-hip-hooray!" *large banner unfurls from nearby parking garage, reading "GOOD JOB LUKE - He Remembered."*

I have got to do something about these hallucinations, I pondered. They're even infecting my flashbacks. But the result was clear: I had goofed up and gone to the wrong field to practice. I called my girlfriend again.

Me: "Er, I just remembered. I'm not supposed to be at this field today, I'm supposed to be at Coaches' Field."
Her: "Where's that?"
Me: "Uh, pretty far from here. Near the O-Dome."
Her: "Well...I'll drive you. I'm here anyway."
Me: "Thanks again. You have no idea how much you're helping out poor dumb ol' me."
Her: "I know."

I piled into her car and we sped off to practice. Traffic held us up, but even so I was only five minutes late, which is nothing really. After practice, she had the uniform waiting for me, and we went out to dinner. (At an inexpensive place! Hardly any cost at all! I'm budgeting, darn it all.)

The end point is that my girlfriend is sweet and amazing and covers my screwups with absolute grace. So I just wanted to share that with everyone.

Hm. It occurs to me that I promised you impersonal comments, but I'm just about out of creativity. So...er...dictionary.com defines "impersonal" as "lacking human emotion or warmth." So it occurs to me that we could solve both the overpopulation and starvation problems in this world by simply turning certain people into a food source. But that's just a modest proposal.

RESPONSES.

Jake: For a man who's used to getting up around 10:00 or 11:00, it's a heartbreaker, I assure you. I remember the high school days of getting up insanely early...I'm past them. You have another year and a half of them. Nyah. And your comment of "lowering yourself to hobo status" made me laugh uproariously.

Mom: I've noticed. When you and Dad both order shrimp, he never eats for the first twenty minutes, as he's too busy shelling an enormous pile for the both of you. I don't like mussels, but I have tasted crab, and I prefer lobster. Some foods are really worth getting involved in.

Stephe: I just don't like cantaloupe, okay? It's always either rock-hard or mushy. And it has no real flavor. But I do like kiwi, though it can be a bit sour at times. Seeing as how white I am, the little Vitamin D I need is adequately supplied by the milk I drink. ...You eat the tails of shrimp? Ew. And you're right about the butter. And the ketchup. But not about the lobsters. They are worth it. And I'm really not sure if that last comment was intended to be an insult, or what...I mean, I am just puzzled. It's pretty funny either way. And it's a fine length. Is THIS long enough for you?

Jake: You mean, in a highly-anticipated and speculated fashion that probably won't actually occur?

Later.