I heard someone complain about drama at that dinner I wrote about a few days ago. Another youngster, this one a recent high school graduate, plays the second french horn part in our veteran's band, but when he starts playing for his college marching band, he's decided that he wants to switch instruments from french horn equivalent, the mellophone.

This isn't a big issue, prima facie. French horn seems to be the kind of instrument that band players switch to in the first place because there are never enough players to cover all the parts, especially at the lower echelons of wind ensembles. Instead, what bothered me was his motive.

He doesn't want to switch instruments, but not because he doesn't like playing the mellophone, though I would understand if he didn't. He wants to switch instruments because of the legendary drama of the Fresno State Marching Band's mellophone section. I thought that this was misguided.

Those bothered by interpersonal stress are usually those who consistently concern themselves with the petty gossip of the day. As this petty gossip makes its rounds from one person --- she's pregnant with whose kid? --- to another --- he said I was pregnant with whose kid? --- gossiping itself creates an infinite feedback loop of headache-tacular proportions.

It's pretty easy to cure drama sickness. All it takes is to ignore what that piccolo is doing with the first trumpet, and how drunk the sousaphone players get before picture day. Once you stop caring about everyone else's details, your life will be a lot easier.

I feel the need to bore our freshman mellophone player with all that explanation, when I could say the same thing in nine words: There is only as much drama as you acknowledge.

I hope he takes that to heart. Maybe he'll switch from mellophone for the right reasons.

my life at this moment is really boring, and if it weren't for music, i would have nothing to do.. if im not playing, im listening, and then rare occasions im not listening or playing, im either reading about music or writing random notes on sheet music until i find something i like.. or sleeping, but that never happens..

just some things about me:

favorites: book - The Book Thief by Marcus Zusak... song - dream a little dream by gerry mulligan... food - burrito... drink - Dr. Pepper... youtube video - Miss Teen South Carolina Responds.. teacher - Speigs... movie - Across the Universe

goals: Learn to play something on every wind instrument, Master's in Music Education, make all-state by senior year

talents/skills/random: i take german and music is my life

my life at this moment is really boring, and if it weren't for music, i would have nothing to do.. if im not playing, im listening, and then rare occasions im not listening or playing, im either reading about music or writing random notes on sheet music until i find something i like.. or sleeping, but that never happens..

just some things about me:

favorites: book - The Book Thief by Marcus Zusak... song - dream a little dream by gerry mulligan... food - burrito... drink - Dr. Pepper... youtube video - Miss Teen South Carolina Responds.. teacher - Speigs... movie - Across the Universe

goals: Learn to play something on every wind instrument, Master's in Music Education, make all-state by senior year

talents/skills/random: i take german and music is my life

Kalo dari keinginan doang sih, 85% masih pengin.
Dari situasi, sampai tahap ini, hanya 20% yang memungkinkan aku buat main.
Soo...
Well, awal juli kmungkinan akan jadi final kputusanku.

Intinya sih, aku kangen suasana latihan, display, intensif, TC, Tryout, dan GPMB.

Luv ya MARCHING BAND MADAH BAHANA UNIVERSITAS INDONESIA..

ah yes. the pain is gone. it no more hurtsedness. ha. haha. hahahahahahahaha.(don't gloat{where do you get off telling him/me what to do punk?}). and Marching started.... kinda. you see, no marching. just music. and pretty slow at that. we are playing at 120 for eighth note. but the show tempo is 160 quarter note. we need to up it 200 bpm. now yes, we do have until technically November to do that (really we should have it by august). but at the rate we're going we won't make it. still I can't complain. you know why? cause its band, and you don't wuestion the suthority of your higher ups. you just do it. amazingly well. fucking amazingly well. yeah thats right. the music we're playing is actually just a revamped version of something somebody else did a different year. The arranger  wouldn't actually take the time to give us a brand new show, so they redid this one, and said we'd have one all to ourselves next year. oh well. its pretty ok, got bits of the pop tune hallelujah, some Bernstein profanation, and symphonic metamorphosis. can't remember who it was that did the show before. might have been richland. not sure. oh well. the real point is... THOSE CRAZY KOREANS!!!

thats right, kim jong il. I;m calling you out. sometime in the past,a t a point in time I can't remember exactly, you told a german scientist that you were going to use his giant bunnies for good, and help give a farm animal to korea, or some such snot. and then what do you do? you eat them!! for your birthday!! CURSE YOU, KIM JONG IL, you ate my giant bunny rabbits. I loved them so much. * sniff*. still why bring this up now? not sure but I bet the other folks in my head have a good reason. lets hear it guys. (because I remembered it just now.{cause it pisses me off.[cause it would make to much sense if I stayed on one tangent for to long.]}).

those are all quit fine. thank you.

incidentally any sort of copyrighted thing like Nintendo or Sluggy Freelance or 8bit theatre, or maybe Richland or Bernstein's piece or any pf that. that is definitely copyrighted.

Following is the list of places we'll be over the summer months (the times listed reflect the tabling/vendor fairs; many of the festivals include other activities):

• Youth Pride - Loring Park, Minneapolis. Wednesday, June 4th. 4pm-7pm
• Fargo-Moorhead Pride – Lindenwood Park, Fargo. Saturday, June 7. 12pm-6pm
• Pride Revue – Minneapolis Campus of Metropolitian State Univeristy. Friday, June 27.
• Twin Cities Pride – Loring Park, Minneapolis. Saturday and Sunday, June 28-29.
• Rochester Pride – Central Park, Rochester. Saturday, July 12. 11am-4pm.
• Duluth-Superior Pride - Bayfront Festival Park, Duluth. Saturday, August 30. 11am-7pm.
• South Central Pride – Sibley Park, Mankato. Saturday, September 13. 12pm-5pm.

Parades

We will also be marching in at least two parades: the first will be down Hennepin Avenue on Sunday June 29 for Twin Cities Pride, and the other is Saturday, September 13 prior to the festival at South Central Pride. Please join us as we march and ride to share with the state that we are creating connections and uniting for change! You can wear a (soon to be produced) MN Campus Alliance t-shirt, or a shirt with your school or organization's logo on it. If interested in joining, please email Ryan at membership@mncampusalliance.org.

There is also a bunch of other information, a lot of classes are being added to the music department in the next five years. These classes include

• Musical Theater
• Dance
• Jazz Band
• AP Music Theory
• Beginning Piano
• Beginning Guitar

The main goal of adding these classes is to expand the music program and insure people that they don't have to be a part of the band to be a part of the music.

A few last details,

• She wants us to play more, to have more performances and small ensembles.
• Next year the band and chorus might go to New York.
• She is working with Mr. Beatty to determine what show we are going to do for marching band.
• She does not lean towards concert or marching band, she likes both equally.
• Her primary instrument is flute/piccolo.
• And she's moving here in July.

One last thing, if you are in band and are interested about our future come to the band meeting on July 23'rd.

Before the knitting, though, comes the holiday part!

The Preteen marched for the first time in our local Memorial Day Parade. Her middle school band director explicitly wants the kids to see that music can serve the community and honor our veterans (there is no regular funding for middle school marching band, so this is due to his initiative, a small grant, and some hand-me-down drums that they march at all). French horns do not march; horn players often play instead the mellophone (what the Preteen calls a 'frumpet'), which fills the role of the horn in the marching band. So, in nine classes, she's had to learn to march (including turning right and left) and play simultaneously, as well as play and finger a new instrument. They looked and sounded great

(other than I guess, whoops, someone's out of step. Well, leaving out the one trombonist who is marching to his own drummer, 4 of 6 are on the same foot, so I guess the Preteen's at least with the majority; which would seem to be what counts in a marching band).

When the band has to stop and mark time right in front of you, it's an excellent time to embarrass your child by running up to her row and taking more pictures.

It was gorgeous weather, as you can see (too bad I had to work before & after, but at least I snuck out and got to see the parade!), and I hope some of the meaning of the day got through to my adolescent.

One of our friends was in the Vietnam veterans color guard:

and there were Vietnam war veterans whom I don't remember marching before (perhaps they did); I thought this was very cool (click to embiggen for detail):

Many of you likely know the history, but for those who may not, the Hmong are an Asian ethnic group who were recruited by the CIA to fight in Vietnam; upon the fall of Saigon and US withdrawal from Vietnam, the Hmong became targets, and refugees. Immigration eventually was permitted on a limited basis by the United States government, and in the mid-1970s to early 1980s, my home town along with many others in the Midwest and California, most prominently, assimilated a number of refugees. These Hmong veterans truly are Vietnam veterans, but I had not thought to see them marching today; it was very striking to do so, especially as they're carrying a POW-MIA flag among their flags.

There is currently another wave of immigration occurring, and my daughter told me later that her middle school flag squad (here they are in synchronized action at school last week):

is made up entirely of 'Newcomers', Hmong refugee children who have just arrived. Her school is one of the official welcome schools for these kids, who attend a school within a school as they learn English etc. They sang at the winter choir concert too; it was very moving.

One last parade picture, because it made me think of Dale-Harriet even though no one is wearing toques:

Now, onto the knitting! (and of course I was knitting while watching the parade, though slowed by standing up every time the flag came by)

First, the Frozen Waterfall Scarf, all blocked, now wrapped up, and off to its ISE 6 recipient!

I blocked it pretty hard, as the recipient is tall, and also I wanted a lacy look suitable for summer wear; interestingly, it came out looking almost woven after blocking. I probably could have been a little less aggressive, as I think it was plenty big (6 x 60 inches before blocking). But once I get those blocking wires in, the lace instincts take over! Plus I wanted to try to get the 'wave' out of the dropped stitches to make it more symmetric.

Specifications:

Pattern: Waterfall Scarf, designed by Linda O'Leary, from 101 Designer One Skein Wonders (note, pattern is written for heavy worsted weight yarn rather than the fingering weight yarn I did it in; Laurie assures me it goes much faster in the heavier weight yarn!)

Yarn: Yarn Pirate merino/tencel fingering weight yarn from the "Booty Club", Icicle colorway

Modifications: Fingering weight yarn as above; also, I modified the bind off, at first due to inability to understand the bind off instructions; but when I 'got' them, I decided I liked mine better.

Here's the pattern's bind off on the left, over one dropped stitch, and mine on the right (over two dropped stitches):

It doesn't look like mine's stretchy, but I assure you, it is. And more aesthetic, I think.

Anyway, I'm pleased with the scarf and would gladly have kept and worn it, a good sign of a good scarf. I'll probably knit this pattern again; but in a heavier yarn next time! A slippery-ish yarn that's not splitty makes the stitch dropping part much easier, also. The merino/tencel was pretty good, but I can tell you just how many times I picked up a few extra fibers with the stitch (many more than I would have thought) and how much more difficult and tedious that made dropping the (2300) stitches!

Then, apparently I was in both a scarf mood and in the mood for a FO, like, NOW. For I started this Friday and finished yesterday!

The "Garter Stitch Loop-Through Scarf" (descriptive though not so inventive name) from the same book, knit in my fav-o-rite Twisted yarn, this being the Orbit colorway, Duchess yarn base. I modified the pattern slightly only because it called for sport weight and this is DK; so I knit on 28 stitches instead of 32 for the body of the scarf to obtain approximately the same width.

I like the pattern a lot, and I think I'll really like a scarf like this to tuck inside my winter coat. This doesn't happen to go with any of my coats, so I might reknit the scarf in another Twisted colorway for me and save this for a Christmas present already done. I have 37g of yarn left, maybe enough for matching wristlets, or if not, I can do the ribbing for fingerless mitts in this weight yarn, and I have Orbit in fingering weight too which I could use for the rest of the mitts. Or a hat, with the brim in the thicker yarn and the rest in the thinner yarn. Or mittens, ditto. All sorts of possibilities!

But wait, there's more! (Call now, and get the free Ginzu knives....)

I also worked on my mother's belated birthday socks (belated birthday socks seem to be traditional here, unfortunately). Yummy Casbah yarn, same as the Cast Toe Socks I had made her; in fact, the original companion sock was an indoor sock to accompany the Cast Sock, but when my mother decided she really liked it and wanted a pair, I felt I needed to reknit, as I had knit the first 2/3 of the first sock loosely for bedsock/around the house wear. (I did just reknit the heel and foot, though, and left the leg stretchy, why not?) So I'm almost down to heel #2 now.

Oh, and I'm almost done turning the heel on the second Walking Sock. And I cast on for a baby Tomten Jacket to match the little Saartje's booties that I'd already made for a coworker who's due in June.

Phew. Enough for one (long) weekend, with two mornings + of work thrown in, don't you think?

Here's a Saturday Sky to remember it by:

Hope your weekend was a good one!

Festival organizers claim the band was not clear about its affiliation with the controversial religion, which is banned in China. The band says the festival is simply caving in to the demands of the Chinese Embassy, one of the festival's sponsors.

The Tian Guo Marching Band says organizers abruptly accused them of misrepresenting themselves and had police escort the 70 band members from the festival site May 2. At an emotional news conference on Parliament Hill Monday, band representatives demanded the festival apologize and allow them to play their remaining engagements at the festival. (news)

Monik House
Jl.Dr.Setiabudhi 56
Bandung
40141
022-2038668
info@monikcetic.com

My students and I have hatched a plan to try and get enrollment up for next year. I have a miserably low number expected, and I am desperate to get that number up. I think one of my big lessons this year is how important it is for me to be seen down at the middle school. Next year, I plan on being a fixture for those eighth graders.

I will have some pics of my new house up soon!

[audio http://www.saltfilms.net/songs/schwa/battle.mp3]

On the 100^th anniversary of March 8^th, International Women’s Day

In Mumbai

No attacks on women

Unite to end assaults on our persons, our mobility, our livelihoods 

On March 8, 1908,working women in the needle trade industry marched on the streets of New York City demanding better working conditions.

Two days ago it was the hundredth anniversary of that historic march by working women demanding justice.The women of Mumbai expressed their solidarity with women all over the world (struggling for justice and rights) through a large manifestation.As they had done for more than two decades they marched together in the city expressing their distress for the atmosphere of chauvinistic violence in Mumbai.They appealed to the people of Mumbai to come forward and support women. As the Kaospilots we are, we gladly joined them in their walk. As for the work with women rights we have to wait and see, if we’re lucky a project might come to our knowledge and hand the opportunity of working more hands on with this matter.

Morton High School, Illinois - Music / Drill 

Beech Grove, Indiana - Music / Drill

United Township, Illinois - Music / Drill

Thibodeaux High School, Louisiana - Music

Blue Springs High School, Missouri - Music

Cypress Ridge, Texas - Drill

It is going to be a busy spring.  I will share more info about all of these programs after directors announce their fall programs to their students.  Until then I must keep that info quiet.

Here is a sample from last year.

(High speed drill timelapse)

(sampling from standstill performance)

 Soldiers, in training, having some fun in the process by "clearing" the outhouse of any enemy soldiers! God bless the USA!

hope to get more pics up soon :)

            The best and worst times of day were chow times. The majority of this time was spent in relative peace, standing in formation waiting for the call to come in. Heel to toe we would file though and select a meal that was the easiest to shovel down in the sparse time we were allotted. Chili mac was a perpetual favorite for this, as was any kind of stew or casserole, no matter how heinous. The worst of concoctions in the belly was much preferred to the alternative one was guaranteed upon selecting a piece of meat that required cutting and chewing. A savvy gobbler could easily consume 12 ounces of chili mac in the time it took the thick skulled doofus next to him to cut and consume 2 bites of chicken or 1 of steak. In the first couple weeks, the object was to fill up as much as possible in as little time as possible and get the hell out before the next last person in your flight did. To be last was certain verbal abuse.

            The majority of the abuse came from the series of tables lined up at the front of the hall where an assemblage of TI’s sat on one side in banquet honoree or television show configuration with one side left empty. This area was known as the snakepit and like its namesake; it was simply somewhere you just didn’t want to be. The snakepit served one primary purpose – a strategic vantage point whereby the TI’s could view and terrorize all diners equally. Like a pack of hyenas, however, they preferred to collectively attack anyone separated from the herd. A typical situation was like this. An airman planned the completion of his or her meal poorly and found themselves marching toward the door when both no other diners were and no one was being abused at the pit that very moment. Hungry for fresh meat, they would call the unlucky person over, who would always look around hoping it wasn’t them, followed by the dejected approach once there was no hope of the alternative. The poor fool would stand at attention before the pit and be asked a barrage of questions formulated as such that any possible answer would drive the inquisitors into ever escalating levels of outraged fury. Red faced and shrieking they brought the wrath of the almighty down upon the quivering wreck of an airman until they were finally released teary eyed and broken to go tremble in formation outside.

            The trick of course was to first never leave alone; safety in numbers and all that, and to try to time your departure to when they already had a fish on the line and were busy gutting the bastard. I was pretty good about this, but for one time. I completed my meal without thinking and got up to bus my tray and headed for the door. I suddenly realized there was no one before me and no one before the snakepit either. Fuck. I had the door in my sights and was marching rapidly toward it when I heard “Airman!” Fuuuuuck. OK, there was a good possibility that someone was behind me and they were talking to him. “Airman! You, headed toward the door!” Fuuuck! Fuckity fuck fuck fuck! As if in a trance, I never looked around, never looked back and just kept on going. Here is the way I saw it. I’m either royally screwed for ignoring them to begin with if I turn around because then I will know they mean me. If I play dumb, there is a chance they will either buy my ignorance shtick or better yet, not come after me. I increased my pace. “AIRMAN! You with the bouncing walk and exaggerated arm swings!! Get back here!!!!” Ohhh yeah, they meant me all right! I pushed open the door and marched on out into the cool February air. They never followed.

            For the next 10 meals I dreaded the moment of recognition when they pinpointed me in the crowd and make me really pay for my direct disobedience, but the moment never came. The advantage to having them dress us alike and cut out hair alike was that it’s hard to tell us apart. I think some other poor schnook probably got netted and destroyed in my stead for daring to mimic my gait (which I make every effort to change after that), but that was a chance I was willing to take.

            A second area of chow related risk manifested sometime in the fourth week. As the flight became more efficient about doing things, slightly more time was allotted for meals and we eventually reached a place where it was possible for one to actually finish a meal with time to spare. The TI’s had anticipated this and set their insidious traps accordingly. The Mecca of the chow hall was located directly between the beverage counter and the snakepit and took the form of an enclosed desert carousel bursting with delicious pies, cakes, puddings and other tasty treats. After 4 weeks of chili mac and squishy dinner rolls, it sure presented a tempting package. We asked our own TI at some point if it was allowed for us to partake and he said that it was! A few days later a brave fellow named Gaulky took the plunge. With brass balls knocking around his military issue skivvies, he walked right up to the thing, selected a piece of pie, and sat back down unmolested. Not one of us breathed when he did it. This of course meant open season.

            The TI’s were clever you see and knew if they picked off the first few of the heard at the watering hole the rest would fear to follow. Instead, they waited and let us cultivate a real jonesing for the sweets and began the assault soon thereafter. The trick of course, like anything there, was to get your timing right. First, you eye up the carousel from afar, calculating when the item you wanted would come around to the door for quick pickings. No sense presenting more of a target than necessary. Glances would be exchanged between tables and at the right moment, several of us would get up at once and descend on the case. If no one was getting chewed out, it was certain that one of you would get picked off, but 4:1 odds were acceptable risk when the reward was so great. In some bizarre sense I always had the impression that the carousel was placed where it was in order to teach a lesson of war. The statement was always made that everything in Basic meant something and this was probably no exception. By the end, however, we were allowed access unmolested as we had reached a point where being screamed at was the least of worries.

            Being screamed at was, however, a significant worry for some time. It was also something I became rapidly immune to given my predilection for receiving more furious words of cussing more than the rest of the flight combined in the first week or so. You see, I was Element Leader 1, which meant that when marching in formation I was at the head of the line to the far left where it was impossible to see what anyone else was doing. An innocuous circumstance seemingly, but pair that with an individual who bounces when he walks, has a 50% success rate in distinguishing left from right, a tendency to wool gather in boring situations, and the immense importance the military attaches to perfect marching and you got yourself a situation.

            I mentioned earlier on that SSgt Hopkus learned my name first and it was in a marching circumstance that this information was revealed to me. Before that morning, myself and anyone else who screwed up were referred to as “genius”, “dumbass”, and “fucking cocksucking motherfucker”. We didn’t have nametags sewn to our shirts just yet so he had no real way of telling us apart. That morning, however, I was marching along thinking I was doing pretty good for a change. Suddenly I felt a presence directly behind me and could see the silhouette of the Smokey the Bear hat over my left shoulder. “Wolf, you better get your head out of your ass before I shove it so far up there it’s never coming back”, he hissed into my ear. It was the start of a great week especially knowing that he must have actually looked my name up to be ready in that instance.

            The following day was worse. We had been taught the correct procedure for breaking off column by column (or elements as they called them) to go to single file to march up stairs or anywhere narrow. The correct procedure was that Hopkus would call out “Forward from the right!”, and element leaders 1 through 3 were supposed to turn to the right and shout “Stand fast!” to the folks behind him while element 4 peeled off and went forward. I had completely missed that conversation somehow and had probably daydreamed though it. On the first go around everything went smoothly aside from my part. Having no idea what we were doing, I stared ahead blankly. I knew this was wrong when I saw the rage in his eyes and he strode right up to me and started screaming. At that moment I knew that I was supposed to have done something when he called the command and God help me if I failed to do so next time. He called it from the top once again, and as he did, I suddenly became aware that I still had no idea what I was supposed to do. Asking seemed like a bad idea, so instead I looked around to see what the other guys were doing. He was not pleased at all.

            I knew then that I was supposed to turn to the side and shout something, but my hearing being what it is, I was unable to discern exactly what. I was ruminating about this as he was simultaneously screaming directly into my face while banging the brim of his hat hard onto the bridge of my nose. Somewhere amidst the swearing and promises to bring upon my head and those of my children’s children the worst that military discipline had to offer were likely the words I was supposed to be shouting. Having tuned him out to try to recall when this was originally briefed, I missed the boat again. Third time now, from the top. “Forward from the right!!” I turned my head and shouted “Stay there!” For the first time since entering the military, the possibility of death in the line of duty became very real for me. I had never before seen anyone, in any circumstance, become that mad. Not in movies, TV, any sort of dramatic enactment, and certainly not in person. All I could think was, “Wow, he’s really pissed!” Given my nature I was momentarily tempted to fuck it up one more time just to see what would happen, but the ashen scared faces of the boys around me gave me enough pause to get it right. I got it on the fourth run and he glared at me with pure smoldering hatred as my element filed past him.

            Later that day I did the same thing, allowing for an even more furious outburst than the one earlier. When we got back up to the barracks several of the guys pulled me aside and said I had to get that right from now one as they couldn’t take hearing him go off like that again. They considerately helped me practice and I was spot on for the duration of my tenure. It was by no means the last time I royally screwed the pooch while marching, but the last time at least with that specific error. Drill practice was a nightmare as I constant let my element off in the wrong direction or worse yet, turned right instead of left and banged full force into the element leader to my side. I believe I still have a case of tinnitus from the outbursts that caused. The worst instance of such was right after lunch. Hopkus evidently had rice as part of his meal and managed to spit a piece right into my eye as he was screaming at me. I was unable to move and unable to blink it out. I’m very confident that he knew and continued to stare at me for a good 10 minutes leaving me unable to sneak my hand up and brush it out.

            Just when I thought I couldn’t be more on this guys bad side, by luck of the draw I ended up the front man on a random inspection. Backing up a moment, I should point out that the military is pretty tight on security. One of the measures used for the barracks is the constant present of a round the clock door guard who verifies each and every person who comes though the door via a written procedure. One of the ways the TI’s use to see if the person at the door would be trustworthy in time of war is to attempt to trick or threaten their way in. Overnight the door guards are the 4 element leaders, each taking a 2 hour shift. The duties of the door guard overnight is to both watch the door, but also wander the premises to ensure each and every thing is in inspection order; that being defined as looking as if created in a vacuum and never before been in the presence of anything organic. I was wandering the dark floor, tired as hell (nothing like having a 2:00 AM to 4:00 AM shift doing this crap every night) when a sudden furious pounding began at the door. Shit.

            I ran to the door and there was Hopkus, his Major Dad face framed in the tiny window, and looking pissed as all hell. I got the book out and ran though the paces. “Sir, please produce identification.” He held up a golf ball. Man, this mo-fo thought pretty highly of me! I referred him to the orderly room where after he produced a military ID with the same mean ornery expression. With great foreboding I let him in. He pushed right past me and had me follow him around the barracks for his inspection. From a hair found in the broom, a speck of dust on the day room floor, to a scuff in the tile (that I think he made) I was personally responsible for all of it. The threats started with him keeping an eye on me to being disallowed to eat that day, then that week, to him finally starting the paperwork to write me up to go away. Though the threat process initially gave me some worry, the sheer ludicrousness off his increasingly theatrical promises became somewhat comical. I hadn’t been in the military long, but it was my understanding that dishonorable discharges usually weren’t handed out for a water spot on the underside of a toilet seat. Wisely I kept this understanding to myself and exhibited the appropriate amount of chagrin. As expected, nothing came of it.

            The final straw came about the third week in. Although I had only been beaten up as door guard the once, the marching mistakes were a daily occurrence and despite my suspicion that the enraged hysterics expressed each time I screwed it up were nothing but drama, I think the energy he expended each day going though the routine began to wear on him. One day at the evening dayroom briefing he made a quick announcement that I was relieved of my position as Element leader 1 and that I would now be part of the dayroom cleaning crew. He turned to me, just a little apologetic, and said, “Son, you just can’t march.” This was the most joyous day in basic up until that moment! From there on in, things were coming up roses.

            I will leave you here, gentle reader, as I feel there are about 2 more installments to this story before it is all told.