Oboe: What is the sound of one ass sucking?

Listening to my son's 6th grade band revealed that my new least favorite instrument is the oboe. Is it ethical to allow innocent children to play these things? Those banshee-sticks make the bagpipes sound like an angelic choir.

The French horns were fairly offensive as well. Not in the meaning that I am insulted by them, but in the military sense. If Bush found a large cache of French horns buried in the Iraqi desert, the US invasion would be justified. The oboe wins, however, because in the battle of annoying instruments, if all else is equal, the winner goes to the one of higher pitch.

Does your family have a plan?

The commercials and billboards from Ready.gov have convinced me to prepare for the inevitable attack. I present you with Emergency Preparedness Plan version 1:

1. Seek shelter as soon as possible. Confront the enemy only as a last resort.
2. In the unfortunate event of a confrontation, remember you MUST destroy the brain. Damaging any other part of a zombie has no effect.
3. My weapon of choice is a bokken (Japanese wooden sword). This is useful for defense (keeping the zombies at a distance) or bashing them in the head.

I am stockpiling nonperishable foods. A year's supply of whiskey and beef jerky should be enough.

Children, let me tell you about the 80s

It is in vogue to like retro hair bands right now. Vacuous power ballads are like pictures of you in awkward adolescence. It takes about 20 years to be able to laugh at them.

But it wasn't funny at the time, I assure you. By 1990 true rockers were subsisting only on the stale crusts of AC/DC and Van Halen repeats. The best new music on the airwaves was by half-assed bands like Drivin' and Cryin'. (Remember them? I didn't think so.) Metallica and Jane's Addiction were around, but were snubbed by mainstream radio.

In 1991, my car ran out of gas so I walked to a gas station in the rain. There was this crazy music blaring from the surly cashier's cheap tape player. It tasted like an oasis after wandering in a musical desert. I had to ask him who it was. He looked impatient, like he was sick of being asked.

"Pearl Jam"

It was a great day.

Bloggy McBloggerstein

I am now a "blogger". I blame Nick. He asked me to see how Blogger.com styled their submit buttons and I somehow ended up getting a site. It is an impressive nod to usability when you end up using it by happenstance.

The first entries I made were some of my thoughts about me. Narcissism is the most important ingredient of blogging. (Writing ability is a distant 3rd after technophilia.) That makes me a natural. Next, I linked to some friends that had blogs, because the best way to promote your blog is to promise to read somebody else's blog if they read yours.

I should have started years ago. It is so much fun that I bet it'll be several months until I get distracted by some other fad technology and quit posting.

ETA on Midlife Crisis

My teenage son asked me when I was going to have my midlife crisis. I am guessing he wants me to buy a cooler car.

I had to disappoint him. My midlife crisis will probably never happen. I don't think I have ever been a hard-core adult, so I lack the prerequisite to a second childhood.

The foundation of a quality midlife breakdown is being a martyr: Work yourself to death for a demanding wife and oblivious children. Then when you snap, you can try to cram all the fun you had been missing into a year a debauchery.

Alas, I have paced my debauchery. I better start saving up now for my birthday.

Guitar Hero Lies

One of the many charms of the game Guitar Hero are the pearls of Rock 'n Roll wisdom dispensed during loading screens. They include "Don't give the drummer a microphone. It'll only end in tears." and "They don't really want you to play Freebird. They are just heckling you." As critical to stardom as these are, there is one proverb that I take exception to:

"Your mom doesn't count as as fan."

In keeping with glorious Rock tradition, my mom always hated my bands. I was wary when bandmates' parents showed up to gigs. I learned, staring out at sparse and surly crowds, that all audience members (especially ones that are obligated to like you) are welcome.

The most pretentious and harmful thing a band can do is be picky about their fans. If you find you have developed a strong following among the mentally-handicapped community, run with it.

I am not exaggerating. One of the best gigs I had in college was a dance for a local group home. The people were as easy to please as the normal bar crowd at closing, but much better behaved.