Archive for July, 2011
Today I paid final respects to a man who was very prominent in my formative years.
We all have had teachers like that when we were growing up. These people touched our lives in ways that we cannot always express. They are indeed, a part of us deep down inside, and death can never take that away.
Darwin H. Bistline was the director of the marching band when I was in high school. Under his direction, the AAHS marching band won first place awards in 15 of his sixteen years at the helm. He retired in 1982, the year I graduated.
They had several video montages for guests to watch, featuring marching bands from the late sixties, the seventies, and even a few pictures from my high school years in the early eighties. They brought back many memories–band camps in the heat of summer, cold parades in November, and band trips in the spring. Back in the day, the high school band was a fixture in the community and brought a sense of pride to the hometown. Schools actually provided uniforms and weren’t cutting music programs from the budget to make ends meet.
Those were the days my friend
We thought they’d never end
We’d sing and dance forever and a day
We’d lead the life we choose
We’d fight and never lose
We were young and sure to have our way
I guess its true. You can’t go back. You can never go back.
I thought I would meet more people I knew at the funeral home, but alas, I was alone except for my memories. Nearly thirty years separates me from that time in my life and many of the people in our band are spread across the country.
One montage showed countless pictures of Darwin and his family. Sometimes, as students in school, we forget that our teachers have lives just like the rest of us. I saw him as a young director and you could see the fire in his eyes. He was a demanding perfectionist when I knew him in the twilight of his career, but there was another man I never knew who preceded that one.
At one point, I even considered a career in music–to become a band director–because of the influence this man had in my life at that time. In college, I joined the marching band and even designed one of our half-time shows. But I didn’t have the musical skill or ear and my interests were drawn elsewhere. I can’t even carry a tune in a suitcase.
Mr. Bistline taught his students discipline and a strong work ethic. Do it with spirit, tradition and pride. That was his slogan. STP.
I still get chills when I hear his–our–signature march, Barnum & Bailey’s Favorite. To this day, I occasionally throw some march music into the CD player and I know my appreciation for this music came from him.
The leader of the band is tired
and his eyes are growing old
But his blood runs through my instrument
and his song is in my soul
My life has been a poor attempt
to imitate the man
I’m just the living legacy
to the leader of the band.
My family and I attended a baseball game tonight in State College, Pennsylvania–the Spikes. They lost bad.
But at one point in the game, they scored a run. This blue furry thing came out of the wall in center field and danced around. The announcer introduced the mascot character that was celebrating the score.
Did I hear that correctly?
The dancing mascot was the Nookie Monster.
Being a fan of college football, I am never surprised by the strangeness of a mascot. Perhaps the most famous is the Standford Tree. It’s a tree.
UC Santa Cruz has the Banana Slug. Xavier has the Blue Blob. Dartmouth has Keggy the Keg. Scottsdale Community College has Artie the Artichoke and Delta State has the Fighting Okra. Nothing more fearsome than angry vegetables. You can peruse pictures of these mascots and a few others here.
Even my hometown minor league baseball franchise, the Altoona Curve, has Al Tuna. He’s a fish. He also dances in the outfield, but he doesn’t dance with wolves.
But the Nittany Bank Nookie Monster?
I understand the play on words, based on the character from Sesame Street–the Cookie Monster. If the team were young, you could have the Rookie Monster. If they played in Jersey Shore, you could call it the Snookie Monster. A team of gamblers represented by the Bookie Monster. If your team had space aliens, you could call it the Wookie Monster. Truant student league? The Hookie Monster. You get the idea.
But Nookie Monster?
Here’s the definition from Urban Dictionary:
Nookie meaning having sex. Play on the name “Cookie Monster” from sesame street. Used as a pet name for someone that you have a sexual relationship with.
So there we have it . . .
But then, it is more subtle than Deadspin’s All-time best mascot, the unofficial mascot of the Rhode Island School of Design . . . . Scrotie. I warn you, though, the link does have video evidence. Thankfully, Rhode Island doesn’t play State College (Nookie Monster), Oregon State (the Beavers) or the Trojans of Southern Cal, prophylactically speaking.
Our local paper carried an article on the release of Casey Anthony after her trial. The accompanying picture was similar to this:
My first thought? What is Alec Baldwin doing with Casey Anthony?
Somewhere along the line, there are going to be movie rights to this whole thing. I’ve already helped the casting director out.
Alec Baldwin should be her attorney.
But who should play the lead?
I came across this article on The Huffington Post about Australian retailers who are charging fees to use their fitting rooms. Actually, I heard about it on the radio and Googled it. Whatever.
Anyway, apparently these stores are fed up with potential customers who try on their clothes, but then don’t buy them. In other words, some people–you know who you are–try on the clothes or shoes at the Mall to see whether they fit and/or whether they make your butt look big but then you go home and order them online for less money.
The Sydney Morning Herald writes that thanks to a 4.8 percent drop in clothing and footwear sales, retailers there have come up with a series of new tactics to encourage customers to buy off the rack and not online (for a presumably lower price)…including a fitting room fee, which is then refunded upon purchase.
And according to News.com.au, that fee could be as much as $50, the amount some ski shops are charging to try on boots.
So in an effort to curb this practice of frivolous and frugal fashion fitting, the stores have decided to piss their customers off even further.
Granted, the “fee” will be refunded if you actually buy the item.
But what if you truly don’t like how you look after you put it on? Not only do you look like a fool in that sweater (worse yet, you look like a shooting gallery with those ducks going across the front,) but now you’re out $20 because you don’t want to actually buy it. Why don’t they just cut you with the price tag and pour salt into the wound?
Does the fitting room fee apply only if you use the fitting room? I’m not shy, and if it means saving up to 50 bucks, I hope you look the other way. If not, could you hand me those boxers over there? What are you looking at anyway? Haven’t you ever heard of shrinkage?! The air conditioning is on in here!
What’s next? An admission fee to the Mall?
A woman contemplating cataract surgery asks her surgeon, “Will I be able to play the piano after my cataract surgery?”
The surgeon smiles and answers, “I don’t see why not.”
“Well, that’s great,” the woman replied ecstatically. “I was never able to play before!”
So while on vacation in Phoenix, we headed out to this Mexican sandwich shop.
Of course, I had to order the Torta Del Rey. The King Sandwich. Ham, melted cheese, pork sirloin, breaded beef, sausage, chorizo and
eggs. Who could ask for more? Who could get anymore on the sandwich?
This was going to take some work on my part. It was man versus food. Face versus “the King.” Del Rey. Mano a Torta.
It put up a pretty good fight. Things got a little messy, but in the end . . .
Doesn’t look much like the MyPlate food recommendation does it? My GPS (gastronomic preference system) warned me to make a U-turn if at all possible. But I couldn’t turn away from that sandwich! I almost got lost in the middle of the meal!
I highly recommend the torta del Rey. Just be sure to bring your A-game appetite.