Jazzy Weekends, etc.

Folks, I think it not inaccurate to say that however much jazz you currently have in your life, it is not enough. Everyone needs more jazz. After all, it is America's music.

In pursuit of this goal, I journeyed to Stillwater on Friday evening to hear the Luther Jazz Orchestra, a fine ensemble which I had the distinct pleasure of playing in for a time. And let me tell you, it was quite pleasant. Always nice to see a certain Tony Guzman, although I was incredibly distressed to not hear the Lutheran "Tony Guzmansson" joke. Damn thing cracks me up every time...

Of course, I also got to see some old friends, both in the group and not. Once again, that was very nice. A relief, even. It's always nice to know, as I've alluded to before, that you're remembered. So be it for music played some time ago, or experiences shared even closer in time, it's always nice to know that you matter. That was fun; I'm still fairly certain that the second alto believes I put a man in the hospital in England. Inside jokes, gotta love 'em.

The band sounded great, just great. I was very impressed, and very proud. In some respects, it's humbling. We freeze those moments in time, those four years, and in their cryogenic state, they become part of a contained system. And they are contained, because experiences, everything; it's all unique to us and our circle. But once that seal has been put down, sometimes you tend to forget that you are only part of a continuum, and that your time is only one of thousands, maybe even millions of times. So as special as it was to be (assuredly), the greatest third trombonist to ever grace the Jazz Orchestra, it's so nice to know that new folks are filling in quite capably, and bringing more prestige. Not going to lie though, definitely made me want to get my Limbo Jazz on.

One other disappointment - they did not play Limbo Jazz. No!

Bottom line, it was a lot of fun. For those Luther jazz alums and fans who were not fortunate enough to hear them this year, you can be assured that we're all being done proud. It was a nice night - yes, even that part (cryptic!).

In the interests of photographic fun, here are some trombontastic clips from the 2008 Jazz Orchestra tour to Brazil. Caipirinhas, anyone? The correct answer is sim, obrigado!

The National Game March, or how I learned to throw all self-dignity away and make an ass out of myself

I've gotten a few unexpected facebook messages the past few days, from unexpected sources. Apparently, the fine folks down in the Luther College Concert Band have been playing a certain John Philip Sousa march by the name of "The National Game." And apparently, I seem to be inextricably and forever more attached to that march.

I suppose the story is well known by the, oh, 3 people who loyally read this blog. Through some strange turn of events (namely me blabbing off a bunch of shit that I had no expectation would ever be taken seriously), I ended up ditching my trombone for a baseball bat and running around the CFL while masquerading as a ballplayer who just hit a game-winning home run. I really wish there was video evidence that it actually happened, because I think I did my best Kirby Puckett/Game 6 impression, and most people who I tell this story to don't believe that I did it. Let their heads remain buried in the sand.

I maintain that the most hilarious part was when I had to explain to the Luther baseball coach why I needed to borrow the uniform...

But anyways folks, let me tell you from experience, if you're ever looking for a great way to spend your evening, try wearing 3 or 4 layers of polyester and then sitting down under a blazing spotlight for an hour. It is absolutely fantastic - easiest way in the world to look classy while simultaneously shedding 30 pounds.

I don't mean to wallow in self-glory, if that is even applicable to this ridiculous event. It was just nice to know people remembered it, and it brought back a lot of good memories. Truth be told, given the relatively low profile I tend to keep, and kept at Luther, I remain very surprised when people continue to mention it. But it's always pleasant to be remembered, even if its for a dumbass stunt that pretty much sapped an otherwise respectable concert of any musical integrity whatsoever.

Everyone has memories of college, of the "good old days." I suppose I'm becoming of that age where they do start to become "old days." But there's a perfectly good reason why such memories stick around, and why friends remain. Sure, we can't go back to how things were, but it's so nice to laugh and remember, and then go out and make something new.




P.S. - Benjamin, I still can't get over how good we look in that low brass photo... hard bodies

Metrodome Memories

It's not really common knowledge, but as it turns out, I am actually quite the fan of my hometown Minnesota Twins baseball team. And for as long as I can remember, nay, the entirety of the 23 years which I've walked this earth, I've been watching my beloved Twins play underneath the teflon sky of the Hubert H. Humphrey Metrodome.

Of course, I knew the demise of the Metrodome has been coming. In fact, I've been cheerleading it, ever since the construction of a new outdoor ballpark became reality in 2006. I've been poring over photos of the rapidly rising Target Field almost daily for at least two years now, and awaiting with bated breath for that "countdown to outdoor baseball" sign in left field to reach zero. I can count on one hand the number of outdoor major league baseball games I've seen, but I don't think you need any special gnosis to know that baseball isn't meant to be played in a concrete warehouse with plastic grass, a garbage bag for an outfield wall, and a dull roof that looks kind of like something I pulled out of my grandma's basement.



But now, shockingly, against all odds, it's here. Barring a miracle, there are only two more games of Twins baseball to be played inside the dome. I'm happy to say that I'm attending the final regular season game on Sunday afternoon. I can only hope that the Twins are still playing for something, but even if they aren't, something good is going to happen.

In my retrospection, I've been reading a lot of these "farewell to the Metrodome" articles, where these out of town sportswriters wax eloquent about the quirky playing atmosphere, the jet-engine decibel crowds, and the beautiful moments that were had. Which is all well and good, but it all seems somewhat prosaic to me. Everyone knows about the '91 World Series, the ball that never came down, the superball bounces, etc. But there are some things that are unknowable to the average person, because they run much deeper.

Next year, sitting outside at Target Field, I don't think I'll give much of a second thought to the Metrodome as a field, as the mundane fusion of astroturf and dirt into a diamond shape. But what I will think of are the games my parents took me to as a kid, always preceded by a visit to Matt's for a jucy lucy. I'll think about wanting nothing else in the world but to see Kirby Puckett hit a home run, and then screaming wildly as he made a young boy's wish come true. I'll think about having a Dome Dog, and trying to convince my dad that I really needed the pop in the souvenir cup. I'll remember waiting in line with my mom for two hours in order to be one of the 15,000 people to get the autographed Kirby Puckett retirement card (yes, he actually signed 15,000). I'll remember when my letter of encouragement was posted in the Twins' locker room. I was pretty young, but I can remember watching the 1991 World Series on TV, and seeing the sea of typically mundane midwesterners going euphoric with Homer Hankies. In my more recent years, I'll remember stretching out in the cheap seats with a Summit, squinting to see the field while still watching out for beach balls. I'll remember going to the 2004 ALCS. Who can forget the trough, or getting blasted out of the Dome by the air pressure? And surely, I'll remember the Hormel Row of Fame song.

Musical Interlude: Now that you are at the game, are you in Hormel's Row of Fame? If you're in a lucky seat, you'll win a Hormel hot dog treat! Great for lunch, great for dinner, you will be a wiener winner in the Hormel Rowwwwww offff Faaaaaammmmmmeeeee!

Now, I can only hope to everything that is good on this earth that the Hormel Row of Fame will be transplanted out under the sun. I can only hope that the Twins play with as much joy as they have (at times) in the Dome. I'm a believer though, I know they will.

But as I've intimated, what I will miss about the Metrodome, is the connection it gives me to myself. For an entire generation of people like me, watching the Twins has meant going to the Dome. We don't know anything else. But, I suppose, why should we, when it's been such a ride? To paraphrase Torii Hunter, it wasn't a great place to play baseball, but there sure was some great baseball played there.

So Metrodome, it's been fun, and I really do mean that. Your passing is going to be bittersweet. It's always hard to say goodbye to an old friend, maybe even harder when they're the kind that no one else appreciates.



Hell, let's go win the division. I think the Metrodome deserves it.