First of all, congratulations to Mr. Huston Street on winning the American League Rookie of the Year award. Too bad that Nick Swisher couldn't have shared the honor with him. But my appreciation of Swisher and his OBP is subject of a future blog entry.
So, I was walking back from Pomona today after a "training session" at KSPC about sports broadcasting. More on that later. But as I'm walking back and enjoying the purposefully pretentious architecture and wondering "Why the hell didn't I go here?" I was awakened from my daydream by the sound of wheels coming from behind me. Before I came to CMC, I would have been incredibly startled and jerked to look at what was approaching. Now, I hear the earthquake resembling rumbling and ask myself "Is that a Razor or a skateboard?"
Anyways, as I normally do when I am being tailgated by some sort of wheeled form of transportation, I moved to my left and allowed him to pass.
Only this gesture of good will wasn't enough for the fiend. As I moved to my left, he shifted his path so to put himself on a direct collision course with me. I hurried my steps even more and found myself entirely off the pavement and I was now standing on the wet grass. As I turned around to stare at the jackass (who wasn't even wearing a helmet, mind you), I saw that he wasn't being an intentional idiot. He was simply crusing down the sidewalk and felt that he owned the road. He wasn't trying to run me off the pavement.
Had he been a skateboard cruising jackass with whom I am ever so familiar, I would not have minded. But this was an everyman. This could have been me. Think Thomas Hardy's "The Man He Killed."
He was not motivated out of hatred, but out of entitlement. He was more entitled than the poor after the New Deal. More entitled than the communists living under LBJ's "Great Society."
THIS HAS TO STOP.
I may have my qualms with the fact that the pedestrian has the right of way, but it's the law. PEDestrian. As in "travels by foot." Pedestrians, not WHEELestrians, if that's even a word. If it isn't, consider it to be coined by yours truly.
Long story short, if I'm walking back to my dorm from Collins and you're riding along on your convenient mode of transportation, I'm not moving. If anything, I'll get in your way and make you crash. And after your skull splits open, maybe you'll learn a lesson about wearing a helmet.
Back to KSPC. I spent a fun hour learning how to use the equipment which will allow me to broadcast football games...to the 5 people who actually listen to KSPC. Oh, how I wish I could relive those 60 amazing minutes with Erica, the woman with the tailor-made NPR voice: deep and boring.
KSPC is housed in the Thacher building for the performing arts. In order to get to my destination, I pass by numerous practice rooms, designed for musical instruments. Every time I walk by, I pull a Marcel Proust and reminisce on things past.
I played the piano until midway through 8th grade. It just became a nuisance and practicing wasn't really my forte (get it. Forte? Piano humor?). My mom tells me that I was good at it and I never should have quit. I used the pro-choicer's argument and insisted that it's my life (it's now or never) and I should be in charge of what happens to it. So I stopped taking lessons.
Every time that I am presented with a piano, I feel as though I should reconnect with my musical roots and play something. But as I sit down, only one entire song comes to mind. Oh sure, I can play the familiar parts of "The Pink Panther" or "Theme to Mission: Impossible" or Bob Seger's "Against the Wind." But those are just glimpses. I can't tell you everything about those pieces. I doubt if my fingering is even correct.
The piece that I know by heart, is none other than Canon in D Major by Pachelbel.
Johann Pachelbel was born in 1653 in Nuremberg and worked as an organist. He composed more than two hundred works for the organ, however his best known (and only known) song is Canon in D Major. If you go to Barnes and Noble and look for a Pachelbel CD, you'll find a "Greatest Hit" compilation with numerous artists performing Canon (such as James Galway and the Chieftans. Great song, if you can find it on Limewire). It's one of those songs that will be played at every wedding recital (along with the Chicken Dance). It's timeless. It's good to play. And it sounds sophisticated.
I suppose I feel such a strong attachment to it since it reminds me of my childhood. Oftentimes I would get bored and just play Canon in D. There was an episode of "The Wonder Years" in which young Kevin Arnold had to learn the same song.
But I'm getting too deep for a blog entry. If you really care enough about my musical appreciation, get me near a piano and I'll talk to you in depth about what this Baroque tune means to me.
So that brings us to the end of Day II. In what has become a sad feature of my blog entires, DAVID DELGADO STILL HASN'T UPDATED HIS. How many times must I bother him about this before the people get what they want????
Anyhoo, tune in tomorrow when I bitch about Oprah.
Nevermind the Bollocks,
Max Power
So, I was walking back from Pomona today after a "training session" at KSPC about sports broadcasting. More on that later. But as I'm walking back and enjoying the purposefully pretentious architecture and wondering "Why the hell didn't I go here?" I was awakened from my daydream by the sound of wheels coming from behind me. Before I came to CMC, I would have been incredibly startled and jerked to look at what was approaching. Now, I hear the earthquake resembling rumbling and ask myself "Is that a Razor or a skateboard?"
Anyways, as I normally do when I am being tailgated by some sort of wheeled form of transportation, I moved to my left and allowed him to pass.
Only this gesture of good will wasn't enough for the fiend. As I moved to my left, he shifted his path so to put himself on a direct collision course with me. I hurried my steps even more and found myself entirely off the pavement and I was now standing on the wet grass. As I turned around to stare at the jackass (who wasn't even wearing a helmet, mind you), I saw that he wasn't being an intentional idiot. He was simply crusing down the sidewalk and felt that he owned the road. He wasn't trying to run me off the pavement.
Had he been a skateboard cruising jackass with whom I am ever so familiar, I would not have minded. But this was an everyman. This could have been me. Think Thomas Hardy's "The Man He Killed."
He was not motivated out of hatred, but out of entitlement. He was more entitled than the poor after the New Deal. More entitled than the communists living under LBJ's "Great Society."
THIS HAS TO STOP.
I may have my qualms with the fact that the pedestrian has the right of way, but it's the law. PEDestrian. As in "travels by foot." Pedestrians, not WHEELestrians, if that's even a word. If it isn't, consider it to be coined by yours truly.
Long story short, if I'm walking back to my dorm from Collins and you're riding along on your convenient mode of transportation, I'm not moving. If anything, I'll get in your way and make you crash. And after your skull splits open, maybe you'll learn a lesson about wearing a helmet.
Back to KSPC. I spent a fun hour learning how to use the equipment which will allow me to broadcast football games...to the 5 people who actually listen to KSPC. Oh, how I wish I could relive those 60 amazing minutes with Erica, the woman with the tailor-made NPR voice: deep and boring.
KSPC is housed in the Thacher building for the performing arts. In order to get to my destination, I pass by numerous practice rooms, designed for musical instruments. Every time I walk by, I pull a Marcel Proust and reminisce on things past.
I played the piano until midway through 8th grade. It just became a nuisance and practicing wasn't really my forte (get it. Forte? Piano humor?). My mom tells me that I was good at it and I never should have quit. I used the pro-choicer's argument and insisted that it's my life (it's now or never) and I should be in charge of what happens to it. So I stopped taking lessons.
Every time that I am presented with a piano, I feel as though I should reconnect with my musical roots and play something. But as I sit down, only one entire song comes to mind. Oh sure, I can play the familiar parts of "The Pink Panther" or "Theme to Mission: Impossible" or Bob Seger's "Against the Wind." But those are just glimpses. I can't tell you everything about those pieces. I doubt if my fingering is even correct.
The piece that I know by heart, is none other than Canon in D Major by Pachelbel.
Johann Pachelbel was born in 1653 in Nuremberg and worked as an organist. He composed more than two hundred works for the organ, however his best known (and only known) song is Canon in D Major. If you go to Barnes and Noble and look for a Pachelbel CD, you'll find a "Greatest Hit" compilation with numerous artists performing Canon (such as James Galway and the Chieftans. Great song, if you can find it on Limewire). It's one of those songs that will be played at every wedding recital (along with the Chicken Dance). It's timeless. It's good to play. And it sounds sophisticated.
I suppose I feel such a strong attachment to it since it reminds me of my childhood. Oftentimes I would get bored and just play Canon in D. There was an episode of "The Wonder Years" in which young Kevin Arnold had to learn the same song.
But I'm getting too deep for a blog entry. If you really care enough about my musical appreciation, get me near a piano and I'll talk to you in depth about what this Baroque tune means to me.
So that brings us to the end of Day II. In what has become a sad feature of my blog entires, DAVID DELGADO STILL HASN'T UPDATED HIS. How many times must I bother him about this before the people get what they want????
Anyhoo, tune in tomorrow when I bitch about Oprah.
Nevermind the Bollocks,
Max Power
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