BBC Reports Existence of New Species

Exciting news today in the field of human development. The journal "Nature" has recently announced the discovery of a new subtype of human being which has been given the scientific name of trombono sapien. The trombono sapien is a fascinating mutation of the more familiar homo sapien, and has been identified at high schools, unemployment offices, colleges, and bars throughout Western Europe, North and South America, and the Far East. The most unique aspect of this new type of human is the constant presence of a trombone, an instrument in the brass family most notable for its slide mechanism. It almost seems that the trombone is somehow permanently grafted onto the trombono sapien's arm.

The trombono sapien displays a variety of unique social features. Most common is their propensity to gather in groups at what seems to be a set time to communally play their instruments, sometimes up to 30 individuals at a time. It is unknown what function this activity serves. Dr. Phil Harris, a sociologist at Cambridge University, speculates in the Nature article that this activity may well be associated with the lunar cycle. Dr. Harris has also proposed that it may serve an important role in finding a mate. According to his research, many trombono sapiens show off their attached instruments as a way to attract a mate, similar to the mating rituals of the bird of paradise in New Guinea. Scientists have speculated that a hierarchy exists based on the characteristics of the trombono sapien's instrument. However, this hypothesis has been attacked by another group of researchers at London's King's College, who argue that the social structure is dictated instead by the individual's ability to perform on the instrument. In any case, trombono sapien group interactions seem to place great prestige on seemingly unimportant technical components. Many in the social group, known as a "trombone choir," are capable of talking at length on the respective merits of valve caps, mouthpiece rims, and bore sizes, to name a few components.

The typical trombono sapien is characterized by a rough, haggard appearance. Methods of dress vary, but a vast majority of trombono sapiens seem to reject the fashion aesthetics of the outside world. Clothing as diverse as the Hawaiian shirt, straight leg jean, mock turtleneck, and overall have been spottted. Hair is often disheveled, and scent tends to be foul. This may result either from extended periods of playing or aversion to regular bathing patterns. The specimens examined in London suffered from a strange cramping of the left hand which results from the action needed to grip the instrument. Brain size is proportionally smaller when compared to the homo sapien.

Researchers have yet to determine how the trombono sapien has developed. They exhibit many unique characteristics which are easily identifiable. It appears that a vast majority of trombono sapiens have developed minimal social skills outside of their own culture. Many suffer from speech impediments, uncertainty, and general social awkwardness when confronted by a normal human. Part of this may be due to the vast cultural gap which exists between members of the two species. However, there is evidence that the nervous system of the trombono sapien is not as highly developed as that of a human.

Meat tends to be the staple of the trombono sapien diet, with some emphasis placed on fried products as well. A necessary staple is some form of drink containing alcohol. The trombono sapien has a seemingly unquenchable thirst for alcoholic beverages and does not seem to be aware of social norms discouraging prodigious consumption. This propensity often leads to public behaviors which fall outside of the accepted standard, furthering the social and cultural divide.

As reported in "Nature," much research has yet to be done on this fascinating subspecies in order to better understand its behavior. The trombono sapien is a creature very different from the regular human. Many are fearful of the new mutation, evident by the Norwegian government's recent decision to catalogue and place electronic sensors on all resident trombono sapiens. Although there is no need for panic, one must approach the creatures with a heightened sense of cultural awareness. They are fragile and prone to misunderstanding. The future of human/trombono sapien relations is yet to be written, but hopefully it will usher the trombono sapien into a new era of social acceptance.

Harsh Mornings

Isn't it amazing how with all the billions of web pages that exist on the internet, one typically gets stuck in a rut of reading somewhere around 20?

Lately I've been afflicted with this problem. I seem to bounce between the BBC, a few various Twins blogs, Obama 08, Office Tally, and some other random crap. I can't believe that I've roped myself in on the internet. Super lame.

In other news, I am officially giving a senior trombone recital on Friday, April 4th at 8:30 P.M. It's going to feature works by Kreisler, McCarty, and Larsson. I'd highly recommend going, it should be fun. It's also frekking nerve wracking. It also sort of makes me want to throw my trombone through a frekking wall. Or at least run over it with a car.

The hard body plan has now become a regular part of my week. However, it has taken an ugly turn. To accommodate one of our more studious biology major friends, we have been forced to move our workout to 6:40 A.M. It's true, I'm waking up earlier than I did in middle school. Now, everyone should know that I am a morning person. I like nothing better than waking up early AFTER A FULL NIGHT'S REST, having a cup of freshly brewed coffee, a fresh baguette with brie, and possibly a small amount of bacon or other breakfast meat. It would be even better with some jazz on the radio and sun streaming in the windows.

Unfortunately, waking up ungodly early for the hard body plan after 5 or 6 hours of sleep does not qualify for my definition of an enjoyable early morning. For one thing, there is no freshly brewed coffee. It's too early for sun. And it requires a trek across the frozen tundra that is the football field, with nothing but a thin layer of nylon pants and an old sweatshirt protecting my delicate self from the harsh elements. We sit in a gym populated by approximately 2 types of people, being super ripped (nominally stupid?) jock type people and anorexic girls who probably spend 5 hours on the elliptical machines each day. Plus it smells. The only TV choices are soundless ESPN, CNN, and USA. A far cry from the pleasant scene described in the above paragraph. When facing severe exertion and grim surroundings, every second of sleep counts. Then the kid walked in a half hour late today. Rage.

I think that's it for tonight. Spring training has officially started, I'm going to try and work up a Twins preview sometime soon. Keep your eyes peeled. Later folks.

Gas Stations

I find gas stations to be interesting places. Why, you ask? Well first of all, where else can you purchase a deep fried tortilla, frozen Mountain Dew, and petroleum all at one time? Exactly. Only at the gas station.

Now personally, I am a devout customer of Super America establishments. I think part of this is due to the influence of my father. My dad is perhaps the grand vizier of the SA philosophy of daytime eating, a position he has quite possibly held since time immemorial. By this, he starts out the day with a cup of delicious SA coffee (100% Colombian!), which he uses to wash down half of a Super Mom's old fashioned donut and part of a delectable prepackaged egg salad sandwich. As a child, I found this to be quite scarring. Why eat egg salad when you could have a double cheeseburger, dripping with grease and ketchup? Exactly. The most horrifying part of my dad's continuing obsession with Super America has to be the coffee mug. Something's gotta hold all that delicious 100% Colombian brew, right? My dad however, subscribes to the theory that since the mug's given purpose is to hold SA coffee, it never requires cleaning of any kind. Instead, he's content to let it become a seperate ecosystem.

For many years, I was terrified of this aspect of my dad's existence. Until the other day. That's when I realized something. I was driving back to Luther from a weekend spent at home, drinking a liberally sized cup of 100% Colombian Super America coffee, eating part of a SA donut, and fretting over the status of my Speedy Rewards card. If only I could accumulate one more hot beverage, the next one would be free! As the coffee sloshed down my throat, my eyes bulged with horror, my arms started shaking, and my heart palpitated precipitously, as I realized my fate. I started gasping for breath, the world around me started to go by in a blur, I could have sworn a bloodcurdling scream pierced the air. Yes, I had begun the conversion. I was becoming as my father.

Upon reaching Rochester, I was drawn to the Super America on Circle Street as is a moth to light. My car almost drove itself. I stood drooling at the pump, swiping the gift card my mom had so generously donated to my poor college ass, watching as gallon after gallon cascaded into the tank of my Intrigue. Clutching my Speedy Rewards card, I crawled into the station. Isn't it sort of funny how you always see the same mix of people in a gas station? First of all, there is usually a man in jeans and a white racing T-shirt picking up a case of Busch Light. Typically, there is a guy (or girl) in a suit who is in a hurry to get out of there. They typically look repulsed by the gas stations denizens, especially that dude in the flannel standing next to him in line, clutching a fistful of condoms purchased from the bathroom. There's usually the person like myself, holding a 64 oz. mug of 100% Colombian coffee and a sack of donuts, eager to swipe their damn Speedy Rewards card and get back on the road for a few more hours before being inexplicably drawn to the next Super America to appear on the horizon. There are hockey moms dragging their kids. Emo high school kids buying Red Bull. All sorts of people. It's really quite the cross-section.

One thing I find very strange is "Shockwave" coffee. Essentially, it's coffee with added caffeine. First of all, what the hell is the point? It just seems like some sort of point is defeated. I don't understand. Plus, why would to drink "Shockwave" coffee when you could have delicious 100% Colombian coffee? I don't understand.

Ah yes, the gas station. Quintessential staple of the American experience. Bastion of the highway. Old guard of the car culture. So many things. Damn it, I could use a jumbo supply of 100% Colombian coffee right about now. I don't even know.

Guest Blogger- Buddy T. Dog

Evening folks. I went and picked my dog up from my dad's house tonight, and he asked if he might be able to write a guest piece for the blog here. He seemed bored, so I said sure. So, everyone enjoy tonight's guest blog, courtesy of my dog Buddy.


My Life
By Buddy T. Dog


Cars are overrated. Some of my friends seem to get a strange enjoyment out of sticking their heads out the window, panting breathlessly, and slobbering all over the side of the door. So unsophisticated. Furthermore, why the hell would you ever sit in the back? Be subordinate to that dimwitted person "driving the car?" Not for me. I sit in the front. Where I belong. I should be driving, but I don't have opposable thumbs. Life's a bitch.

Speaking of driving, my chauffeur is sitting over there, inanely trying to hum along to the rock song on the radio. It's sort of sad to watch, to be honest. I mean, it's not impressing anyone. Good grief, he's lucky he's not depressing the rest of St. Paul. Quite pathetic, if you ask me. I'd never be caught dead doing something so embarrassing. Licking my crotch? No, that's not embarrassing. It makes sense to me. If it's dry, why not lick it?

These silly humans, they think they're in charge of me. Let's stop and think about this. Who's driving who around? Exactly.

The fact is, I'm in charge. Now he's trying to look "hip" as he bops his head around to the blues on the radio. That stupid grin has to go. Maybe it will get the girls, he thinks. Wrong. Who's the one who still has their virginity in the car? Definitely not me. Took care of that at least 7 years ago with Denali, that hot litle Alaskan husky. Ladies never take the Budster lightly. The fact is, ladies are all over me. Constantly. In fact, there are so many, they're almost in fear of me. That's the unfortunate result of riotous packs of lovestruck female dogs.

He's petting me again. He thinks I find it cute or endearing. If you're going to pet me. why not pet me where it will matter? All this stupid neck scratching is really starting to try my patience. Here's a tip. Necks do not itch. Butts itch. Scratch the butt. There you go. He's still not scratching. I think I'll shed all over his black dress coat in righteous retribution.

That building out the window looks like a large piece of bacon. I love bacon.

Damn I'm hungry.

He thinks it's so funny, stuffing his face with pizza on the couch as I wait patiently. Placate me with crusts? I think not. Frankly, it's rather disgusting. I mean, do people really need all that pizza? Judging by the portly physique, I think not. Especially compared to my lean build. I have to leash him to me on my walk, so he can keep up. Anyone watching can see I'm walking him. He's so slow, it's just irritating. He thinks he's getting a hard body, "working out." Maybe he'll get that hard body when I walk him more than half a block. Maybe if he could handle it. It's so sad, watching him trying to catch his breath like that.

That Beetle looks like a box of french fries. I'm still hungry.

I think the worst part is the way he dresses. So many things wrong, I don't even know where to start. For starters, there's that stupid coat. You look like you just came in from building a snow fort with your 4th grade buddies. Wash your jeans, how many times do I have to say it? You smell, simple as that. Sort of like chicken. Chicken sounds good.

Me? I'm always clothed in beautiful fur. What do you mean people think fur is inhumane? Fuck PETA, they only wished they looked this good. I can wake up at 2 A.M. and looks as stunning as always.

He thinks he wears the pants in this relationship. I don't even wear pants. It makes sense. Pants are uncomfortable. They ride up. Not pleasant. So really, isn't it smarter to just drop the pants altogether? I think so. It's more rational.

Dang it, he's trying to get me to go outside again. I don't have to go outside. Half the time I don't have to go outside. I'm hungry. But I'll go. He doesn't have any friends or anything, so maybe this will boost his confidence a little. If he can break himself away from E! for 2 seconds. Whatever, maybe I'll just go crap on the yard. He has to clean it up anyways. Like I said, I'm in charge here.

That piano looks curiously like a steak. I'm so hungry I could DIE. This Iams stuff sucks.

It's up to me to keep him in good spirits. Life is hard as a dog. Especially when everything is left up to you.

I'm hungry.



Cheers,

Buddy T. Dog

The Most Democratic

Tomorrow is Super Tuesday. Some 24 states will hold primaries or caucuses, which will most likely help point out who will be running for President come November. By various blog posts and the blatant sticker on the bottom of this blog, I think it is clear who I am supporting in this contest. So I don't think we need to talk about that. Here's hoping for the best.

I would like to talk about another bastion of the American democratic tradition. No, not football. Definitely not baseball (I'm still quietly seething over the Santana trade). Apple pie? No. Definitely not rolling easter eggs on the White House lawn. No liberty bells, constitutions, or slave owning founding fathers either.

No, I think I'll talk a bit about jazz.

Jazz, you say. Isn't that devil music? Well, not quite. This semester, I'm fortunate enough to take a class on the history of jazz from an instructor I quite admire (who also happens to be my jazz director). These first few days, he's raised a few questions about jazz that I have found to be quite profound. Maybe not questions, but talking points. For quite a while now, I've recognized that jazz has a unique place in the American consciousness. It's a distinctly American form of art, perhaps our only original form. But I guess I haven't thought deeply about why. Check this shit.

1. Jazz is the most democratic music, and best represents certain basic American values

Jazz promotes individualism within a group, as a soloist improvises on the spot within the confines of a certain melodic or rhythmic structure. When you see live jazz, you are literally witnessing music being composed instantaneously. It is the ultimate musical expression of individuality, something that Americans cherish. But the framework of improvisation is just like the nation. That is, we are free to be ourselves, but within the confines of the laws of the land. The beautiful thing about jazz is that it encourages individuality. The great musicians of jazz are those who made their own styles, who sounded different from everyone else. Compared to a classical setting, where one is expected to sound a certain way, this is a huge shift. If one wishes to be a jazz giant, they must sound different from everyone else. Additionally, the music represents innovation. As Tony put it, Americans are always trying to improve on everything. In jazz, the envelope is always being pushed, always being expanded, always being improved upon.

Crazy stuff, right? Concepts I've never really thought about before

Keeping with my affinity for lists, I will know list a few jazz albums essential to any lover of music. Admittedly, my own jazz library is quite limited, the result of realizing the importance of jazz at an advanced age. But, I have some ideas. Here they are.

1- Kind of Blue, Miles Davis


This may well be the greatest album in jazz history (I wrote a paper on it). It is simply sublime, created by a verifiable all-star lineup. Everyone needs to own this.









2- Ellington at Newport, Duke Ellington



Worth it for the amazing rendition of "Diminuendo and Crescendo in Blue." A seminal moment in jazz history, the joy of the crowd and the incredibly energy of the musicians will make you want to dance yourself into ecstasy.






3- The Trombone Master, J.J. Johnson


This album is important because it shows how the trombone can be utilized with the same dexterity of a trumpet or sax. Johnson was the greatest jazz trombonist of all time, and this is a good intro CD.








4- Live at the Village Vanguard, Bill Evans


Probably one of my favorite albums. I love Bill Evans, and the interplay between him, Scott La Faro and Paul Motion is simply amazing. The pinnacle of jazz trio playing?








5- Time Out, Dave Brubeck


Great album with innovative use of complex meters. Can't get enough.