Photo Album

Hey dudes, I'm in Rio de Janeiro. Not much to say, there's a line of people waiting to use this computer. But check out some photos from Brasil at the link below.

www.flickr.com/photos/bringersmith


Ate manha

Aaron

São Paulo

Hey folks, just a quick shout out from the last vestiges of our stay in São Paulo before heading on to Rio de Janiero. It has been super real down here. The Jazz Orchestra is kind of like that hot librarian, who really does not look very hot because she is always wearing sweaters, glasses, and talking about obscure 18th century Filipino literature. Then two years later you see her in Playboy or something with a makeover, contacts, and suddenly she is absolutely drop dead gorgeous. Such is the tale of JO, the most misunderstood ensemble at Luther College. Our concerts are ill attended, we have a very small (yet loyal) following, and are generally unappreciated.

However.

In Brasil we are rock stars. The other night, we literally had to turn away over 100 people because the hall we were playing in was full. Apparently a fight almost started over tickets. We have played two encores every night. Gotten numerous standing ovations. People have been coming to repeat performances. We have been signing autographs, getting our photos taken. It is ridiculous. I do not even know how to respond to all this appreciation. What the hell is wrong with these people? ´Don't they get it that we're not supposed to get any credit? Apparently not.

No joke though, everything is going amazing. The people are amazing, everyone is friendly, the weather is beautiful, and we are sounding amazing. Life is good. Maybe I'll get a chance to post in Rio, but if not, there will be a full rundown when I get back. Or a select rundown, to be fair.

Senior Week

It's Senior Week here at Luther, that unofficial week of debauchery meant to celebrate the accomplishments of four years of undergraduate education. Also, the time of seemingly endless rehearsals for various final concerts and upcoming trips to Brazil. I probably spent about 4.5 hours today sitting around holding a trombone. Which isn't that much different from a typical Wednesday I suppose, but given the gorgeous weather and utter unwillingness to do anything, it gets a bit old. While the rest of Lutherdom is out drinking, making merry, and generally carousing about Decorah, we have to go to bed at 9:00 for our 5:00 A.M. rehearsal. That might be a bit of an exaggeration, but you get the idea.

But wait, there's salvation on the horizon! Thursday of senior week means only one thing.

Concert Band canoe trip.

The annual concert band canoe trip, initiated to kill time in a week of utter nothingness, should on all practical levels, be something to fear. Think about it. A fleet of bored college students in rickety aluminum canoes, loaded to the point of capsizing with cheap beer, making their way, en masse, down the Upper Iowa River. Add to that high water levels, the convenient presence of many sand bars to stop and "socialize" on, and the huge injection of testosterone that seems to inflate every single male, and it really could result in death. And it's a bunch of band instrumentalists, the lowliest pond scum of the musical hierarchy, known for their uncivilized ways and propensity to do stupid shit.

But once again, we can proudly announce that no one died on the Upper Iowa. There was a potentially treacherous ride to the drop zone in the back of a pickup truck and the drunken rages of certain jealous individuals. But otherwise, a smashing success! Beautiful weather, pleasant company, no maritime disasters, and a generally great time had by all. It'll be strange not to be around all these people.

Of course, there's another side to senior week: the infamous house parties. I really probably shouldn't have gone, because I loathe house parties. It's amazing what peer pressure and the delusion that this time "it might be alright" will do to you. With that in mind, I hereby disclaim you to the following passage.

Now, I'm sure that the prospect of keg beer, cramped dirty ass houses, a million people you've never seen, and generally rowdy atmosphere appeals to some people. It must, because an ass-ton of people show up to them. Alas though, I think tonight's experience proved once and for all that the house party really is not my domain. For starters, a majority of the people who end up at house parties are people I don't respect. Secondly, I think maybe extremely cramped circumstances make me very uncomfortable. And thirdly, and perhaps most importantly, it's probably the worst venue for actual person to person interaction I can think of.

Of course, this is coming from an extremely pretentious and self admittedly antagonistic viewpoint. I'm sorry, but I don't want to remember my last days at Luther as being piss-ass drunk at some guy's house I've never met, drinking Keystone Light, pushed up to the wall by crushes of similarly mindless drunk people. Bros who, in an effort to compensate for their general suck-assness, are doing anything short of ritualistic warfare to impress the throngs of equally mindless girls. It's like a giant pulse of unrequited animal sexuality. If a girl comes up to me, chugs two cups of beer, and thinks I'm going to impressed, she'll be sorely mistaken. Hopefully it's the same for women as well. At least ones with some semblance of reason.

I guess I just fail to see the fucking point, overall. If there's one thing that I've learned in 4 years of college, it's that the things that really matter (apart from talking about indie bands makes you look real cool), it's that relationships are what matter in life. I'd much rather kick back, put on some music (indie rock?), have a beer or similar beverage, and have a civilized conversation WITH A POINT. I'm not a fan of small talk. Not a fan of talking on the phone either. Perhaps because most of the time, after you're done talking about what you called to talk about, which takes up about 10% of the conversation, you're then stuck with 90% more small talk. Unlike many, I'm not a very skilled schmoozer.

This is getting redundant. Moral of the story= if you have a house party, I'll probably come hoping against hope that maybe this one will actually be fun, and leave really angry instead. One would think that maybe I would have discovered a pattern...

If you don't suck, and like house parties, that's just phenomenal. Maybe one day we can sit down, and you can explain what exactly is so awesome as I stare back with an incredulous and skeptical look over a cup of bad coffee. But whatever, it's no big deal.

So, I'm headed to Brazil on Monday. First time ever to South America, first time also to a Portuguese speaking country. So, that will be great fun. I'll try to post some stuff as I can get the chance, but no guarantees. It was so frustrating, we had this meeting last night where we were taught all about "safe travel," what to do and not to do, etc. I like to think of myself as a pretty savvy traveler, and it just got to me. They made it sound like everyone in Brazil is waiting to rape you, steal your money, or just in general be threatening. I find that hard to believe. But anyways, I'll try to put some stuff up, maybe some reflections, stories, yada, yada, yada. Check back.

By the next time I write on this, I'll be an official Luther Alumni. Cool?

Reflections

You really have to work to be more bored than I was today. It would be an accomplishment worthy of merit to reach such a balance of boredom, unmotivation, and general worthlessness. I was a slug. One of those ugly ass slugs feeding off their own unnecessary body fat, too lazy and stupid to even move.

Mid afternoon, I think it's just a vortex. Time goes into it and never leaves. A black hole of productivity. It's the most boring time of day, as today made too evident. I think I just sprawled out on my couch for at least a half hour, too devoid of anything to do anything meaningful. Maybe I attempted to watch Seinfeld, but that was equally unsuccessful. When not even Seinfeld piques your interest, there's a problem. Theoretically, I should have been instantly awestruck by it. I mean, it's a show about nothing and I was doing nothing. I dare say, I was doing jack shit. Maybe I reached a state of anti-nothing, like anti-matter. I was so utterly worthless a human being that I was actually sucking thingness out of the world. I wouldn't doubt it.



It was at this time of anti-nothing that I was saved by both the decision to exit the sanctum of my room and the beautiful Decorah weather, which I indulged in with a walk about campus, sort of. Surprisingly enough, I think it may have been the first time I went walking in Decorah for walking's sake, something I did often in England. I wish I could claim it as my idea, but alas, it was another's. And a wise one at that. During the course of our little excursion, I somewhat mused internally on my time here at Luther. Thought about what the future holds. If anyone read my previous post, they should know that I'm not experiencing some of the same intense emotions that some people are upon leaving Luther College. Or at least, experienced them at a different time. But, I would be remiss if I didn't admit that some emotional juices are stewing up in that little brain of mine.

My best friend seems to be insistent on denying any benefit that Luther may have in their future lives. Frankly, it's starting to piss me off. You have to be an idiot to deny that college didn't play some sort of significant role in shaping you as a person. If you're that self aware in high school, I am literally standing up and clapping for you. And simultaneously weeping. I look back at the person I was in high school, and I praise God every day for making me the person I am four years later. I think I'm a genuinely happier person, in ways that maybe aren't quite explainable. But needless to say, Luther has affected all of us, whether we admit it or not. There's something about this place, from the bubble, to the closeness, to the physical surroundings, that will always stick with us. No matter how confident we pretend to be.

And that's not bad, not bad at all. To deny our feelings, to deny what this place and what these experiences have meant to us, well, it's fucking stupid. And unnatural. And well, not right. In my case, I have another place to help define myself, a place which I've struggled with for about a year now. And that's okay, I feel. Just at least admit it to yourself. There's nothing un-masculine or un-liberal or un-anything about saying that something affected you in a profoundly deep way.

Luther and Nottingham have affected me in a profoundly deep way, and I don't feel bad about saying it.

Anyways, this blog isn't a sermon, so I'll shut up. I'm watching Indiana Jones right now. It's my version of studying for my Middle East history final tomorrow. I mean, they're in Cairo. And basically, here's the perfect example of a well adjusted history person. As an official History Major, I don't typically descend into snake filled pits, but you never quite know what's on the horizon. In the case that our written final tomorrow morning turns into an expedition for a lost biblical treasure in the Decorah bluffs, I'll know exactly what to do. In addition to knowing Binyamin Netanyahu was Israeli PM from 1996-1999.






In baseball news, the Twins have recently took 3 out of 4 from the Red Sox. They played Sunday and Monday nights on ESPN, so I had the good fortune of watching them with friends, which I find quite enjoyable. As I think I mindlessly bitched about previously, baseball is always more fun with friends, even ones who can't tell balls from strikes or the American league from the National.

If our final does turn out to be an adventurous quest, I'll also know how to effectively throw Nazis off a moving vehicle. Quite useful.

So classy.

I'm really confused by this one advertisement for KFC I keep seeing on TV. Basically, this dude and a girl are sitting on a front porch eating chicken sandwiches. This other guy walks out and is like, "The dollar I found in your couch is worthless, you can't buy jack shit with a dollar." The people eating the chicken are then like, "Well you can go to KFC and get a chicken sandwich, like we did."

I'm sorry, but if your friends go to KFC while you're passed out or still sleeping, and fail to pick you up a $1 chicken sandwich while they buy them for themselves, they're clearly not your friends. They're assholes. That's all I have to say.

Ho hum, classes are officially done at Luther. I will never again attend an undergraduate course. How does that make me feel? Nonchalant, actually. In general, I've felt very nonchalant about this whole end of college thing. Like, I recognize that it's important, I know it's significant. I'm just a blowin' in the wind I guess.

I really think my relative lack of separation anxiety stems from my overdose last year in England. I remember flipping shit about having to leave Nottingham. Maybe I didn't project it like some did, but I was literally having aneurysms about entering Luther again, about leaving England, keeping friendships, etc., etc., etc. In the end though, if I've learned anything, it's that when confronted with separations or radical changes, stuff seems to work itself out. I mean yes, Luther is a special place, and forever will be. It has a certain Luthery-ness that won't be recaptured, just as Nottingham had a certain Nottinghammy-ness which hasn't been recaptured, much as I've tried with my Yorkshire Gold and pronunciation of "progress." Yes, I suppose all good things come to an end. But typically, other good things cone and build on those other ending good things. Like a giant cake or something. A giant, happy cake of perpetually regenerating good times.

I thought my life was over when I decided to go to Nottingham. All my friends, family, comfort zone, shot down the drain. I ended up having a life changing experience, gaining new friends and figuring out some things about me as a person. And those people I left back at Luther, well, they were still around. When I left England, I thought everything would go to hell. Well, some of those friendships may have dissipated, and I can't go to London for the weekend quite as easily, but the things and people that really matter have stuck around. I suppose, the place of Luther won't be around anymore and it won't be quite so convenient to walk 5 minutes and see best friends. But good things last, regardless of location. So I'm not going to tweak.

For sure though, some things will be missed. Playing music, for one. Seeing people like Dr. Smith and Tony.

One other thing I will miss is classy parties, like the one some pals and I had last night. There's something fascinating to me about sitting around in black suits, having a gin and tonic, listening to jazz, and just shooting the breeze. Probably explains my preference for La Rana over say, Roscoes or Corner. Everyone's chill, everyone's relaxed, we're just enjoying each other's company. No reliance on some outside thing to make the friendship exist. Friends for the sake of being friends, it's a good feeling. It is sort of pretentious though.

I am a relatively pretentious person, I'll admit it. Tis' an effect of studying abroad and a liberal arts education. In fact, it might be unavoidable. I think most people who really take the liberal arts seriously are affected by this complex. I mean, I'm not proud of coming off as a dick. There's a very fine line between coming off as cultured and coming off as a total d-bag, a line which I don't know if I tread very carefully. But maybe, secretly, somewhere in the darkest subconscious of my brain, I like tripping over that line. My id likes to be a pompous ass. It really, really enjoys telling everyone exactly why jazz is better than anything else and why the people who listen to it are basically better people than the rest of the world. Or traveling to Istanbul makes me fundamentally awesome. You know, stuff like that.

Obviously, these things are not true. And it's really not a good habit to get into. People tend not to respond too positively to it. I will stop that. I don't buy the argument that women are attracted to assholes. At least, smart ones aren't. Evident by the traveling hordes of bar-ho's seen prowling around Decorah every weekend with their dumbass football players. Who by the way, if evidenced by the people who live above me, are disgusting people.

While we're on the subject though, I can't help but brag just a titch: damn, our jazz orchestra recording from our spring concert is fucking sweet. I'm usually very pessimistic about how our recordings turn out. You know, usually they just sound unpolished. This however, this is a thing of mastery. I want people to hear it, I'm really proud. The snap of the cymbals on Diminuendo and Crescendo in Blue is pure sonic beauty. So pumped to go do this up in Brazil. People are going to have a good time listening to us, which is frekking awesome.

Anyways, time to go. Catch everyone later.

Food TV and stuff

I'm really not much of a TV watcher. I am foiled by "The Office," typically have watched "24," and have recently started to become interested in "30 Rock." But mostly, aside from baseball, don't watch a ton of TV shows at specified times. Apart from "Seinfeld" and "Arrested Development" on DVD.

Recently though, I've been watching "Top Chef" on Bravo. I don't know why, Bravo typically isn't my favorite channel. I mean, it mainly features shows about fitness, fashion, hip hop dance, crap like that. Not exactly the staple programs of the modern 21st century heterosexual male. I daresay, they tend to cater more to the more feminine, possibly non-heterosexual man.

Right.

Anyways, what the hell was I talking about? Right, Top Chef. One must understand, I am not very food literate. I pity the fool who has to eat cuisine touched by my hands. I wish it wasn't so. I actually, legitimately would like to improve my cooking skills. I do think it's fun. But I dislike sucking. I also dislike having to purchase all the ingredients necessary to cook interesting food. But, I will resolve today to improve my cooking skills. I definitely learned a lot last year, struggling as the third wheel of my various cooking crews. It's time to unburden myself from the title of "third wheel." Rather, it's time to assume the mantle of "competent."

It's kind of an interesting show. A lot of drama, but interesting nonetheless. I'm intrigued by the fact that these chefs seem so conversant about things that I am utterly clueless of. Like fennel. What the hell is fennel? I have no idea, but apparently everyone else in the world does. I was also confused as to what exactly an artichoke is. I know it sometimes serves as a pizza topping. But in reality, it sounds more like some sort of auto component.

Well, it looks like your oil filter is worn out. Have to replace that. Also, the cable connecting the artichoke to the engine block is corroded. That will be $50,000.

I suppose it's sort of humbling. Tarragon, capon, crustini, all things I am completely unfamiliar with. I'm usually the sort of person who has a good handle on most things. I like to think I have a fairly broad range of knowledge. Put me in a kitchen, and I'm like that kid you knew in 3rd grade who couldn't figure out how to make a pinch pot out of clay. The dude who ends up with a napkin holder or something. I'm the guy who tried to grill chicken with beer cans shoved up their ass on a non-lit grill for 2 hours. Just a titch embarrassing.

I'm really intrigued by people who, if you give them a few ingredients, can come up with this stuff that I'd never even dream of. Like it's no big deal. That's a skill right there. It's like, improvising a jazz solo. Except it includes chicken and rice. And tarragon. And artichokes. And then people eat it, rather than listen to it. So yeah, just like an improvised solo.

Once I made manicotti. And spaghetti alla carbonara. And a chocolate cake. However, most of those were like, a high schooler improvising, as opposed to John Coltrane. I've yet to make a John Coltrane cake. Or a John Coltrane anything. Maybe that will be my mission for the summer.

Anyways, Twins win tonight, 13-1 over the White Sox. Carlos Gomez hits for the cycle. Pretty frekking sweet.

Tomorrow's my last day of undergraduate courses. I'm going to wake up and try and make some coffee. I made the most absolutely horrendous coffee on Monday night. It was actually embarrassing. I probably apologized for it about 50 times. So yeah, I'm seeking redemption from myself.

Wedding?

So my good friend from high school is getting married the end of the month. I'm his best man. I'm actually flying back from Brazil a day early to be his best man. Everyone cross their fingers for timely flights, I am living on the brink.

I sort of feel that this is how Indiana Jones would appear for a wedding. Coming from an exotic land, never sure whether he'd actually make it in time, yada, yada, yada. If only my journey would include a few Nazis and fistfights, I'd be golden. Might be problematic to pack a fedora though, especially with the cream jacket and the trombone, not to mention my ever expanding portfolio of travel journals and memoirs. Between the small black notebook, the leather personal journal, and the inevitable Official Jazz Orchestra reflection pad, I'm a veritable walking library.

Anyways, I feel in my capacity as best man, I should be having some sort of deep conversation with my groom friend. Like, "Damn, you're bonding yourself to this woman forever, how do you feel about that?" How I feel is irrelevant, but I sometimes wish I would have gotten a definitive statement of emotion from him. He's the sort of person who doesn't come up to you with a cup of coffee, a bright smile, and an urgent and pleasant desire to talk about feelings, with maybe some Burt Bacharach playing in the background. No, tis not he. And I suppose, not me either. Might contribute to our lack of communication.

Maybe it's just a titch unnerving, flying in for this wedding, devoid of any preparation, not seeing any of them for a month. No rehearsal, no bachelor party. Not knowing whether my fucking tuxedo will actually fit or whether I'll know anyone at the reception, which is being held in a giant fishbowl. Nothing. But mainly, my restlessness is based on this complete disconnect with how my mate is feeling about marriage, about Sarah. I mean, maybe I'm a bit old fashioned, but getting married seems to me to be quite a big deal. On the grand scale of life choices, I'd probably rank it as such.

1. Coffee or beer
2. Getting married or not getting married
3. Chicken or fish
4. Choose job

As you can see, a fairly substantial life choice. Now, theoretically, if you had decided upon getting married (the first choice), wouldn't you presumably want to express what exactly is making you take that path? I think I would. I think I'd be freaking right out. In fact, I'd probably be perpetually trembling for at least two months. Even if it was THE girl. It's just a fairly intense decision. But I have no idea what's going on with him. I hope he's not running into anything.

I mean, I'm happy for him, I really am. But it also frightens me. Forever now, our friendship will have this new element. Which I suppose isn't so new, because she's basically lived with him for 2 years. Still though, now she's the "wife." That's a title, right there. Like "Sir" or "Your Excellency." It has weight. It adds a whole new dimension. He in turn will be dubbed "husband." They will have joint family get togethers. They will each receive a magic new pair of relatives called "in-laws." They can be like those people in the jewelry commercials, getting 24 carat diamond necklaces for anniversaries. They can read those books you always see on how to achieve a healthy marriage, how to achieve balance. They can seriously think (if they haven't already) about having kids. Bringing new people into the world. Damn. He's entering the real world, while people like myself are still in a state of arrested development. Or think they are.

I mean, it's that sort of thing which I aspire to, to have that incredibly, incredibly special person, to have a family. But on the other hand, it freaks me out. I look at myself and seriously question whether I'd be capable right now to lay down the gauntlet and get married, like Scott's doing. Man, I don't think I could. Not now. I mean, I'm still uncovering vestiges of who I am; flakes and scraps are still sifting in from Nottingham, experiences at Luther, friends, etc. It must be very satisfying to have that assuredness in life, to definitively know what is going on right now. On the other hand, it's exciting to always be discovering new things, regenerating around a solid foundation. Being fluid, yet also being loyal to oneself. I mean, isn't that what marriage is all about. Going through life together, discovering new things?

I'm glad I'm not currently in his situation. I have other things to fret about, like final days at Luther, law school next year, retaining relationships, yada, yada, yada. But I suppose, it's really not worth it to worry about things you have no control over.

At least I don't have to fret about the Twins. Not now at least.

Team Sports

Today I did something I've never done before. I went to a Luther baseball game. Only the first three innings, but part of a game nonetheless.

It got me thinking about a couple things. I feel as if people are always arguing whether or not baseball is a team sport or an individual sport. According to some, the game is essentially between two members of opposing sides: the pitcher and hitter. At any given moment, a baseball game is individualistic. See, I would disagree. It's more of a hybrid. Like a Prius. The pitcher is meaningless without a defense behind him. The hitter is meaningless unless subsequent hitters can advance him around the bases.

Once I mentioned to a friend that I thought I could go to a baseball game by myself and still enjoy myself. Well, I put that idea to the test today. And well, I think I may have to renounce my previous statement. Although I appreciate being outside, and watching the game, baseball is inherently both a team sport and a team spectator sport. It was just, i don't know, kind of awkward. It was nice to be outside though, it's good to know that years of Metrodome indoctrination haven't destroyed my soul. Maybe it's because most of my friends have been busy lately, or the fact that I've never gone to a game by myself before, but it wasn't my favorite. Mostly why I left early. It's fun to be able to completely focus on the game, to sit there and think about what is going to happen next, but that's all kind of worthless if you can't share it with anyone.

Which is strange, because baseball stadiums aren't really created to foster a social atmosphere, in terms of strict planning. I mean, you're situated in rows, which I feel makes it awkward to hold a real conversation with someone. Said rows are in most cases, directly pointed towards the infield, focusing you on the game. The nature of ballparks create a nexus about home plate, tiers of seats radiating around. It's not like you go to the Twins game, have a beer and sit in little booths or anything. There are no coffeeshop type layouts. But yet, that's kind of the atmosphere that exists. Strange.

P.S.- The above photo of Detroit's Comerica Park is in honor of the Detroit Tigers, who just got wasted by the Twins last night 11-1.