This is where it all begins to fade. No one knows exactly where or when it all began to fall apart. But this is the moment. Right now. Right here. I snap my fingers and it's begun.
Cheers.
LMS
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Friday, February 4, 2011
Pavlova and Turtles.
I keep thinking about it. Keep wondering and making myself a maniac about it. Why do we have to get old? There are breeds of turtles that can live over 300 years. But humans, if we're lucky, crank out 60 really good years. Because honestly when you think about it, we don't start "living" and appreciating life until MAYBE high school/college. Then the years at the end of our lives are not so great, depending upon the genes you get dealt. Shitting your pants, memory loss, broken bones, etc.
So, starting at age (insert your "start age" here) what kind of life have you had? Will you have? Now this does not apply to everyone, OBVIOUSLY. I have a Great Aunt at age 98. My Father is going to be 75 this year and is in great shape. Save the cancer. Twice. Broken hip, dislocated shoulder, screw driver up the nose, catching his nuts on a flagpole cleat while trying to catch the flag before it hit the ground, both knees replaced, and light one kidney. And now potentially an issue with his bladder. Other than that, he is on point! Sharp. Funny. Quick. And one of the most brilliant you will ever encounter. Not only by his intelligence, but a human soul. An artist. A great beacon if you will.
Whilst on Staten Island today, driving along Richmond Avenue, my mom pointed out that the snow had this sheen to it. That nothing could get through it but a jack hammer from all the snow/ice/melt/refreeze. I told her it reminded me of meringue. A Pavlova dessert, all glossy and pretty with fruit. The snow did have the perfect sheen to it though. Maybe humans could be preserved, or at least live a little longer, and make like a turtle.
Cheers.
LMS
So, starting at age (insert your "start age" here) what kind of life have you had? Will you have? Now this does not apply to everyone, OBVIOUSLY. I have a Great Aunt at age 98. My Father is going to be 75 this year and is in great shape. Save the cancer. Twice. Broken hip, dislocated shoulder, screw driver up the nose, catching his nuts on a flagpole cleat while trying to catch the flag before it hit the ground, both knees replaced, and light one kidney. And now potentially an issue with his bladder. Other than that, he is on point! Sharp. Funny. Quick. And one of the most brilliant you will ever encounter. Not only by his intelligence, but a human soul. An artist. A great beacon if you will.
Whilst on Staten Island today, driving along Richmond Avenue, my mom pointed out that the snow had this sheen to it. That nothing could get through it but a jack hammer from all the snow/ice/melt/refreeze. I told her it reminded me of meringue. A Pavlova dessert, all glossy and pretty with fruit. The snow did have the perfect sheen to it though. Maybe humans could be preserved, or at least live a little longer, and make like a turtle.
Cheers.
LMS
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Liquid Draino.
How ironic that sleep is an illusive thought lately. Like a thread that will not mate with the needle. I really don't know what is going on. Usually I sleep too much. But it was pointed it out to me today, that I may be experiencing a "mid-life crisis". At age 35, I sincerely hope 70 is not my end.
I openly cried at a painting I keep over the sofa in the living room. Stared at it. Stared at it until I thought it might become a chalk drawing from Mary Poppins, and I could jump in and be part of it. Live it. Smell it. Taste it. Breathe it in and never exhale. Forever have it be part of me. For I know this painting well. To the point of visualizing every detail about the inside of the house, from squeaking floor boards to how the morning sun peaks through the windows, to a vineyard that has yet to be harvested, and hot air balloons that are so fresh on their morning journey, they've yet to crest the mountains they seek to rise above. My heart aches for that one moment visualized. I wait. But my patience is thin.
Orphanage and schooling.
I want to finish school. I want a culinary degree, but do not want to take courses that have no use in my discipline. I do not require Biology, Algerbra, or the Mating Habits of Dung Beetles in Africa. I need Culinary Mathematics, Business Management, and how to properly make the "Mother Sauces". Tools for a great Chef. Oh, and a proper omellette. I seriously SUCK a fat one when it comes to omellettes. Sometimes I'm genius. Most times, not so much. Room temperature butter and eggs. OBVIOUSLY. The wrist and flipping that fucking pan so the mess ends up IN the pan and not on my stove top? FAIL. EPIC FAIL. A work in perpetual progress.
I seem to have a deep belief that I need to be an orphan before I can truly visualize my dreams. Not Daddy, but Mumah holds me. Binds me. I've said it before: she is an enabler, but only if it suits HER wants. What about setting your children free and letting them fly on their own? Not enabling them to create bad habits and behavior. Not having them be forever dependent upon you, that they cannot survive on their own. Holding them in your space until you no longer need them, want them, have use for them. I obviously still have unresolved issues. Some thoughts go too deep.
I had an epiphany this evening. Children. Several reasons why we procreate. Foremost, to love them, teach them, family line, etc.. But I also see now it's because THROUGH children, parents can be young again. See themselves in their children, in genes yes, but more so in getting another chance. For themselves. To live forever. But what if you had kids for the wrong reason? What if you had them because you're supposed to have them? And never loved them. Never wanted them in the first place, and put all your pain, hurt, and misery on an unsuspecting, perfect vessel? Wanting all the wonderful things for them, after a fashion and when it was convenient for you, only to have them turn out damaged, hurt, and completely fucked in the head anyway.
Parents, friends, and family reading this, do not attack me. I had an epiphany today, and it made all the sense in the world. A fear of getting old, a fear of death, and a fear of having no worth in this life. I know this is not a new idea, and I know that it's taken me all these years to figure it out, but I feel enlightened. Am I responsible in thought alone to HAVE a child? I don't think so.
But there may be time for me just yet. And I mean that on many, MANY levels.
I openly cried at a painting I keep over the sofa in the living room. Stared at it. Stared at it until I thought it might become a chalk drawing from Mary Poppins, and I could jump in and be part of it. Live it. Smell it. Taste it. Breathe it in and never exhale. Forever have it be part of me. For I know this painting well. To the point of visualizing every detail about the inside of the house, from squeaking floor boards to how the morning sun peaks through the windows, to a vineyard that has yet to be harvested, and hot air balloons that are so fresh on their morning journey, they've yet to crest the mountains they seek to rise above. My heart aches for that one moment visualized. I wait. But my patience is thin.
Orphanage and schooling.
I want to finish school. I want a culinary degree, but do not want to take courses that have no use in my discipline. I do not require Biology, Algerbra, or the Mating Habits of Dung Beetles in Africa. I need Culinary Mathematics, Business Management, and how to properly make the "Mother Sauces". Tools for a great Chef. Oh, and a proper omellette. I seriously SUCK a fat one when it comes to omellettes. Sometimes I'm genius. Most times, not so much. Room temperature butter and eggs. OBVIOUSLY. The wrist and flipping that fucking pan so the mess ends up IN the pan and not on my stove top? FAIL. EPIC FAIL. A work in perpetual progress.
I seem to have a deep belief that I need to be an orphan before I can truly visualize my dreams. Not Daddy, but Mumah holds me. Binds me. I've said it before: she is an enabler, but only if it suits HER wants. What about setting your children free and letting them fly on their own? Not enabling them to create bad habits and behavior. Not having them be forever dependent upon you, that they cannot survive on their own. Holding them in your space until you no longer need them, want them, have use for them. I obviously still have unresolved issues. Some thoughts go too deep.
I had an epiphany this evening. Children. Several reasons why we procreate. Foremost, to love them, teach them, family line, etc.. But I also see now it's because THROUGH children, parents can be young again. See themselves in their children, in genes yes, but more so in getting another chance. For themselves. To live forever. But what if you had kids for the wrong reason? What if you had them because you're supposed to have them? And never loved them. Never wanted them in the first place, and put all your pain, hurt, and misery on an unsuspecting, perfect vessel? Wanting all the wonderful things for them, after a fashion and when it was convenient for you, only to have them turn out damaged, hurt, and completely fucked in the head anyway.
Parents, friends, and family reading this, do not attack me. I had an epiphany today, and it made all the sense in the world. A fear of getting old, a fear of death, and a fear of having no worth in this life. I know this is not a new idea, and I know that it's taken me all these years to figure it out, but I feel enlightened. Am I responsible in thought alone to HAVE a child? I don't think so.
But there may be time for me just yet. And I mean that on many, MANY levels.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Atomic Weapons Testing.
Okay, so my penance for being so eager for vitamin D and sunshine has left me a bit itchy and pink.
And for all the perverts reading this, I WENT TANNING THIS MORNING.
But I must say, this new place makes my old place look completely pedestrian. The old place went out of business last May, and I still had 7, that's SEVEN sessions to use. Not happy.
BUT, as a "Beach Bum", I can choose my basting settings, music, fan speed, and the beds even spritz cold water on your face every 30 seconds! Much like the produce section at your local supermarket. I guess tanning has evolved. I actually got very excited when touring the facility and the machines that would render me "Native looking and sexy", as I like to put it.
Now if I just didn't feel so puffy, and look as if I fell asleep ground zero at an atomic weapons testing facility.
Cheers.
LMS
And for all the perverts reading this, I WENT TANNING THIS MORNING.
But I must say, this new place makes my old place look completely pedestrian. The old place went out of business last May, and I still had 7, that's SEVEN sessions to use. Not happy.
BUT, as a "Beach Bum", I can choose my basting settings, music, fan speed, and the beds even spritz cold water on your face every 30 seconds! Much like the produce section at your local supermarket. I guess tanning has evolved. I actually got very excited when touring the facility and the machines that would render me "Native looking and sexy", as I like to put it.
Now if I just didn't feel so puffy, and look as if I fell asleep ground zero at an atomic weapons testing facility.
Cheers.
LMS
Thursday, January 20, 2011
35 and marching drum corps?
This whole turning 35 and deciding to march drum corps again after a 3 year hiatus is really getting to me. Not only will I be the oldest female marching in the ENTIRE drum corps, I will be the only one over the age of 30. Most, if not all, of the women will be in high school and college, and none older than say, 25.
I know that age is only a number, and I'm in some of the best shape of my life, can march and play circles around most, if not all of them, but deep down there is a niggling itch of doubt.
I'm thinner now than I was when I finished the 2007. I'm not smoking anymore, and have found air and lung capacity I never knew I had. Sean dubbed me "Laura Lungs" this past weekend. I can find air and expand my lungs like never before. I started smoking at age 21 (1997), and marched all those years smoking at least a pack a weekend. By 2007 it was 2 packs a weekend. How I marched, played, was nearly 190 lbs, ate like shit, AND had a solo that season is beyond me. I have no idea how I got through it. And I almost didn't in finals as I ran out of air and was close to passing out during my solo. I ended up chipping one note because I didn't have the support to hit it. I'll never forgive myself for that. It's one note, and to the untrained would go unnoticed, but I know I fucked up. I never wanted to let any one of my fellow Caballeros down, past or present.
Moving on.
Now that I'm healthy and in better shape (not the best, but better) I should be able to blow down a building with my air, march over it without breaking a sweat, and play a solo with all the ease and grace of a true Caballero.
Self loathing is a futile game. I don't hate myself, my looks, my body, my mind, or my soul. What I do hate is the cold, not having a tan, being stuck in the house, not having anyone to walk or run with, and just plain being lonely day in and day out. I need a project. Better, I need WORK to come in so I have something to do.
Here's to the next phase and starting again.
Cheers.
LMS
I know that age is only a number, and I'm in some of the best shape of my life, can march and play circles around most, if not all of them, but deep down there is a niggling itch of doubt.
I'm thinner now than I was when I finished the 2007. I'm not smoking anymore, and have found air and lung capacity I never knew I had. Sean dubbed me "Laura Lungs" this past weekend. I can find air and expand my lungs like never before. I started smoking at age 21 (1997), and marched all those years smoking at least a pack a weekend. By 2007 it was 2 packs a weekend. How I marched, played, was nearly 190 lbs, ate like shit, AND had a solo that season is beyond me. I have no idea how I got through it. And I almost didn't in finals as I ran out of air and was close to passing out during my solo. I ended up chipping one note because I didn't have the support to hit it. I'll never forgive myself for that. It's one note, and to the untrained would go unnoticed, but I know I fucked up. I never wanted to let any one of my fellow Caballeros down, past or present.
Moving on.
Now that I'm healthy and in better shape (not the best, but better) I should be able to blow down a building with my air, march over it without breaking a sweat, and play a solo with all the ease and grace of a true Caballero.
Self loathing is a futile game. I don't hate myself, my looks, my body, my mind, or my soul. What I do hate is the cold, not having a tan, being stuck in the house, not having anyone to walk or run with, and just plain being lonely day in and day out. I need a project. Better, I need WORK to come in so I have something to do.
Here's to the next phase and starting again.
Cheers.
LMS
Monday, January 17, 2011
Fat lips.
After a weekend of drum corps and playing my face off, I have that "good" sore/ache everywhere. I always love how my muscles feel after a weekend of intense training, music, marching, and being "hard corps".
I'm so happy and excited that one of my closest friends, and fellow mellos is returning to the ranks with me. Now if we could get another friend to come back to the line, it will be the "Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse" reuniting to barrage people with high notes, volume, sarcasm, and a lot of O&A references.
I've played mellophone with these guys since 2003, and it's like we share a brain. We are so insane and tight when we play in a line together. It is SICK. When we have staff coming up to us and saying how they wish they could play mellophone and be in the line because we make it sound so effortless, it makes me feel warm and fuzzy, and chomping at the bit to get even better. And we're already excellent. As I said this past weekend, "We're getting the band back together". So, myself, Josh, Sean, and hopefully Mark will be marching together once again in 2011. ELATION!
On that note, why do women pay a lot of money to have fat injected into their lips to make them look full and puffy? Play a brass instrument, you'll get the same effect for a hell of a lot less money. I have "Angelina" lips today from playing all weekend. They look great, but are abnormally puffy for my face. Fat lips are easy to make, if you're an excellent horn player. That I am.
Cheers.
LMS
I'm so happy and excited that one of my closest friends, and fellow mellos is returning to the ranks with me. Now if we could get another friend to come back to the line, it will be the "Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse" reuniting to barrage people with high notes, volume, sarcasm, and a lot of O&A references.
I've played mellophone with these guys since 2003, and it's like we share a brain. We are so insane and tight when we play in a line together. It is SICK. When we have staff coming up to us and saying how they wish they could play mellophone and be in the line because we make it sound so effortless, it makes me feel warm and fuzzy, and chomping at the bit to get even better. And we're already excellent. As I said this past weekend, "We're getting the band back together". So, myself, Josh, Sean, and hopefully Mark will be marching together once again in 2011. ELATION!
On that note, why do women pay a lot of money to have fat injected into their lips to make them look full and puffy? Play a brass instrument, you'll get the same effect for a hell of a lot less money. I have "Angelina" lips today from playing all weekend. They look great, but are abnormally puffy for my face. Fat lips are easy to make, if you're an excellent horn player. That I am.
Cheers.
LMS
Friday, January 14, 2011
The Hawthorne Caballeros
We'll touch upon this topic quite often, as I am a lifetime member of the organization. But here is where I'm at right now with my Cabs.
After a 3 season hiatus, I return to my beloved Caballeros with so much gusto and excitement, that I can hardly contain myself. I CANNOT WAIT for each camp weekend to come. The music so far is a mellophone players wet dream realized.
That is all for now, as it's 1132PM and I have to be up and ready to go by 630AM.
I LOVE my drum corps.
Cheers.
LMS
PS- CABALLERO PRIDE
After a 3 season hiatus, I return to my beloved Caballeros with so much gusto and excitement, that I can hardly contain myself. I CANNOT WAIT for each camp weekend to come. The music so far is a mellophone players wet dream realized.
That is all for now, as it's 1132PM and I have to be up and ready to go by 630AM.
I LOVE my drum corps.
Cheers.
LMS
PS- CABALLERO PRIDE
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