I refuse to join Twitter.  Won't do it.  Will not do it.  I already find it annoying that Facebook has ostensibly been reduced to Twitter (Facebook for iPhone (FacePhone?) is much better in terms of content) but to actively "tweet" during my day. 

Oh c'mon, you say, don't knock it until you try it!

Fine.  You want to see my day through the filter of Twitter?  Here's what it would look like.

8:01 A.M. Dammit got up late tweeting from shower
8:32 A.M. Nice day to live in North Carolina!
8:37 A.M. Why is it that I catch EVERY effing red light on 55?
8:58 A.M. CVS run! Huzzah for Amp! Caffeinecaffeinecaffeinemmmmm.
9:06 A.M. Cin raisin toast in toaster, 46 emails from boss in inbox. Boooo.
10:32 A.M. Finished dealing with 46 emails from boss (3 of which were useful)
10:56 A.M. Boss here, thinks we've done nothing since we got here. I've just been reassigned.
11:01 A.M. Reassignment cancelled, pay cut instead.
11:12 A.M. Pay cut cancelled, guess I'm needed after all. Yay?
11:19 A.M. Boss threatens to fire all of us for mistake on contract. Boooo.
11:21 A.M. Boss realizes mistake on contract was her fault, claims we should have caught it anyway. No apology. Bitch.
11:54 A.M. Obnoxious One-Upper Co-Worker (OOUCW) finishes 30 minute personal call about her divorce. That was fun.
11:55 A.M. What's for lunch?
11:56 A.M. PB&J. Again.
12:47 P.M. Just spent 20 minutes telling client why she can't have her home described in Big Bucks neighborhood instead of Big Bucks Hills neighborhood.  Bitch. [Name of subdivision changed to protect the innocent and stupid, but this actually happened - Ed.]
1:02 P.M. Boss says her printer broke. Me = Nick Burns (your company's computer guy!)
1:04 P.M. Boss unplugged printer. Told her it won't work unless it's plugged in. She told me not to be smart. [Also actually happened - Ed.]
1:15 P.M. Logical time to take a 15 minute break. Outside. Away from the idiots.
1:25 P.M. Maybe I'll go back in early to look like I care about this job.
1:46 P.M. Slaapa da bass! I slap da bass, mahn!
2:00 P.M. Holy hell how is it not at least 4 yet?

And so on and so forth until we get to...
4:59:59 P.M. GETTING THE F!@# OUT OF HERE.

There's this real estate blog site called ActiveRain where someone got the blogaratti (holy crap, Firfefox accepts that as a word! [It also apparently accepts "Firfefox"... - Ed.]) in a tizzy by stating what Brian Unger so simply put, "The first thing you need to know about blogging is that nobody cares about your life. They really don't."  If people don't care about your life on a blog, or your life on a dog, your life on Twitter or your life on an apple fritter, there is absolutely no way they care to see anything close to what's above which, based on some of the tweets I've seen, seems to be what much of Twitter is.  And now for the mandatory self-imposed disclaimer portion of this post, if Twitter works for you or you are highly careful not to bore humanity and clog the intertubes with inanity, ignore this. Otherwise, take it as gospel. Or don't.

To the band nerds, I have three words for you: Russian Christmas Music.

To everyone else, Russian Christmas Music is an incredible piece.  It is subtle but it also manages to embrace the "louder is gooder" philosophy.  The only proper way to play at the end is to blow your face off.

I bring this up because as you know the Christmas season is upon us, the piece has the word "Christmas" in it, and I like band music, Q.E.D.  I looked in my music library and noticed I had a professional copy.  I haven't the foggiest idea how it got there.

The other reason I bring it up is because even now, six years after I played it in the GLHS Wind Symphony, I am still angry when I think about it.  It's a gorgeous thing to be sure but... What happened was that there are soli in the work that calls for an English horn (oboe on steroids).  The school's was out being fixed, neither of our oboeists had ever played one and there were cue notes written for first alto - the part I happened to be playing at this concert. 

All through the rehearsals leading up to the concert, I played the English horn part.  Kaufman even said, "You play a beautiful English horn."  Two or three days before the concert, that blasted instrument came back from Michigan Winds.  Our oboeist stuck a reed in and HONNNNNK.  It wasn't her - it was the instrument and the fact that she'd never played it.

NO WAY he was going to let her squawk her way through this beautiful solo...right?

The concert comes neigh.  We begin to play.  As my eyes get closer and closer to those tiny little notes preceded by "E. Horn" on the score, I sat straight, ready to jump in the moment her instrument didn't sound.  HONNNNNNNK.

Seriously?  He gave her the solo after at most three days of prep.  It was AWFUL.  It was totally unnecessary.  Even the outgoing middle school band teacher (I was told) cringed.

So yes, to this day, two degrees later, I'm still pissed that I was robbed of this solo.

Beautiful song, though.

Taking yet another acid trip down memory lane, I somehow wound up back here tonight.  I started going through old old OLD posts.  There's one from April of 2007 about wanting to move out of Michigan, and as I so eloquently phrased it, hit the reset button on life.  I didn't just hit reset, I fricking turned the system off, chucked it out the window and watched it get run over by an eighteen wheeler.  So yes, for the astute among you, that would require I get a new game console.  For the record, I don't have so much as a Nintento here.

I moved over 700 miles away from the bulk of my support system.  A few people have told me they admire that I did that.  Coming up just shy of a year of having been a resident of this state, I can't even begin to comprehend...much of anything, really. 

I'm only on my second job, and it looks like I'm on the verge of getting a raise (as well as becoming the sole "IT" staff member in my building). 

My girlfriend at the time moved here to go to grad school.  She wasn't the reason I moved here, but let's be honest – she was the reason I moved here.  And I'm glad I moved here to be with her.  I should tell her that.  And it was my choice to change things.

To once again touch on a recurring theme, I have no idea what the hell I'm doing.  Really, I don't want to say I'm surviving, because my life is actually quite decent, and while I haven't met many people the ones I have met are (mostly) fun to be around.  I've been lucky enough to get to know some older friends better, too.  But in a way, I'm not so much living as I am surviving.  Strongly treading water and, when I get glimpses through the occasional mental fog, slowly moving toward shore.  Or whatever. 

I hate worrying about if what I say or do is misunderstood.  Even now, just thinking of screwing up and causing a misinterpretation, I'm blushing a bit in preemptive embarrassment.  I must also learn that not all misunderstandings are my fault.

So, in large part, decisions I made months and even years ago have brought me to where I am, making me hit a few specific waypoints in the process.  Sunk costs for the most part. 

The question then becomes, and this is a question I'm not going to try and answer tonight, what do I choose now?  What comes next?