See? My blogs aren't always complete fabrications.
I'm pretty sure the trombonist philosophy "more is better" meant that 2 recorders sounded terrible.
-The Socially Awkward Trombone
Saturday, June 2, 2012
Proof
I have a roommate that plays the trombone. She read my blog about trombonists and recorders and sent me some childhood pictures of herself.
See? My blogs aren't always complete fabrications.
I'm pretty sure the trombonist philosophy "more is better" meant that 2 recorders sounded terrible.
-The Socially Awkward Trombone
See? My blogs aren't always complete fabrications.
I'm pretty sure the trombonist philosophy "more is better" meant that 2 recorders sounded terrible.
-The Socially Awkward Trombone
Saturday, May 26, 2012
You are Such a Dumb
There has been a new development in my research. You have heard me repeat many times that bass trombonists are notorious for being drunken creatures with a fondness of stupidity. It seems that I may have been wrong.
(BUT NOT ENTIRELY WRONG)
Having only switched over to bass bone in the past year and a half, I thought maybe it would take a while for the bass trombone mentality to set in. I waited patiently for my creature to take control of me and force me to drink copious amounts of alcohol before, during, and after every playing session (My fondness towards stupidity cultivated when I picked the trombone. See Soap is NOT Funny).
Alas! this did not happen.
I waited and waited with apprehension for the day when I would no longer get to experience playing the bass trombone sober.
I waited
and waited
and waited
and waited and played with my toy Land Rover
and waited
and I did not develop a taste for large quantities of alcohol. So I thought that something must be wrong.
My confusion was not for naught (hehe. not for naught). Bass trombonists just seem to talk as if they are always under the influence. You know, slurred words and trouble constructing sentences.
It was after one of my practice sessions that I noticed a change.
My friends laughed at me more. I said crazy things and began using incorrect grammar (Most notably "You are SUCH a dumb!). I began turning certain words plural when they should have been singular. The word lettuce became "a lettuces".
This change snuck up gradually and I never noticed it because I was spending all of my time waiting for my alcoholic monster to take over.
The monster did not take over. I mean, I'm still indulging a Dr. Pepper addiction in my quest to be the stereotypical obese trombonist...OK not really. That's just how I rationalize. I'm trying to quit a little bit. but not really.
The point I'm trying to make is, I'M NOT A DRUNK.
But why do I experience the symptoms?
Do you want to know why?
You don't wanna know.
You wanna know why?
You don't wanna know.
You wanna know why?
Because bass trombone makes you STUPID.
That's right. Stupid.
Symptoms last for different amounts of time depending on how long the musician played the bass trombone. Usually, the amount of time spent in the state of stupidity corresponds with how much time the instrument was played. Basically if you play for an hour, you will sound like an idiot for an hour.
Occasionally there are exceptions. Bass trombonists who have "no chops" are frequently referred to as 'lightweights". If they play for an hour, they sound stupid for 2 hours.
All of this is very scientifical.
Combine these symptoms with a bass trombonist who drinks when not playing, and you get someone who always sounds drunk. Scary.
So now the bass trombonist who was socially awkward to begin with is experiencing bouts of stupidity. It's one thing to introduce awkward sentences in the presence of normal people, but it's another to say awkward things while appearing to be drunk.
But perhaps the perceived drunken state is more acceptable to the public than just being socially awkward. At least there is an excuse for the inappropriate comments.
The world may never know.
Here is a conversation between a normal person and a bass trombonist who has just finished playing.
Person: "Oh hello. How are you?"
Bass Trombonist: "Good."
Person: "That's great. What have you been up to lately?"
Bass Trombonist: "Caiman Lizards sometimes wear pants."
Person: "Oh really...um. Well,"
Bass Trombonist: "Strawberry are a things. Rhythm stick hit you. A galaxy are funny."
Person: Runs away screaming
Bass Trombonist: "TIDAL SNEEZE TAX!!!!!!!!!!" breaks down into tears.
No matter how hard the bass trombonist tries, the words "nothing much" are impossible to force out.
So I beg my little audience to please be kind to the bass trombonists that may or may not be drunk. It's a hard life we live and stupidity is the price we pay for our "art".
-The Socially Awkward Trombone
(BUT NOT ENTIRELY WRONG)
Having only switched over to bass bone in the past year and a half, I thought maybe it would take a while for the bass trombone mentality to set in. I waited patiently for my creature to take control of me and force me to drink copious amounts of alcohol before, during, and after every playing session (My fondness towards stupidity cultivated when I picked the trombone. See Soap is NOT Funny).
Alas! this did not happen.
I waited and waited with apprehension for the day when I would no longer get to experience playing the bass trombone sober.
I waited
and waited
and waited
and waited and played with my toy Land Rover
and waited
and I did not develop a taste for large quantities of alcohol. So I thought that something must be wrong.
My confusion was not for naught (hehe. not for naught). Bass trombonists just seem to talk as if they are always under the influence. You know, slurred words and trouble constructing sentences.
It was after one of my practice sessions that I noticed a change.
My friends laughed at me more. I said crazy things and began using incorrect grammar (Most notably "You are SUCH a dumb!). I began turning certain words plural when they should have been singular. The word lettuce became "a lettuces".
This change snuck up gradually and I never noticed it because I was spending all of my time waiting for my alcoholic monster to take over.
The monster did not take over. I mean, I'm still indulging a Dr. Pepper addiction in my quest to be the stereotypical obese trombonist...OK not really. That's just how I rationalize. I'm trying to quit a little bit. but not really.
The point I'm trying to make is, I'M NOT A DRUNK.
But why do I experience the symptoms?
Do you want to know why?
You don't wanna know.
You wanna know why?
You don't wanna know.
You wanna know why?
Because bass trombone makes you STUPID.
That's right. Stupid.
Symptoms last for different amounts of time depending on how long the musician played the bass trombone. Usually, the amount of time spent in the state of stupidity corresponds with how much time the instrument was played. Basically if you play for an hour, you will sound like an idiot for an hour.
Occasionally there are exceptions. Bass trombonists who have "no chops" are frequently referred to as 'lightweights". If they play for an hour, they sound stupid for 2 hours.
All of this is very scientifical.
Combine these symptoms with a bass trombonist who drinks when not playing, and you get someone who always sounds drunk. Scary.
So now the bass trombonist who was socially awkward to begin with is experiencing bouts of stupidity. It's one thing to introduce awkward sentences in the presence of normal people, but it's another to say awkward things while appearing to be drunk.
But perhaps the perceived drunken state is more acceptable to the public than just being socially awkward. At least there is an excuse for the inappropriate comments.
The world may never know.
Here is a conversation between a normal person and a bass trombonist who has just finished playing.
Person: "Oh hello. How are you?"
Bass Trombonist: "Good."
Person: "That's great. What have you been up to lately?"
Bass Trombonist: "Caiman Lizards sometimes wear pants."
Person: "Oh really...um. Well,"
Bass Trombonist: "Strawberry are a things. Rhythm stick hit you. A galaxy are funny."
Person: Runs away screaming
Bass Trombonist: "TIDAL SNEEZE TAX!!!!!!!!!!" breaks down into tears.
No matter how hard the bass trombonist tries, the words "nothing much" are impossible to force out.
So I beg my little audience to please be kind to the bass trombonists that may or may not be drunk. It's a hard life we live and stupidity is the price we pay for our "art".
-The Socially Awkward Trombone
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Elementary Musical Talent
All instruments are not created equal. And if there were one instrument that could be named the "weapon of mass destruction" of all instruments, it's the recorder.
Few instruments cause as much damage as the recorder does. Eardrums have been shattered. Houses set on fire. Children embarrassed. A recorder in the wrong hands turns into a weapon.
In many places, the recorder is the instrument learned in elementary school because music teachers don't believe that young students could learn to play anything else.
In many places, the recorder is the instrument learned in elementary school because music teachers don't believe that young students could learn to play anything else.
They might be right.
But some students can't learn the recorder.
Now I know what all you normal people are thinking. You think that anyone with the ability to breathe can play the recorder. Well, congratulations ye with so much talent. Recorder came easy to you. So easy that you have eliminated the possibility of the existence of incompetent recorderers....recorderists? recordists?
To the future socially awkward trombonist, recorder will not come naturally. The recorder mixed with the socially awkward trombone gene is the reason why there is a distinct lack of trombonists in every middle school band. I will explain why.
Awkwardness issues in elementary school are widely undetected due to the young age of students and their tendencies to say extremely outrageous things. This makes it difficult for teachers to pick out future trombonists to help through the difficulties of learning the recorder.
The other feature that comes with the trombonist gene is the ability to blow large quantities of hot air without restraint.
The first day the elementary schooler picks up the recorder is an exciting one. Who wouldn't be excited about getting to play an extremely loud and irritating piece of plastic in school?
The excitement quickly evaporates when the teacher explains that there are rules to the recorder. It will not be a free for all. Students will have to learn songs as a class. They will also be expected to practice.
The teacher then proceeds to describe what seems to be everything. How notes are read. How the instrument is held. What a "squeak" is. That the recorder is an instrument and not a lightsaber or any variation on a weapon. During this important overview, the the future trombonist is happily picking a booger while imagining a recorder sword fight. The future bass trombonist is ingesting glue stolen from a previous class, but let's just be happy it's glue and not yet alcohol or large quantities ofDr. Pepper sugary drinks.
After this overview, the children in music class are encouraged to pick up their recorder and- oh wait, Billy has not yet bought a recorder (because he will be a trombonist some day) and must borrow a nasty tasting one that has been sitting in a bucket of disinfectant its entire life.
Now the students may place the recorder in their mouths and hold their fingers over the correct holes. On three, every student will play the same note and then stop when the teacherscreams at everyone waves.
One
Two
Th-BBRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP
And the first note of the year has been played. The children are looking quite pleased with themselves. At the end of class, the students are told to practice at home so they can get better. Except Billy. He still has no recorder and will probably taste disinfectant at every music class for a year before remembering to buy his own. But lets be real here. Disinfectant has alcohol. If Billy had a chance of a normal life, it's gone. Billy's future will be as a professionally wasted bass trombonist.
As the school year continues, the students reach the point in their short lived musical careers when they can play a song as a class. At first, the song is barely recognizable, but becomes clearer with every music class. However, a great number of squeaks still plague the ensemble.
Future Trombonist (FT): "Man, that person who keeps squeaking sure is a dweeb. Who actually squeaks on a recorder? It's the easiest thing ever. Check this out."
Future trombonist uses nose to play recorder. Then plays Hot Cross Buns very poorly.
The children find the nose display funny, but only laughter is heard. No conversation is struck up with the soon to be social outcast.
A few weeks later and the squeak is still there, masked among the performers.
FT: "Seriously. That squeaker is worse than a mouse. You guys stink!"
It is only 3 weeks from the end of the school year when the future trombonist realizes that the squeak is not the fault of anyone else. The FT has been causing it all along, and now comes to the realization that recorder is not easy. All of that hot and fast air is negatively impacting the sound of the recorder. No one ever explained how to keep it from squeaking, and now there is no hope at musical success.
This all leads to an embarrassing and awkward moment of reckoning for the future trombonist.
The future trombonist is forced to reconcile with the fact that playing the recorder (aka "the easiest instrument in the world) is going to be impossible.
But who really cares? It's not like the trombonist learned anything about the recorder. Really all the FT did was watch everyone else's fingers to see what was supposed to happen. Notes and rhythms were never learned because the FT was too busy with booger picking.
But future trombonists don't know this. They didn't even know that they weren't paying attention. These young people may never pick up the trombone because they are led to believe that if they can't play an instrument as easy as the recorder, then they can't play any instrument at all. It is only the really delusional ones that decide to continue music, and this is what ends up populating middle school trombone sections.
Most of the students who would have picked up the trombone quit music before they get the chance to try one out.
Somehow there are still a few kids that go on to play trombone. Even after every indication of their musical ability says that they are incapable of music, they persevere. But just think, if the recorder didn't discourage future trombonists, we would have waaaaaaay more of them.
That's what every music teacher wants. Right? conspiracies.
THE END
Disclaimer: Sometimes when played professionally, the recorder can be considered relevant and maybe even pretty sounding. It's just that I have yet to hear or see (ew) good things come out of the $10 recorder of a 9 year old. Also, I still can't play the recorder and refuse to ever pick up the instrument again unless Bob Hallett is willing to give me lessons. And technically, I don't even think Bob plays recorder, but if he did, it would be tolerable sounding.
I think I'll stick with bass bone and my Dr. Pepper addiction. Which reminds me. The next post will examine the possibility that maybe not all bass trombonists are drunken lunatics. Doesn't sound too promising though...
p.s. The Art of Bass Trombone is live. Click the tab.
-The Socially Awkward Trombone
Now I know what all you normal people are thinking. You think that anyone with the ability to breathe can play the recorder. Well, congratulations ye with so much talent. Recorder came easy to you. So easy that you have eliminated the possibility of the existence of incompetent recorderers....recorderists? recordists?
To the future socially awkward trombonist, recorder will not come naturally. The recorder mixed with the socially awkward trombone gene is the reason why there is a distinct lack of trombonists in every middle school band. I will explain why.
Awkwardness issues in elementary school are widely undetected due to the young age of students and their tendencies to say extremely outrageous things. This makes it difficult for teachers to pick out future trombonists to help through the difficulties of learning the recorder.
The other feature that comes with the trombonist gene is the ability to blow large quantities of hot air without restraint.
The first day the elementary schooler picks up the recorder is an exciting one. Who wouldn't be excited about getting to play an extremely loud and irritating piece of plastic in school?
The excitement quickly evaporates when the teacher explains that there are rules to the recorder. It will not be a free for all. Students will have to learn songs as a class. They will also be expected to practice.
The teacher then proceeds to describe what seems to be everything. How notes are read. How the instrument is held. What a "squeak" is. That the recorder is an instrument and not a lightsaber or any variation on a weapon. During this important overview, the the future trombonist is happily picking a booger while imagining a recorder sword fight. The future bass trombonist is ingesting glue stolen from a previous class, but let's just be happy it's glue and not yet alcohol or large quantities of
After this overview, the children in music class are encouraged to pick up their recorder and- oh wait, Billy has not yet bought a recorder (because he will be a trombonist some day) and must borrow a nasty tasting one that has been sitting in a bucket of disinfectant its entire life.
Now the students may place the recorder in their mouths and hold their fingers over the correct holes. On three, every student will play the same note and then stop when the teacher
One
Two
Th-BBRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP
And the first note of the year has been played. The children are looking quite pleased with themselves. At the end of class, the students are told to practice at home so they can get better. Except Billy. He still has no recorder and will probably taste disinfectant at every music class for a year before remembering to buy his own. But lets be real here. Disinfectant has alcohol. If Billy had a chance of a normal life, it's gone. Billy's future will be as a professionally wasted bass trombonist.
As the school year continues, the students reach the point in their short lived musical careers when they can play a song as a class. At first, the song is barely recognizable, but becomes clearer with every music class. However, a great number of squeaks still plague the ensemble.
Future Trombonist (FT): "Man, that person who keeps squeaking sure is a dweeb. Who actually squeaks on a recorder? It's the easiest thing ever. Check this out."
Future trombonist uses nose to play recorder. Then plays Hot Cross Buns very poorly.
The children find the nose display funny, but only laughter is heard. No conversation is struck up with the soon to be social outcast.
A few weeks later and the squeak is still there, masked among the performers.
FT: "Seriously. That squeaker is worse than a mouse. You guys stink!"
It is only 3 weeks from the end of the school year when the future trombonist realizes that the squeak is not the fault of anyone else. The FT has been causing it all along, and now comes to the realization that recorder is not easy. All of that hot and fast air is negatively impacting the sound of the recorder. No one ever explained how to keep it from squeaking, and now there is no hope at musical success.
This all leads to an embarrassing and awkward moment of reckoning for the future trombonist.
The future trombonist is forced to reconcile with the fact that playing the recorder (aka "the easiest instrument in the world) is going to be impossible.
But who really cares? It's not like the trombonist learned anything about the recorder. Really all the FT did was watch everyone else's fingers to see what was supposed to happen. Notes and rhythms were never learned because the FT was too busy with booger picking.
But future trombonists don't know this. They didn't even know that they weren't paying attention. These young people may never pick up the trombone because they are led to believe that if they can't play an instrument as easy as the recorder, then they can't play any instrument at all. It is only the really delusional ones that decide to continue music, and this is what ends up populating middle school trombone sections.
Most of the students who would have picked up the trombone quit music before they get the chance to try one out.
Somehow there are still a few kids that go on to play trombone. Even after every indication of their musical ability says that they are incapable of music, they persevere. But just think, if the recorder didn't discourage future trombonists, we would have waaaaaaay more of them.
That's what every music teacher wants. Right? conspiracies.
THE END
Disclaimer: Sometimes when played professionally, the recorder can be considered relevant and maybe even pretty sounding. It's just that I have yet to hear or see (ew) good things come out of the $10 recorder of a 9 year old. Also, I still can't play the recorder and refuse to ever pick up the instrument again unless Bob Hallett is willing to give me lessons. And technically, I don't even think Bob plays recorder, but if he did, it would be tolerable sounding.
I think I'll stick with bass bone and my Dr. Pepper addiction. Which reminds me. The next post will examine the possibility that maybe not all bass trombonists are drunken lunatics. Doesn't sound too promising though...
p.s. The Art of Bass Trombone is live. Click the tab.
-The Socially Awkward Trombone
Friday, March 30, 2012
Raffles and Morbidity Conferences
In this world, there are quite a few awkward locations and situations that the bourgeois do not want to find themselves in (see, I CAN use big words).
For example,
For example,
- Having to attend a circus show with someone who spins signs for a living and thinks they could be a better tightrope walker than the performers.
- Standing in a room with the largest piece of domino art ever and trying to control your recent uprising of leg spasms. One misplaced kick...
- Getting to a Lamaze party and expecting drinks 'cause you're a dude and don't know what a Lamaze is. Then being disappointed. Lamaze does not mean "get drunk and run through a corn maze". (also, Lamaze party? what?)
- Accidentally chopping off multiple appendages while in the library. There's no screaming in the library.
- Becoming captain of the "blood vessel" and then realizing your doctor was only joking. You aren't really getting a ship. You're just not going to be able to see for a few days.
- Having to speak at a trombone conference and an amateur astronomers convention in the same week when you know nothing about either subject.
These are all situations and locations that most individuals would find uncomfortable.
BUT WAIT!
None of those include potty humor.
That's because I always save the best for later.
Here's the scenario:
You are a trombonist sitting in a small auditorium. This particular auditorium does not have many people in it. You have no reason to be there except you needed to drive an interested party to this auditorium for a talk and are now waiting on said party to leave the auditorium.
But it's not over. And you just missed your chance to excuse yourself to the lobby that contains a place to watch Doctor Who undisturbed.
A person who works at the auditorium wheels in a cart with stuff on it. Stuff that makes no sense to you.
The room falls quiet.
It's a raffle you never entered and now must sit through. There are a bunch of items up on that stage. You realize that you are happy you never entered the raffle.
The person who wheeled the cart in is now reading out numbers and audience members are coming up to claim their raffle prizes.
2283845 just won something that looked like a moldy sandwich.
2283870 has been called six times....about to pull another number when "OH WAIT! You said 70?! That's me." rings across the audience.
At this point you are noticing some bodily discomfort.
2283859 won a blobfish.
This is more than some discomfort, and they're really moving through these numbers fast.
2238312 won salami candle wax.
You need to excuse yourself to the bathroom and are about to do so. Suddenly you stop. If you get up, someone is going to think you won an item. If someone thinks you won an item, you will have to explain that you are just going to the bathroom in front of the entire auditorium. The conversation has the potential to go something like this.
you (trombonist) stand up
Raffler: "Congratulations!"
Trombonist: "Wha? Oh no. Im- bathroom."
Raffler: "Come on. Just get your prize. It's not as bad as it looks. I swear it's just brown frosting."
Trombonist: "But I didn't-"
Raffler: "Didn't enter? Nice try."
Trombonist: "I didn't. I'm just getting up to-"
Raffler: "To come get your prize. Don't be shy. Just come on up h-"
Trombonist: "I WAS JUST GETTING UP TO POOP OKAY!?"
End scenario.
Ha! Bet that's something you never contemplated before. What does a person do to get out of a raffle without drawing attention to themselves?
Here are some brilliant solutions for if you ever find yourself in this kind of a pickle.
Solution 1: See above scenario.
Solution 2: Either try to make it until the end of the raffle or just poop yourself then and there. That'll show 'em.
Solution 3 WARNING: REQUIRES EXTREME SKILL If trombonist, do not attempt:
Quickly dive to the floor. Slink your way under the seats without touching the legs of people sitting in the seats because touching people you don't know is awkward. Work your way uphill to the back door of the auditorium. There will be a moment between the seats and the door when you are exposed. It is your job to make the quickest dash possible for the door without looking like you're a criminal who just stole something. If you hear angry shouting as the door closes behind you, forego the bathroom and find a place to hide from the police. If you hear a small noise like someone trying to ask if you won the raffle, just go potty.
Solution 4: Stand up and then pretend to pass out. Assuming you are not at a "Convention of Morbidity" raffle, someone will call an ambulance. At that point you can request a bedpan or just go anyway. No one will judge you. You just passed out after all.
Solution 5: Stand up with your trombone. You will look so awkward that everyone will try not to look at you. Bask in the silence a moment and then leave. No one will say a word.
So now you know how to handle the awkward raffle situation.
Here are some brilliant solutions for if you ever find yourself in this kind of a pickle.
Solution 1: See above scenario.
Solution 2: Either try to make it until the end of the raffle or just poop yourself then and there. That'll show 'em.
Solution 3 WARNING: REQUIRES EXTREME SKILL If trombonist, do not attempt:
Quickly dive to the floor. Slink your way under the seats without touching the legs of people sitting in the seats because touching people you don't know is awkward. Work your way uphill to the back door of the auditorium. There will be a moment between the seats and the door when you are exposed. It is your job to make the quickest dash possible for the door without looking like you're a criminal who just stole something. If you hear angry shouting as the door closes behind you, forego the bathroom and find a place to hide from the police. If you hear a small noise like someone trying to ask if you won the raffle, just go potty.
Solution 4: Stand up and then pretend to pass out. Assuming you are not at a "Convention of Morbidity" raffle, someone will call an ambulance. At that point you can request a bedpan or just go anyway. No one will judge you. You just passed out after all.
Solution 5: Stand up with your trombone. You will look so awkward that everyone will try not to look at you. Bask in the silence a moment and then leave. No one will say a word.
So now you know how to handle the awkward raffle situation.
Also, the new page is still under construction. "The Art of Bass Trombone".
Also, sometimes I leave this on while I write.
http://breadfish.de/
You should click the link. It's life changing.
-The Socially Awkward Trombone
Also, sometimes I leave this on while I write.
http://breadfish.de/
You should click the link. It's life changing.
-The Socially Awkward Trombone
Monday, March 12, 2012
Coming Soon
Everyone be warned.
A new page is under construction.
Nazgul's everywhere are taking flight. They fear the new page.
It is awkward.
A new page of awkwardness.
Are you ready?
This is a blobfish.
A new page is under construction.
Nazgul's everywhere are taking flight. They fear the new page.
It is awkward.
A new page of awkwardness.
Are you ready?
You have been warned.
Friday, February 24, 2012
Captured and Imprisoned Again
If you missed it, this is the guest post I did for wanderingwrites.com in the style of the writer for wanderingwrites.com. This does not contain the introduction. Also, the title below is a bit dramatic for my tastes, but it fit in with the Wanderingwrites style.
Dearest friends/readers/ducklings,
It is with a heavy heart that i alert you to an injustice that will affect you, dear reader, in no conceivable way.
A few of you may be surprised to learn that the trombone is an uncommon instrument, but it is more likely that you are momentarily leaving this page to search Google images for a trombone.
Now do you know what it looks like?
Good. We shall continue.
Historically, the trombone has never quite fallen into the category of "sexy". Yes, there is a fair amount of innuendo that follows the trombone, but upon close inspection, one realizes quickly that the trombonists are the reason their instruments are seen as awkward.
Trombonists are awkward. In past blogs i have made it clear that anyone who decides to pick the trombone has been born with an awkward gene, or has had their childhood poop jokes suppressed due to the socially unacceptable nature of poop. But of course, if you like poop jokes you probably have been born with some sort of genetic predisposition to be awkward.
Poor genetics can be considered a disability right?
Let's consider the genetic disbility that brings about red-green colorblindness. People with this disability are having new technology developed to make it easier to live in a world that is missing color. Trombonists born with awkward genes are left to fend for themselves in a world where avoiding eye contact is social suicide.
Life is hard.
Society enjoys pushing unpleasant things out of sight. For starters, trombonists are placed at the back of the orchestra. Not a big deal right? Trombones are loud. But did anyone stop to wonder why the trombone is loud? Maybe it's because trombonists had been trying to get attention for years and when one of them got the bright idea to start playing loud for acknowledgement, the government placed the trombones in the back. All the government needed was a cover excuse that wasn't "they're too awkward to be seen by paying customers" because the media would have reported that as discrimination.
Government? you ask.
Yes. Government. It's a conspiracy. The amount of awkward people on this Earth is regulated by a government that acknowledges the need for awkward people to play the trombone. If there wasn't a need for trombones in every orchestra, all of the awkward people would have probably been exterminated by now. The awkward people are kept in cells under the basement of every orchestra hall in the country. It is here where they are trained to play trombone and encouraged to speak to other "Awkwards" to improve their social skills.
Trombonist 1 (1): "I play trombone."
Trombonist 2 (2): "I play trombone"
Trombonist 3 (3): "I play trombone"
1: "You play trombone?"
2: "I play trombone."
3: "I play trombone."
1: "I play trombone."
There is rarely improvement.
When the need for a trombonist arises in an orchestra, a member of the stage crew, with the help of a uniformed official, reluctantly picks a person to place into society as a trombonist.
Now it is time to address the second part of this post. Lefties.
If there was ever a group that was oppressed, it was the lefties. Just a few years ago they were seen as the devil incarnate. Children who were naturally left-handed were forced to learn to write with the right hand. This often required school teachers to use razor wire to tie the left hand behind the back of the student as they learned to write with the opposite hand. Razor wire was used in the hopes that if the student couldn't learn with the right hand, the left hand would be sliced straight off. This left (haha punny) the kid with no choice but to use the right hand.
Today, our society is just as bad as it was when there were frequent hand lacerations, but it manages to hide prejudices better. The world is still tailored to right-handers. For example, walk into any classroom. Most, if not all, of the desks are for the right handed. If there are any left handed desks, they are shoved to the back in hopes of keeping the devil people as far away as possible. Most computers are for right handed people as well as most musical instruments.
Righties enjoy significant discounts when it comes to buying golf clubs, baseball gloves, and other sports equipment. All of the lefty stuff is priced way higher. Hot water is on the right, cold on the left. People are better when in their "right mind". When people are correct about something, they are "right". Instead of saying "OK", people will substitute the word "right".
"Left" has bad connotations.
I "left" my stuff there and it was stolen.
S/he "left" the party too early and missed the goodie bags filled with 50 inch HD TVs.
Sandy was "left" at the cemetery to fend for herself among the awkward dead people that tried to kill her with trombone music and ghostly flatulence.
So where does this leave the trombonists that are left handed? Well, it's funny, the awkward gene must also tie in with left-handedness. The percentage of trombonists who are left handed is higher than average. Still, they are a minority.
The left-handed trombonists tend to be the last people released into society. It would just be too dangerous. They get "left" behind so to speak. When a lefty trombone is released to an orchestra (as a last resort) they are embedded with a GPS locator and are essentially put under house arrest. They can play in an orchestra, but they still have to live in the theater. When the orchestra goes on tour, a trumpet player is assigned to the lefty trombone. This trumpet player is in charge of keeping the lefty out of trouble.
Trumpet players love having power of over people, so they enjoy being the babysitter of the lefty trombone. Usually the lefty is forced to stand perfectly still on snails and trumpet spit while the trumpet player alternates between blasting in h/is/er ear and playing "Pictures at an Exhibition" excerpt over and over and OVER. No one could possibly imagine a worse torture than this.
There is one particularly terrible result that comes out of monitoring the lefty-trombone individuals.
You know those crazy people that think a chip has been embedded into their arm by the government? The ones who hide when planes (and nazguls) fly overhead? You probably just thought of them as homeless psychos that need to be avoided, or John Nash.
Wrong.
Listen to these people. They are escaped left handed trombonists. Somehow they managed to leave the side of their trumpet lord, and the GPS locator chip means that they are constantly being chased down. Help them stay free!
This is the end of my societal rant. I urge you all to help free the trapped trombonists as i will apparently be one when i graduate college.
Thank you.
-The Socially Awkward Trombone
The Oppression of Left-Handed Trombonists
It is with a heavy heart that i alert you to an injustice that will affect you, dear reader, in no conceivable way.
A few of you may be surprised to learn that the trombone is an uncommon instrument, but it is more likely that you are momentarily leaving this page to search Google images for a trombone.
Now do you know what it looks like?
Good. We shall continue.
Historically, the trombone has never quite fallen into the category of "sexy". Yes, there is a fair amount of innuendo that follows the trombone, but upon close inspection, one realizes quickly that the trombonists are the reason their instruments are seen as awkward.
Trombonists are awkward. In past blogs i have made it clear that anyone who decides to pick the trombone has been born with an awkward gene, or has had their childhood poop jokes suppressed due to the socially unacceptable nature of poop. But of course, if you like poop jokes you probably have been born with some sort of genetic predisposition to be awkward.
Poor genetics can be considered a disability right?
Let's consider the genetic disbility that brings about red-green colorblindness. People with this disability are having new technology developed to make it easier to live in a world that is missing color. Trombonists born with awkward genes are left to fend for themselves in a world where avoiding eye contact is social suicide.
Life is hard.
Society enjoys pushing unpleasant things out of sight. For starters, trombonists are placed at the back of the orchestra. Not a big deal right? Trombones are loud. But did anyone stop to wonder why the trombone is loud? Maybe it's because trombonists had been trying to get attention for years and when one of them got the bright idea to start playing loud for acknowledgement, the government placed the trombones in the back. All the government needed was a cover excuse that wasn't "they're too awkward to be seen by paying customers" because the media would have reported that as discrimination.
Government? you ask.
Yes. Government. It's a conspiracy. The amount of awkward people on this Earth is regulated by a government that acknowledges the need for awkward people to play the trombone. If there wasn't a need for trombones in every orchestra, all of the awkward people would have probably been exterminated by now. The awkward people are kept in cells under the basement of every orchestra hall in the country. It is here where they are trained to play trombone and encouraged to speak to other "Awkwards" to improve their social skills.
Trombonist 1 (1): "I play trombone."
Trombonist 2 (2): "I play trombone"
Trombonist 3 (3): "I play trombone"
1: "You play trombone?"
2: "I play trombone."
3: "I play trombone."
1: "I play trombone."
There is rarely improvement.
When the need for a trombonist arises in an orchestra, a member of the stage crew, with the help of a uniformed official, reluctantly picks a person to place into society as a trombonist.
Now the real question is how the "awkwards" get captured in the first place.
Basically, if a child decides to pick the trombone of h/is/er own free will, s/he is doomed. After high school or college, anyone who picked the trombone as a sixth grader is whisked away and hidden under an orchestra hall. Even if the kid quit the trombone after a year, s/he is doomed to the same fate because s/he had the initial attraction to the instrument. Picking the instrument means you must have the awkward genetics.
Basically, if a child decides to pick the trombone of h/is/er own free will, s/he is doomed. After high school or college, anyone who picked the trombone as a sixth grader is whisked away and hidden under an orchestra hall. Even if the kid quit the trombone after a year, s/he is doomed to the same fate because s/he had the initial attraction to the instrument. Picking the instrument means you must have the awkward genetics.
One will occasionally find people who escaped the relocation. They keep their history under wraps, but it is difficult. Basically, if you know someone who is awkward, that person managed to avoid the government kidnapping by choosing occupations with limited social interaction. All of them played trombone at some point in their lives. I beg of my readers to PLEASE not turn these people in. If you know an awkward person, be friendly and accommodating. No one should have to go through what most trombonists suffer at the hands of the stage crew that poke through the cell bars under the theater. But of course, i don't expect you to be accommodating. Go ahead and pander to the color blind. Throw the "Awkwards" under the bus.
Now it is time to address the second part of this post. Lefties.
If there was ever a group that was oppressed, it was the lefties. Just a few years ago they were seen as the devil incarnate. Children who were naturally left-handed were forced to learn to write with the right hand. This often required school teachers to use razor wire to tie the left hand behind the back of the student as they learned to write with the opposite hand. Razor wire was used in the hopes that if the student couldn't learn with the right hand, the left hand would be sliced straight off. This left (haha punny) the kid with no choice but to use the right hand.
Today, our society is just as bad as it was when there were frequent hand lacerations, but it manages to hide prejudices better. The world is still tailored to right-handers. For example, walk into any classroom. Most, if not all, of the desks are for the right handed. If there are any left handed desks, they are shoved to the back in hopes of keeping the devil people as far away as possible. Most computers are for right handed people as well as most musical instruments.
Righties enjoy significant discounts when it comes to buying golf clubs, baseball gloves, and other sports equipment. All of the lefty stuff is priced way higher. Hot water is on the right, cold on the left. People are better when in their "right mind". When people are correct about something, they are "right". Instead of saying "OK", people will substitute the word "right".
"Left" has bad connotations.
I "left" my stuff there and it was stolen.
S/he "left" the party too early and missed the goodie bags filled with 50 inch HD TVs.
Sandy was "left" at the cemetery to fend for herself among the awkward dead people that tried to kill her with trombone music and ghostly flatulence.
So where does this leave the trombonists that are left handed? Well, it's funny, the awkward gene must also tie in with left-handedness. The percentage of trombonists who are left handed is higher than average. Still, they are a minority.
The left-handed trombonists tend to be the last people released into society. It would just be too dangerous. They get "left" behind so to speak. When a lefty trombone is released to an orchestra (as a last resort) they are embedded with a GPS locator and are essentially put under house arrest. They can play in an orchestra, but they still have to live in the theater. When the orchestra goes on tour, a trumpet player is assigned to the lefty trombone. This trumpet player is in charge of keeping the lefty out of trouble.
Trumpet players love having power of over people, so they enjoy being the babysitter of the lefty trombone. Usually the lefty is forced to stand perfectly still on snails and trumpet spit while the trumpet player alternates between blasting in h/is/er ear and playing "Pictures at an Exhibition" excerpt over and over and OVER. No one could possibly imagine a worse torture than this.
There is one particularly terrible result that comes out of monitoring the lefty-trombone individuals.
You know those crazy people that think a chip has been embedded into their arm by the government? The ones who hide when planes (and nazguls) fly overhead? You probably just thought of them as homeless psychos that need to be avoided, or John Nash.
Wrong.
Listen to these people. They are escaped left handed trombonists. Somehow they managed to leave the side of their trumpet lord, and the GPS locator chip means that they are constantly being chased down. Help them stay free!
This is the end of my societal rant. I urge you all to help free the trapped trombonists as i will apparently be one when i graduate college.
Thank you.
-The Socially Awkward Trombone
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
The Social Awkwardness of Singing in Public
Or, Lord of the Sings:
A Guest Post by lizzie mcmizzie
Let’s get one thing out of the way right now: i am not
Becca. Therefore, i do not play trombone, am not studying music, or am in any
way socially awkward. In fact, i am what you might call a completely
well-adjusted, totally normal, and otherwise assimilated-to-the-mainstream
human being.
Only kidding. Socially awkward people can only be friends
with other socially awkward people. And if you’re a category-three socially
awkward creature (like Becca and i are) then you should, according to this
Times article, keep a blog to publicly channel your frustrations with social mores for the
entire world to see. They seem to think that such a public display of
awkwardness will help us deal with it better. Or maybe they just got tired of
watching The Bachelor and needed
fresh meat for entertainment.
By now, you are probably wondering what in
Richard-Strauss-Hisself’s-NAME is going on. If i am not Becca, why am i here?
Why aren’t there any music jokes yet? WHO IS THIS HIJACKING FIEND WRITING WITH
LOWERCASE I’S?
This is not going well.
Okay. Let me explain: i am not Becca (WE KNOW THIS ALREADY!) but Becca, most unfortunately for her, has
had to be my friend for the past thirteen years – dealing with more socially
awkward haircuts and outfits than any best-friend-for-life-and-whatever should
have to deal with in a millennia. Seriously. This one time, i lost an opera
glove, so i only wore the one i could find in a Michael-Jackson-esque fashion
statement. And Becca didn’t leave me stranded alone in the Middle School
cafeteria because, contrary to her socially awkward online persona, Becca
happens to be the best kind of person in the world. She’s the friend who sticks
by you when you’ve outdone yourself in the Academy Awards of Horrendous
Clothing and Personal Statement Choices.
Because Becca is so nice (or is just too socially awkward to
tell me otherwise, which is actually very possible) she has agreed to this
ridiculous idea i proposed to her: a blog swap. She’s over on my high-fallutin’
hippie travel blog RIGHT THIS VERY SECOND talking about how trombonists are
oppressed (or something) and has, most likely to her chagrin, left you folk in
my hands.
Her mistake.
Because i may not be a trombonist, but i am so most
definitely socially awkward.
And more than that, i am a socially awkward once-singer.
Ohhh, yeah, ya’ll don’t even know what just hit you. That’s
right – i can throw down music terms like legato
and arpeggio too. And, unlike
socially awkward trombone players (which is
a redundancy, but still. Keeping up appearances) i paid attention in class when we learned such terms. That’s
because i sing, and therefore think i am the MOST IMPORTANT PART OF ANY MUSICAL
COMPOSITION EVER MADE.
This is true. Ask Andrew Llyod Webber. Or Claude
Michel-Schöenberg. Singers are very, very important.
I’m just kidding, of course singers are not the most important of anything ever written.
They just think they are. (Especially first sopranos – but never mind that;
let’s get back to the title of the post). In fact, many singers think
themselves to be so important that they need to let the whole world know how
capital-G Great they are. For example, a typical conversation with a first soprano singer of average singing
ego might go a little bit like this:
Totally Normal Non-Singer Person: Hi there! My name
is –
Singer of Average Singing Ego: I’m sorry, I only have
time for the names of Directors or Agents or American Idol Judges. Do you fall
into one of those categories?
Totally Normal Non-Singer Person: (slightly bewildered) Oh! I’m sorry, I
don’t, but why do you only have time for such pretentious-sounding folk?
Singer of Average Singing Ego: Wellllll, because I AM
A SINGER.
Totally Normal Non-Singer Person: Really?! That’s so
incredibly cool! Are you like Adele? Can you sing for me?
Singer of Average Singing Ego: DON’T BE RIDICULOUS.
WHY WOULD I WASTE MY PRECIOUS BREATH ON YOU, A MEAGER HUMAN BEING OF MINIMAL
SIGNIFIGANCE BEYONE PURCHASING MY SELF-MADE DEBUT RECORD OF
CELTIC-INFUSED-QUASI-OPERATICE-COVERS?
Totally Normal Non-Singer Person: (looking around desperately for a way out of
the conversation) Oh, right, brilliant. Good for you. Look, I’ve got to go
–
Singer of Average Singing Ego: Ta-ta darling! Lovely
meeting you! (blows kisses before taking
an enormous sip of a chai-spice-infused-lemon tea-like concoction)
See what i mean? Singers of average Singer-Egos are forces
to reckon with. I urge wide berth to all you trombonists, most especially.
To give them their due credit, though, i must confess: they
do get one thing right in the (albeit often one-sided) conversations they
conduct. Singers, as a general rule, usually prefer not to sing spontaneously, a capella, and while waiting in line at
a coffee shop. And yet, whenever one declares oneself to be a singer (even
sans-American-Idol-t-shirt) an inevitable conversation from non-musicians is certain
to ensue:
Normal Person: Blah blah blah – Oh I love this song!
Closeted Singer: Yeah me too! I sang this for a voice
recital once.
Normal Person: Wait, really?! You’re a singer? That’s
awesome! Do you sound like Adele?
Closeted Singer: Um, well, no. Not exactly.
Normal Person: Awww, why not?
Closeted Singer: Well, Adele is a second alto and
she’s got that great belt-y quality to her voice, but I’m –
Normal Person: She wears a belt in her voice?
Closeted Singer: Uh… no. I mean she’s really powerful,
but I’m –
Normal Person: Like how she is standing up for
herself against her ex-boyfriend?
Closeted Singer: …sort of …
Normal Person: Wait, wait wait, since you’re a sing
just like Adele -
Closeted Singer: I’m actually not!
Normal Person:
- whatever. You sing. Will you sing something for me? Please?
Closeted Singer: Um…
Normal Person: PLEASE OH MY GAWD I WILL DIE IF YOU DO
NOT SING FOR ME RIGHT NOW.
Closeted Singer: I’m really not comfortable breaking
out into a mezzo-soprano Italian Aria right now.
Normal Person: WHAT? WHAT THE HECK IS A MATZAH BALL
AREA?
Closeted Singer: …Never mind.
See what i mean? You give ‘em an inch, and they run halfway
to Britain clamoring for Simon Cowell.
Simply by saying that you like to sing, have once sung a
piece, or even that in high school you were the ultimate soloist in your Highly
Advanced Chamber Elite Fancy Pants Ensemble is not – necessarily – an invitation for someone to solicit your vocal
talents. Breaking out into a Bizet aria in the middle of class is hardly
conducive to making friends (pro-tip for
the socially awkward!), but can only heighten the anxiety and awkwardness
of the situation. You aren’t warmed up, you aren’t giving your starting note,
you don’t have accompaniment, and most of all you haven’t had your chai-spice-infused-lemon tea-like concoction
to lubricate the vocal chords.
Major. Problem.
Should someone decide, though, to brave the imposing
challenges before and bust out their best rendition of “Unchained Melody,” they
probably fall into one of the two following categories: (a) they are very, very
good – and know this to be so, thus they are seeking your unwavering devotion
and praise; or (b) very, very bad – and do not
know this to be so, and yet they still are seeking your unwavering devotion
and praise.
Either one of these situations is awkward. Presented before
the audience, in either case, is the inevitability that always ensues after a
brazen soul has graced you with their singing presence. No matter their ability
level, you feel compelled to applaud their singing talents and encourage them
to continue to pursue their dreams as the future Our Lady of Jennifer Hudson in
America. The conversation when the aforementioned singer is in high need of a
Cowell-ous (get it?! Callous?!) reprimand can make an already awkward
conversation one of excruciating agony. It might go like this:
Normal Person: Wow…. That was, well…that was really
interesting… [Holy Mother of Gandalf, my
dead dog could rise up from the grave and do better with ghostly flatulents
than that piece of poo!]
Falsely-Beauteous Singer: I knowwww, right?! Like, I
can’t believe I didn’t get the lead in the school musical. [I’m just so great. Like, so so so great.]
Normal Person: Yeah, whew. What the director must
have been thinking! [I might have to
gauge out my eardrums so they stop reverberating with the Yodels from Mordor.]
Falsely-Beauteous Singer: Want me to sing something
else for you?! [PLEASE! I’M SUCH A GOOF
GALINDA FROM WICKED IF YOU JUST GIMME
A CHANCE!]
Normal Person: Um, well, maybe we could go for
another cup of coffee? Or get the bill? [CHECK
PLEASE.]
Falsely-Beauteous Singer: PERFECT! Here it goes:
POPULAR! I’M GONNA BE POP-UUUUUU-LEEERRRR
See what i mean? Utter. Disaster.
Because, ultimately, here’s the deal with musicians: a mere
glimpse into musical abilities does not necessarily do justice to the full
breadth of one’s talent. Yes, even the Wicked
fangirl might actually be Glee
material someday. One doesn’t simply ask an architect to walk into Mordor sketch up a building randomly
(unless you’re Leonardo DiCaprio and in need of a member for the Dream Team) or
a pharmacist to write up a prescription without more knowledge and planning.
Singing – and playing the trombone – are hard-earned skills that cannot be
trivialized by a spontaneous performance.
So, should you wish to hear that person sing, or give
yourself an excuse to escape the crippling conversation with that left-handed trombonist,
ask when their next performance might be. Support the arts, and purchase
tickets to see artists when they are in their prime. You might learn yourself
up real good in attending a ballet or symphony performance and, best of all, you don’t even have to talk to the
musicians!
Okay, folks, that’s all the once-singer and rogue
opera-glove-wearing hippie-dippie has for you today. No worries, you’ll be back
to regularly scheduled programming with your favorite trombonist next time!
(But, if you really miss her, she’s got a pretty hilarious post about being a
left-handed trombonist over on my blog should you like a look! There is
also a chance for you to enter a giveaway of awesome postcards and other prizes).
Hopefully this rant hasn’t dissuaded you from coming back for more clever
cartoons by Becca in the future.
So, Becca? Thanks for still talking to me when i refused to
speak anything but “French” when we were six years old. You are, of course,
always welcome to join my women’s thespian
society.
-the socially awkward sidekick, lizzie mcmizzie
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Get Ready/Power Rangers
Get ready everybody. There will be a guest post from Lizzie McMizzie in 3 days.
THREE.
DAYS.
2/21/12
Instead of your usual scheduled programming, she will be taking over for me here, and I will be taking over for her on Wanderingwrites.com.
It's gonna be special.
Until then, here is a quick post on trombonists and their awkward childish love of all things Power Rangers.
Power Rangers was a very popular children's show in the 90's. For some reason, it caught on with trombonists and future trombonists.
The older trombonists were introduced to it by their students, and it quickly became an obsession.
Other trombonists were introduced to the Power Rangers as children, outgrew the show, and rediscovered it when they decided to play the trombone.
Today, Power Rangers are not as prominent in society, but the Rangers' series is still being produced, and the trombonists make up over half of the demographic of viewers.
What started as a harmless antic of dressing up as Power Rangers for Halloween has turned into a full-fledged awkward nightmare. When they aren't practicing or throwing back copious amounts of alcohol, many trombonists spend their time in their mothers' basement. It is there that these unfortunate forty-something year-old's dress up as their favorite Rangers and watch reruns of the old show.
Trombonists take every opportunity to wear Power Ranger costumes. The minute trombonists return from rehearsals that require them to wear decent attire, they run into their parents houses yelling "It's morphin' time!" and proceed to change in front of whoever is at the house. Unfortunately, this has caused the parents of many trombonists to stop inviting people over due to the awkward situations that arise from bosses seeing the son of an employee stark naked.
Now although trombonists are awkward, they do hang out with other trombonists. This becomes incredibly true when it comes to Power Rangers. I can't tell you how many Power Ranger play dates occur each week among trombone sections.
Most trombone sections meet as many times outside rehearsal that they can. Conductors think that during these times the trombonists run through excerpts as loud and as obnoxiously as possible, but in reality, they spend this time romping through basements and wooded areas taking down imaginary Megazords.
So there you have it. A secret view into the private lives of trombonists. Some musicians enjoy playing golf, some enjoy doing athletics. Trombonists like dress-up and make-believe.
Now if you'll excuse me,
It's morhpin' time.
-The Socially Awkward Trombone
THREE.
DAYS.
2/21/12
Instead of your usual scheduled programming, she will be taking over for me here, and I will be taking over for her on Wanderingwrites.com.
It's gonna be special.
Until then, here is a quick post on trombonists and their awkward childish love of all things Power Rangers.
Power Ranger Trombonists
Power Rangers was a very popular children's show in the 90's. For some reason, it caught on with trombonists and future trombonists.
The older trombonists were introduced to it by their students, and it quickly became an obsession.
Other trombonists were introduced to the Power Rangers as children, outgrew the show, and rediscovered it when they decided to play the trombone.
Today, Power Rangers are not as prominent in society, but the Rangers' series is still being produced, and the trombonists make up over half of the demographic of viewers.
What started as a harmless antic of dressing up as Power Rangers for Halloween has turned into a full-fledged awkward nightmare. When they aren't practicing or throwing back copious amounts of alcohol, many trombonists spend their time in their mothers' basement. It is there that these unfortunate forty-something year-old's dress up as their favorite Rangers and watch reruns of the old show.
Trombonists take every opportunity to wear Power Ranger costumes. The minute trombonists return from rehearsals that require them to wear decent attire, they run into their parents houses yelling "It's morphin' time!" and proceed to change in front of whoever is at the house. Unfortunately, this has caused the parents of many trombonists to stop inviting people over due to the awkward situations that arise from bosses seeing the son of an employee stark naked.
Now although trombonists are awkward, they do hang out with other trombonists. This becomes incredibly true when it comes to Power Rangers. I can't tell you how many Power Ranger play dates occur each week among trombone sections.
Most trombone sections meet as many times outside rehearsal that they can. Conductors think that during these times the trombonists run through excerpts as loud and as obnoxiously as possible, but in reality, they spend this time romping through basements and wooded areas taking down imaginary Megazords.
So there you have it. A secret view into the private lives of trombonists. Some musicians enjoy playing golf, some enjoy doing athletics. Trombonists like dress-up and make-believe.
Now if you'll excuse me,
It's morhpin' time.
-The Socially Awkward Trombone
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Soda Policies
I think it's time we returned to the discussion of social etiquette on this blog. Sometimes I wonder if I have been failing the few socially inept trombonists who stumble across this site in complete desperation.
Then I stop wondering because I know the answer.
Yes. I am failing them.
Sorry.
Trombonist: "I am sick and tired of being a social outcast. It's such a difficult trait to fix. Maybe Google can help." Types "trombone how to stop being socially awkward" into Google.
Upon seeing one result, the trombonist excitedly clicks the link to a blog called SOCIALLY AWKWARD TROMBONE.
Trombonist: "Hmmm, all this is telling me is that I'm doomed to a life of social awkwardness as a result of my picking the trombone... at least...I think that's what it says. I can't actually read. NOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!"
I apologize for my lack of helpfulness as a writer and for all of the educators who were never able to keep your attention long enough to teach you to read.
This is (By the way, you have been told numerous times that trombonists are illiterate. If you are wondering how a trombonist manages to write this blog, I can tell you that this particular trombonist has magical penguins and toy Land Rovers. Magical penguins and toy cars are the secret to literacy...Good luck finding a magical penguin. I purchased the only two existing ones straight out of my imagination. They can fly.) a really long parenthesis.
I want to bring everybody's attention to the difficulties of drink machines.
These machines were built for convenience. Walk up to the machine. Place your cup under the ice dispenser and fill it with ice. Move to the left or the right and fill the cup of ice with the drink of your choice.
Seems simple right?
Maybe. It depends on your personality.
Personality 1
I'm going to blissfully get my drink from this machine. It does not occur to me that there could possibly be someone behind me. I think I'll get a Diet Co- no wait. Fake out. I want a Spri- no. Root beer. I want Root beer. I think I'll stand in a way that completely blocks the machine while I get my drink because I am oblivious. This drink lever kind of looks like a butterfly. Or perhaps a seagull. I wonder how they put the bubbles in my drink.
This decision takes only a couple of seconds, but personality 1 has moved from the left to the right and back to the left of the drink machine. This makes it awkward for the person behind Personality 1 who has now tried to access the ice machine 3 times but has been blocked.
It's very hard to be mad at Personality 1. You'd have to be a total jerk. Usually, Personality 1's are children, or really nice people.
Personality 2
I'm going to race to the drink machine and cut you off. Why? Because my 3 seconds of time are worth more than yours. I will then throw my arms around the machine and hug it for an indefinite amount of time just to make you mad. If this results in every drink being released, so be it. Now that I'm done hugging it, I'm going to make a drink that is comprised of every soda that comes out of this machine.
Personality 2 thinks themselves the most important person in the world and does not give a crap that anyone may be waiting on them.
Personality 3
I'm skipping the ice because there's someone behind me waiting. I would like Sunkist, but there's so much foam in it that actually filling my cup would take 30 whole seconds. And there's someone behind me. I'll just get the drink on the very end of the machine even though I don't like it because there's someone waiting behind me. Did I mention there's someone behind me? I hope I'm not taking too long. They seem to be waiting on me. They can get ice now. It's not going to bother me. They must not like standing next to people which means that despite my efforts to get out of the way I will need to leave before they can serve themselves. AHHHHH the cup's only half full but I 'm leaving anyway because I'm being inconsiderate to the PERSON BEHIND ME.
The only way that Personality 3 can get a drink they actually like is if there is NO ONE behind them.
What makes the drink machine awkward is that no one knows when it is OK to actually get a drink. If you are waiting behind someone and the drink you want is on the opposite side of the drink they are getting, is it OK to use the machine at the same time? Or will they think that rude? We need rules in place for this. There are etiquette protocols for dumber things than soda...I think.
It is highly likely no one reading this has ever considered the drink machine a place of social awkwardness. Congratulations Personality 1. From now on the drink machine will torment you.
There are a couple of ways to combat the social awkwardness of the drink machine lines. Stationing a security guard to direct things has been eliminated as an idea. This is not an important topic.
Option 1: Bring your own drink.
I do this because its cheaper, I stay out of the way of people, and it is rare that a drink machine gets the Dr. Pepper syrup mixture right.
Option 2: Die of thirst
Pretty self-explanatory.
Option 3: Brave the awkwardness.
Alright Personality 2. I am judging you.
Option 4 (for trombonists): Go to the machine and act like your normal selves.
Life is always awkward for a trombonist. Chances are you won't even realize anything awkward is going on because you live in an environment of awkward on a daily basis. To the bass trombonists: why are you at the drink machine? There is no alcohol here.
So to my trombonist friends, don't worry about it. For once in your life, you are predisposed to succeed. Reading this has also been a massive waste of time.
To the others reading this blog, I am sorry if I just made you aware of being a jerk at the drink machine.
Last thing,
Be it known to all that I will be partnering up with a long time friend of mine (who is the blogger at wanderingwrites.com) at the end of February for one day. We will be doing guest posts on each others' blogs. It should be quite entertaining.
-The Socially Awkward Trombone
Then I stop wondering because I know the answer.
Yes. I am failing them.
Sorry.
Trombonist: "I am sick and tired of being a social outcast. It's such a difficult trait to fix. Maybe Google can help." Types "trombone how to stop being socially awkward" into Google.
Upon seeing one result, the trombonist excitedly clicks the link to a blog called SOCIALLY AWKWARD TROMBONE.
Trombonist: "Hmmm, all this is telling me is that I'm doomed to a life of social awkwardness as a result of my picking the trombone... at least...I think that's what it says. I can't actually read. NOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!"
I apologize for my lack of helpfulness as a writer and for all of the educators who were never able to keep your attention long enough to teach you to read.
This is (By the way, you have been told numerous times that trombonists are illiterate. If you are wondering how a trombonist manages to write this blog, I can tell you that this particular trombonist has magical penguins and toy Land Rovers. Magical penguins and toy cars are the secret to literacy...Good luck finding a magical penguin. I purchased the only two existing ones straight out of my imagination. They can fly.) a really long parenthesis.
I want to bring everybody's attention to the difficulties of drink machines.
These machines were built for convenience. Walk up to the machine. Place your cup under the ice dispenser and fill it with ice. Move to the left or the right and fill the cup of ice with the drink of your choice.
Seems simple right?
Maybe. It depends on your personality.
Personality 1
I'm going to blissfully get my drink from this machine. It does not occur to me that there could possibly be someone behind me. I think I'll get a Diet Co- no wait. Fake out. I want a Spri- no. Root beer. I want Root beer. I think I'll stand in a way that completely blocks the machine while I get my drink because I am oblivious. This drink lever kind of looks like a butterfly. Or perhaps a seagull. I wonder how they put the bubbles in my drink.
This decision takes only a couple of seconds, but personality 1 has moved from the left to the right and back to the left of the drink machine. This makes it awkward for the person behind Personality 1 who has now tried to access the ice machine 3 times but has been blocked.
It's very hard to be mad at Personality 1. You'd have to be a total jerk. Usually, Personality 1's are children, or really nice people.
Personality 2
I'm going to race to the drink machine and cut you off. Why? Because my 3 seconds of time are worth more than yours. I will then throw my arms around the machine and hug it for an indefinite amount of time just to make you mad. If this results in every drink being released, so be it. Now that I'm done hugging it, I'm going to make a drink that is comprised of every soda that comes out of this machine.
Personality 2 thinks themselves the most important person in the world and does not give a crap that anyone may be waiting on them.
Personality 3
I'm skipping the ice because there's someone behind me waiting. I would like Sunkist, but there's so much foam in it that actually filling my cup would take 30 whole seconds. And there's someone behind me. I'll just get the drink on the very end of the machine even though I don't like it because there's someone waiting behind me. Did I mention there's someone behind me? I hope I'm not taking too long. They seem to be waiting on me. They can get ice now. It's not going to bother me. They must not like standing next to people which means that despite my efforts to get out of the way I will need to leave before they can serve themselves. AHHHHH the cup's only half full but I 'm leaving anyway because I'm being inconsiderate to the PERSON BEHIND ME.
The only way that Personality 3 can get a drink they actually like is if there is NO ONE behind them.
What makes the drink machine awkward is that no one knows when it is OK to actually get a drink. If you are waiting behind someone and the drink you want is on the opposite side of the drink they are getting, is it OK to use the machine at the same time? Or will they think that rude? We need rules in place for this. There are etiquette protocols for dumber things than soda...I think.
It is highly likely no one reading this has ever considered the drink machine a place of social awkwardness. Congratulations Personality 1. From now on the drink machine will torment you.
There are a couple of ways to combat the social awkwardness of the drink machine lines. Stationing a security guard to direct things has been eliminated as an idea. This is not an important topic.
Option 1: Bring your own drink.
I do this because its cheaper, I stay out of the way of people, and it is rare that a drink machine gets the Dr. Pepper syrup mixture right.
Option 2: Die of thirst
Pretty self-explanatory.
Option 3: Brave the awkwardness.
Alright Personality 2. I am judging you.
Option 4 (for trombonists): Go to the machine and act like your normal selves.
Life is always awkward for a trombonist. Chances are you won't even realize anything awkward is going on because you live in an environment of awkward on a daily basis. To the bass trombonists: why are you at the drink machine? There is no alcohol here.
So to my trombonist friends, don't worry about it. For once in your life, you are predisposed to succeed. Reading this has also been a massive waste of time.
To the others reading this blog, I am sorry if I just made you aware of being a jerk at the drink machine.
Last thing,
Be it known to all that I will be partnering up with a long time friend of mine (who is the blogger at wanderingwrites.com) at the end of February for one day. We will be doing guest posts on each others' blogs. It should be quite entertaining.
-The Socially Awkward Trombone
Thursday, January 5, 2012
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