"Hey Aidan, you gonna get nogged with us before the show tomorrow?" said Rob to me Thursday, under his breath.
"Um... I don't know what that means, and no."
"Oh man, we're gonna be so nogged," said Jay, with his wide, blue, crazy-jazz-musician eyes. "A show's not a show unless you nog it up beforehand."
Friday they showed up with a carton of eggnog. Rob, Jay, and Noah each had about three cups of it before each show. The following conversation took place almost every time we were sitting around in the pit, bored, waiting for the lights to dim:
"Hey you guys, that sure was some good nog."
"Oh man, I am totally nogged right now."
"Yeah I know, it's really going to my head."
etc.
Sometimes, Noah would lean over his congas, look at one of them, suddenly look extremely pleasantly surprised, and say, "Rob... Rob Yonick!"
"...Noah Zarkaine!"
"Oh my God! From marching band! And pit orchestra!"
"Oh my - what's it been, fifteen years?"
"Fifteen... Sixteen years, sixteen." They would both nod.
"Dude, you're not even sixteen."
"Yeah I know."
Ah. Way too much time spent with people who are way too wierd. Witnessing a conversation between them, you think, "They are either mentally retarded or the three most talented musicians in the school."
Friends coming was cool. There was a fair amount of hanging out, and it went just about the way you'd expect it. Molly was complimentary, I complained about the score, Dave made (trom)boner jokes, and Julian stood there with his arms crossed, not looking at anyone but occasionally interjecting witty comments. I'm pretty sure Dave made it a point to stand between me and Julian at all times. Or maybe Julian was the one doing that.
Stupid... Goddamn... Love parallelogram.
The last show was today. I am kind of sad that pit is over. I am also kind of sad that marching band is over. I honestly don't think I know what I'm going to do with myself. I feel very close to a post-band season breakdown. Most people have them.
I have homework. A lot of it. But I don't want to do it. I want to live in the pit and sleep on the band room floor and eat stale cookies and Chinese food and hang out with my bandies all the time. I want to perform, because that makes me happy. I wish that every week were Hell Week, because I eat, sleep and breath music and I never have to go home. Everyone hanging around in the band room - dressed all in black, lounging on chairs and tables and random scenery, telling 'this one time at band camp' stories, tired, but ready, and excited - that's perfection. When I'm sitting in dirt and cobwebs and masses of tangled wires, hidden from the audience, in the dark, creating something beautiful that no one can see - when I can see the faces of people I care about, wide-eyed and pale, lit up by the glow of stand lights, I feel completely alive.
So I guess I am not kind of sad that it's over. I guess I am really sad.
Williams Center = Home.
Hopefully, jazz band will start real soon.
Well, at least I never have to play the megamix again. (Every song in the show, shortened and turned into techno.) It's not just me. Everyone hates the megamix. It is just long and terrible. "I'm going to name my second child megamix and neglect him," said Rob at one point. I laughed really hard.
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