beautiful, funny, sad & true

Today is the one-year anniversary of BFS&T. Actually, to be more accurate, it’s the one-year anniversary of this incarnation of it, because I’ve had a MySpace blog of the same name for two and a half years longer than that. I still use it for a few things, but this one has definitely taken over and become the main one.

Lots has happened in the last year. I learned how to take much better pictures, for one thing. This year’s ‘best pictures of the year’ entry will be quite a step up from last year’s.

This year’s musical accomplishments have been a step up, too. The Young Immortals–whose CD I produced and played on–have had a song picked up by WorldFamousCoffeeCompany, and radio play all over the country. There are even some radio stations in France and Ireland who love and play TYI. There are teenage girls who make videos of themselves singing TYI songs and posting them on WebSiteThat’sLikeTV. This past spring, summer and fall, I made enough money at music-related endeavors that I could have quite easily lived without my day job. Too bad about the whole winter season, though. There’s always a huge drop-off then, and I’m still trying to figure out how to make things happen in that time.

Cello-ness has been steadily improving as well. This year has seen the cello become one of the primary instruments I’ve been called to play, both live and on various recordings. That has caused a certain amount of anxiety for me, since some of my friends are among the best cellists in this town, but I’m also not stupid enough to turn down great opportunities that come my way, either. If it’s something I can play, I play it, and I appreciate every gradual step up.

Romantic relationships continue to be a bit troublesome for me. The one this past year was one of the ones that really changed both of our lives, though, so I suppose I shouldn’t complain too much. As one of my friends likes to say, “You’re just making room for the one that’s the right one.”

Overall, I’d say that things are going really well. Goals? Yes, I have a few. Keep improving myself as a person and as a musician, take more ‘chances’ in my life, TRAVEL MORE, reach out more and be a better friend, take my music career to the next level (and figure out what I want that next level to be), and also to take better care of myself.

Oh yes. . .and of course, to keep blogging steadily. I expect you to help keep me accountable in these endeavors.

Here’s to the next year!

My friend and I were talking the other day, and during that conversation I was reminded of a joke that was making the rounds when I was in third grade–St. Joseph’s Catholic school–that has stuck with me, even these thirty years later. (Dang, I’m old!) Only one other person I’ve told it to has ever heard of the joke, and she also grew up in Washington state. Therefore, I have no choice but to assume that it must be a Washington thing.

So here goes.

Oh wait. . .a couple of disclaimers before I share it. It mentions the existence of homosexuality. If I felt it was derogatory, though, I wouldn’t post it. For the record, the gay friends I’ve told it to have all found it hilarious.

I suppose you should also know that it contains a few slightly bad words for both the female and the male anatomy, but they’re not that bad, and they’re nothing you haven’t heard a million times before on network TV. If you don’t like any bad words at all–or if you’re at work or something–then you may want to stop reading now, or else read it when you get home.

Still with me? Okay. The joke starts now.

* * * * *
Kid A: Are you a ‘fag’ or a ‘mag’?

Kid B: I’m a mag!

Kid A: Do you know what that is?

Kid B: No, but I’m no fag.

Kid A: Okay, so you’re a mag?

Kid B: Yeah.

Kid A: MaleAssGrabber? Gross!

Kid B: OH. No no, I’m a fag! I’m a fag!

Kid A: (turns toward full playground) Hey, everybody, he just told me he’s a fag!

Kid B: (angrily) What? Yeah, I’m a FemaleAssGrabber!
* * * * *

Anyway.

There’s also the alternative version of the joke, which adds a couple of letters to the synonyms involved:

* * * *
Kid A: Are you a ‘fagit’ or a ‘magit’?
(Yeah, that’s how they’re spelled; you’ll see why.)

Kid B: I’m a magit!

Kid A: Yeah, well, I’m a fagit.

Kid B: You’re a fagit??

Kid A: Yeah. . .FemaleAssGrabberIncludingTits.

Kid B: What’s a magit then?

Kid A: MaleAssGrabberIncludingTesticles.

Kid B: Oh, then I’m a fagit too. (By now he knows he’s been had.)

Kid A: Hey, everybody. . .etc.
* * * *

Out of the mouths of babes, eh? Man, when I first heard someone tell that–remember, I was eight years old–I thought it was the funniest thing ever, which actually reminds me of another joke from third grade. Or maybe it was fourth; I can’t quite remember. Anyway, it’s not an actual joke, it’s more of a response to one, and it can be used after any joke in the history of jokes. You’ll see what I mean. Oh, and there are no bad words or anything, so you’re safe.

* * * * *
Kid A: [just finishes telling a joke]

Kid B: Ha ha ha ha. That’s really funny. I first heard it from my great-great-great-great FiveThousandGreats grandfather–and he invented the dinosaur. When he first heard that joke, he laughed so hard that he fell off his pet dinosaur and broke his wooden underwear, and that’s what led to the dumbest invention ever; the inflatable dart board.
* * * * *

Yeah. You’re not the only one not laughing. You’re not really supposed to be, though, because it’s not meant to be funny. It’s supposed to be a joke killer, to be used when another kid thinks that he’s FamouslyHilariousComedian. As soon as he finishes telling some lame joke, instead of laughter, this bizarre monologue comes flying back at him. It’s guaranteed to kill any other joke, but be careful. If you use this non-joke yourself, you may very well end up looking like a supreme weirdo at the same time.

I think this might be one of the strangest blog entries I’ve ever written.

This is a dedication for someone. I found it and shared it with her, and I liked it so much that I thought it would be nice to post here too.

Tonight I was supposed to drive to WestHillsSuburb to buy a guitar pedal that I found online. When the time came, however, my car balked.

It started, died after about three seconds, and then wouldn’t start up again.

I went back inside and looked in the repair manual, then went out and looked at the engine. Everything looked normal, but I didn’t hear the little humming noise that usually happens every time you turn the key. I kept trying to start the car, but it was all for naught.

Grrrr. I decided to let the engine sit for a while and see if maybe it was just flooded or something. I hung out and listened to the news and caught up on all the blogs that I haven’t had time to read lately. I also e-mailed the guy who was selling the pedal to tell him my car wasn’t starting, and that it looked like I was gonna be stuck at home for the night.

After about half an hour, in the interest of empirical research, I decided to try to start the car again. It started right up like the little champ that it is. I love it and simultaneously hate it when stuff like that happens.

Okay, okay. . .I get it; I’m not supposed to buy that guitar pedal.

J: Are you at a zoo, surrounded by chimpanzees?

me: No, I’m at Lloyd Center [mall in NE Portland], and there are a bunch of screaming kids everywhere. It’s pretty much the same thing.

J: (laughs) That’s hilarious. You should put it in your blog.

You have to love cell phones.

One time I was hiking in the Columbia river gorge, along a dirt road that was covered with leaves. I called my brother to say hello. A couple of minutes into the conversation, my brother asked me, “What are you doing? Are you crunching potato chips right into the phone?”

“No, why?”

“Because it sounds like you’re doing that.”

“No, I’m hiking. Those are leaves.”

“Oh man, that was so loud I couldn’t even hear what you were saying.”

The moral of the story is that I’m not going to buy another Motorola phone. Mine isn’t even a cheap one, but the sound quality is terrible. I don’t recommend them; in fact, I recommend against them. They also make this buzzing sound that never goes away. Almost every single conversation I have goes like this, at some point:

them: “Hey, do you hear that noise?”

me: “Yeah, it’s my phone.”

them: “It’s really annoying. And loud.”

me: “Yeah, I know; everybody tells me that. I hear it too.”

them: “It’s kind of a buzzing sound.”

me: “Yeah, I know. It’s my phone.”

them: “Man, that’s loud. You should go get a new one.”

me: “I know. This one sucks. It was expensive, but it still sucks.”

them: “Wow, that’s really lou–”

me: “Yeah, I know. Can we talk about something else now?”