18 November 2009
Playing in the rockin bell band
(me and bell choir stand partner)
They say you never forget your first time.
First time to play in a hand bell choir that is.
And so it goes that Thanksgiving Day will be my maiden hand bell voyage with the All Souls' Episcopal troupe. But instead of cracking a bottle of Dom P. over the bow I'll be tickling some brassies with fellow ringers. Choice. All told I'm quite elated.
For whatever reason I've always wanted to be in a hand bell choir. The girls, the cash, the prestige. And, mhhm...the svelte ebony gloves. All things I idolize in life, really. But don't worry, I won't let it change me...
Bells represent a brilliant pairing of tonality with percussive action — tactile musical bliss in hand-held form. And I mostly specialize in four notes: G, G#, A and A# just below middle C — kind of your mid-range tonal arsenal, as far as hand bells go.
So that's it. Check it off the list. I think I've reached my life summit, friends. And I'm not even 26 years old. Not a bad go of things all told.
But it doesn't stop there.
I'm also a chorister these days too. A rekindling of former vocal mediocrity. It's divine (in a mostly temporal way).
Several weeks ago (on All Saints Sunday) we sang the Schubert Mass in B flat major at church. It was divine (in a more eternal way). Here's the mass' Gloria. You should listen to it if you want to connect with something larger than yourself.
I've been at All Souls' for about three months now and it seems my life is on an ever increasing high-church trajectory. For starters I wear a cassock and surplice every Sunday. How did that happen?
But the Episcopal tradition is a simplistically beautiful one I think. I love the symbols and the sensory elements of worship. And chanting is just plain cool.
And now, as we're moving into the especially meaty portion of the liturgical year there are good things on the menu. You can keep your holiday muzak. We've got the real deal at the Souls': vocal, orchestral, percussional.
Divine.
Ring it like a polaroid.
15 November 2009
Father and Son
(and brother and nephew to me)
10 November 2009
Pain is...
Pain is weakness leaving the body...
...or just a padded right hook smashing your face.
*fun times on the Tinker sports beat. go team*
04 November 2009
Not your grampy's Horned Frogs
It's always nice in fandom to have a good backup. Your go-to team that's a good rebound when your No. 1 is down and/or out. Turns out TCU might be my rebound this year (how dare you judge me)
But I've been strongly pressured in this direction in recent years by the family addition of two TCU super-fan bros-in-law. And maybe, just maybe, I finally drank the Kool-Aid this past weekend. Dang that peer pressure...
So it was that we enjoyed a good-ol butt whoopin of UNLV at the hands of a very impressive TCU unit. With my Sooners riding the comparative BCS short bus I'm okay having a backup Purple and White hip-flask to go with my Crimson and Cream coozy...
But anyway, here are several photos with which you may wet your whistle. It was a great game and weekend. Go Frogs. Boo Iowa...and Cincinnati.
Yeah!!!!....yet another touchdown as we run up the score on a lackluster team!!!
Homemade ingenuity. Poor Frogs, can't get any love with their Mountain West caste. Somebody needs to call the ACLU...
Yeah band! Sorry, I had to, it's in the fine print. These guys rocked a halloween Thriller show though. They did the dance on field and everything. Super bandee envy!
26 October 2009
Pre-game Awkward
Not a bad genre piece. And the presence of Baylor's football team in any photo background is pretty awkward in its own right, am I wrong?
25 October 2009
Bros.
The nephews take survey of a setting sun over Lake Thunderbird. (photo by my bro)
23 October 2009
One shot, One kill
My brother killed a deer with his bow and arrow last week. It was his first animal taken in such a fashion, after several years in the sport.
So he took the shot, there was no danger, and the end result was a smallish Bambi Twohorn corpse that will feed Mammy and the chillens come winter.
But I'm proud of my bro. Not every man can shoot a deer in the spinal chord, through the heart, through the lungs and out the other side while perched on a platform 20 feet above the forest floor. I think even Davy Crockett gave my brother a here-in-spirit coon-skin-cap nod from the grave. 
Here we are with the primary incisions while gutting the beast. I remember back when my family lived in Maine and we saw a guy cleaning a black bear like this. I was five and the bear seemed HUGE. Probably where my bear phobia originated...
But thankfully animal blood doesn't bother me. Only the human variety (especially when paired with needles). But we got 'er gutted alright. Good eatins for nearby coyotes. Gut pile a la carte anyone?
Family shot around the deer. Nephew Joshy: "Can I touch the eyeball?" "Yes, son. You can touch the eyeball." 
And a shot of the nephews-on-car-with-football to grow on.