Jason The Drum Major Participates in Take an Author to Work Day
Tuesday, March 15, 2011 at 7:00PM Previously on All My Drum Majors....
- An emailer does not like me, or books about marching bands, or Ohio State, or the planet, or the angry, angry voices in his head
- Jason The Ridiculously Young Drum Major and Matt The Badass scare him back to the Commodore 64 in his mommy's basement
- Everybody DANCE!
It is a season to purge, and just before I left for Ohio, I administered a wicked enema to the boxes I've been toting from Cincinnati to Florida to DC to ummmmm I forget to Alabama. The one good aspect of boasting fifteen addresses in the past eighteen months is that you get real unattached to various crap, real quick. So: Participation trophy from third grade summer bowling league? Gone. Outstanding bench warrants? Not important. Baggie of Random Pieces of Somebody's Lawn...?
I sat for a very long time holding the Baggie of Random Pieces of Somebody's Lawn. It was in fact blades of grass from the field at Notre Dame Stadium, gathered in my freshman year the night the student section rushed the goalposts after beating USC. I split the handful I grabbed, sending the other half to my high school history teacher, a Notre Dame die-hard who wrote my letter of recommendation to Saint Mary's. What remained was transferred intact from upper desk drawer to upper desk drawer in offices from Ohio to Orlando. The blades had long since dried, some still bearing the chalk of the sideline. That is the price of dealing in organic material, in what is graspable and real... it'll turn on you.
In Alabama, as I sat with my back to a pile of notebooks and Grown-Up Writer Girl skirts bound for Columbus, I stared at the little pocket of plastic, remembering my thin blue glove reaching to the Indiana turf, grabbing part of my brother school in my hand, the closest I could come to trapping the whole moment in a microscope slide, having it. Now I sat a decade later with the brown and crumbling remnants, the tearing seams of the plastic, unwilling to throw it away and unable to have it in sight.
A week later, with snow choking the parking lots and Charlie Sheen waving a machete from atop a hotel roof somewhere far away, Jason took me to see his office.
Nice, cozy little shack.
As we passed through an entrance gate, I made an exceedingly attractive noise which was somewhere between a laugh and a sob without quite being either.
"You haven't been in here before, have you?" he said.
"No," I told him. "And I am having A Moment." A Moment in which I was realizing that a Cincinnatian who had once buried her hands in the groomed grounds of the House that Rockne Built was currently being escorted through Ohio Stadium by its Head Drum Major... a product of the Cleveland area. The meteors had been summoned.
In contrast to Notre Dame Stadium, Ohio Stadium seats a bigger crowd, boasts a more recent renovation plan, and brings the fans closer up on the field, but--and I did not say this to Jason, fearful of insulting his house and his manhood--it struck me as smaller than expected. Maybe it's because a great part of it is sunken. Maybe it's because it was built in the middle of a state capital instead of a cornfield. Maybe it's because it was empty.
The grass is fake here, forever striped. It is not a mere simulation of the element earth-- it's an outright improvement. Jason told me it's easier on his legs than hard turf, magnificent to strut upon.
We stood facing the south end zone. Jason let me acclimate for a few moments, as one might adjust to a shock of subzero temperatures, or news of the impending zombie apocalypse.
"What's it like?" I said finally, not needing to elaborate.
"Loud," he answered, also not needing to elaborate.
"You come in here even when there's no real reason to, don't you," I said, and I will keep his reply between the two of us, but when he was done answering I stared at the concrete for several moments, remembering how many times I'd walked the long way from Notre Dame Library back to my dorm at Saint Mary's, just so I could have the Golden Dome in front of me and the busy, modern side of campus behind.
"You have got to be freezing," Jason said suddenly, and led me to where he does a significant amount of his work on game days.
He stopped midway down the ramp which leads to the north endzone, where, two by two, the entire band precedes him onto the field, leaving him alone with his baton and his adrenaline. And the loud.
"It's only a few seconds," he said, "but it's the only time I have to myself all day." The first time he performed as the Head Drum Major, the Alumni Band was lined up behind him, and he looked over his shoulder to see Stew The Kind of Big Deal, baton in hand and blending in with the scarlet background, now-- a whole host of alums who had stood where he was now standing, strutting where he was about to strut and beginning what he was about to begin.
I turned around myself, looking up through the damp quiet and the weak-tea February sun, and my dark German sense of humor was stirred by what I saw, there in the walls of the signature building of this very enormous, very public school.
"What's up, totally unexpected stained glass windows," I said, more to myself than to Jason, and finally surrendered myself over to the Instant Saccharine Analogy, because seriously, if I should someday read that a Catholic had fled her Catholic brother school for not being Catholic enough only to land at a godless condom-distributing state school where she is confronted by architecture imported directly from the Vatican, I would immediately fling the book across the room for Being Twee.
Jason, meanwhile, was tracing a thin, jagged X in the wall to our left. "You ever wonder how we know where to stand before starting Ramp?" he said. "X marks the spot. Drum Majors made this, with their batons." I reached a glove out to the scar-- this defiant slash carved by hand and steel within sight of state-of-the-art Jumbotrons, the mark carved by different people wearing the same uniform, deepened by Ohio cold and the shake of the band running past. And since it was part of a gray wall that was missing, there was nothing to take from it, not a thing to seal away... but I felt that fissure against my hand, and it was real.
So is this. Jason with a backhand cartwheel catch:
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Reader Comments (61)
It's been awhile since I've been in the Tasting Lounge, MB, because honestly, I wasn't interested so much in "Dotting the I." Dammit, I missed you though. Now I remember why I keep coming back. Maybe I rely on you for the faith you have in your Faith, because I don't have it anymore, if I ever did. It is so much a part of you that it's a beautiful thing.
So, I guess I'll keep reading about drum majors and marching bands, and beautiful things.
Oh, MB. Oh, Jason.
So much awesome in just one post.
First laughing, then crying, then yelling 'HOLY SHIT DID HE JUST CATCH THAT WITHOUT LOOKING?!"
Thank you Jason and Mary Beth for.... this.
I think I need to lie down.
you said it would be worth the wait...
YOU WERE RIGHT
DAMN!!!!!
Jason your amazing tricks are... amazing. out of words, MB took all the good ones....
Anne The Reader, I totally agree. Don't care about any of this... but Mary Beth MAKES me. And so does Jason. Both of them doing what they do best right here, and I can appreciate that.
I want to reread this post as many times as I want to rewatch that cartwheel thing, which is A LOT.
You two are an amazing team.
I was going to come here to post what Anne said, but she said it way better than what I was going to say, so I'm just going to say ditto : )
Whhhoooooo Jason-- that ROCKED!
Up and down the roller coaster before the incredible free-fall drop of that video...
wow oh wow
The flint of MB's words striking against the steel of Jason's baton.
Stand back and watch the Conflagration of Awesome.
"I made an exceedingly attractive noise which was somewhere between a laugh and a sob without quite being either."
Pretty much the noise I was making while reading this. Both tears in the eyes and busting out laughing.
Jason The Young-- I must add to the appreciation here. You're incredible.
"Nice, cozy little shack."
LOL! That it is.
Reading this post back to back with the one about the Tampa Bay Derby really makes me appreciate your range, Ms. Tink.
And you, guy with the baton-- that was awesome!
Damnit, Belle, it's no fun to make totally inappropriate comments at times like this. Damn you and your ability to make me feel, and stuff.
Jason can I just say THANK YOU for all the hard work I know you must have put into this! And THANK YOU for sharing your talent with us!
I hope Jason doesn't mind but I am going to have to watch his video later to really appreciate it.
Right now my eyes are full of tears from the post in front of it.
"Jason, meanwhile, was tracing a thin, jagged X in the wall to our left. "You ever wonder how we know where to stand before starting Ramp?" he said. "X marks the spot." I reached a glove out to the Drum Major-created scar, the slash in the stadium, the mark carved by the same batons but different people and deepened by Ohio cold. And since it was part of a gray wall that was essentially missing, there was nothing to take from it, not a thing to seal away, but I felt that fissure against my hand, and it was real."
...just wanted to cut and paste this... as an excuse to read it again...
scarlet background, gray wall...
I saw what you did there, Belle : )
beautiful beautiful beautiful
Both of you!
"What's it like?" I said finally, not needing to elaborate.
"Loud," he answered, also not needing to elaborate.
**
That's great.
What a couple of rock stars.
Ladies and gentlemen, the prodigiously talented Jason The Ridiculously Young Drum Major... and his lyricist.
WORDS AND MUSIC
Stew and Josh...
you done taught him good!
...And I have lost count of how many times I've replayed this video, because I honestly cannot believe what I'm seeing.
Kudos on your talent AND all of your hard work, Jason.
Mary Beth, your writing is an emotional taze.
Jason, your.. .flinging and catching defies gravity.
Both of you make this *#&@ look easy.
Zhana, looks like she's been up late revising:
"Jason, meanwhile, was tracing a thin, jagged X in the wall to our left. "You ever wonder how we know where to stand before starting Ramp?" he said. "X marks the spot. Drum Majors made this, with their batons." I reached a glove out to the scar-- this defiant slash carved by hand and steel within sight of state-of-the-art Jumbotrons, the mark carved by different people wearing the same uniform, deepened by Ohio cold and the shake of the band running past. And since it was part of a gray wall that was missing, there was nothing to take from it, not a thing to seal away... but I felt that fissure against my hand, and it was real."
Well somebody's taking this whole GET BETTER thing very seriously ;)
What a bunch of cryin' women we are.
I think it's fantastic.
Pretty sweet office, Jason.
Shirtless enough. I guess I'll have to take it.
"The flint of MB's words striking against the steel of Jason's baton. Stand back and watch the Conflagration of Awesome."
LOL!! Best. Comment. Ever.
Mahalo, you win this request and dedication to Belle and the Buckeyes:
linktext
"Just in time!"
"your writing is an emotional taze"
I was rushing and read that as "emotional TEASE," but then again I'm pretty sure that also applies to this post.
Well, if the drummajors can hijack a Tbred thread, racing can hijack a drummajor thread: MB, flipped on the TV last nite and saw GARY STEVENS! talking to Laffit Pincay!! Reminded me of your Larry King post, which IMHO still stands as THE FUNNIEST thing you have ever written:
http://blondechampagne.blogspot.com/2006/04/revision-revision.html
“How do you like being a staaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh?”
LOL!!!
**** verklempt, fanning self ****
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A-7XPCNrD5Y&feature=related
Nice. I like that better than the original version.
(checking back in just to reassure himself that this post REALLY HAPPENED)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A-7XPCNrD5Y&feature=related
"Just in time!"
Ha! Perfect : ) All I can say is... MAHALO!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A-7XPCNrD5Y&feature=related
....Awwwwwwwwwwww! too sweet!
It's funny, last week I heard this on the radio and for some reason MB's "Belle and the OH State Drum Major Walk Into a Bar" post popped into my head. Great minds and all.
um, why are we all crying? Don't get me wrong, great post, but....?
GIMMIE A J!
GIMMIE AN A!
... aw, screw it, Jason's name is almost as 2x as long as Matt's and I'm lazy. Let's skip to the:
yaaaaaaaaaaaaaYYYYYYYYYYYYY Jason!
@Latigo: I know, I saw! New show called "Legends."
http://blondechampagne.blogspot.com/2006/04/revision-revision.html
That? Goes back a ways. Thanks for remembering it : )
Copies of bench warrants? Not important.
hahahahaha!
Whoops, sorry, meant to direct that @ you, langrish... but your comment was good too, mahalo : )
SEX IN THE AIR
Mary Beth, the only thing that could have made this post any better is the topping of Jason, and I for one am greatly appreciative!
My favorite part is the second time he throws it and then just kind of waits for it with his hands on his hips: "I got all day, bitches, how bout you?"
PHENOMENAL
(yes, you MB, and you, Jason)
Baseline of Awesome: I was incredibly impressed just by the twirling Jason did before he even left the ground. SO COOL
Your whole collection of freshman-year phone messages & 1994 receipts from The Hut of Blues (34 Sycamore Street, South Bend) got remorselessly tossed, just like that?
mean emailer: blah blah blah
Jason The Ridiculously Young Drum Major: FORGET YOU
The Readers: Ain't that some shhhhhh....
YOU KICK ASS JASON