What You Don't Know Probably Isn't Very Interesting Anyway
Saturday, March 5, 2011 at 3:34AM Last time on How Green Is My Fake Grass Practice Field:
- Crying
- Jason The Ridiculously Young Drum Major and Matt the Badass Win at Life in under three and a half minutes
- Further crying
- Oh, and crying
We begin with The Reader email, from a former student of mine:
To quote a recent tweet of yours, and a movie which I believe we have both seen--Mary Beth Ellis, you magnificent bastard, I read your blog.
Can't tell you how much I've been enjoying the series of Ohio State posts. As with Thoroughbred racing, space shuttle innards, and nephews which are not my own, you continue to take a topic about which I thought I had absolutely no interest and leave me hanging on the edge of my seat. If this is what this topic brings you to write in February, I can't wait to see what happens in football season, when this band and these Drum Majors really start to show us what they can do. From what I've seen, Ohio State should be immensely proud of these men the program is turning out.
That brings me to the video they were kind enough to shoot with you. I've read all the comments in the most recent post and like everybody else I focused in on the ten seconds or so in which you hit the Head Drum Major with a question he clearly did not expect. Everybody has been speculating about your motivation, your nerves, your body language, etc etc etc but you yourself have been mysteriously quiet on the matter.
I found myself wondering why you would ask your main interview subject that question, other than the fun of taking on a dare and delighting a longterm reader (and, presumably, the rest of us in the process.) But something didn't make sense. For the last several posts, you've made it clear that you were on edge about the entire project. In the classroom you were always focused on making US feel comfortable so that we would come to you with questions and rough drafts and so on. I imagine you would do no less for these two Drum Majors. Why, then, out of all the questions posed by your readers, in addition to the many I'm sure you got on email, would you choose that one, a question which would doubtless cause (even momentary) discomfort for someone you probably want to get along with for the next several months?
Then I remembered something you were always hammering into our heads about writing: SHOW DON'T TELL. While the first few posts discussed the athletic nature of being an Ohio State Drum Major, the more recent ones have focused on the more mental and emotional demands. I think you're realizing that the way in which the Drum Major position is structured leads to students maturing far more rapidly than otherwise, that it creates poise and the ability to handle pressure in ways most people don't think about, and I think you wanted us to see this "live on camera." I know it's within your ability to effectively TELL us this, but by including this little moment, you were able to SHOW us how quickly and how well Jason was able to recover from Langrish's curveball. Like any good prof, you were building a platform for him to stand on rather than just pointing to him and saying, "This is how it is!" In effect, you took our own words, and used them to your, and Jason's, advantage.
I noticed that you did not exactly point out Jason's moment of triumph in the text of the post, but many The Readers gravitated to it right away anyway. You trusted us to "get it" and we did. And I imagine that if Jason had panicked or flubbed the question, you would have revised your opinion of him accordingly, and that part of the video would have never seen the light of day. You knew that by allowing him to acquit himself so well, he would, in effect, be showing off on behalf of Matt, Stewart, Josh, and the many others you mentioned, all those guys who trained and helped him. By succeeding in those few seconds, he showed all of us what the whole program is about. It's not just the twirling and the athletic feats. It's so much more, it's about the whole person, and it's passing all of it on.
Amiright or amiright?!
You know what, you The Readers think you're all so smart. You sit there with your RSS feeds and your wifi and your autorefresh and your Atari BASIC and I don't know what-all, and you think you've got me all figured out just because I happen to split my psyche open all over the Internet. You know I didn't have my first date until I was ninteen years old. You know my SAT scores, you know my bra size, you know I have a learning disability. You know that Josh The Pilot and I both waited for one another, for married life itself, before doing Married Things. You know that I am a navigational catastrophe in ways you have not yet dreamed of.
But you know all this because I have deemed it so. I am willing to cede over these parts of myself because I am seeking to grasp your hand from the confines of this white and narrow text box; and, failing that, a brush of the fingertips or even a distant nod of recognition. Maybe it's a defense mechanism. Maybe it's all the Pop Rocks and Coke of my childhood. I don't know why I am happily willing to pronounce myself a virgin for the entirety of my bachelorettehood to the whole entire Internet, but at the same time had to talk myself through unwrapping each individual finger from the rental car steering wheel and deep-breathe my way across the parking lot on my way to meet Josh The Supposedly Subdued for freaking lunch, and even then was at all times maybe a second and a half away from utter nervous collapse, right there by the peach iced tea machine in the downtown Au Bon Pain. These things are a mystery for some pendingly wealthy therapist to figure out. In the meantime, I need to load the dishwasher.
That doesn't mean I tell you everything. Carah The BFFE, for example-- she not only knows where all my bodies are buried, she knows where I hid the murder weapons, how close I once came to transferring out of The Womb in our sophomore year, and what my alibi is from 7:22 PM to 8:04 PM on Election Night 2000. Some trusts, and some truths, are sacred.
And so it is with this project. I made it very clear from the start with everyone I speak with that they have utter "off the record" control, because I am not out for a salcious bundle of TMZ updates on what a pack of college trombone players are doing with their Saturday nights. Frankly, the everyday world in which these band members operate, this business of playing to exhaustion, strutting to perfection, and shrugging over it all with a glass of 2% milk and a stack of underbuttered pacakes is far more interesting anyway. Charlie Sheen tweets of tiger blood, but dammit, these people have mellophones.
This is probably why I made such a piss-poor journalist; others of the profession perk up at a Senator saying something along the lines of "And that is how I enabled the illegal money laund-- I mean, the National Act To Save The Small and Sickly Children," while I'd gaze over his shoulder with doe eyes at the Capitol Dome in his office window, all, "Yes, I see. What would you say freedom smells like?"
In the course of writing this book, I will not be at all surprised if entire conversations, evenings, or even weekends are retroactively deemed Off The Record. I fully expect, some humid Sunday afternoon, to find myself in the middle of a Columbian rainforest, with the entirety of D-Row frantically scrubbing Matt's fingerprints right off his hands, Josh squinting through the trees in search of the F-22 backup he has just ordered, and Stew The Kind of Big Deal defusing a suitcase nuke using nothing but one of my ponytail holders and shrapnel he's just dug out of his own leg. And Jason, calmly wiping the blood of bin Ladin from the business end of his baton, will glance over at me and say, "Off the record, Moneypenny," and I will say, "Yep," and traipse over to my laptop for a perfectly charming 1500 word report on what Matt once told me about what kind of shoes a proper Drum Major must wear. 'Struth. You just won't know the parts of it I don't want you to know.
So connect this information to my student's email as you will; but I will confirm that before we taped the video I posted previously, I told Matt that I had a question for him about time management, and that people were seeking advice from Jason for even younger potential Drum Majors, and then I levelled the baton I was holding at him and said, "I have a second question for you, kiddo, but it's a surprise."
He said, "Oh? Okay." And then we were rolling.
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Reader Comments (38)
"What would you say freedom smells like?"
Avgas.
Damn you, MB, you take my moment of triumph...
"you know my bra size"
I KNOW I would have remembered this post....
"find myself in the middle of a Columbian rainforest, with members of D-Row frantically scrubbing Matt's fingerprints right off his hands, Josh squinting through the trees in search of the F-22 backup he has just ordered, and Stew The Kind of Big Deal defusing a suitcase nuke using one of my ponytail holders and shrapnel he's just dug out of his own leg. And Jason, calmly wiping the blood of bin Ladin from the business end of his baton, will glance over at me and say, "Off the record, Moneypenny," and I will say, "Yep,""
You owe me a new keyboard, but not a blog refund because holy shit that's awesome
They're secretly a crime-fighting Drum Major Justice League! I KNEW IT!
it all makes sense now!
Brilliant, brilliant, and more brilliant.
I mean it's so good I'm not even going to yell at you for not putting up more videos.
(struts through thread)
It's a goooooooooooood day.
Well damn.
I don't think I've ever been so happy to be told to shut up and mind my own business by a woman before.
"struts through thread"
...No... Just stop.
GET BETTER!!!!!
You'd better stick close to that D-Row if you want to get OUT of that rainforest, MB.
It's here, Pete:
http://blondechampagne.squarespace.com/imported-20101130153216/2009/12/2/harnessed.html
Got it bookmarked.
Best. Comment thread. Ever.
Ooh! Ooh! Blonde Champagne: THE MOVIE!
I don't want to be the comic relief who gets shot in the butt, but I think I'm typecast.
You can be the guy who cracks the access code for the terrorists' network, then looks up and says "We're in."
I'll be the chick wearing improbable filmy white clothing while running from fireballs.
No Mike, you are too smart to get shot in the butt or eaten by the dinosaur. How about Likable Wisecracking Sidekick?
I'll do lunch with Morty, see what he thinks about it...
"You know that Josh The Pilot and I both waited for one another, for married life itself, before doing Married Things."
...Now this I did not know.
That is actually quite mindblowing. While dating a hot piece of action like the nubile Ms. Tink?
Josh, my friend, you must have been king of the cold shower. Unless you and Tink spent your entire courtship sitting on either end of a couch with five nuns as chaperones in between.
Even then I. Cannot. Imagine.
I mean, more power to ya, but seriously dude, you must be supernatural or a eunnich or something.
"on what a pack of college trombone players are doing with their Saturday nights."
Two words people: Band. Camp.
"she not only knows where all my bodies are buried, she knows where I hid the murder weapons, how close I once came to transferring out of The Womb in our sophomore year, and what my alibi is from 7:22 PM to 8:04 PM on Election Night 2000. "
Well now you're just exaggerating.
...Arent you?
You can be the guy who cracks the access code for the terrorists' network, then looks up and says "We're in."
Sweet.
I'll be the chick wearing improbable filmy white clothing while running from fireballs.
Then who cares what I'm doing?
Dude! You have the most important part in the whole entire movie!!
You have to make sure the sprinklers are on!
"You knew that by allowing him to aquit himself so well, he would, in effect, be showing off on behalf of Matt, Stewart, Josh, and the many others you mentioned, all those guys who trained and helped him."
(nods) He is repping the entire program. She just built the stage, trained teh spotlights, and got out of his way.
"You can be the guy who cracks the access code for the terrorists' network, then looks up and says "We're in.""
I call evil guy with British accent.
"...Now this I did not know. "
Oh yeah. She and Josh The Pilot were quite open about it.
I find it refreshing. Improbable, but refreshing.
"you were able to SHOW us how quickly and how well Jason was able to recover from Langrish's curveball"
Lay you odds it would have been even faster if she and Matt weren't laughing
Paradise by the Cockpit Lights
"Stew The Kind of Big Deal defusing a suitcase nuke using one of my ponytail holders and shrapnel he's just dug out of his own leg. And Jason, calmly wiping the blood of bin Ladin from the business end of his baton, will glance over at me and say, "Off the record, Moneypenny,""
This? Is why I come here.
Atari BASIC
FTW!!!!!
...videos?....
"You know that Josh The Pilot and I both waited for one another, for married life itself, before doing Married Things."
Yelling at each other and never having sex?
Belle... you tweeted that you weren't feeling well.... all better?
"You can be the guy who cracks the access code for the terrorists' network, then looks up and says "We're in.""
Nooooooooooo, I'm an IT guy, and that's my THING! It's, like, my ONE THING, and I wanna do it in the movie!
Post starts about crying, moves quickly to teaching technique, delves immediately into international intrigue, and gets down to bra size in three comments or less.
I love this bar.
Fever's gone, thanks for asking. Still a bit fade-ish, but nothing I can't shake in a couple more days.
"You can be the guy who cracks the access code for the terrorists' network, then looks up and says "We're in.""
Hey, if the movie needs a villain with a sexy Latino accent... and if Javier Bardem is unavailable...
Hell, I could use one of those around the office, never mind the movie.
That has got to be the longest "I see what you did there, MB" in the history of this site.
Wataba,
It certainly wasn't easy to be with a beautiful woman and yet wait for marriage to do Married Things. I'm definitely not a eunuch, and far from supernatural, though I did invoke much supernatural help to give me patience. The key was at the start of adolescence I made a commitment to not spoil the intimacy (read: fun!) of marriage with any girl who happened along. Instead of begging me to "be safe", my parents were great about pointing out the benefits of delayed gratification and the gifts of self-control versus the consequences of indulging hormonal urge and the heartbreak of sleeping around. I absolutely felt temptation, but because I had already made the decision to not jeopardize my future marriage, it was possible to abstain and therefore present MB with the best wedding gift ever: the knowledge that I had never been with another girl, that I was guaranteed disease-free, and that I wasn't comparing her to past partners.
langrish,
Improbable, unfortunately, but very, very possible. My three siblings, myself, and our spouses are all examples.
I would just like to state, for the record, that I was TOTALLY worth the wait.
still way too much shirt going on here