In public. We don’t know why. And no, it wasn’t at Wal Mart.
What was she thinking? I can’t even guess.
More Parenting Excellence, As Seen on Facebook
My nephew, who posted a photo of his wife dressed for a night out — sort of — posted this on Facebook regarding his daughter, who IIRC is approaching or at 2 years of age.
Maybe I’m misreading the tone, but he does seem proud. Certainly the two people who responded, one of them being Hubby’s oldest younger sister (in orange), seem impressed.
The daughter learned this word from her parents, of course. Nice. How hopeful the prospect of her continued education in the area of self-expression.
A Little Music From the Farmers Market
Our flute trio, Silver Sounds, played at the Kershaw County Farmers Market in Camden last Saturday. One of our members’ husband took a short video, and here it is.
We’ll be at the Sumter Farmers Market this Saturday, unless it rains.
Singing Christmas Tree, 2013
Would you believe — we’ve started working on it already? My office is filling up with music. In the not too distant future I envision my office looking very like the last scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark. Remember this?
We got another box of music today, weighs about 30 pounds. My tasks in the next few days will include printing out (or in some cases copying) the scores for my boss to peruse, copy, tape together, whatever; stamp each copy of choir music (octavos) with our music ministry stamp and a catalog number; adding each octavo and information to the catalog; punching holes in the octavos and hopefully not eliminating notes and/or words that the choir might find useful; finding boxes to put them in; printing labels to put on the boxes; finding a place in my office to put the filled boxes of octavos; etc. IIRC, we got four pieces in, that’s 150 copies per. So, 600 octavos to process.
What fun.
Also, Wednesday is choir rehearsal and there’s still next Sunday to prepare for.
Today I cranked out and cut up the choir notification postcards that will get mailed next month, and also the mailing labels. I hate doing mailing labels, it’s always such an ordeal. Microsoft Word would make it easy, if only I did it more often. I always end up going through the same flailing process because I can never remember how I did it the last time. I also printed out and cut up the choir information postcards that get filled out at the first rehearsal, at the end of August. Or whenever the choir members show up for the first time. For me, that was in September. So that’s done.
What I haven’t done yet is the tickets. We have five performances, we print out 1,200 tickets per performance, for a grand smashing total of 6,000 tickets. The motivation to make sure they’re right before starting is considerable. I’ve got them updated for dates, and the times and the year and all are current. What I didn’t have was what we were calling it. Last year was “The Light.” This year — I didn’t know. So I texted the boss to ask him. He showed up a bit later, and plunked himself down in a chair in my office (which won’t be there long, it’ll be replaced with boxes of music) and asks me what we should call it.
“Bob,” I said.
I was referring to this.
He thought it was funny, but he decided it would be called The Story. Okay, sounds fine, I made the changes to the tickets. But I haven’t printed them out yet. Why? Well, because we don’t actually need them until October, I think, maybe November. And because a little voice in the back of my head suggests he might change his mind about the title. And I really, really don’t want to have to print out 6,000 tickets (and cut them up, and organize them) more than once.
I was talking to the office manager today, she’s a bit surprised we’re getting started this early. We both agree that it’s better to get as much done as we can as early as possible. We also both agree that no matter how early we get going, the last few weeks we will all be running around with our hair on fire. That’s just how the universe works.
Cheers, y’all.
From the Choir Loft Sunday Morning
You see strange stuff from the choir loft sometimes.
Our tech guys sit in the balcony, from where they run the sound and lights and slide shows and videos and so on. There’s a glassed-in booth at the very back of the balcony, where the cameras are controlled from. We have three, two on the floor on either side in front of the stage/dais/whatever you call it, and one upstairs in the middle at the front rail of the balcony.
We were singing something, I can’t remember what, when I noticed our sound/lights guy was standing up. I wondered if he just felt moved by the music or something, since his job requires him to monitor a computer and sound board, which means sitting. Then I noticed he was gesturing to someone on the stage. I couldn’t tell who he was trying to communicate with without leaning over and craning my neck around. That’s nothing you want to be doing in the choir loft, as the congregation will wonder what in the world you’re doing and start looking themselves for whatever’s got you so bothered. But he kept gesturing, towards his mouth. Seemed to me he was trying to tell somebody to lift their mic closer to their mouth. It wasn’t working, as he kept gesturing. That went on for about a minute and then there was someone in the booth behind him with a flashlight on, waving it around. Still trying to get someone’s attention. That worked, I guess, because eventually they all quit flailing and the sound/lights guy sat down.
I posted on Facebook about what I’d seen, and the sound/lights guy responded. Seems my boss, the worship leader and music minister, had turned his body mic off and forgot to turn it back on. I hadn’t noticed, with all the ruckus going on, and the people singing around me. We had a little experiment this Sunday; the boss decided to have the praise band wind performers in the choir loft with us. There are five of them, if everybody shows up. Which they didn’t. The guitars and drummer were where they usually are, on the stage to our right. But we had higher decibel levels happening than we usually do, so I never even noticed I couldn’t hear my boss.
I can’t wait to find out if we’re going to leave the praise band in the choir loft with us. I’d be interested in the feedback my boss got, especially from one person who’s never all that happy with whatever’s going on.
Well, Maybe He Didn’t Mean It the Way It Sounded
This was in the Columbia paper this morning. I couldn’t find it in the online edition, so I found it at the Washington Post’s website. Seems Anthony Bourdain was inconvenienced by the massacre at Benghazi. He had a show planned in Libya, had been working on it for awhile, and then our embassy staff in Benghazi were betrayed by their government and left to die, and, well… here’s what he had to say. The bolded parts are the interviewer’s questions.
Why do you think the Libya show is the best thing you’ve done?
[We were] having conversations with really interesting people saying incredible things, where you are sort of holding your breath, thinking, “Just keep talking, keep talking, keep talking, keep talking.” It’s also a beautifully photographed and beautifully edited piece of work.
Did you get clearance before the Benghazi attack or was this all afterward?
This was all afterward, but we had been setting the show up for two years. Benghazi certainly wasn’t helpful.
Got that? The massacre at Benghazi was just not helpful. Sean Smith, Glen Doherty, Tyrone Woods and Ambassador Chris Stevens were unavailable for comment. Likewise Nakoula Basseley Nakoula, because he’s still in jail.
Last Wednesday evening the boss and I were going over the slides for Sunday. I was up in the balcony running the computer and he was down on the floor of the sanctuary. That’s our usual routine; he has a bad knee so climbing the stairs isn’t something he wants to do. It works fine, unless the organist is practicing. Just after the run-through of the slides — I think it was just after — he shouts up at me that he needs to find someone who has sandbags. I had no idea what he wanted them for, so like an idiot I said, “I have sandbags at home.” Which we do. Never mind why. We have sandbags, just in case. He said, “Great!” and and then proceeds to explain what he wants me to do.
Turned out he wanted to build a sandbag wall and have a pair of combat boots with a rifle and a helmet in front of the flag for today’s service, it being the Sunday before Memorial Day. So, guess who got to take care of the sandbags?
It took a little doing to nail down how many he wanted, he kept waving his hands around and being vague. He finally said he wanted a wall two sandbags high, not a real big one. Said he wanted 6 sandbags.
So the next morning, Thursday, yours truly was out in the back yard filling sandbags. Yes, I’m an idiot. Have you ever filled sandbags? There are more miserable jobs, I’m sure, and I never want to do them either. A filled sandbag weighs between 50-70 pounds, depending on the dampness of the dirt you’re filling them with. Our dirt was a bit damp, as it had rained a couple days earlier. This was actually a good thing, because the clay our soil is made out of is not unlike concrete when it’s completely dry. The dampness was essential to be able to do anything with it at all.
While digging and filling I was pondering building the wall, and decided that we would actually need 7 sandbags — 4 for the first layer, 3 for the second. So, I dug and filled 7 sandbags, hauled them one at a time (we have a wheelbarrow, we also have a yard filled with dog-dug holes) to the driveway. I cleaned them off (can’t be scattering red clay all over the sanctuary steps), and put them into the trunk of my car. My generous estimate was that I had just loaded up the trunk of my car with about 500 pounds of sandbags. Hubby said it would probably be fine, just go slow over the railroad tracks.
And it was fine. I took it slow, the car was a bit sluggish responding (go figure) but I got to the church without any incidents. Then I found a dolly and hauled them to the sanctuary. I had planned to make 2 trips, 4 bags the first trip and 3 bags the second. Turned out 3 bags was my limit, so it took 3 trips. And I brought my desert combat boots with, even though they looked like little baby boots up there with everything else. My feet aren’t large, I can’t help it.
This morning the boss hails me before the choir gets going before the service and tells me I made him look good. And says he moved the sandbags and boy were they heavy.
No kidding.
I’ll have to haul them all back out Tuesday afternoon; the office is closed tomorrow. No, wait, make that Wednesday. Tuesday I have a summer band rehearsal to go to in Columbia, and even if I’m not driving I don’t want to be hauling 500 pounds of sandbags around unnecessarily.
This job is even more fun than I thought it would be. 
You know, if I’d had any idea what he had in mind for the sandbags, when he asked I would have claimed no knowledge of sandbags, at all, whatsoever. My back is still unhappy with me.
Jonathan Acuff is Funny
I’m reading a book I bought at the local Christian bookstore, it’s called Stuff Christians Like. It’s hysterical.
Turns out Jonathan Acuff has a blog, too, and it’s here (or you can click on the title link). My favorite post so far is called The Guy Who Sits When Everyone Else Stands During Worship. Maybe because my boss is the worship leader, I found a couple of the comments LOL-funneh. For example:
I used to go to a church where the worship leader was a former football coach and he would bark orders to the congregation like “get up off your butts!” Sometimes I wondered if he would make us run laps if we didn’t do what he said.
Maybe I should suggest that to my boss. Although, he doesn’t bark orders well. Too nice.
Also this:
I have been asked by the worship leader not to clap.
Apparently I am “rhythmicly challenged”.
And this:
That’s me. I can’t sing and clap at the same time! When I try to clap I’m told I clap on the wrong beat. Wha?
Awesome. I LOL’d, I sure did. 😀
Found by way of Instapundit.
Drunk guy gets into an apartment building, is confronted by a resident, gets belligerent. The resident’s wife calls the cops, who don’t show up for 20 or 30 minutes. By which time the resident has managed to oust the drunk guy, who fortunately wasn’t armed or a serial killer.
The follow up is this, in which the police say their response was “appropriate.”
“Appropriate” in this case meaning “buffooned it entirely.”
If you live in New Jersey, best be able to defend your home yourself. The cops will not be around to help you. That’s reality, even here in concealed-carry redneck South Carolina, where it would be a very bad idea for someone to cruise into an establishment with the intent to terrorize the patrons. I don’t think I’ve ever thought I could depend on the police to take care of my problems for me.
Motherly Pride… Or Something
Someone I know personally just posted this photo of her daughter on Facebook.
I don’t even know what to say, except, maybe, “Gaaaaah!” I hope this isn’t a new trend.
Is anything considered not for public consumption anymore? This seemingly widely held belief that everyone is entitled — or maybe required — to know absolutely everything that’s going on in your life, is that really as pandemic as it seems to be?
‘Cause… gaaaaah!
Oldcontroller's Blog 