A Trumpeter's Lullaby

does something like this require context? just listen to it.  

Davy and ross

I was hoping to amuse you all with thoughts and clever photographs from my NHL experience this evening, like the cool picture I took of Santa riding on the zamboni.  I don't usually take pictures, even though I bring my camera around in my flugelhorn case most everywhere I go.  I was reminded why.  First, I am a horrible photographer.  I don't know how to work the thing to get the light and the flash and the zoom right.  My dad was helping me, and I made a marked improvement.  Second, you have to keep fresh batteries in the thing.  It runs out of charge faster than a BOSS chromatic tuner.  Third, you have to plug it in to your damn computer and download the pics.  Then you have to upload the things and give them clever captions to amuse all your friends.  For me, this is about five steps too far removed from having the actual fun.  All I want is the fun.  I don't want to share it with anybody the next day.  I'm not even too concerned about remembering it.  I'll just get some new fun... you know? I even had a photograph of my parents and sister sitting at the kitchen bar, all of them working on laptops.  "What I did on Christmas Vacation..."  I updated my facebook status every 25 minutes or so.  

Pops got a couple of free tickets from his work, and so we had some pretty nice seats in the company box.  I've never sat in box seats before so I was pretty excited. You could only order beer by the six-pack.  I had pictures of the little suite, pictures of the beer cup that said "sobriety is no accident," (I got drunk on purpose)  arm-length pictures of me and my dad laughing it up, pictures of Santa taking a zamboni ride, (that shit is hilarious, to me,) I took videos of the human bowling.  That was pretty great, that was better than the whole stupid hockey game, at which the Blue Jackets were shut out, 3-0.  During intermission, they stretched a slingshot across the far blue-line and some college guys took turns on a plastic saucer sled, they pulled the slingshot all the way back to the goal, and let it fly, and it flung the guy all the way across the rink into a set of large inflatable bowling pins.  I was really amused.  I was pleased to have pictures and videos of all this stuff.  I was getting ready to post it on the web, to be droll and ironic, to prove to you that my Dad and I went out on the town and had a fine time.  Like I said, I hardly ever take pictures.  I've been to New York City, I've been to France, I've been to the Ohio State-Michigan football game, and I have no proof.  

The whole thing about the internet is proving that you exist, proving you went to the game, proving that you were having more fun than whoever else doing whatever, wherever...  and wouldn't this have been a better blogpost if it had a picture of Saint Nicholas riding a fucking zamboni?  

I'll write a thousand words here, and it won't be worth a fraction of all the blurry, poorly framed photographs that just got lost into the ether.  iPhoto was having problems and collapsed unexpectedly... and all the evidence that we had fun in Columbus tonight was lost, forever.  

Not long ago, I had a photo on my phone of 2 Goodyear blimps doing a test run over Ann Arbor the Thursday before the football season started.  I was riding my bike to Dave Schall's house, and there overhead was the Goodyear blimp.  Cool!  Everybody loves the Goodyear blimp.  I'm a Scrooge and I love the Goodyear blimp.  Then, as quick as you could say Jiminy Christmas, there appeared a SECOND Goodyear blimp!  I freaked out.  It was unprecedented.  I screeched my bike to a stop, got my phone out, and clipped THE BEST photograph I've ever made, of 2, fucking TWO GOODYEAR BLIMPS.  It was almost a spiritual experience for me.  I showed that photo to everyone I saw for the next 2 weeks.  

I didn't have a way to get the thing on to my computer, and several months later, my phone had an unknown incident inside my backpack, which resulted in a crushed LCD.  It looked kind of pretty, but it was totally useless at that point.  When I went to get a new phone it came to light that none of the data was permanently saved and couldn't be transferred to another device.  My art was lost.  (Never mind everyone's phone numbers.)  

So tonight, while the Empire was crumbling all around me, I went to the coliseum to addle my senses and observe the gladiators crashing in to each other on a frictionless surface while attempting to put a tiny morsel of rubber into a net not much bigger than a Leslie cabinet.  I was amused and amazed.  The fascinating thing about the Columbus Blue Jackets is that it's a masterpiece of public relations and marketing.  They're, at best, a mediocre hockey club.  It will be another 12 years before they even make the playoffs.  Most people don't even know they exist, I think.  They're an expansion team that opened in 2000.  Nevertheless, the arena was about 2/3 full, and about 2/3 of those people were wearing Blue Jackets hats, jackets, and jerseys.  (The proper term is "sweaters," I think, for hockey.)  They raise money for kids with leukemia, they give you a free burrito if a guy gets a hat trick, they fling T shirts in to the crowd with an air gun.  (Those things have an impressive range, by the way.)  They make it easy for you to find a special item for that hard-to-buy-for person on your list.  I wanted to get on the big screen during intermission, but I had no chance.  The only people they showed were very pretty girls or people wearing Blue Jackets clothing and Santa hats.  

The team name, "Blue Jackets" is derived from the color of the coats of the Union Army in the War Between the States.  Ohio boasted the largest number of soldiers in either army.  Interestingly, my great, great, great grandfather, George Washington Huff, was a veteran of that war, the 83rd Ohio Infantry.  He died, years later, building a barn.  Another man was chopping some wood, or some such thing, and on the back-stroke, the axe head flew off the handle and buried itself in George's skull.  I would not lie to you, that is how he died.  He made it through the Siege of Vicksburg and died in a freak farming accident.  Anyway, the thematic slogan of the Blue Jackets is, "I will carry the flag."  That comes from the old battle tactic of picking up the flag when the bearer is shot down.  For the glory of the Union and the honor of the flag, you couldn't let the thing touch the ground, so when the defenseless flag bearer got mercked, the next guy had to throw down his weapon, pick up the flag, and lead the charge.  Abject stupidity, in my opinion, but then, I never had to bear arms to preserve the Union.  At any rate, they have little film clips of each player saying, "I will carry the flag," with a star-spangled background and rousing music.  There's no way any red-blooded Ohioan couldn't support this hockey team.  Also, it's the only professional sports franchise that the city of Columbus has.  Cleveland and Cincinnati have one MLB and one NFL team each, and Cleveland gets the NBA team.  All Columbus ever had was the Buckeyes, until the noble Jackets came along.  

Jesus, I always freak out at four in the morning when the newspaper delivery comes around.  It's a weird feeling (whether in Ann Arbor or Columbus) when the whole world is quiet and suddenly someone in a minivan drives right up your driveway.  What do they want?  What's going on?  Is it a burglar?  Is it the cops?  Oh, it's only tomorrow's paper.  Why do they have to creep up on me so ominously?  Am I paranoid?  There are certain times when it's better not to see any other human beings.  It can shatter the peace that is only available at this time of night.  

The nights are getting shorter, now, and before we know it we'll be running our asses ragged playing rock and roll all over this tortured continent.  (I don't know what you do for work, I guess I'm only speaking for the Macpodz and Bathgate and Josefina.) It's raining like a bastard in Columbus, Ohio and I hope the snow hasn't melted by the time I get back home.  I like the snow, I like the cold.  People that complain about the cold are probably not wearing their long johns.  The seasons seem to change much faster now than they did when I was a kid, but I still love Hershey's Kiss cookies and eating ham and scalloped potatoes at Grandma  Huff's.  It's pretty amazing when you can have a good belly laugh with your Grandma and Grandpa about some dumb thing that happened 20 years ago.  

Anyway, forget taking pictures, forget blogging, all we need is love, all I want is fun.  

Be good to each other, okay?  And I'll see you in the New Year.  

Love.  

R.  

P.S. OK that was 1,597 words, which should make up for all the stupid blurry pictures I lost. 
Good Night and a Happy Christmas to All. 

I have been logged in for days, now that we have a proper router and wireless transmitter...