A commenter to a post at Insty provided this link to "Stars and Stripes Forever" and I thought, oh man, that dude's uniform is outrageously militaristic. I wonder what the medals are for.
How many medals can a bandleader attain? And for what feats?
Marching around in crazy formations with a tuba and not smashing into people would be worth a medal.
My dad had a whole bunch of ribbons on his uniform and the whole time I never did know what they meant. As an adult I was with him in his bedroom long after his retirement while he was handling his old uniforms for some reason, so I asked him. He told me, "This one is for Korea, and this one is for Okinawa ..." and the next one was for someplace else and the next one for another place and so on. I realized the ribbons amounted to his entire military biography, his résumé or curriculum vitae right there on his chest. Imagine all those military people going around with their entire military experience plastered on the front of their bodies. They're reading each other this way all day long. I said stupidly and purposefully offensively, "I thought they meant, shiny shoes, buttons aligned, pants pressed, clean hands, etc." And instead of being offended as intended and serious as expected he cracked up laughing that his son is so flatly stupid. It became a joke of his.
He really was deadly serious usually.
Last night I saw a show on Netflix, "Criminal Minds" where a father was raising his son militaristically. I felt a pang of pity. The boy's bed was made tightly and I was forced to recall my own dad teaching me and my brother how to make our beds in the manner of military barracks. You have to fold the sheets just so, very specific folds, and tuck them in tightly like you're wrapping a package, no wrinkles, on top or sides or in folds, and the test is to bounce a quarter on the bed like a trampoline. A quarter! Barry and I were both perplexed, what is the point of all this tedium? We thought that strict bed making was ridiculous. Dad really did rely on his own basic training to raise us two boys and we didn't like it one single bit. Because of that crossover, "discipline" is my all time enduring least favorite word. I never enlisted. I didn't want anything to do with disciplined ways. It interfered massively with my free spirit impulses.
Does this bandleader even sense how anachronistic and pompous and overly ornate and North Korean this looks?
10 comments:
I did hear that an un made bed makes it less hospitable to bed bugs and a messy desk indicates a creative mind...
Truth lies somewhere in the middle. There is a time for discipline and a time to ignore it.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jfW9-0EzYxA
Truth lies somewhere in the middle
LMAO.
Too late, Evi L. Bloggerlady.
Seriously, it's too late.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DyturlPpyic
My father was conducted by none other than John Philip Sousa himself. That occurred in either 1930 or 1931. Needless to say, my father was a huge fan of The March King.
Dads make you do stuff you don't want to do. That's their job. It doesn't matter what it is. In fact, it's probably better in the long run if it's something stupid and you question the wisdom. Gets you started on your life of questioning authoriTAY.
You have any idea how hard it is to make high school horn players come in in perfect unison so that they don't sound...well, like high school horn players? Guy deserves all those medals.
My college band director was former Chief USAF bands. He had a bit more ribbons, including ones that one only gets from combat. If I recall, he actually did other service before joining the band part of the military.
Of course, the middle ribbon on this guy is the Marine Good Conduct Medal, which from books I read of WWII was regarded as the medal for not getting gonorrhea. Reading the criteria, that's about right too.
That bed making thing didn't last very long. Dad saw right off we were hopeless at it. As I recall it, you fold the side flaps up over the bed and tuck in tightly the bottom end with attention given the corners. Then fold the side flaps down and tuck them in tightly. So tightly it smashes your feet when you go to bed and squeeze in between sheets like a smashed sandwich and you're the bologna. A lot of side to side back and forth. It was all too much. And mine had wrinkles all over the place. My quarter went thud. I failed inspection every time.
My dad must have thought, man oh man, I'm raising a couple of losers. They'll never get past basic training. And gave up on us.
The lessons stuck. And I still try. And still fail.
Okay, I started to laugh at the exoskeleton and the diligent arrow making its extended point!
Also aware of how much discipline is required to turn a creative idea into a physical reality. For as fun and free as the video is, it took discipline along with trial and error training to put it together--something I don't have the wherewithal or focus to do in that arena, though I very much appreciate the results.
Behind the density and fog of and either/or, right/wrong dualistic approaches, its a truth AND grace world. One in which discipline and freedom, structure and creativity serve each other.
The Cow takes the pie with his early morning moo: Truth lies somewhere in the middle. There is a time for discipline and a time to ignore it.
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