Post-Trip

Well, the polytet is over and I'm back home. Things I learned while on my trip:

1. Bus rides are only fun for about 30 minutes. When it was suggested we all go down together on a chartered bus, it seemed like a great idea. And while it was certainly nice to not have to drive, and it created a kind of "group atmosphere" for those of us who rode together, when you're past 40, riding on a bus is kind of like riding on a covered wagon. The bumps, the noise, the smells, the two-lane mountain roads. Next time, I'm thinking chauffeured limousine.

2. One needs to peruse all the serving tables before making lunch selections. The Watauga band had a big lunch ready for us when we got to the practice hall. We were lead down a table with buns, a hamburger or chicken patty, condiments, baked beans, and potato salad. Which was fine. But once I had my plate full, then we went by a second table that was full of all kinds of homemade stuff, tuna and a variety of other salads, side dishes, and desserts. Damn, I wish I'd have seen that table first, it would have been adios, burger, beans, and p. salad.

3. Always be prepared to blame Mr M for any projected failures. I had a solo on the Dixieland number we played. In practice, I thought it went well, till Mr M suggested to me I didn't do something I should have - a "smear" from one note to another to start the solo out. I'd never done that before, and immediately got all emotionally distraught because I then felt expected to do that and I'm not good at it, and my confidence collapsed like a wet house of cards. As it does. So on Sunday, after a few dismal stabs at it, I decided that I'd just stand up, play my solo, and when I screwed up that very opening smear and it lead to ruination of the whole rest of the solo that followed, I'd just blame Mr M and not speak to him for several hours. Of course, the smear went OK and I went on to play the solo with no snafus.

4. Never order fried apples from Cracker Barrel. They suck. They don't peel them! Whoever heard of unpeeled fried apples!

5. A night of drinking beer, wine, Goldschlager, wine, Goldschlager, and vodka can leave you not nearly as drunk as you'd think, and with no hangover. Still don't know how I escaped that one. Had fun though, socializing and watching the Hokies lose. And catching part of what has to be one of the dumbest movies of its decade, "Tango and Cash."

6. People generally like Sherman, even if they don't know who he is. People from the Watauga band remembered him from when they were up in B'burg (most called him my "little man"), and some others even knew he was Sherman. Most were very impressed by his new clarinet, too, by the way. What a goodwill ambassador that boy is.

7. Policemen can have a heart. Friday evening I was late and in a very rushed attempt to get to B'burg. Zooming my way out of town, I looked in the mirror to see those familiar flashing lights. "Oh, shit," I thought, and looked at my speedometer. It was on 65, and that was after I'd taken my foot off the gas. I was probably going about 70. Just not paying attention. A young trooper came up to the car, asked for license and registration, I handed over the license - and couldn't find my current registration. I knew I had it, and I was just leafing through all my papers, leafing, leafing. Finally the trooper said (and I quote), "Well, ma'am, just give me your expired registration, I'm not givin' you a ticket nohow." How I got out of that I've no idea. The only thing I can possibly imagine is that the state is having a big "click-it or ticket" campaign, and maybe when they pulled me over and I was wearing my seat belt, they had a little mercy. Whatever the case was, I sure was grateful.

8. I'm not the best person at trivia (non-pop culture variety). On the way home yesterday, we had a little trivia quiz on the bus. 29 questions, standard stuff everyone should know (which hand does the Statue of Liberty hold her torch in, how many matches in a standard book). Not only did I not win, not only did I not come in second (I came in third), I only got 21 right. Shame upon me.

9. You'd be surprised how much fun a squishy rubber chicken can be. For no other reason than he was lying in the back seat of the betmobile(which is rapidly becoming the heapingpilesoftrashmobile), we decided to bring along my squishy rubber chicken. He's actually Mr M's rubber chicken, but Mr M hates his guts, so I have to be his caretaker. He's about 6 inches long, and has a little rotund belly, a rubber outside, and the same insides that stress balls have. So he's squishy. Anyway, we had fun with him at Oktoberfest, and decided what the hell. The bus crowd liked the Squishy Chicken. His best trick was being stuffed into the box of Chicken In A Biscuit crackers, so he popped out at everyone who reached in for a treat.

10. Mr M can still come up with a good one-liner. During the concert, after the first song, Mr M caught my eye and said, "After every song I still have the urge to sing 'Ein Prosit.'"