2004-01-01 - 9:11 p.m.
Last night we rang in the new year with a ton of boozalation. Gotta remember to have all the associated folk who partook of our little celebration of the annual over to enjoy our not-so fabulous hospitality on far more frequent occurences, as they were all a hell of a lot more fun than the last group of folk we invited over to our domicile for an evening of fun and conversational meanderings.
And at least this time only folk we invited showed up. I hate party-crashers, unless I'm the one crashing the party.
What kind of "adult" shows up over an hour late to a dinner engagement with three uninvited and barely announced hangers-on in tow? Oh, that's right, a hypocrite. (This is what's known as a verbal Brucing, meant as a tribute. See below)
Anyway, I had fun. I dunno about brook or pete or vin or wej or brenda, but I enjoyed myself to the hella degree. The only thing missing was the stripper.
Now for the downer. but there's a funny story at the end, so please hang with me.
I got a call today from my mom telling me that my high school band director, Mr. Bruce Kroken, had died this evening from pneumonia-induced asthma complications. Just too damn much for his respiratory system to deal with.
Band wasn't the most important thing during my school life (most of the time i was only in it cause my mom made me stay in it), and Bruce and I butted heads over this on several occasions. In his estimation, I was, mother of all suprises, a talented player who didn't work hard enough to become a good player, just a good enough one. He, in my estimation, was a jerk who focused far too much on winning stupid marching band competitions and made music far less fun than it should have been.
But I always had a lot of respect for the man. He was one of the best trumpet players I've ever heard. he could make that damn horn sing. And he was none too shabby on a bass guitar, either. I always had to admire, albeit begrudgingly, Bruce for choosing to teach music to a group of high school kids in a vastly underfunded public school instead of playing por gigs for money all the time, which he was certainly good enough to do. Plus he drank like a champion, so you gotta give the respect.
My most abiding memory of Bruce, however, was The Bruce itself. When you fucked up in our band, you had to do 10 pushups for each error you had commited. wrong not, 10 pushups. Fall out of step, 10 pushups. At the end of each pass through the show, if you had fucked up, he had a certain way of looking at you, a look we called the Bruce. If you got Bruced, nothing more needed to be said. You immediately dropped and started doing pushups. The amazing part about it was the way no one, and i mean no one, could help but shrink back into themselves and feel really stupid when they got Bruced, and it was all done without saying a single word. It's a talent I've tried my damndest to master over the years, without much success.
As the years have worn on, I've come to realize how much I miss marching band, up to and including the numerous Brucings I was given over the years.
My favorite though was the one I got my senior year. We had to do the halftime show at a football game on Halloween night, and we had all been given permission to dress up that night, instead of our usual 500 pound wool uniforms. The trumpet section dressed in a Star Wars theme, with me as Darth Vader and my friend Dave as Obi-Wan.
We had brought our fake lightsabers, and we'd decided to do a reenactment of the duel between the two on the fifty yard line during the portion of the show where the band wanders aimlessly while my friend Sheri played her sax solo. I was a little dubious about the wisdom of such foolishness during a performance (I wasn't the free-wheeling assclown you now know) but Dave assured me that it was cool with Bruce.
So we did the duel, and everyone laughed, and i thought it was a blast. After the game, I went up to Bruce to get his opinion on the whole affair.
Me- Wasn't that funny when Dave and I did the duel?
Bruce, shooting me a Brucing that came perilously close to making me piss myself- I told Dave NOT to do that.
Oh, shit.
Last time we saw each other, we shook hands and said hello, and I always figured maybe one day I'd buy him a guiness or something. I've been Bruced for the last time.
Ken
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