As the cellist's (2nd chair) fist crescendoed against my chin, I had a freeze frame rough cut flashback to my last real fight. It had been 15 years since my sophomore year(s) of college, when some clarinetist (1st chair) (!) insulted my then girlfriend with a snide comment about intransitive verbs. I was drunk at the time -- 6 beers and a pint of varnish -- but I was a Medievel Latin major and honor (4th chair) had to be defended. We both deposited some blood on that dancefloor (or rather, blood was allowed to become deposited), and ultimately the brawl was judged a draw, though I received high marks for the initial tackle (sans ropes and pulleys for a change -- huzzah!). But that was college stuff(s). Tonight was the culmination of a very simple question posed a few weeks before: “Are we here to play poker, or create an instituiton that is insubstantial, shaky, and in constant danger of collapse?"
The Späten Song (Issue 2) The short and sordid story behind the history of the discovery and subsequent adoption of our very own international anthem.
Number One Bomb (Issue 1) You gotta step on the doormat if you wanna walk through the door! That is, uh... you, uh... y'know what we mean... right?
More? Still?! Well then... you, my friend, are just foolish enough --SCRATCH THAT-- discerning enough to muck up your home and office with Rubber Bomb emblazoned merchandise! Why, they've even got funny descriptions to keep you laughing all the way to our bank.