20 September 2002, a Friday. 2002's landscape was one of hope. War was raging, but the economy was recovering. And TV offered grim doses of reality, but also great escapism.
I went home on weekends in those days from UH. We met Mal and the other Big Damn Heroes for the first time that night. I wasn't sure what to make of the promos. These 30 second spots had humor and spaceships which sold me. Yet, it was a western. What was I to make of this? (In retrospect, that's what the casual viewer would have said if they channel surfed onto it.)
The episode did an adequate job of introducing these highly interesting characters. It was unlike just about everything else on TV, yet was somehow familiar. I was enjoying the episode and thought it was better than most other things I could have watched during that awful time slot anyway. What cemented the show as something truly special was near the end, when Mal pushes Crow into his engine. Who would do such a thing? Only a Big Damn Hero.
It went on only a few other episodes but the show was something special, something to emulate, something to ... have faith in ... so to speak.
Thursday, May 07, 2009
Wednesday, May 06, 2009
Leap of Faith
I may have mentioned that I played WoW, awhile, back in the day. In those days, I was as a god. Being a Shaman, it was only right and natural. Having the power to control the elements was an important aspect of playing the class. This sometimes manifested in interesting game mechanics.
To set the stage, the level cap was 60 and epic land mounts were the epitome of speed. At this particular time, I had been promoted to a Lieutenant General, so I had access to a special Black War mount, of which, I had the awesomest of the all: the Raptor. The cost of this mount in the game's currency wasn't all that much, considering. I had to invest time into PVP, in which I excelled as the overpowered class. Brandon, on the otherhand, got his epic mount the regular way which entailed 1000 gold, a hefty sum, indeed. Through begging, borrowing, and stealing (he actually did none of those things) he broke the 1000 gold threshold.
He was a Tauren, a minotaur-esque race, whose hometown was a series of cliffs known as Thunder Bluff. If you took a misstep, you could fall off. This often ended in pain, time wasted, and a slight case of death. In game terms, you'd have to go back to your corpse and pay a fee to fix your armor.
That being said, when Brandon finally got his mount, we went running around the town. At one point, I said, "Hey, look at this." I proceeded to take a running leap off the cliff. Brandon noticed I hadn't died. He figured that it was a side effect of the new mount. So, he starts thundering down and off he leaps... and promptly falls to his death. Baffled, he started the run back to his corpse and wondering what happened to me.
I, on the other hand, was still safe and sound, hovering a couple feet off the ground. Back in thsoe days, Shaman had a totem that had a "feature" that would stop a Shaman in his tracks, be it running, or falling in his death. While only situationally useful, this was later removed as it was considered a glitch.
But hey, I at least got to use it to screw over Brandon, so ... worth it! I also got to act out one of my most favorite jokes. Surely, you've heard it by now, neh?
To set the stage, the level cap was 60 and epic land mounts were the epitome of speed. At this particular time, I had been promoted to a Lieutenant General, so I had access to a special Black War mount, of which, I had the awesomest of the all: the Raptor. The cost of this mount in the game's currency wasn't all that much, considering. I had to invest time into PVP, in which I excelled as the overpowered class. Brandon, on the otherhand, got his epic mount the regular way which entailed 1000 gold, a hefty sum, indeed. Through begging, borrowing, and stealing (he actually did none of those things) he broke the 1000 gold threshold.
He was a Tauren, a minotaur-esque race, whose hometown was a series of cliffs known as Thunder Bluff. If you took a misstep, you could fall off. This often ended in pain, time wasted, and a slight case of death. In game terms, you'd have to go back to your corpse and pay a fee to fix your armor.
That being said, when Brandon finally got his mount, we went running around the town. At one point, I said, "Hey, look at this." I proceeded to take a running leap off the cliff. Brandon noticed I hadn't died. He figured that it was a side effect of the new mount. So, he starts thundering down and off he leaps... and promptly falls to his death. Baffled, he started the run back to his corpse and wondering what happened to me.
I, on the other hand, was still safe and sound, hovering a couple feet off the ground. Back in thsoe days, Shaman had a totem that had a "feature" that would stop a Shaman in his tracks, be it running, or falling in his death. While only situationally useful, this was later removed as it was considered a glitch.
But hey, I at least got to use it to screw over Brandon, so ... worth it! I also got to act out one of my most favorite jokes. Surely, you've heard it by now, neh?
Tuesday, May 05, 2009
When It Says Solo, Learn to Play It
When I did Joseph at Prendie for St. Andrews Parish I had another memorable memory.
The director was an excellent choral director. As far as the singing went, he put a lot of work into making sure making sure that the cast and all did their part. As far as the pit went ... well, there was me on clarinet, Justin also on clarinet who was a guy a year ahead of me who looked so much like Doug that that became his name, Jenny, the girl I liked on flute, and Gillian, a tall and quirky girl also on flute. And we had two percussionists. Oh, and the director on piano. So music-wise, it's a very limited ensemble.
I was lead reed (ladies and gentlemen, the world's tallest midget!). As such, I had to play most of the cue notes since there wasn't really anyone else. Thankfully, the director was more or less prepared to do the show entirely with just the piano accompaniment.
That is except for "Those Canaan Days" whereupon I decided not to learn the cue notes meant for an accordion. Part of that reasoning includes laziness but it also involved me assuming the director was going to play it himself.
Imagine my surprise opening night, when some classmates of mine who attended St. Andrews Elementary, walk up to me and say good job and all and that's when director starts chewing me out. Well, he wanted those cue notes covered too. They were a solo after all.
Every performance thereafter I played it, fairly well too, I might add.
The director was an excellent choral director. As far as the singing went, he put a lot of work into making sure making sure that the cast and all did their part. As far as the pit went ... well, there was me on clarinet, Justin also on clarinet who was a guy a year ahead of me who looked so much like Doug that that became his name, Jenny, the girl I liked on flute, and Gillian, a tall and quirky girl also on flute. And we had two percussionists. Oh, and the director on piano. So music-wise, it's a very limited ensemble.
I was lead reed (ladies and gentlemen, the world's tallest midget!). As such, I had to play most of the cue notes since there wasn't really anyone else. Thankfully, the director was more or less prepared to do the show entirely with just the piano accompaniment.
That is except for "Those Canaan Days" whereupon I decided not to learn the cue notes meant for an accordion. Part of that reasoning includes laziness but it also involved me assuming the director was going to play it himself.
Imagine my surprise opening night, when some classmates of mine who attended St. Andrews Elementary, walk up to me and say good job and all and that's when director starts chewing me out. Well, he wanted those cue notes covered too. They were a solo after all.
Every performance thereafter I played it, fairly well too, I might add.
Monday, May 04, 2009
Crazy for You
1999. 1999 was an odd time. People were partying all the time, like in that Eddie Murphy song.
Zoom, zoom, the world is in a mess. I was in stage crew for Archbishop Prendergast's winter show. It was an extraordinarily well done show, as per usual, don't get me wrong. And while Crazy for You isn't an awful show, I don't like Gershwin. And being part of stage crew, I got to hear a whole lot of it, over and over again. From rehearsals to closing night, always with slapping of that bass. Actually, wait, I did actually like that song. Okay, so that song apart, oh and that other ... well, okay, it wasn't a bad a show. It was a good show ... I just heard too much of it to enjoy it.
I worked stage right. I had one important scene change during the show. During a musical number, I had to move a heavy bar with the stage manager while the star of the show was in his spotlight. We had to move that bar almost next to him, but I had the side closest to the stage and not next to the actor. One night, we were off. It wasn't my fault (or at least just my fault), but the stage manager managed to get herself caught in the spotlight. All in all, though, it wasn't the end of the world. It was, however, fairly memorable.
My friend Rita worked stage crew for that show too. She worked stage left. During intermission we'd meet up and chat and that was cool.
On closing night, final performance, everyone got their accolades on closing night. For stage crew, that meant getting their own curtain call. During the appropriate time, Rita and I went out. We held a pose together while the audience of 1000+ applauded us (and everyone else on the stage like the principles and the dancers).
And that was the last time I was on stage.
Zoom, zoom, the world is in a mess. I was in stage crew for Archbishop Prendergast's winter show. It was an extraordinarily well done show, as per usual, don't get me wrong. And while Crazy for You isn't an awful show, I don't like Gershwin. And being part of stage crew, I got to hear a whole lot of it, over and over again. From rehearsals to closing night, always with slapping of that bass. Actually, wait, I did actually like that song. Okay, so that song apart, oh and that other ... well, okay, it wasn't a bad a show. It was a good show ... I just heard too much of it to enjoy it.
I worked stage right. I had one important scene change during the show. During a musical number, I had to move a heavy bar with the stage manager while the star of the show was in his spotlight. We had to move that bar almost next to him, but I had the side closest to the stage and not next to the actor. One night, we were off. It wasn't my fault (or at least just my fault), but the stage manager managed to get herself caught in the spotlight. All in all, though, it wasn't the end of the world. It was, however, fairly memorable.
My friend Rita worked stage crew for that show too. She worked stage left. During intermission we'd meet up and chat and that was cool.
On closing night, final performance, everyone got their accolades on closing night. For stage crew, that meant getting their own curtain call. During the appropriate time, Rita and I went out. We held a pose together while the audience of 1000+ applauded us (and everyone else on the stage like the principles and the dancers).
And that was the last time I was on stage.
Sunday, May 03, 2009
The Spirit of Houston Cougar Marching Band: Iron Stomach
A common occurrence after a grueling ordeal that was a football game was catching something to eat. Since we wouldn't be free from a game sometimes until after midnight, that left few options.
Thankfully, there were 24 hour diners. One night, I went with Candi and Robby to IHOP. Of course, you can't really get anything healthy at that kind of place. You could also not tempt fate like Robby did.
Robby ordered the t-bone steak and eggs breakfast/dinner. He ordered the steak rare and the three eggs sunny-side up. The waitress asked him if he was sure and he responded in the affirmative.
The food came and the same waitress asked if the steak was done well enough and insisted that he send it back. He relented. When it came back, it was still rare, but Robby thought it was overdone.
There are times I wonder how we lived through college.
Thankfully, there were 24 hour diners. One night, I went with Candi and Robby to IHOP. Of course, you can't really get anything healthy at that kind of place. You could also not tempt fate like Robby did.
Robby ordered the t-bone steak and eggs breakfast/dinner. He ordered the steak rare and the three eggs sunny-side up. The waitress asked him if he was sure and he responded in the affirmative.
The food came and the same waitress asked if the steak was done well enough and insisted that he send it back. He relented. When it came back, it was still rare, but Robby thought it was overdone.
There are times I wonder how we lived through college.
Saturday, May 02, 2009
Nayellynapping
My wife and I have had pretty different life experiences growing up. In 2006, we had a salient example of this one night.
We had gone out one night and my wife got a call from her folks, asking her to take Nayelly, my wife's 6 year old cousin, to Nayelly's mother's work, whereupon Nayelly's mom would take her daughter home.
This was a bit odd for me, since it was past midnight when we had to do this exchange. At the designated time, we went to Judith's parents' place. And there in the living room were three girls. My wife said, "Okay, let's get Nayelly to the car." It was dark and I hadn't exactly met Nayelly before. I wasn't sure which of the three girls was which. And they were asleep, so I couldn't say, "Okay, Nayelly, time to go." So I asked my wife at least three times if the indicated child was Nayelly. Each time she was yes. So, I picked her up and walked to the car.
I should point out that Nayelly hadn't exactly met me before this point either. Thankfully, she didn't fully wake up before we got to the car. She awoke briefly and saw my Judith and proceeded to conk out in the backseat.
We arrived and delivered Nayelly to her mom. Still, I had never done something like before. It was weird, for me. Then it stopped being weird.
We had gone out one night and my wife got a call from her folks, asking her to take Nayelly, my wife's 6 year old cousin, to Nayelly's mother's work, whereupon Nayelly's mom would take her daughter home.
This was a bit odd for me, since it was past midnight when we had to do this exchange. At the designated time, we went to Judith's parents' place. And there in the living room were three girls. My wife said, "Okay, let's get Nayelly to the car." It was dark and I hadn't exactly met Nayelly before. I wasn't sure which of the three girls was which. And they were asleep, so I couldn't say, "Okay, Nayelly, time to go." So I asked my wife at least three times if the indicated child was Nayelly. Each time she was yes. So, I picked her up and walked to the car.
I should point out that Nayelly hadn't exactly met me before this point either. Thankfully, she didn't fully wake up before we got to the car. She awoke briefly and saw my Judith and proceeded to conk out in the backseat.
We arrived and delivered Nayelly to her mom. Still, I had never done something like before. It was weird, for me. Then it stopped being weird.
Friday, May 01, 2009
Names 4
In a club of people all with at least one sobriquet, it would be odd that the president didn't have one, wouldn't it?
Santos is an odd duck. Whether by design or happenstance, my brief acquaintanceship with him left me with a colorful bevy of memories and secondhand stories. However, this memory is about his name.
We went to a Gulf Coast Fencing Tournament. The club stayed in a town called Mathis. Mathis, Texas, has a population of around 5000. Mathis was the hometown of Santos, so we stayed at his folks' house the night before the tournament.
We only met 3 men, as in were introduced to, in our stay there. All three of them were named Santos, as they were Santos's grandfather, his father, and himself.
Imagine our surprise when Santos's mother called out, "Joelle," and Santos responded. The man who had changed a guy's name (the guy's longtime girlfriend still calls him by the new name) yet never got called anything other than his name ... well we still didn't have a nickname to call him, Joelle is his middle name.
Santos, like myself, is El Salvadorian. A common practice amongst El Salvadorians, as amongst Ancient Romans, is to not go by your first name. (Julius Caesar, one of the greatest men that ever lived was actually Gaius Julius Caesar. Gaius was his given name, he was of the house Julii, and he was called Caesar.) My father is René Mauricio. For family and friends, he is Mauricio. For coworkers, he is René.
What's in a name? To some people it holds cosmic significance. Some people believe one must live up to your name if it was written in a book two millennia ago. Some people believe that names are punishments you can inflict on your offspring just because you can. My name is literally "Reborn." I'm not sure about all of that. My pseudonym, the name I chose for me, is nonsensical, but it's mine. My default name for a crazy character is also nonsensical, but again, it's mine. I even have a song for her.
You can imagine how difficult it was to agree on what to name a person of our own.
Santos is an odd duck. Whether by design or happenstance, my brief acquaintanceship with him left me with a colorful bevy of memories and secondhand stories. However, this memory is about his name.
We went to a Gulf Coast Fencing Tournament. The club stayed in a town called Mathis. Mathis, Texas, has a population of around 5000. Mathis was the hometown of Santos, so we stayed at his folks' house the night before the tournament.
We only met 3 men, as in were introduced to, in our stay there. All three of them were named Santos, as they were Santos's grandfather, his father, and himself.
Imagine our surprise when Santos's mother called out, "Joelle," and Santos responded. The man who had changed a guy's name (the guy's longtime girlfriend still calls him by the new name) yet never got called anything other than his name ... well we still didn't have a nickname to call him, Joelle is his middle name.
Santos, like myself, is El Salvadorian. A common practice amongst El Salvadorians, as amongst Ancient Romans, is to not go by your first name. (Julius Caesar, one of the greatest men that ever lived was actually Gaius Julius Caesar. Gaius was his given name, he was of the house Julii, and he was called Caesar.) My father is René Mauricio. For family and friends, he is Mauricio. For coworkers, he is René.
What's in a name? To some people it holds cosmic significance. Some people believe one must live up to your name if it was written in a book two millennia ago. Some people believe that names are punishments you can inflict on your offspring just because you can. My name is literally "Reborn." I'm not sure about all of that. My pseudonym, the name I chose for me, is nonsensical, but it's mine. My default name for a crazy character is also nonsensical, but again, it's mine. I even have a song for her.
You can imagine how difficult it was to agree on what to name a person of our own.
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