I hate to be one of those apologetic bloggers so I must hate myself for saying I feel bad about not writing more often. I have a lot to say. Being silent is not one of my stronger points. Last spring I applied for grad school at the University of Northern Iowa. Surprise, surprise, they let me in. It was more like an oh, shit, what the hell were you thinking moment when they accepted me. I am midway through my second class in linguistics and I am proud to say I got a 94/100 in my first class. Facebook has taken over for the immediate need to say things like when my nephew recently decided to take up the oboe. Do you all know what an oboe sounds like? Check out this youtube video.
Yup, that's what I am listening to as I write. A stepped-on duck. A stepped-on dying duck. He already plays the piano for which I have to listen to Christmas music through March until I scream ENOUGH ALREADY. And then when he joined the school band, they put him in the percussion section so I get to hear pound, pound, pounding of unsteady beats (I'm used to that - my son Brian played drums for 13 years). At least he doesn't get to bring the crash cymbals home. Then I found this website for oboe jokes that I yell to him above the screeching sounds. I played flute in the band. We all knew that oboes were the butt of all jokes.
All kidding aside, the kid (he's in 9th grade) hatched the plan and did all the footwork to start oboe lessons. He is the class vice president and he is thinking of going out for basketball and tennis. Did I mention he had straight A's last year? And straight A's so far this year. Can't complain about any of that. I won't complain about the oboe when he stops sounding like a dying duck.
Weird and Rainy Portland
1 week ago