1995-10-28 - Princeton
Pregame
Ladies and Gentlemen, and Princeton students, back despite the apocalyptic flood last week, it's the Wettest Band in the World, the Columbia University Marching Forty Cases of Pneumonia.
[fanfare]
Featuring:
J. Lloyd Allen - cold
J. John O'Neill - colder
J. Kira Gardner - frigid
and
J. Jerry Garcia - stiff and unyielding
[fanfare]
welcomes itself back for the last time in a long time to dark, dank, decrepit, run down, decaying, unsound, crumbling, dilapidated, indecent, condemned, shoddy, and yet still -- boring Palmer Stadium at Princeton University, one of the nation's -- universities, where we're sure that the score will be as high as the tolls you have to pay to get back to New York, the Lions will continue to better their bettors, and the game will be as ugly as the retrial of the Menendez Brothers.
[Take the Field to Who Owns New York.]
Recently it seems hat a while ago Princeton and Columbia got together and said, "Hey, we'd make such lovely music together." And so a music lab was created, near the superior campus. It is often used by staunch academics who wish to preserve the purity of their Form and Art. It is also sometimes used by Philip Glass.
[Form a Sine Wave. Play Philip Glass Knocking.]
[Run Away.]
Halftime
Ladies and Gentlemen, and Bipolars, back despite the London Dispersion Forces, it's the Most Uncertain Band in the World, the Columbia University Marching dead boxed cat.
[Fanfare.]
Featuring:
J. Random Thought - Blue Elephant
J. Random Emotion - Blue Funk
J. Random Expression - Cliche'ed and trite
and
J. Random
[Fanfare.]
presents an all-star gala halftime salute to hatred. Yeah, hatred. You want to make something of it?
[Take the Field to Who Owns.]
The Band hates to watch where We're going. So, an Angry Young Member of our elite swat corps, traipsing through the trailer park that is the Princeton housing system, tripped over this diary of a Princeton student. We don't hate tripping, but we do hate diaries. Regardless, here it is.
6 am I wake up. I hate that damned alarm.
6:15 am My alarm goes off. I hate that damned alarm.
7 am My roommate woke up and went out the trailer door, leaving only
the screen door to shield me from the world. I hate my roommate's damned
alarm. I hate my roommate. I hate the world.
7:48 am My roommate's alarm went off. I hate that damned alarm.
8:23 am Pathos.
8:27 am It's 8:27. I hate that.
10:23 a My roommate came back in, slamming the screen door shut behind him. As a wanderer, he often feels his feet are shod with cymbals {crash}. I hate Alexander Nevsky. I hate Prokofiev. I hate Stalin. I hate field organs.
11:16 a Modern Literature 101. Reading Yeats, I hate Maud Gonne. I hate
people who inspire great poetry. I hate great poetry. I hate greatness.
11:19 a I hate Yeats.
12:29 a I ate lunch. I hate lunch. I hate interior rhyme.
The Band now breaks for lunch, and plays "I hear you knocking, but I hate
you," slowly, allowing wretched hatred to well up within us all.
[Form lunch. Play knocking, either slowly if there is time or allegro otherwise.]
1:18 pm My fencing class. I hate exertion.
1:37 pm I went home. Opened my dresser drawer. I hate Russian Roulette.
1:39 pm I hate Russia. I hate Alexander Nevsky. I hate Prokofiev. I hate Stalin. I hate field organs.
1:42 pm Also, the U.S.S.R.
2:23 pm I know where he keeps his keys. I can get his thunderbolts. I have hatred for the Eumenides.
2:24 pm I hate smug androgynous Greek goddesses who always side with the men.
3:07 pm I hate Greek tragedy.
3:41 pm I hate Greek comedy.
3:59 pm I hate Umberto Eco and his Aristotelean ideas.
5:16 pm An early dinner.
6:00 pm I hate 6 pm; it's so rounded.
7:18 pm My roommate returned. As a wanderer, he is sociable; I hate people.
8:37 pm I hate 8:37 pm; it's so oblique.
11:13 pm I slept for three hours. I hate hours. I hate thine.
Stroke of midnight. Fester. Brood.
[Form a smiley face; play knocking happily.]
No longer is this a diary. This just is.
On warm days the sunlight filters through my venetian blinds, rendering zebra-like the bunting-stuffed comforter and my toes. Each toe warms individually. The warmth spreads upward from the legs and engenders a happy smile on my face. I know naught. Serenity. Peace. Comfort, in ignorance. A knock. A happy denial.
[Form Bliss. Play Knocking, Dirge if time permitting, Salsa otherwise.]
Please rise as the Band now forms a "C" and plays the Columbia College alma mater, "Sans Souci."
[Worry-free]