Day 96

It's Sunday night the 4th of January and I miss the Band. By now, weather dependent, they should be on the road to perform music in schools in western North Dakota. Hours upon hours of riding in a van, polluted by chips, spilled soda cans, cheddar flavored crack, the never ending group fart, the one that lingers for what seems like 30 minutes, the type that burns your nose hair, and the continous jokes, stories and inane chatter. Add to that getting lost, even if just for a short while, be it on the prairie or in the schools, staying in hotels that haven't changed their sheets since the last pheasant hunter vacated in November and eating in some of the best resturants in the world. Oh, how I miss it so. Oh, let me tell you about cheddar flavored crack. There is a company in North Dakota that makes cheese curls. They put this rocking cheese on it, and the curls are so good, that when you start eating it, you can't stop, just like crack. There are so many fat grams in it that after I eat about three handfuls, I want to puke. So then I have some more. But I digress. I miss the Band. Back in 1997 I worked at the Regional Training Institue for North Dakota. They made me leave the Band and drill with them. When I quit I went back to the Band. My time away was the crappiest 9 months of my life. I miss the Band. The worst day with the Band is better than most peoples' best day. I don't know if I mentioned it, but I miss the Band. I already know that on my last day with the Band, many, many years from now, they'll be prying my hands off of the door frame to get to me out. I miss the Band. In fact, I think the only way I'll move is if they pack the crack of my ass with C4, insert a blasting cap, and threaten to set off the charge. Butt, I know it's hard to get C4, so I should be safe. I miss the Band.