In light of a failed attempt to reinvent the site, I've instead tried to reinvent myself. Gone are the days of World of Warcraft, regardless of how I miss it — this alone alienates me from part of my table. Instead, I make a bimonthly vigil to the library, and although there's an initial pain in returning a book or a guilt in not finishing one, there's always a chance to explore more. And then, there's November, the first cool month of the year where we pick up the pace before Thanksgiving and forget it all before Christmas. The approaching aura tends to calm us and then move us along — this is life, this is how you should live it. There is a future, and it is within the past. Never could the thought of dead leaves and sweaters comfort me more. Until now.

Ah, November, you sang a different song to me two years ago — a song where the marching band retires their shakos and uniforms for the semester and the band hall becomes clean again. Frantic preparations begin in anticipation of concert season; the band directors take a break and revel in it, for within the semester, they have to start writing drills for next year. Over this calm looms the growing shadow of the upcoming percussion contest ring, and therein no rest for our weary drummers.

The highlight of this specter is jazz band. No longer are the bass instruments relegated to the back of the ensemble and the harmony. This is a time when brass instruments — trombones, tubas, trumpets — shine. And there's an opening for a pianist. Doing this would not only mean my schedule would change dramatically — my first four classes would shift — but that I would pretty much leave my trombone behind for good, something I'm not overly enthusiastic about. I have good tone with my trombone, and I'm usually on pitch. I can capture the mood of a song, but even being 1st chair of my band (4th out of the 5), I don't feel I have the skill necessary to keep progressing in band. Trombone or piano, trombone or piano? The choice seems to get harder and harder.

Let it be

But jazz band also means freedom. I can break away from playing middle—school level pieces (however well) and accomplish something within jazz band. I may be an outsider, but I feel I've departed too far away from band throughout high school. The band hall used to be a place of comfort. Now, it is something dull and foreboding. Overall, I likely have one or two competitors — the one I'm worried about is the band director's son, who I'm afraid is guaranteed a spot playing. So I've been working to outshine him. My mastery of Beatles pieces may not be enough, but let's hope the seven years under my belt will be.

In the end, it may just come down to my rendition of Let It Be, which I have committed to my heart and mind as an anthem. Even now, it is the only song I can truly claim to play the entire way through, and although the chords have turned my ears against them (I have to play it in different voices to keep the song fresh to me), it's still there, and always will be a part of my heart. I guess it also helps that this is the song jazz band is working on — and that is the crux of this all.

The legacy of Old Bessie

Six years is an enormous time to have played trombone. It's not as if I will stop playing — perhaps I can drive myself away from Debate class and replace it with jazz band, and no one would be the wiser. Doing that would bring me back to the comfort of the band hall, and enthrall me back with the simplicity of jazz band concert dress — a black dress shirt and black pants, easily better than the obese tuxedo the rest of the band wears (eguhh, shoulderpads). In my heart, I will always be a trombonist first. People know I'm a trombonist, perhaps not that I'm a pianist. Best to keep the myth alive, hmm?