Many Morning Street

2011-11-04T01:02:00.000-07:00

My Immortal:
The Vampires of Berlin

Prologue.

IN APRIL 1945, the Second World War was coming to a bloody end for Adolf Hitler’s Third Reich.

As the Red Army encircled Berlin, the Nazi leadership broadcast a curious radio message to their adversaries. They threatened that if Russian forces were not immediately withdrawn from German soil, a secret weapon “more powerful than the sun itself” would be unleashed upon them. The message ended with an ominous warning; there will be no survivors.

Allied intelligence intercepted the message and came to the grim conclusion that the Nazis had developed a nuclear bomb. They also believed that Hitler was about to use this weapon against the Soviet 8th Guards Army, which was positioned in and around Berlin.

President Roosevelt himself notified the Kremlin of this analysis, but Stalin elected to continue the relentless attack on the German capital. Meanwhile, his generals quietly braced for the possibility of mass casualties on an unimaginable scale.

On May 1, 1945, Adolf Hitler ordered the weapon, code-named Tristan, to be used against the Red Army. It is not known why these efforts failed, but shortly after giving the order, Hitler and his wife Eva Braun committed suicide.

Over the last sixty years, there has been a great deal of speculation about the nature of Operation Tristan and the miracle weapon that had Hitler so convinced that he was about to win the Second World War.

To date, every American president since Truman has precluded any legislative or judicial inquiry into Operation Tristan on the grounds of national security. Furthermore, any and all related Freedom of Information Act requests have been summarily rejected by the United States government.

The secret that the United States, German and Russian governments have held onto for over sixty years is about to be revealed.

My Immortal: The Vampires of Berlin

A novel by Lee Rudnicki

NOW AVAILABLE

2010-06-13T09:39:00.001-07:00

2010-05-14T06:29:00.001-07:00

"People rarely succeed unless they have fun in what they are doing."

-- Dale Carnegie

2010-01-25T18:00:00.000-08:00

My Immortal:
The Vampires of Berlin

Prologue.

IN APRIL 1945, the Second World War was coming to a bloody end for Adolf Hitler’s Third Reich.

As the Red Army encircled Berlin, the Nazi leadership broadcasted a curious radio message to their adversaries. They threatened that if Russian forces were not immediately withdrawn from German soil, a secret weapon “more powerful than the sun itself” would be unleashed upon them. The message ended with an ominous warning; there will be no survivors.

Allied intelligence intercepted the message and came to the grim conclusion that the Nazis had developed a nuclear bomb. They also believed that Hitler was about to use this weapon against the Soviet 8th Guards Army, which was positioned in and around Berlin.

President Roosevelt himself notified the Kremlin of this analysis, but Stalin elected to continue the relentless attack on the German capital. Meanwhile, his generals quietly braced for the possibility of mass casualties on an unimaginable scale.

On May 1, 1945, Adolf Hitler ordered the weapon, code-named Tristan, to be used against the Red Army. It is not known why these efforts failed, but shortly after giving the order, Hitler and his wife Eva Braun committed suicide.

Over the last sixty years, there has been a great deal of speculation about the nature of Operation Tristan and the miracle weapon that had Hitler so convinced that he was about to win the Second World War.

To date, every American president since Truman has precluded any legislative or judicial inquiry into Operation Tristan on the grounds of national security. Furthermore, any and all related Freedom of Information Act requests have been summarily rejected by the United States government.

The secret that the United States, German and Russian governments have held onto for over sixty years is about to be revealed.

My Immortal: The Vampires of Berlin

A novel by Lee Rudnicki

COMING SOON

The Triumph of Evil

2007-11-04T23:13:00.000-08:00

Screenplay in Progress.

Artist Bio - Maximum Indifference

2007-11-04T23:09:00.000-08:00

MAXIMUM INDIFFERENCE is an all-instrumental progressive rock trio based in the San Francisco Bay Area. Although each performer has been labeled a virtuoso on his respective instrument, it is not their technical prowess or the sophistication of the music for which Maximum Indifference is most renowned—it is the visual imagery that their music invokes upon the listener. Bassist Gustaf Fjelstrom aptly describes their music as a “filmless soundtrack.” As many fans have learned, to drive at night with a Maximum Indifference CD playing in your car is to be magically transported into a futuristic world that is both beautiful and dangerous ... one without boundaries or dimension.

As they compose, Mark Bladek, Rich Duarte, and Gustaf Fjelstrom focus not on the adherence to a stock songwriting formula or recipe, but on the continual creative process of sonic experimentation and manipulation. Although Maximum Indifference is a traditional power trio of guitar, bass and drums, the band infuses their music with a luminous blend of synthesizers, samplers, sound effects—and the occasional mysterious spoken word. One press reviewer labeled Maximum Indifference as “Virtuosity without any amount of self-indulgence.”

Maximum Indifference was formed in the fall of 1990 after Bladek, Duarte and Fjelstrom randomly linked up through a series of music store ads. Their brief search for a vocalist ended abruptly when a planned two-hour instrumental rehearsal lasted throughout the night. As the sun came up, the exciting realization set in that the chemistry and technical abilities of the three musicians created brilliant music that transcended their greatest expectations. “We definitely knew what we had with the three of us …” drummer Rich Duarte remembers fondly. “That first rehearsal was unreal.”

The search for a vocalist was over for Maximum Indifference. There would be none.

After a rough demo quickly propelled the band into the local progressive/fusion scene,
Maximum Indifference released its debut self-titled album in 1996. Produced by longtime friend Steve Graham, Maximum Indifference showcases the band’s intense, melodic and ethereal sound. Not surprisingly, Maximum Indifference was picked up by a European distributor, and brisk sales and critical press reviews generated new Maximum Indifference fans throughout the United States, Brazil, England, France, Italy and Spain.

The summer of 2000 marked the release of the second Maximum Indifference album, The Transmutations of Supposed Angels: Or Beings that were once Girls.

Produced by Gustaf Fjelstrom and recorded primarily at Mercurial Labs, Transmutations genuinely reflects the aura of Indifference. The album features twelve intensely visual musical selections, from the hypnotic driving rhythms and vocal samples in Beware the Glabyglop, to Jack Palance the Ninja, a tune labeled as a product of “The Surf Band of the New Millennium.”

Towards the end of this intense musical/visual journey, Transmutations takes the listener into “Halation,” an enigmatic spoken word piece that questions the very structure of reality itself. When asked about the tune, Guitarist Mark Bladek said “If I had to pick one piece of music to represent Maximum Indifference … Halation is it. It represents us, and everything we’re about.” These are odd words from a world class guitar player describing a spoken word narration, but the subtle use of instruments and sound effects in Halation forms an eerie backdrop to an unfolding story, evoking a dark and sinister atmosphere that envelops the listener.

With its diverse and incredible tunes, The Transmutations of Supposed Angels won the heart and minds of many in the press, including one reviewer who put it best when he said, “Yeah, they Transmutate all right.”

As their die hard fans will attest, Maximum Indifference’s music creates a luxurious and fantastic soundscape that brilliantly conjures up countless images to accompany their film-less soundtracks. To this end, Maximum Indifference seeks not for the empty promise of success—whatever that is—but for the perpetuation of their creative musical experience. Their emphasis is not on pleasing everyone, but on indifference—perhaps maximum indifference—to what the lowest common denominator may dictate.

Enclosed in this press kit you’ll find a copy of Transmutations.

Please put Transmutations in your CD player and press play.

Now relax … and experience the hypnotic and fantastic world of Maximum Indifference.

There’s no turning back.

http://www.maximumindifference.com/

The Seven Principles behind a Successful Recruiting and Retention Program

2007-11-04T01:29:00.000-07:00

Copyright Lee Rudnicki 2007

Recruiting and retaining new members are among the most difficult challenges any new or rebuilding DCA or Division 2/3 drum corps will face. Although this is an inherent problem seen primarily in DCA and Division 2/3 DCI corps, a comprehensive focus on the elements that make up a solid recruiting and retention program will help any corps be successful in the long run, regardless of its competitive success (or lack thereof).

The fundamental principle to a successful drum corps recruiting and retention program has nothing to do with hanging up hundreds of flyers in high school band rooms or single-handedly breaking Jeff Ream’s record for posting on Drum Corps Planet. It is important to understand that the key to success is to focus on improving your member’s experience of being in the corps. The goal is to create a fun and rewarding environment that will make your members want to return year after year, regardless of the ultimate competitive outcome of your season. This philosophy has nothing to do with competitive excellence—an enjoyable drum corps environment does not necessarily mean that it must be a less competitive one.

The following principles will help your drum corps recruiting and retention program. You may not agree with some of these methods, or your corps may already incorporate a few. In any event, these steps will make the experience of marching in your drum corps more rewarding for your members, which in turn will lead to a higher retention rate and recruiting success.

Principle 1. Create Internal Social Ties. Drum corps is a family. You must encourage and help your members meet people in other sections of the corps throughout the season. If your members have more social ties in the corps, they will be less likely to leave, and they will be more likely to return to march another season. They will also be less likely to leave for another corps if, for example, the two snare drummers on either side of them decide not to march. Along these lines, breaks and lunch schedules should be coordinated with all the sections, perhaps with the occasional full-corps potluck lunch. Staggered lunches among the sections should be saved for absolutely critical times of the season or if you only have one field, for example, because they eliminate as much as 75% of the corps potential social contact. The basic principle behind this is that if a member has friends in the corps, they will likely return next season.

Along these same lines, drum corps rookies tend to be very intimidated at their first rehearsal with a new corps. You should make it your mission to make all new members feel welcome on Day 1. Once a new member is at rehearsal, it falls on everyone – members and staff – to immediately make the potential member feel welcome. As new members join during the season, introduce them to the whole corps, and applaud their presence. Making someone feel like they are part of the team the first time they walk in the door will make a huge difference in the recruiting and retention rate. Also, ditch the “rookie” concept. Once someone is in the corps, they are in. Period. Finally, if a member does not return for a season for whatever reason, invite them to come around the corps whenever they want. Make them feel welcome to come to rehearsal and march in parades etc. Do not shut the door on them, no matter how frustrated you are that they did not return. By doing this, you will stunned by the members who will return this or next season, because they were encouraged to keep one foot in the door, so to speak.

Principle 2. Include Family Members in the Experience. The primary reason a member gets pressure from their family “not” to march in a drum corps, especially a DCA corps, is because their family members do not feel included in the experience. The solution is to proactively include your corps member’s family in the experience any way that you can. You should make them feel welcome at all rehearsals, and even host a few events during the year such as Family Day, an Open House or a picnic where the corps plays the show for family and friends, and everyone gets to interact with the corps and staff. This will help keep family pressure at a minimum and keep members in your corps. Along this line of reasoning, the Renegades allow any family member to buy a corps jacket, since they are typically also making a huge sacrifice for their family member to be in the corps (member patches are another story).

Principle 3. Zero Staff Conflict. No matter what the issue is, there must be ZERO conflict on your staff in front of the corps, and your staff members must be 100% supportive of one another in front of the corps. A staff in conflict will hurt the morale of the corps, and lead your members to question the abilities of the staff. If a contentious issue comes up, deal with it in a professional manner—away from the corps.

Principle 4. The End of Rehearsal Rule. With the possibility of one or two limited exceptions during a season, it must be the mission of the corps director and staff to get the members to leave each and every rehearsal on a positive note, feeling like something was accomplished and excited about returning for the next rehearsal. Sometimes, this is hard to do after a particularly bad run-through, for example, but you must stick to this rule. This is particularly important in a DCA corps. When DCA corps members walk away from a rehearsal feeling depressed or bummed out, the staff typically does not have an opportunity to turn things around for another week (at least).

Principle 5. The No Stress Rule. The key to success in any substantial endeavor is not the lack of adversity, but rather, how one responds to adversity. Whether you are the Blue Devils the Bushwackers or the Bananas, things will inevitably go wrong during the season. Your bus may breakdown at precisely the wrong time, as it did for Renegades on the way to 2002 DCA Prelims. Your section leader may forget his or her uniform, law enforcement may kick you out of your rehearsal site for no apparent reason, or the incredible chaotic hurricane may hit just as you take the field. If you establish a culture of supporting one another and “not” pointing fingers when things go wrong, and you allow and help your staff and members recover from mistakes or chaos, you will all have a more rewarding and productive season, and the corps will get better at responding to adversity.

Principle 6. Embrace The Internet. The Internet is a valuable tool, one that most drum corps do not understand how to use properly. You should encourage our members to use the drum corps newsgroups and forums. This will help create a sense of community within the drum corps, and will help get the corps badly needed visibility. The key is to make it clear to your members that they cannot and must not claim to speak for the corps on any given issue. Mistakes will be made, but these are easily rectified behind the scenes. There is no need for a collective nervous breakdown when your corps members post on the Internet drum corps newsgroups.

Principle 7. Add a Killer Performance and Rehearsal Schedule. You should add one or two non-competitive performances during the season where the corps gets the opportunity to stand still and blow the faces off some people who maybe don’t even know what drum corps is all about. The crowd reaction will be incredible, and the members will have fun performing in a no pressure situation with the fans going nuts. This also is a great way to increase your corps visibility in the community. Along those lines, it is also important to give your corps members some time off. Some senior corps have non-stop summer weekend schedules make it difficult if not impossible for members to remain in the corps if they get married, or take on a significant job or school commitment during the summer. One or two free weekends during the summer where you literally “order” the corps to take time off and have fun will buy much goodwill with the members and their families, and keeps the burnout factor away. Putting together a schedule with a break in it and the corps being great are not mutually exclusive goals. Simply put, rehearsing each and every possible minute throughout the entire summer is not in the corps best interests.

The Bottom Line.

The key to recruiting and retaining members is to improve the Experience your members have in the corps.

Scenes from East Berlin

2007-11-03T18:25:00.001-07:00

Copyright Lee Rudnicki 2007

Intro.
Music: Adagio Sostenuto from Sonata No. 14 "Moonlight" -- Beethoven

I began writing this mess on a yellow legal pad in Berlin, a few minutes after I stopped trying to get Paris Hilton to understand German history and a renegade bought copies of Harry Potter. All of this actually happened, but I changed some names to protect the innocent, and left out some details to avoid an international incident involving the Russians. And maybe a Kurd.

Finally, this story contains vulgar words, breaks all rules of structure, and is probably way, way,waaaaaaay too long for your average bear. There are no lessons to be learned from this literary work, and I'm not even sure it has a plot. If you're looking for a politically correct TV-dinner story that makes sense, go read something by Michelle Malkin or Chuck Klosterman instead. They are both funnier than I am, and the Russians won't get antagonized in the process.

[pause]

Still here? Okay.

ACT 1 - THE TERMINAL

L-A-X. Gateway to the Stars. The Airport with the George Jetson restaurant in the middle. Whatever. Rumi and I check in, and grab lunch in a Chilis restaurant filled with anxious travelers and a woman who managed to break a fork in half as she scooped nachos out of bowl.

As Rumi eats, I stare into a blue fishbowl margarita and contemplate the upcoming journey. After several trips to Japan, it's time to return to Europe. Berlin and Prague, to be precise. Truth be told, I'm going to Berlin for a few reasons, largely but not entirely related to the My Immortal screenplay. The plan is to visit the location of every scene.

Although the final scene of My Immortal takes place in Prague, I can't really explain why the final scene takes place there or why I'm being drawn back to Prague for the 6th time. But then again, I've spent ten years trying to understand this. I probably I never will, but maybe that's not so important anymore. Prague is Prague. "It is what it is," as Dave Gibbs would say.

A few minutes later, the blue fishbowl is empty and the lady with the prehistoric nachos has a new fork. I grab my copy of The Bunker and my trusty iPod, and we head to the gate. Commence Mission.

London. The Airport.
Music: "1979" by the Smashing Pumkins

Going through Heathrow should be simple, but I'm delirious. According to my calculations, the time change, rotation of the Earth and speed of the plane puts us somewhere at four in the morning.

Or 1976 Cleveland.

In any case, the plan is to walk 1.1 kilometers through this rat maze airport, go through five layers of security, get our picture taken by 211 CCTV cameras using secret MI6 technology, get on a shuttle bus on the wrong side of the road, go back through the rat maze and more security, get our photos taken by more Orwellian cameras, get patted down by a SWAT team, and then get on the plane to Berlin. And stay awake the whole time.

I don't know why eating a meal seems like a good idea at this ridiculous hour, but it does. Luckily, we find a restaurant in 1976 Cleveland. On the wall to our left, a huge sign advertises lemonade as if it is FUCKING AMAZING. Wow. It must be amazing. We slip into a booth. I order the amazing lemonade. A glass appears quickly. Mmmmm. Amazing Lemonade.

Gulp. Gulp. Gulp.

Yuck!

I spit the lemonade across the table and call the waiter over to demand an explanation. Unfortunately, our confused waiter speaks what is either backwards Scottish or a dialect of Klingon that has been spoken once before--on Episode 6, when a cue-card was upside down. In a series of chirps, whistles and grunts, the waiter confirms that I just paid four dollars for the FUCKING AMAZING lemonade. Which translates to "Flat Warm Sprite Puke" in Los Angelesian. Truth be told, I don't find everything about England to be cool and chic. Especially this chicken-coop beverage. In fact, except for Sting, Tony Blair and four out of five Spice Girls, I just happen to find the English just a tad fucking annoying at four o-clock in the morning. And cricket is silly. So there.

As I contemplate the fact that the only lemon I'm drinking may be a chemical invented at the end of a Chernobyl mop, the waiter puts a hamburger in front of me. After a few bites, the hunger pangs subside, and the English are suddenly not so annoying. For now.

Bomber Command. 10,000 Feet Above Berlin.
Music: "The Forest" by the Cure

The stewardess collects the remnants of our alleged sandwiches. We fasten our seatbelts and put the table in the upright position. Through a foggy window, Germany appears green from the air, with forest and trees as far as the eye can see.

Our plane descends into Berlin on the same route the Allied bombers took as they pounded the city into rubble. Of course, those brave airmen were being shot at by Nazis antiaircraft guns, and many got to the ground much faster than they wanted to.

But then again, none of them had to eat a British Airways sandwich.

ACT 2 - BERLIN

A suspicious customs officer glares at my passport. Suddenly, he cracks a smile, looks up and says that "Rudnicki is a good German name." Go figure. I hope that equates to diplomatic immunity in Deutschland.

After clearing German customs, which takes a valid passport and an amusing surname, we hail a cab, and we're off.

"Welcome to Berlin!" our driver shouts as he excitedly points out landmarks in broken English. Soon, we cross the river towards the Mitte district. To the right, the Brandenburg Gate is lit up by powerful lights. A chariot with four horses sits on top of the Gate, and it literally takes my breath away. Nerd Factor 11.

We continue past the Unter Den Linden, with its street cafes and rows of Linden trees. If my calculations are correct, we're close. Our destination lies the heart of former communist East Berlin, a few blocks from the site of Hitler's bunker.

After negotiating a treaty with a security guard who speaks no English, we get into our apartment. It is Genius ... a television, fridge, coffemaker, cool art, ultra-comfortable bed and a balcony with a view of the cityscape and the television tower the communists built for reasons that remain mysterious to this day. More on that later.

A quick trip downstairs to the SPAR convenience store confirms my suspicions. I return with an armload of German beer, including Berliner Kindl, which was recommended by the amused clerk. Rock-n-Roll.

Walking Tour -- Act 1

The plan is to hang with someone who knows Berlin. Enter Maria, a cute Swedanese (half-Japanese half-Swedish) former model turned rocker chick with a red streak in her hair. Maria starts the morning out by pointing out Hotel Adlon, where Michael Jackson dangled his kid out the window.

Next, Maria points out the American Embassy. "Starbucks!" comes an voice from the crowd. "Starbucks is the real American embassy!" the voice yells again. What the fuck. The group exchanges curious glances as Australian guy with long dirty blonde hair, beer belly, stoned eyes and dirty feet cuts walks up and takes Maria's hand. "If you don't mind, I'd like to hold your hand as you chat," the dude tells her.

Maria holds hands with the surfer dude. She is baffled, and so are we. But I think I've seen this dude before, but I can't place him. Wait a minute.

[contemplation]

I got it. Fast Times at Ridgemont High. This surfer dude is Jeff Spicoli's Australian doppleganger. Aussie Spicoli.

Despite his grand entrance, Maria deals with The Dude with patience and grace. After some comments about the Brandenberg Gate, and how Napolean once stole the chariot and displayed it in the Louvre, we're off and running.

Next stop, the ominous Holocaust memorial. As big as a football field, the grim Holocaust memorial consists of thousands of slabs of battleship grey cement. In the middle, the huge slabs are Easter-Island size. As you walk through, daylight disappears, and it feels like you are underground. As I emerge from the other side of the solemn monument, Spicoli hops from slab to slab like a bunny.

The Bunker

Maria stops in the grass near a nondescript parking lot and points to the apartment buildings. "The communists built these next to the Wall, to put a good face on to the West," she explains. Party officials and Olympic athletes lived here. No one else."

Thought: How interesting.

"But I didn't bring you here to look at apartments," Maria says. "You are standing on Adolf Hitler's Bunker. Where Hitler and Eva killed themselves as the Russians closed in."

[stunned silence]

As a student of history, this is an awe-inspiring moment. The ruthless dictator who defined institutional racism and murder ... the failed crazy painter responsible for millions of deaths ... made his last stand here. This may be the most historically significant place I've ever stood.

In a rare moment of lucidity, Spicoli breaks the tension by politely raising his hand. Maria calls on him. Spicoli gets right to the point. "Is it true that Hitler only had one testicle?" he asks. Maria says "no," and turns sharply towards our next objective, Luftwaffe Headquarters. Spicoli hops after her.

Antagonizing the Russians.

Midnight. I walk down the Unter den Linden and salute the two police officers who are posted outside of in the Russian Embassy. Then I remember the half-empty bottle of Berliner Kindl in my left hand. Hmmm. Luckily, the cops don't care about my beer. Good. But then again, getting arrested for drinking beer in Germany would be ridiculous. Maybe even unconstitutional.

In any case, the huge embassy compliments the huge monument the Russians built to themselves near the Gate after the Nazi surrender. But you can't blame the Russians for leaving a footprint. In the closing days of the war, they lost more than 100,000 soldiers in this city, nearly twice what the U.S. lost in the Vietnam War. That's a lot of grief.

But there is something more relevant to me right now than the Russian casualty numbers or monument building. I have to pee. For a nanosecond, it seems like it might be a good idea to pee on the embassy, like Ozzie Osbourne at the Alamo. Humor quickly gives way to rationale thought, and I avoid the international incident and radioactive KGB sushi.

Checkpoint Charlie.

We wander through the hot and crowded Checkpoint Charlie Museum, near the spot where American and Soviet tanks almost started World War III over a bagel. The walls are covered with blurry photos and rambling anti-communist diatribes, in an order known only to those who put them there. Despite the historical ramifications, this kinda-sorta inside of somebody's apartment museum is the strangest and most disorganized collection of anything since the 1995 Santa Clara Vanguard. In room 11(f), a car with a secret compartment that smuggled people out of East Berlin. Maybe I can use it to zooooom out of Checkpoint Charlie Brown.

Zur Letzten Instanz.

We exit the U-bahn (underground train) in a neighborhood that lies close to the television tower. In front of us, a church. I look up to what should be a stained glass window. Instead, there is only open sky.

I peer inside the front door, and see only black sculptures and only a bombed-out shell of a church. This is a memorial to war victims. Woah. I pause for a moment, and wonder what happened to all of the people who used to worship here.

Leaving the sad church, we head down a narrow street and duck into a small graveyard. We stop in front of a beautiful statue of an angel over a grave. Crows caw as a light wind rustles the leaves. For a fleeting second, we're in a movie. I snap a photo, but this is one of those surreal moments that you have to experience to experience.

A moment later, The Zur Letzten Instanz, the oldest restaurant in Berlin, and where Napolean is said to have dined. A waitress leads us up a small black spiral staircase, to a small romantic candlelit table. I order pork with red cabbage. Rumiko gets Eisbein, a local specialty that you might roughly translate as "freshly amputated upper leg of Hogzilla."

After a few minutes of good conversation, the food arrives. As the restaurant quickly fills with a group of festive Germans, the smiling waitress returns to our table with another huge mug of beer to compliment what I am discovering is fantastic food. Genius.

The Chocolate Incident

Maria stops outside the finest chocolate store in Berlin and points out huge choclate models of the Brandenburg Gate and Reichstag. I lean closer to get a better look and see Spicoli sneaking around inside the store. Spicoli maneuvers around a clerk and surfs towards the Reichstag. Uh-oh.

Spicoli stops right in front of the culinary masterpiece. Then, he starts licking it. Like a dog.

Conversation stops and activity in the store comes to a complete halt. Everyone glares at Spicoli, who is still licking the chocolate Reichstag like a hungry Golden Retreiver.

"Oh my God." Maria spins around and yells. "Let's go!" We run away, leaving Spicoli surrounded by antagonized clerks. This should end well.

Bebelplatz

Humboldt University, where Einstein taught and Lenin studied. The law school is infamous, however, because of what happened right in front of it, on May 10, 1933.

On that terrible night, this place was the site of the most notorious book burning in history. Students and teachers burned 20,000 "un-German" books by Jews and other authors, as Goebells and his Nazi henchmen cheered them on. Basically, an ugly national disgrace that showed the world just what was in store with the Nazis.

There is a memorial to the bookburning here, just under where the books burned. Unless you look closely, however, you'll miss it. To see the memorial, look down through a small plastic window in the pavement, into a white underground room, which has in enough white bookshelves to hold 20,000 books.

The bookcases are empty.

Forever.

Across the street, Humboldt University is selling books. They do this, according to Maria, to make up for the book burning. Off in the distance, we see Spicoli stagger into Bebelplatz, scattering pigeons everywhere. Spicoli bends down in the middle of the birds, and starts eating their bread and birdseed.

Thought: Spicoli escaped the Chocolate Shop. He has either completely lost his mind, or he needs to change drug dealers. The Dude is on his own personal tour right now.

Our day ends in the grass in front of Berlin Cathedral (Berliner Dom), as Maria tells us an emotional story about the day the Wall came down. Spicoli lays in the cool wet grass and watches the clouds form a dragon above him.

THE WEST

Emerging from the train station to find that West Berlin is a different planet. McDonalds. The Gap. Pizza Hut. Crowds of shoppers. Anything and everything Western this side of Nicole Richie. After checking out the remnants of the eerie Kaiser Wilhelm church and ten minutes of sensory Mcoverload, we plot our course back through the Tiergarten forest to our quiet enclave in the East.

Adlon Hotel. Paris Hilton's Room.

I sit in a large green plush chair, feet dangling over the side. Paris sits on the couch near the window that Jacko made famous, and glares at me. I'm still trying to explain German history to her. After two hours, Paris still can't understand why Hindenburg ceded power, and I'm running out of ways to explain it. "The yellow Wiggle quit. How can you have The Wiggles without Yellow?" Paris says with a mischevious smile.

As I contemplate faking my own death, there's a loud knock on the door. Rumiko answers the door, and two figures dressed in black walk in -- Scott Kubitz and Kelley Houpt. These two Renegade snare drummers are overjoyed because they just bought Harry Potter. In German.

Do-do-doot! Do-do-doot! Do-do-doot! Do-do-doot!

I open my eyes.

Thought: What the [BLEEP]

The weird thing about traveling abroad is that I remember dreams, which rarely happens at home. My theory is that this is because the time change puts the REM sleep cycle in reverse. So, I start each day in Berlin with a new writing project, or a bizarro dream-world version of Saturday Night Live, complete with guest appearances from real life.

I turn on CNN as sunlight creeps through the curtains. One thing's for sure. Every day we're here, the dollar is worth less and one more idiot gets arrested in the latest OJ Simpson scandal.

Deutsches Historisches Museum.

The museum is set up to allow you to travel through time as you walk, starting with early stone-age settlements and continuing through the corridors until you are in present day Berlin. We speed through most of the early exhibits, although a few amazing sets of armor will give anyone pause.

As does Napolean's hat.

In the World War I section, a row of helmets. Each helmet is from a different country ... and each one has a large bullet hole in it.

The Museum goes from interesting to unbelievable in the Nazi-era. On the wall, a poster of a young blonde kid with Hitler sends chills up my spine. This is complemented by a sad comic book that glorifies the bombing of England, and an 88 mm antiaircraft gun that was used in the Battle of Berlin. This museum is amazing ... I've never seen anything quite like this.

As we walk home, it dawns on me that Germans are not like I expected them to be. Frankly, I expected them to be harsh to foreigners. But the Germans have been cool and very friendly. I know that when many Americans think of Germany, they think of the Nazis. This is unfortunate, but understandable. Most Americans don't have much direct contact with German culture, save war documentaries or the occasional Oktoberfest.

Berliner Dom

Rumiko and I quietly sit in the upper tiers of the cathedral as the priest leads Mass below. This is very surreal for me to be here, as this is where the opening scene of My Immortal takes place. After Mass, we head down to the crypts below the church, and walk among the final resting places of Prussian Kings

As we leave Berliner Dom, I notice the scars of war on the church. Bullet holes. It is said that you can tell if a building in Berlin was built prior to the war, by whether or not it has bullet holes.

Near Berliner Dom, the super-tall silver East German television/spy tower. Interestingly enough, the communists who built it were also on a mission to take down every Christian cross in the city. They finished taking down the crosses just as the television tower debuted.

Then, just as the tower was unveiled, the sun came out. And a huge sunlit cross appeared on the tower's silver finish. In fact, anytime sunlight hits the tower, the cross appears. Berliners call it "God's revenge," or "the Pope's revenge," depending on who you talk to.

After the evening concludes with another fantastic dinner in a small German restaurant, we take a slow walk back to our apartment. Our last night here is bittersweet. I can't wait for Prague, but Berlin is amazing.

In the morning, we say goodbye to our apartment as a taxi driver with superhuman strength loads our heavy suitcases into his taxi. A minute into the trip, our driver figures out that I'm American. I have his undivided attention, and he wants to talk about George Bush. Uh-oh. This is a loaded topic anywhere but Fox News, and I'm not sure how to respond. The last thing I need is an argument with a berserker taxi driver with superhuman strength.

It takes a moment to realize that our driver is a Kurd, a guy who would elect George Bush as his King if he could.

A few minutes later, our new Kurdish friend drops us off at the Berlin train station. I'm amazed, as the train station looks a futuristic mall made of glass that just happens to have trains running beneath it. This place is cool. As Rumi shares a sandwich with a little bird outside on a terrace, I snap photos of a cool metallic horse statue.

The Train
Music: "As The Rush Comes (Gabriel & Dresden Chill Out Mix)" -- Perfecto Chills Vol. 1

After a relaxing train ride through the German countryside, we make a quick stop in Dresden, the site of a vicious firebombing by the Allies. In any other war, the bombing of a historic city full of refugees would be a war crime. But these were the Nazis, the Super Bowl of racism, evil and hate.

There is bad energy in Dresden. I can't wait to get out of here.

ACT 3 - PRAGUE

Our train enters the city limits under a moonlit sky. After many trips to Prague, including two summers of law school, I've stayed away for a while. Six years, to be exact. This is largely due to the fact that the last time I was in Prague, I came uncomfortably close to throwing my passport into the river and staying. Literally.

The train slows to a stop, and we prepare to navigate through the Prague train station, the transportation equivalent of Resident Evil.

Listen carefully, my friend. There are four simple rules to surviving the Prague train station.

Rule #1. Do not talk to anyone.

Rule #2. DO NOT talk to anyone.

Rule #3. If anyone talks to you, tell them to fuck off and walk the other way.

Rule #4. If they follow, poke them in the eye. And then run hard, as if you life depends on it.

The Prague train station is a dangerous hellhole full of thieves, Orcs and other evil creatures, and it has claimed more lives than Everest. If you deviate from the rules, you might wake up in Bulgaria. Missing a kidney.

Rumi and I get our luggage off the train, and fight our way to the Mafia extortionist taxi drivers lurking outside in the shadows. I'm not sure why the Czech government doesn't clean up the rail gateway to their beautiful city, but maybe they simply don't have enough nuclear weapons for the exorcism.

After a turbulent and expensive cab ride through the back streets, we are safely in the magical city of a hundred spires. Ahhhh. Home.

Apartment #2 lies close to the Charles Bridge, just across from the Cloister Hotel. Once we're inside, I'm surprised the place is much bigger than our Berlin digs. The television gets CNN, BBC, and a few channels dedicated to showing still photos of naked women as bad techno music plays in the background. Weird.

Intermission: Sleep

Smash Camera, Beer and Coffee.

After going through my notes over a glass of Krucovice, we head out of the coffee shop and across the Charles Bridge. I snap pictures of the statues on the bridge incessantly as we cross. Our mission is to cash traveler's checks. On Wenceslaus Square, we find a bank that takes American Express. I walk in with my Vivitar camera intact, and I walk out with Czech currency and my Vivitar camera in five pieces.

I'm not exactly sure how my camera became crunchy, but it may have involved a structural defect in my Adidas jacket. Fuck.

AQUATIC CAPABILITIES

Hmmm. The only cameras in sight that are not hundreds of dollars to expensive and too complicated for NASA are digital. Then, on a shelf, like an orphan puppy, a wackly little blue and yellow camera, similar in size to the Vivitar. It looks like an orphan camera from Finland. Upon closer examination, I figure out the camera is not Scandanavian. It is for underwater photography. Which means that I technically have Aquatic ... Fucking ... Capabilities!!!!!!! This is GENIUS!!

The clerk is stunned as I frantically throw random Czech money onto the counter. I buy the official camera of Finland's Water Polo Team, and the Mission continues.

After a quick subway ride, two arguments and one bottle of warm Coca-Cola, we arrive at Vyshehrad, the magical Gothic cemetery. Rumi doesn't understand why I like this place, but to me, this is one of the most beautiful places on Earth. Although it is not underwater, it just may be the perfect place to take pictures with my new aquatic camera. I take three rolls of pictures, including photos of the final resting place of composers Dvorak and Smetana, and photos of the statues that were the model for the props in Renegades 2007 show.

Infant of Prague
Music: "Ave Maria"

The Church of Our Lady Victorious in Malá Strana. For the last few hundred years, people have made claims of blessings and miraculous healings about the Infant Jesus statue in this church. When you walk in, it becomes immediately apparent that this is a very holy place. In fact,the atmosphere makes it feel like you have a direct line to God, just by being here.

Look, I understand that I may not actually have a direct line to God right now just by virute of being in this church. In fact, I may not even be on hold, or on the other side of call waiting. But for whatever reason, I feel like I can talk to God here, in this little church in Malá Strana. And we have some things to discuss today.

My Immortal

Rumi is not a night owl, and she wouldn't go into a vampire lair even if she was one. So, I venture out into the cool Prague air alone tonight.

The first stop is Radost FX, the legendary club where cool cats and hot women are the scene and world-class DJs spin the beats. I run amok in the upstairs lounge drinking Absinythe with two Czech women and their amused pal, a guy who is convinced he the Czech Elvis. Czelvis.
After an hour or three in Radost, I venture back out into the night. My journey takes me down Wenceslaus Square, through narrow cobblestone streets, back across the Old Town Square, and past a small group of Italian tourists millng around in front of the Astronomical Clock. My destination lies behind the Gothic Tyn Church.

The Chateau Rouge, aka the vampire lair. Yes, dear reader, there are vampires in Prague. Real ones. But, unless you've been to the Chateau Rouge after midnight or the depths of Marquis De Sade before NATO forces closed it down a few years ago, you'll just have to take my word for it.

I push past the shady denizens hanging around the door and into the Chateau. Inside, few acknowledge my presence. I am quick to note that the décor and pounding techno music is almost exactly the same as it was in 96, when I ventured here for the first time with other law students. That fateful first night, two law students were abducted by seven Irish female vampires and they were not heard from again for a week.

As usual, the Rouge is bathed in red lights. As usual, the bartenders are antagonized. In fact, they used to wear shirts that said, "The Customer is always Wrong. " At last call, the staff yelled, "Drink your drink and get the fuck out!" The first time I came into contact with this genius customer service, I laughed out loud for twenty minutes.

But tonight, the vibe in the Chateau is different. Very different. Something is going down, but I can't put my finger on it. I have a pivo (beer) and scope out the scene. Oddly enough, few vampires are in sight. Then, across the bar, I see a new sign. It simply says "Until The End Of Your Time." Under the sign, a stairway leads down into the darkness. Uh-oh.

I slam my drink, make my way through

and

slowly

walk

down

the steps.

At the bottom, I stop in my tracks. "Until The End Of Your Time " is a perfect name for the scene. The infamous DJ Loutka is spinning the tunes. In front of him, wall-to-wall all-out nuclear-powered fucking Vampire rave. The opening scene from Blade.

Music: "Umbrella" by Rihanna

Let the festivities begin. I pull my cap down and move among the vampires, grooving to the music. In the middle of the dance floor, I bump into a big black dude in a blue and gold football jersey. It’s Marshall Faulk. Marshall waves and he shouts over the pounding music. "Hey Bro!"

"Hey Marshall.! You had a heck of a career with the Rams!" I yell back. Marshall is confused. I know I'm not really talking to the great Marshall Faulk, but this dude looks exactly like him, and he's in football attire. And I've had just enough beer to think this is really funny.

A few seconds later, it becomes apparent that Marshall Faulk is the source of the commerce that fuels this evil rave. Hmmmm. Avoid. I make my way over to the bar.

Music: "Over the Line" by The Crystal Method

After a rude waitress brings me another glass of pivo, a woman in black comes next to me, leans against the bar and smiles. "I am the Devil," she says to me. I look at her with a blank stare and contemplate that statement.

"I am the Devil," she says to me again. "Lucifer. Satan. The Devil. I am the Prince of Darkness."

Thought: This would be funny, but for the fact that (a) this is the second time this exact same thing has happened to me in the last four months; and (b) I'm surrounded by vampires. Then again, maybe this is a girl trick. She wants me to buy her a beer.

Lucifer smiles and says, "I don't need you to buy me a beer." Then, she snaps her fingers. Thei, I notice her black fingernail polish. And Devil horns. The rude waitress moves with cat-like stealth, and obediently pours her a drink.

Thought: Rut-roh. Not a girl trick.

[pause]

Wait a minute. I thought Ozzie was the Prince of Darkness.

I smirk.

Lucifer's eyes glow red. She is deadly serious and not amused by my thoughts, which I'm sure that she can read. I raise my beer in a toast, and duck back onto the dance floor. Vampirers are one thing. But I don't have enough hit points to deal with the Devil right now. Avoid.

The next few hours are a bluuuuuuur.

At one point, I have the profound realization that this night in Prague might be the best night of my life. I know this is not a rational thought, as it is, in fact, not the best night of my life. But the music is GENIUS, and I'm having fun in a vampire lair.

With the sun coming up soon, the rave in the cellar of the Chateau starts to thin out. At the bar, Lucifer hangs onto Marshall Faulk, engaging in an activity that probably does not involve Fox Sports. It’s time to leave. Just in case.

Outside the Chateau. A Weird Scene.

A lawn chair. In front of said lawn chair, two paramedics drag a limp girl into an ambulance. She has relinquished her chair. Hmmm. This could be serious. Upon closer inspection, I see that the mysterious girl has no bite marks on her neck. She just needs a substantially lower blood-alcohol content.

I make my way back through the Old Town Square and Astronomical Clock, through the narrow winding cobblestone streets, and across the Charles Bridge. 'The magic hour," which is the time just before sunrise, when lighting is at its best.

Last Night on the Bridge

I look out onto Prague for the last time in a while. I close my eyes, and listen to the running water of the Vltava.

"Home," I say out loud to no one in particular. I'm alone on the Charles Bridge, yet I'm as comfortable as I've ever been in life. I'm home. I cannot explain why this city is my home.

It just always has been, and it always will be. It is what it is.

Prague. The Airport.

I'm able to leave Prague this time, largely because I am reasonably happy with my life and career in LA, and staying here much longer might be hazardous to my survival. With almost no hours of sleep, I barely make it through the airport, and stay awake just long enough to pour myself into a seat on the plane. I literally fall asleep before my head hits the pillow.

Two hours later, I wake up.

Thought: Hmmmm. This flight is unusually quiet and smooth.

Out the window, I the same runway I saw two hours ago.We have gone nowhere. We are still in the Czech Republic.

Go figure. Maybe it's not going to let me leave this time.

Three hours, two airplane parts and a soggy ham sandwich later, we arrive back at Heathrow. Our broken plane caused us to miss the plane back to LA by several hours, and we're stuck in London.

The good news is that British Airways will put us up in a good hotel with free dinner and breakfast before our flight back to LA tomorrow morning. The mission ends with a free night in London. Thank you British Airways. Maybe cricket is not so silly.

Click.

After a fantastic dinner, Rumi and I lay on the bed and watch England take on Tonga in the Rugby World Cup. I am delirious, in London, wearing clothes two levels below refugee, and don't understand the first fucking thing about Rugby. But I am happy. And I managed to leave Prague again.

I watch rugby just long enough to realize that the antagonized Tongans have no chance whatsoever of beating the team with the red roses on their shirts tonight.

It's all good.

Click.

Maximizing Live Performance

2007-09-04T01:05:00.000-07:00

Copyright Lee Rudnicki, Esq. 2007

Live performance is often the most intense and rewarding aspect of being a musician. There is nothing quite like performing under the lights in front of cheering fans. For many of you, this is why you joined a band, and maybe why you pursue a career that has been mostly just expensive up to this point.

Unfortunately, many bands are not good at live performance, regardless of the strength of their songwriting. Point of fact, live performance and songwriting are different skill sets. Although they are often related, that isn’t always the case.

Typically, a band preparing for a show comes up with a set list and runs through it a few times. Then, they are good-to-go. Or so they think. The problem with this approach is that the pacing and audience impact of the set list is unknown until it is performed in front of an audience. Essentially, the band rolls the dice and the performance is hit-or-miss in terms of audience impact. Often, the band has no idea why the crowd’s reaction is substantially different from night to night. Typically, they blame a bad show on a dead crowd, while attributing a great audience reaction to the fact that they “rocked.”

I am about to suggest an entirely different philosophical approach to live performance than you may have taken before.

From now on, don't play any more shows. Play a “Show.” Note the capital “S.” The goal is to put together a solid and repeatable Show that has maxim audience impact, and leaves no room for error in regards to logistical considerations such as lighting and sound. By having a repeatable Show, when the pressure is on at a showcase or television appearance, nothing will be left to chance. Two seconds after launching into the opening chords, instinct will take over, and you won’t have to worry about a bad performance.

The theory is to strategically design the Show for maximum audience impact, and rehearse the exactly as you will perform. Following are the basic parameters to follow as you do this.

1. Explosive Book Ends. Immediately after you take the stage, own it. Your Show must explode and hit fans like a sledgehammer—at the beginning and at the end. Opening with strength is critical, as potential fans will form an unchanging opinion of your band in the first forty-five seconds. Furthermore, if you don't end strong, you’re dead in the water. Regardless of the genre of your music, and whether you start out loud, soft, fast or slow, the audience impact at the beginning and the end of the Show must be Nuclear.

2. The Valley. With the exception of Metallica, few bands can keep a relentless set going with no letup and keep the audience interested. Imagine going to a movie, and watching an unending shoot-out for 90 minutes. No matter how great the action is, you will eventually become desensitized and bored. The same principle applies to live performance. The solution is to carefully plan the pacing and intensity level of the Show, and depending on its length, include one or two “energy valleys.” There are several ways to do this, but it is typically done by changing the instrumentation or intensity level of the music. This gives the audience time to breath, and makes the end of the set much more effective. However you choose to alter the energy level is not important. What is important is that you do it, so the fans will stay engaged throughout your entire Show. Unless you are Metallica.

3. The Cover Tune. Yeah, I know. You never plays covers. Well, unless you are famous and relentlessly heckled on TMZ.com already, I suggest you rethink that philosophy. Add one—and only one—well-known cover tune to your Show, preferably a tune at least 10 years old. Why? Well, you know those bitter people who stand in the back with their arms crossed? They’ve never seen you before, and they don't know whether they like your music or not. And they’re leaning towards “not.”

By incorporating a strategic cover tune into the Show, you’ll see many of these previously “unengaged” audience members drop their arms and move closer to the stage, where they will stay. Yeah, it’s like some weird psychological experiment—but it works. The basic principle is that the presence of one tune they are familiar with draws them into your world, so to speak, and they will be more open to your original music. The one caveat is never pick a tune where the original recording sounds similar to your band. For example, if you have a band that sounds like the Smashing Pumpkins, don’t pick a Smashing Pumpkins tune. You’ll just come off like a bad cover band, minus the bald guy with the amazing voice. Instead, play a Goth version of a Duran Duran tune or whatever. By making a well-known cover your own, you will break the ice with new fans. For the record, this genius bit of wisdom came from a now defunct band from San Francisco called Left Out Lamont, who used to play a Cheap Trick cover tune whenever the crowd was dead.

4. The Script. So now you have a brilliant set list, aka the Show. The next thing to consider is the “space” between the songs. Simply put, rehearse the Show as it will be performed—including what is said between the tunes. Instead of launching from song to song without ever saying anything to the audience, have your singer say a few words about a tune before it is played. This will make the song memorable, and will make a huge difference in how the audience relates to your music. As part of the dialogue, your singer should also mention the merchandise table and your website’s URL once or twice (only) during the Show, without sounding desperate. Basically, plan the breaks between the songs, and get a general idea of what will be said to the audience. Essentially, you’re creating a script. Done word of caution is to not over-do this. You don’t have to plan every word—it will sound contrived, and you’re a musician, not a screenwriter. But, a little preparation and planning will go a long way.

5. Reprise the Hit. If you have one song above all others that the fans love, consider reprising it at the end of the Show. Use the same lighting each time (see sound and lighting considerations below), and announce that the tune is on the new album, which is available at your merchandise booth. See a theme here?

6. Accessibility. The music industry is a strange and wicked animal, where its denizens are drawn towards successful and inaccessible figures, and repelled from everybody else. Without overdoing it so you cross into the realm of arrogance, your band should come across as if it already is successful and famous. After the Show, don’t hang around trying to hawk albums. A little accessibility is cool, but being desperate and asking everyone what they thought of your band is counterproductive, and will only destroy your marketing image. Work smart, not hard. After a great show, create an “aura of indifference” which will be seen as cool by the fans. This is not intuitive—but it is how the music industry works at a world-class level.

7. Sound and Lighting. As much as unsigned bands often create a set list with little thought to its audience impact, they almost always take this approach with sound and lights. Frankly, most bands hope for the best, and the result is bad sound and nonexistent lighting. At many shows, you hear no vocals as the guitarist plays from a dark corner of the stage. Meanwhile, the sound guy talks to the evil chick in the leather pants. This is your career—do not leave sound and lighting to chance. Since few bands have the financial resources to afford a sound and lighting crew during the initial phases of their career, sound and lighting should be dealt with in two stages.

First create a sound and light cue sheet. This can be fun, as it adds new dimensions to the design of your Show. The cue sheet should list the order of the tunes, featured instrumentation and lighting effects. This will help keep the sound and lighting person engaged during your Show. Eventually, you will find amazing lighting effects for certain songs, which can become a “visual hook” to support that tune. For example, every time you play the chorus of your killer ballad, the club is bathed in red lights. Cool, no? Option B is to hope that the lighting guy stops talking to the evil chick in the leather pants long enough to push a button or two.

Second, and the most obvious but expensive solution, is to bring your own sound and lighting crew to each show. Once your band starts to generate substantial revenue, this is a must. The good news is that if you followed this advice, you already have a detailed and refined sound and lighting cue sheet ready to go. Thus, your sound and lighting team will have an excellent resource, and they’ll get up to speed quickly.

Finally, with the minor exception of test-market shows, which we can talk about in a future column, your band must come to the philosophical agreement that there will be no more small shows. Period. From here on out, you will treat every show as if you were headlining Madison Square Garden—whether you are in front of five fans or five thousand fans. If a show is not worth giving 110%, it is not worth doing. You never know who will be at a show, and you will only have one shot to make a great first impression on potential new fans.

Okay Cats. Thanks for reading. I hope this advice is helpful.

Rock-n-Roll

Management Contracts 101

2006-11-04T01:03:00.000-08:00

By Lee Rudnicki, Esq.

First, the legal disclaimer. Read this.

DISCLAIMER: Neither transmission nor receipt of this information is intended to or does create an attorney-client relationship. All information provided is of a general nature, is not legal advice or a solicitation therefore, is not a substitute for legal advice pertaining to a specific situation, and should not be acted on by readers without obtaining advice from legal or other professional counsel applicable to a particular set of facts.

[pause]

Still here? Okay, here we go.

MANAGEMENT CONTRACTS 101

You can read a ton of material on what clauses, percentages and legal language to look out for in a management contract, but most bands I work with in my capacity as a music attorney have their eyes so glued on the contract they are being asked to sign that they often forget to ask the manager the most fundamental questions of all—the ones that can make ANY management agreement not worth the paper it is printed on. Contrary to popular belief, Step #1 when you are handed a management agreement is NOT to rush off and find an entertainment lawyer.

First, your band needs to have a good long heart-to-heart discussion with your potential manager to see if you even want to go down the road of negotiating a contract with them. During this meeting, EVERY band member must have the opportunity to ask any and all questions they have for the manager. Do not get lost talking about percentages of gross revenue or other contracts terms just yet. The threshold questions from your band members should, among other things, focus on six threshold issues:

(1) What is the manager's vision for the band?

Does his or her vision involve refinement or a continuation of the current musical, artistic or marketing direction the band is headed in, or does he or she have a drastic change in mind for the music or lineup etc.? This is NOT something you want to find out after you have spent hours of legal fees negotiating a contract, or worse—after you have signed the agreement.

(2) Does the manager have a sound business plan?

"Get signed" is not a financial plan, it is b.s. The manager should have a plan to create substantial revenue and an expanded fan base for the band immediately through live performances and merchandising, so you can stream the revenue towards radio promotion and publicity. If your band has a substantial revenue stream and fan base, it will not make business sense for a major label "not" to sign your band, and the contract terms will be favorable.

If the plan is just "get signed," sell your equipment and buy lottery tickets—it will be faster and you won't have to lug drums and amps up the stairs. Even if you do get miraculously signed without a fan base and revenue stream somehow, your contract negotiations with the label will not be from a position of strength, and you will likely end up with a bad recording deal that makes you little to no money in the long run (i.e., you will likely not recoup your recording advance).

(3) Does your potential manager have actual contacts and experience in the music industry?

Enough said.

(4) Availability

What exactly is the manager's availability and time commitment to the band going to be? Does he or she represent other bands or have other business commitments whose schedule might conflict with yours?

(5) The Yes-Men Rule (avoid)

If you have a manager who sees their role as being a yes-man (or woman) to the band, don't waste your time with them. You want a manager to be able to give you an honest and relatively objective perspective on the status of the band so you can improve and make money. Period. Yes-men might make your band feel good, but will typically add little to nothing to the quality of your band in the long run.

(6) Personal References

Ask your potential manager for at least three of them, and follow up. Entering into a 3-5 year business relationship with someone is not a small commitment, and you are talking about your CAREER. If he or she won't provide references, walk.

Assuming that you have done all of the background work, then—and only then—it is time for Step #2, the specific terms of the management agreement itself.

Travel to the Sun

2006-07-04T10:50:00.000-07:00

Music: "Year of the Cat" by Al Stewart

On Friday, I stepped off the plane in Riyadh, Saudia Arabia.

I know what you're thinking ... what the hell was I doing there, right? I was thinking the same thing. It was a moment from a Bogart movie ... in a country where they turn back time ... I went strolling through the crowd like Peter Lorre ... contemplating a crime.

I couldn't believe the heat, which felt like a wall fell on top of me as I walked down the ramp to go through customs. Once I saw the gift shop full of purple basketball sweatshirts (the "Kings") ... then, and only then, did it fucking dawn on me that it only felt like I was in Riayadh.

I was actually in Sacramento, a place that averages 22 degrees hotter than Riyadh through most of the summer. Okay, I just made that statistic up. But what the hell ... Sacramento is a nice place, but it is fucking HOT in the summer ... HOT enough to make grown men weep ... HOT enough to make dogs look up ... and HOT enough to embolden terminating cyborgs from the future to run our state government while no one is watching. And there I was ... Friday ... in Sac-ca-ra-mento ... helping the Renegades prepare to compete at the Mandarins' home show ... aka the "Mandarin Fantasy" ... aka a drum corps show with a name that sounds a little too much like a film with only two actors ... if you catch my drift.

MANDARIN FANTASY FLASHBACK

Exactly five years ago at this show, the evil planets aligned as the Mandarins took the field. Five years minus Five minutes later, the music played by the Mandarins’ tiny horn line inside of the stadium coincided perfectly with the Renegades’ blistering all-out run-through of One More Time Chuck Corea outside the stadium.

The result was instant mayhem, and the Mandarins were completely drowned out by the Renegades. Unfortunately, the Mandarins were being judged, so they had to keep going. It wasn’t pretty. The fans were treated to a bizarre demonstration of out-of-time drill and guard work performed to the overwhelming screaming sounds of One More Time Chuck Corea—coming from outside the stadium. It was kinda like Eddie the Rat being played backwards on an eight-track tape player with Ryan Cox the-angry-drum-set-player trying to stay in step.

COZY BAKER: “But, maybe art was created that night, in a two-deaf-mimes-and-an-iguana-playing-Happy-Birthday-on-a-garden-hose kinda way. How much more artistic can you get? We’re talking Picasso, man! The Louvre! Da Vinci Code! Hey. Where's my glasses?”

Unfortunately, five years ago to the day, the Mandarins were not amused by their unexpected diversion into the world of avant-garde performance art. We spent the rest of the night fending off enraged Mandarins’ staff members who followed us around and shouted, “You ruined our home show! You ruined our home show! You ruined our home show!” There was no Mandarin Fantasy for the Renegades in 2001—it was Mandarin Antagonized. Ahhhh ... but I digress. Where was I. Oh yeah.

END MANDARIN FANTASY FLASHBACK

Picking me up at Riyadh airport in the year known as 2006 ... on a morning from a Bogart movie ... in a country where they turn back time ... was Keith the Renegade contra player, and a former soprano player for the Mandarins named Cody. During the hour-long mini-van trip to the show site, we listened to recordings of the Troopers, VK and Freelancers, and one bizarre episode of the 27th Lancers. Three things dawned on me during the hour-long trip: (i) VK was musically under-rated; (ii) I just listened to an entire recorded show of the Sacramento Freelancers for the first time of my entire life; and (iii) it was so hot outside of the van, it hurt to touch the window. Which meant that getting out of the airconditioned minivan was potentially going to suck. Not as much as vacationing in Lebanon with your Hezbollanian friends ... but suck nonetheless.

Once we arrived at the show site, I plopped myself down in the middle of Jester's horn arc and listened to their warm-up, which was brilliantly conducted by a ninja mellophone player. You see Jester needs no stinkin drum major. As the Washinton Post is afraid to report, DCI, YEA, the CIA and two of the three Heckmann brothers have been engaged in a cover program to try to fold Jester, lest the world learns the truth ... that 70% of DCI corps don't actually need a drum major ... except for retreat. But even then, the Renegades would be happy to loan them Rich Skare to accept the trophy and be done with it.

After being inspired by Jester, one of the most lethal drum corps in the history of the drum and bugle corps activity, I promptly went inside the stadium to buy a red Jester T-shirt, and a package of Jester "Jamaican Me Crazy" coffee ... which represented the most money I had spent on drum corps souvies in one place since 1986. True story.

Then, it was time for Renegades warm-up. Drummers continued arrived over the course of an hour or two, thanks to the insane traffic leading into Riyadh. On a serious note, Friday's warm-up marked the first day I actually drummed with the drum line. My "hands" are coming back much faster than I had anticipated. At one point, I thought, "Wow, I actually used to be pretty good at this." In fact, given a few more weeks, I would compete at individuals at DCA. In 1987, I competed at DCI individuals, and came in 3rd. In 1988, during my age-out year with the Vanguard, I actually came in first and won the DCI snare individuals (true story) ... and then was promtly assessed a 7,000 point overtime penalty, which resulted in me and the Jamaican bobsled team tying for "honorable mention." Or something like that. So anyway, somehow I am finding time to practice (snare drum, not bobsled), and my hands are getting very fast again quickly, which is putting a smile on my face.

The Renegades were good at the show, aka the first any only show performed at night in California, save a few scary pit-to-ensemble moments ... which you can't really stress too much about, given the fact that since last Sunday, the pit played exactly "zero" times with the corps before they took the field on Friday. We watched SoCal Dream from the sideline after we performed, and they rocked the house. After the show, Jerry the snare drummer was once again seen partying with his friends from River City Regiment ... which meant that the definite possibility existed for him to disappear for 72 hours and return with a story of (a) a random and somewhat painful UFO abduction; (b) suddenly being called off to go to New Zealand for a work-related emergency; (c) waking up in 1976 Cleveland, and having to fight his way back to the present; or (d) all of the above.

Rehearsal on Saturday found Jerry a good 30 years and three time zones away from the corps, and Greg Gilman deleriouslt walking around Del Mar High School with a cast on his hand the size of a loaf of bread ... and the X-planation that it was much worse than it looked ... the result of a long-fogotten injury from a drum corps show a year ago.

As I was learning drill to Toccatta, Jerry suddenly emerged from a time-flux capacitor that we had set up on the sideline to facilitate his return from 1976. The corps worked very hard on Saturday, and showed flashes of brilliance during endless run-throughs of Toccatta. At the end of the final run-through, the corps looked like it was ready to fall over from the heat and being really, really, really tired. The drum line run-through was not acceptable, so we rewarded them with two more run-throughs as the corps walked towards their air-conditioned cars. The two run-throughs were very good, and in the afternoon heat, the 2006 Renegades drum line showed their most valuable asset ... Heart.

No Snare Drummers in June

2006-06-01T21:46:00.000-07:00

In the history of the San Francisco Renegades, the corps has faced extreme adversity numerous times. In fact, the Renegades have been through many situations that would have folded most other drum corps. Each time the corps finds itself in these dire circumstances, the Renegades not only rise to the challenge, but the corps miraculously comes out of the experience stronger than ever.

I don't know how or why this always happens, but it just does.

I've had an opportunity to reflect on many of these unbelievable situations over the last few weeks, as I work to finish my book about the Renegades ... a book that now reads like a novel, because so much of what happened over the last seven or eight years defies rational explanation. Well, my friends, this weekend, it felt like I stumbled onto the a few of the pages I have recently written ... or maybe the first three pages of the 1993 Vangard story, Tale of a Drum Line.

The Renegades are faced with a crisis. In fact, if this crisis is not solved soon, the corps will forced to re-consider late summer travel plans, and you may not see the Renegades at DCA this year. No, I'm not being overly dramatic. Allow me to explain.

Last year (2005 season), we went through a dismal winter with our brass line. After a few winter camps with 28 horns standing in front of us, we spent hours and hours working to get horn players into the corps. The day of LMS 6, horn players unexpectedly came out of the freakin woodwork, Superman came out of the phone booth, and before we knew what had hit us, we had the best horn line in Renegades' brief history, even winning horns in North Carolina.

This year, the horn line is fine. Ditto for the guard, and the pit, and both sections are well on their way to improving significantly from last year. Unfortunately, the snare line has not fared as well. It is kind of like the horn line in 2005, without the happy ending in the spring. I saw this coming back in September, when one at a time, the entire drum staff had to dramatically scale back their time commitments to the Renegades due to moving away, commitments to other corps, and other personal reasons. This was also the case with our snare line.

On Wednesday, we were at 6 snares. Which is not ideal, but I came in 2nd in drums at DCI with 6 snares once upon a time (86 Garfield Cadets), and we were only 1 snare drummer away from the mystical #7. So, we were fine.

On Thursday, we were down to 5 snares, after one drummer's summer work schedule changed dramatically. Afternot sleeping all night due to laying awake and trying to figure out how to solve this issue, I sleepily boarded a plane to fly to this weekend's rehearsals on Treasure Island. As I boarded the plane, I got a call from another snare drummer, who was calling from the emergency room. He needs emergency surgery. As the flight took off, we were at 4 snare drummers.

As the plane landed in Oakland, I got another call from another rookie snare drummer, one who has never marched drum corps before, and who I expected to quit sometime. Well, he did. As I drove to the camp, we were down to 3 snare drummers.

As I got to the camp, I learned that one our of remaining three snare drummers is MIA, and presumed to have left the corps.

Which suddenly puts us at exactly 2 snare drummers. And a ham sandwich.

Point of fact, the two snare drummers are veterans of the Blue Devils, so there is not a tic to be found. But, two snare drummers does not make a DCA Finalist corps, let alone trying to be heard over a nuclear horn line. I have never seen anything so strange as what has happened to the Renegades drum line over the last few months (except for about 90 other things that have happened to the Renegades). Since we have been unable to find one reason for all of this, it is starting to feel more like the evil Hand of Fate than anything. So, where does this put us?

Well, after searching for months, we've just added a former center snare of the Vanguard to teach the snare line full-time. He starts at the next camp. Now, we need to find a snare line for him to teach.

The Renegades are now on a country-wide search for five or six great DCI caliber snare drummers. Money is not a factor, as we have donors willing to pay tour fees, dues etc. to get these snare drummers in the Renegades. We can probably even find frequent flyer miles or donors to get someone a plane ticket out to the West Coast to do this if need be.

If we succeed, I believe the Renegades can win DCA this year. Period. The show, and the corps, is too good for me to think anything else. In fact, we just might have to win, just because.

If we do not find more snare drummers ... well, there are numerous scenarios that can play out here, but none of them are good.

So here we are.

We need one more Renegades' last-second miracle.

The Renegades have had more than their fair share of them, but this would be bigger than all of them if we pull it off. The Golden Chapter in the book, perhaps.

If you are a great snare drummer who wants to work hard to form a world-class snare line, and have an experience you'll never forget, drop me a line. Ditto if you and a few snare drumming buddies want to move to the West Coast for the summer.

If you know any great snare drummers without summer plans, send them our way.

If you want to make a donation to the Renegades, there has never been a better time.

If you want to say a prayer for the Renegades, now is the time.

I will keep you all closely updated on the status of our snare line, aka the status of the corps. Think if Blog 7 as being kind of like reality-television, but think of it as "reality blog." Frankly, I don't know how this will all turn out.

If we don't get our miracle, it has been one hell of a ride.

If we do ...

7

p.s. The 2006 Renegades eventually fielded a snare line of six snare drummers, went to Rochester New York to compete in a hurricane (Iiterally). When the dust settled at the DCA World Championships, the Renegades were one of the world-class finalists. A Happy Ending, and a Mission Accomplished for the 2006 Renegades.

Litigators are a Different Animal

2006-02-14T21:40:00.000-08:00

Introduction.

Generally speaking, there are two kinds of lawyers. (1) Transactional lawyers, who spend their time negotiating agreements so people can happily make money and/or avoid liability; and (2) Litigators, may of whom spend a great deal of their time fighting, provoking and plotting the demise of other litigators. Now, imagine the personality types that might logically gravitate towards these two job descriptions, and you will have a general sense of how the following came to be. Especially since I am about to make fun of one of them.

Disclaimer: This is not legal advice to anyone under any circumstances, just a general and maybe humorous discussion of a random entertainment law scene.

I went to a lunch meeting of the Beverly Hills Bar Association this afternoon, at a nice restaurant on La Cienega called "Lawrys." Today's discussion was about artist management agreements, and the current state of California law. A few high-powered Hollywood entertainment litigators led the discussion, along with Angela Watson, a beautiful actress who is also on the board of the Screen Actors Guild.

And now ... a little bit of legal context.

Lesson 1 - The Calfornia Talent Agency Act.

Besides the usual 101 legal issues that surround any artist management agreement, there is one significant legal hurdle for managers under California law. To avoid boring you with a long law review article that even highly medicated lawyers cannot stand to read for more than 10 seconds, just know that at the end of the day, it all comes down to one simple Draconian rule.

Under California law, Managers cannot legally procure employment for artists ... unless they are a licensed talent agent.

Period.

This means, for example, the manager of your local band cannot legally get the band a gig unless he is a licensed talent agent. Truth be told, most managers don't give a [BLEEP], and they book gigs for their band wherever and whenever they want. The chaos, however, begins once the manager has a dispute with the band. The band fires the Manager. Then the Manager tries to enforce his management contract with the band. Kaboom!

The problem is ... if the manager once-upon-a-time booked a show (i.e. procured employment) for the band, a Court or the Labor Commission will throw his or her management contract OUT THE WINDOW ... just because of the once-upon-a time violation of the Talent Agency Act. Ouch.

It doesn't matter if the band owes the Manager money. In fact, nothing really matters under the current law, and Managers almost always lose in court.

The score is 74,000,093 to 2.

Scene 1 = Artist wins, pays Manager nothing from now on. Contract is Over.

Grand Finale = Artist sues the Manager for all the money they paid him last year. Ouch.

Note, this outcome is possible even if the Manager booked the show AT THE REQUEST OF THE ARTIST.

Evil, no?

So anyway, the discussion went on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, about this point.

Then, I dumped some iced tea. Which I seem to be getting quite good at lately.

Then, the discussion went went on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on about the same topic.

Then, I dumped some iced tea. Again. Which I am getting quite good at lately. Maybe I should go pro.

Then, the discussion went went on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on about the same topic.

Then, actress Angela Watson started to talk. What captivated me about Angela was not her radiant smile, nor her knowledge of the law. It was her profound explanation of how she s

tarted her career as a successful child actor ... and then one day, she figured out her management team stole $3,000,000 from her. Apparently, the people she trusted most -- including her parents -- put their hands in the proverbial candy dish ... and tried to get Angela not to notice as her money flew out the door and into their pockets.

Faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaast Forward ... and a very antagonized Angela sues everyone. Including her parents.

When the dust $ettled, Angela had her money back, an accountant sat in prison, a lawyer lost his license, and I can only imagine that Thanksgiving Dinner at the Watson house was never really quite the same.

That story certainly put our discussion into the proper perspective.

Next up to bat, the Hollywood litigators lead the discussion back to the case law and legal issues. Yippee!

Suddenly ... a older litigator with silver hair from across the room raises his hand.

"Yes? ... Do you have a question?" the unsuspecting moderator asks.

The guy stands up, picks up a book, and starts out with his best Abraham Lincoln voice.

"What I am about to say will make some of you happy," he opined.

"And what I am about to say will also make some of you very angry."

Thought: Uh-oh. Here we go. Turn up the radio.

What follows can only be described as "courtroom drama not in a courtroom." Or maybe life-imitating-art-imitating-a-tuna-casserole.

In proper legalease, the now-standing antagonized man proceeds to tell the entire panel of distinguished Hollywood litigators that they are full of shit. Well, he didn't actually use an obscenity, but he might as well have. He told them all of their information was wrong.

The fireworks are lit ... the litigator circus Kamikaze meelee begins ... as opposing enemy lawyers clench their teeth like starving animals ... others angrily spout out bizarre and often irrelevant numerical case law citations like they are being auctioned off at Southerbys ... lizard toungues and narrow rat eyes eagerly size up the competition in front of a half-eaten slice of Apple pie and a non-existent judge ... while still others dig through stained yellow paper in search of more irrelevant case citations to recite.

The litigators in the room are in a complete rage ... over an obscure legal point that has about as much relevance to your life as the average annual consumption of belly button lint by farm animals in Ecuador. And some of them are really fucking mad. Which is really strange. This small group-in-a-rage includes the standing-up-guy-in-a-rage, who promptly assures his place in the history books by storming out of the room. In a rage. The whole bizarre scene would make an excellent intermission to the film Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.

Eventually, I can't stand it any more.

And I have no more iced tea to dump on the table.

I look at my watch, wave goodbye to a few lawyer pals ... and escape from the bizarre scene ...

I open the door and walk out into the Southern California sunshine.

With an amused smile on my face.

The Confession

2006-01-03T21:33:00.000-08:00

If you are a regular reader of Blog 7, you know that I promised a confession on here. Well, here it comes. This is gonna sound perhaps a little bitter, or chaotic or maybe funny. Whatever. I have yet to make this confession, so I am writing this more for me than for anything else. Maybe.

But, first -- some important background.

Once upon a time, I was a voracious reader. I loved books, and I read for hours and hours and hours a day. When I got to middle school, which was actually a warped high school in disguise, since it was all held in the same miserable place (Crestwood High School), the first thing I did was join the CHS Library Club. Really. I certainly did not join the CHS Library Club for the hot chicks ... I joined simply because I loved to read. I was getting As in school, and the Library Club seemed like a great way to be around books.

Crestwood's librarian was a possum-faced woman by the name of Mzzzz. Ronzon. I am not sure if that is the 100% correct spelling of Ronzon, but whatever.

Anyway, Ronzon was to the Crestwood Library ... as Stalin was to Russia ... as Hussein was to the Kurds ... as Khan was to innocent villagers who got in his way. The woman was a Grinch, a Witch and a Conceited Evil Tyrant ... all at once. Point of fact, Ronzon ran the CHS Library like a Gulag, and most students who were unfortunate enough to invade her lair to look for a book generally found themselves spending the majority of their time being yelled at, bothered or provoked for little to no reason whatsoever. If you think about it, getting yelled at to be quiet is an oxymoron, no? I think I will point that out again before this episode of Blog 7 is done.

Basically, Ronzon made kids hate the library. Which seems to me to defeat the entire purpose of her so-called job. But, if you happened to get assigned to the Crestwood Library for study hall, the first thing that crossed your mind was faking your own death to get out of it.

Needless to say, Ronzon and I didn't get along, and I soon found myself out of the Library Club, and doing anything in my power to avoid the library. When the unfortunate occasion arose where I actually had to go into the library, Ronzon and I were sure to have a major confrontation of one sort or another. Even if I tried to hide in the back.

One day, I bought new tinted prescription glasses, which were quite the rage in Northeastern Pennsylvania at the time. As I walked into the library, the Grinch walked up to me, stopped me in my tracks and loudly asked me, "Are you on Drugs?" Right in front of my friends.

Since I had yet to have so much as a pint of beer until well after graduation from high school, this was quite an embarrasing moment for me.

The one thing that Ronzon really cared about, was a long line of beautiful house plants that ran along the length of the library. Every day, when she wasn't tormenting the students, the Grinch would walk around and make sure that her "babies" were doing fine and getting enough sunlight.

Then one day, all of Ronzon's plants mysteriously turned brown and died. As if someone had secretly sprayed Agent Orange on them. It was the weirdest thing, and I cannot imagine how that could have happened. Hmmmm. Weird, weird, weird. Ronzon had to take a few days off after that incident, which I found very amusing in a car-accident sort of way. I really cannot imagine how that could have happened. Hmmmm.

The day of my graduation from Crestwood, I was handed my high school diploma ... only I wasn't handed my diploma. I got a rolled up piece of paper that said I wasn't not getting my diploma because I had an overdue library book.

I went to the library to see what book possibly could be overdue, since it had been a year or two since I had checked anything out. The nerd assistants were clueless. No one could tell me what book was overdue, or even what book I had checked out recently. My mother was even angrier than I was, and I quickly got a diploma put into my hands. Yeah, I received a parting shot as I left Crestwood. I gave the skool and the library a quick salute with my longest finger, and never looked back (literally).

Unfortunately, my urge to read was killed for a few years, and I entered college at West Chester University with little to no appetite to enjoy anything even remotely related to a library. I avoided the Library like the plague. Ditto for San Jose State. In fact, I didn't spend significant time in a library again until I entered law school at the University of San Francisco. Basically, to survive the first year of law school, you either live in the library, or you figure out what you will tell everyone in regards to why law school wasn't for you.

At USF, for the very first time in my life, I met a nice librarian who made it her mission in life to help students find information, and who had more important priorities than yelling at people to be quiet (which is an oxymoron, if you really think about it). The funny thing is that her name was also Lee (but spelled "Leigh").

So anyway, as the story goes, towards the end of my first year of law school, I had Spring Break. Most students spent this first-year of law school Spring Break on exotic beaches or whatever. However, I was kinda-sorta poor, I had not worked in months, and I felt some sort of moral obligation to try and make money during the Spring Break -- especially since I planned on running off to Europe for the summer. So for one week, I put myself back on the substitute teacher call list in Cupertino, which was kinda-sorta my old part-time job before law school (while I taught Vanguard).

This is what happened...

March 4 - Grinch Revisited

Cupertino. My role as a substitute this week is basically to watch over the kids who didn't, for whatever reason, go to the school's week-long off-site "science camp." It is a bummer to give up spring break, especially since my classmates went to all sorts of cool places. But, I need the money.

I have to leave San Francisco very early to be there by 7:30 a.m. I am late for the first day, but I get the keys from the school secretary and still have about eight minutes before kids have to be let into the classroom. I feel an immense sense of relief when I see the lesson plan for the week -- I simply take the kids to the library to work on their science reports. In other words, I am a highly-educated and highly-paid ... babysitter.

The 8:00 a.m. morning bell rings, and students filter into the classroom. It is surreal to be in a middle school environment again. I take roll, and give them a simple introduction.

"Hello. My name is Mr. Rudnicki. You can call me Mr. R. if you don't want to try and pronounce it. You had your science report explained to you last week by your teacher. As you know, we are going to the library every day this week so you can work on your report. If you behave, I will leave you alone, and you will have a fun and relaxing week. If you cause trouble in the library, you will spend your day in the office, which will not be fun. Very simple. Are there any questions? OK, cool. Let's take roll and get out of here."

The kids remain quiet as I call their names. After roll, I lock the classroom and we take a leisurely stroll across the small campus to the library. Welcome to Lee Rudnicki’s USF Spring Break. This one definitely won't be on MTV.

When we get to the library, we are met by a 50-year old woman with a grinch-like scowl on her face. She lets the kids walk in, but stands in the doorway as I try to follow them into the library. I greet the Grinch with a smile, and say "Hello, I am the sub for the science class." The Grinch does not respond. She frowns, turns, and walks after the kids, barking like a dog. "Take your seats!" she growls.

Wonderful. It is 8:10 a.m. on a Monday, and the librarian is a fucking grinch with a chip on her shoulder the size of Cleveland. What is it about librarians that makes them evil? This should be a great week.

Sarcasm: off

March 5 – Ground Hog Week

I bring the kids to the library to work on their reports again. The Grinch is hostile towards me from the minute we show up (again). When I say "good morning," the Grinch demands that I walk with her to the encyclopedias. The Grinch points to the books, and says, “Look what your kids did. These encyclopedias are out of order! They must be in order! See … A, B, C, D...”

My attention span comes to a screeching halt as I realize the absurdity of the situation. I just busted my ass through seven months of law school, and I am spending my spring break receiving a lecture about the importance of alphabetizing encyclopedias. I am in Crestwood time-warp. What the fuck.

Day Three.

I wear my USF Law sweatshirt to school to give the Grinch a clue that just perhaps, I am possibly not a complete idiot. This strategy doesn't work, and the Grinch follows me around and constantly berates me on the behavior of the students ... students who are all sitting queitly and working on their reports. What the fuck.

On my break, I go to the principal's office to explain the situation. "Look,” I tell him. “I understand the importance of alphabetizing encyclopedias, I really do. In fact, I’ve just spend seven months doing little else but sitting in a law library. The kids have been behaving well, and I’ve been nothing but nice to the librarian. But she is out-of-control. Either she chills out, or I will not teach here."

The principal says he will speak with her.

Day Four.

When I walk in the library this morning, I expect a change in the librarian’s attitude. Instead, the Grinch goes through the same bullshit routine of criticizing me at every opportunity.

OK. That’s it. The end. The game is officially over.

I spend the rest of the day doing everything possible to annoy the Grinch, including covertly putting 50 or 60 books as out-of-order as possible, turning other books on the shelves backwards and leaving others on the floor for her to clean up. I’m on a mission to cause as much disorder in her library—and her life—as possible. Fuck her. At the end of the day, I come across the Biography of Lionel Richie, a book that has not been checked out in over eight years. Genius.

March 8 - The End.

I call the school office, and call in sick. I make absolutely "zero" attempt to sound sick, and I permanently take my name off the substitute call list.

Fuck the money ... and fuck the library.

I spend the last weekday of spring break on Ocean Beach. Smiling.

The Confession.

With the sole exception of a few "saints" that I met at the Universtity of San Francisco, I hate librarians. I'm sorry, but I do. The vast majority of them are focused on maintaining an ego-maniacal control on their library, instead of encouraging people to read and develop a love of books.

My name is Lee Rudnicki, and I am a librarian-hater.

Got plants?

heh.

Artist Bio - Lost Disciples

2005-11-04T23:05:00.000-08:00

It has been said that in the world of rock n’ roll, there is nothing like packing up your belongings and going on tour. Sometimes, however, a journey gives you much more in return than you expect. Such was the case with the Lost Disciples, when they embarked on a whirlwind tour of the Southwestern United States in September of 2001 … a tour that not only changed their outlook on the world of rock n’ roll, but one that also changed their views of their band, one another, and of life itself.

As the story goes, shortly after 9-11, the Lost Disciples’ bus broke down in Albuquerque, New Mexico. With their vehicle dead, little money in their pockets, and absolutely no place to go, the band was on their own … and at the mercy of a repair shop that had little time for them as the country reeled from the 9-11 terrorist attacks.

Over the course of one very intense and emotional week, the Lost Disciples bonded in a manner that few bands ever get to experience. They laughed, they cried, and they wrote some brilliant music in the hot desert city. The Lost Disciples learned a great deal about one another that week, and the surreal chapter in Albuquerque came to a close with the band singing karaoke tunes in a dive bar with an 80-year-old woman as CNN played on a television in the background.

Who knew that one intense week in Albuquerque would create an unbreakable bond of brotherhood among four men who could not be more different than one another—and create a band whose musical chemistry can now only be described as magical.

Lead singer Jason Baltzley is the soul of the Lost Disciples. Jason moved to California when he was seventeen years old with little money, an old acoustic guitar and a vision to form the band that he always wanted to be in. Jason lived in his car, and he grew up quickly as he sought out the other members of the Lost Disciples. Discussing their new album, Jason gets right to the point. “The Journey Home takes you on a spiritual journey … a journey that is unique to every listener, wherever you are from or whatever you believe in. We are all disciples of something. Your personal truth is out there.”

As his fans and numerous music directors are well-aware, Jason’s musical gifts include the ability to mold spiritually grounded lyrics into tight and memorable musical hooks. Jason’s incredible vocals invoke the dominant snarl of Chris Parnell, but with the sensitivity and depth of Pearl Jam and Midnight Oil. Music critic Dylan Roberts of Digital City Reviews said, “[Jason’s] depth is also reflected in the songs, not just in the outer layer of lyrics but throughout every molecule of music-a rare quality that shows a spiritual link between creator and created.”

The Lost Disciples #1 hit “Seed” describes a man losing truth and his mind in the process, “On my feet I'm walking /Down the street I'm talking /To myself but I'm not alone /Hide my head I'm falling /Deeper in this open crevice /I'm loosing self-control /In the wake of a fire / There's the light of a man who knows his time /There's the light of man who knows his crime /There's a light of the man who lost his soul /Catch me now /I'm falling deeper /In this open crevice /I'm losing all my self-control /I fade away.”

Jason may be the soul of the Lost Disciples, but the heart belongs to lead guitarist Donovan McGlynn, a soft-spoken and easy-going classically trained guitar player from San Diego. Influenced by everyone from KISS to Steve Vai, Donovan started playing guitar at a young age, and his stylistic musical choices complement Jason’s vocals perfectly. Donovan’s guitar playing brings the music of the Lost Disciples to life through his magical hands, and a charismatic glam-rock stage persona. Reflecting on the band’s experiences in New Mexico, Donovan adds that “sometimes, a personal search for truth can take one down the wrong path … and it all ends in destruction … as we all unfortunately learned on 9-11.”

In “Message to a Lunatic,” the Lost Disciples send a clear and poignant message to Osama Bin Laden …“Hold tight to something as this battle's soon to soar /New generations' aristocracy is born /X marks the spot where we have staked our claim and made our stand /Let’s roll /Coming for you /Catch us if you can /Catch us if you can/Line in the sand/Catch me if you can/Making my stand.”

On the other side of the emotional, political, personal, musical and pretty-much-everything-else-you-can-think-of spectrum, bassist Bobby Cherry brings a bizarre and wild style to the Lost Disciples. Bobby is a solid bass player who is heavily influenced by eclectic avante garde bands such as Sparta, System of a Down, and the Talking Heads, and his on-the-edge on-stage persona can only be described as a “berserker.”

Despite Bobby’s counterculture leanings and seemingly out-of-control stage presence, his background is not what you would expect, as it includes work in military intelligence and the founding of a number of hugely successful corporate endeavors, including BMP Culture, the most comprehensive magazine on the electronic music scene, and the company Envy Skateboards. “I am all about success,” Bobby explains. “Whether it is playing bass, starting a magazine or washing my car. Whatever it is, I don’t care. I just want to be good at it, and I don’t hold back. Lost Disciples is the best band I have ever been in, and this journey is just getting started!”

Drummer, Manuel “Manu” Navalon, hails from Barcelona, Spain and is the most recent addition to the Lost Disciples. Manu was working a 9-5 job in Barcelona when Lion Music offered him the opportunity to tour with the famous guitar virtuoso, Tony Hernando. Manu asked his boss for time off to go on the tour, but his boss responded to him with an ultimatum—go on tour and you’re fired. Seven minutes later, Manu had cleaned out his desk and walked right out the front door with drumsticks in his back pocket. The rest is history. Manu has profound love of all types of music, but his passion lies with heavy metal and Celtic music. “I was born to play music,” Manu states with a knowing smile on his face. “Without music, life would be a mistake,” Manu adds, quoting the philosopher Nietzsche.
The Lost Disciples’ eclectic mix of four completely different personalities creates a unique musical chemistry that lends itself well to their powerful driving music.

Beyond the obvious well-written hooks, fist-pumping drum licks and ripping bass lines, the Lost Disciples’ music has a heart, a soul and a powerful message … a message that can be interpreted in many different ways by many different people. At its core, The Journey Home is a hard rock mix that revolves around a personal spiritual journey coupled with thinly-veiled references to the emotional impact of 9-11 on the American psyche.

The Lost Disciples have garnered awards and critical praise with the pre-release of singles from their new album. “Seed” has hit #1 on the Broadjam charts in six different categories, including #1 Rock, #1 in California, and #1 in male vocals. Music critic Dylan Roberts said, “It’s refreshing to find a deeper male voice showing for the lead vocals, something that’s all but vanished since those early hippie days when rock ‘n roll still had its macho edge.”

If what they say is true that “Variety is the spice of life,” then the Lost Disciples exemplify it, as the rock world would be hard-pressed to find a band with such four unique musicians. Beyond the awards, album sales and critical praise, the Lost Disciples has a powerful message and rock n’ roll that you can pump your fist to.

Sometimes, a journey gives you much more in return than you might expect.

Such is the case with the Lost Disciples.

http://www.lostdisciples.com/

The Last Thing on the List

2005-11-04T01:12:00.000-08:00

Copyright Lee Rudnicki 2005

FADE IN:

INT. APARTMENT - DAY

The phone rings. KELLI, a cute 20-something woman with short red hair, walks across her apartment and picks up the phone. The voice on the phone belongs to MATTHEW.

KELLI: Hello?

MATTHEW: Kelli?

KELLI: Yeah. Who's this?

MATTHEW: Matthew. We were in marching band together. I hope I'm not bothering you.

KELLI: No, not at all. Are you the guy in the Mets hat?

MATTHEW: No, that's Roger. I am the guy who ... well ... ummmm ... I dunno. I played clarinet. My name is Matthew. Does that ring a bell?

KELLI: No, not really. Look, I have homework to do.

MATTHEW: I'm sorry. Look, this won't take long.

KELLI: What won't take long?

MATTHEW: Tell me you love me.

KELLI (annoyed): Excuse me? Is this some sort of practical joke?

MATTHEW: No, listen. Please. Tell me you love me. It's important.

The sound of drunken yelling in a foreign language comes over
the phone.

KELLI: What is that noise?

MATTHEW: Kelli, I have to hurry. It's getting late here.

KELLI: Here? What do you mean, it's getting late HERE? Where are you?

MATTHEW:Czechoslovakia. Well, I guess it's technically the Czech Republic now.

KELLI: Matthew, what are you doing in Czechoslovakia???

MATTHEW: Well, it's technically the Czech Repu--

KELLI (interrupting): Whatever! Have you lost your mind???

MATTHEW: Please. Tell me you love me.

KELLI: Look, I'm not even sure I know who you are ... I thought you were the guy in the Mets hat. And I am supposed to tell you I love you?

MATTHEW: Yeah. That's the last part.

KELLI: The last part of what??

MATTHEW: My plan. Can you please say it?

KELLI: You have exactly ten seconds to tell me what's going on, or I'm hanging up.

MATTHEW: If I tell you, will you tell me you love me? Just once?

KELLI: Are we on the radio? Is this the morning zoo?

MATTHEW (frantic): Kelli, time is running out. Tell me you love me. Please!

KELLI: Matthew. You tell me what's going on ... and I'll tell you I love you.

MATTHEW: Today was my last day.

KELLI: What?

MATTHEW: I flew here yesterday. I woke up this morning and I went to a 500 year-old church ... I talked to God ...

KELLI: You flew there to talk to God?

MATTHEW: We argued, actually.

KELLI: You argued with God?

MATTHEW: Well, it mostly just me ... yelling.

KELLI: Oh my God. You were yelling in a church?

MATTHEW: I had a lot on my mind.

KELLI: This is insane.

MATTHEW: That's exactly what they said.
(pause)

MATTHEW: A few hours ago, I watched the sun set over the Castle, walked across the Charles Bridge in the moonlight. It was wonderful. And now I only have one thing left.

KELLI: Which is what?

MATTHEW; You. I never had a beautiful woman tell me she loves me. I actually tried to get a woman here to say it, but things got complicated ... you know, that whole language barrier, currency exchange rates and so forth.

KELLI: What the hell? This is crazy!

MATTHEW: No. It's actually pretty well thought out.

KELLI: So, when your plan is complete ... what happenes? You turn into a pumpkin or something?

MATTHEW: Nope. I'm done.

KELLI: Done with what?

MATTHEW: Done. Just done. The end. Game over.

KELLI (upset): You're scaring me. Maybe you need to talk to somebody.

MATTHEW: I am. I'm talking to you.

KELLI: I mean a counselor or something.

MATTHEW (excited): Look, Are you gonna say it or not?

KELLI: Matthew ...

MATTHEW (anguished) Look, I don't have time. It's two minutes to midnight.

Kelli starts to cry.

KELLI: Matthew!

MATTHEW: Goodbye Kelli.

KELLI: Please! Matthew. Stop! Let's talk more!

MATTHEW: I'm outta time.

KELLI (sobbing): Matthew ... I love you.

The sound of a gunshot is heard over the phone, followed by
distant screams.

The phone line goes dead, and Kelli falls to
the floor sobbing.

FADE OUT.

THE END.

DCW Interview (2005)

2005-10-31T23:11:00.000-08:00

An interview with the San Francisco Renegades' Lee Rudnicki
by Steve Vickers, DCW Publisher

One of the most intriguing drum and bugle corps to come along in a very long time is the San Francisco Renegades. The organization kind of snowballed from an idea to reality in a relatively short time and, over the past few years, has become a very competitive corps in DCA senior competition.

Lee has been an integral part of the corps' growth and brought some very unique marketing ideas to the program that gained a great deal of attention for the group in its' early years.

For anyone who has seen the corps at the DCA Championships, they have one of the most powerful brass sections, they play totally recognizable music and visually have a lots of variety to spice up their productions.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Steve Vickers: How did you first get involved in the activity and what corps did you march with during your junior years?

Lee Rudnicki: I originally got involved in drum corps because my high school band director, John Bender, was an alumni of the Reading Buccaneers and a huge Santa Clara Vanguard fan. In fact, our band uniforms were modeled after the Vanguard, and we usually played music that had been played by either the Vanguard or the Buccaneers. So, I naturally grew up being a fan of both corps, and I didn’t have any real concept of the difference between junior or senior corps.

The first live drum corps I ever saw was the Buccaneers, when they rehearsed at my high school (Crestwood). I remember being completely overwhelmed by the powerful sound of the Buccaneers’ horn line. I was instantly sold on the idea of marching with the Buccaneers someday … and on loud and powerful horn lines.

The first time I saw junior corps was in the summer of 1982, at the West Chester University band clinic. Two guys from our high school drum line, Ken and Pete Sherry, were in the Crossmen that year, and talking with them in the parking lot after the show felt like I was talking to rock stars.

Later that summer, Dave Cooper, another local band director, took a large group of students to the DCI Championships in Montreal. I was at ground zero in the audience for the legendary SCV bottle dance, and right then and there, I loudly announced to everyone in our group that I would one day march and teach the Vanguard. In retrospect, it was a pretty silly thing to do, since I was in 8th grade and had only been drumming for a year and a half. But, it all mysteriously worked out, and I have friends in Pennsylvania who laugh about that incident to this day.

A few years later, when I actually got good enough to try out for a drum corps, I joined the snare line of the 1983 Reading Buccaneers. It was a dream come true for me, especially with Ken Sherry and Robby Robinson teaching the drum line, but it was a very difficult year for the corps in general. In fact, we took the stage at our first winter concert with 17 horns, a handful of drummers and a ham sandwich.

But, the Buccaneers persevered, and we somehow ended up with a full corps and a 5th place finish by DCA. That year, I learned what the power of belief and optimism could do for a drum corps … and what is possible when you refuse to let a dream die, even when things look incredibly grim and hopeless. All of the great Buccaneers corps in the years that followed owe a debt of gratitude to the leaders and staff of the 1983 Buccaneers, as many other corps would have folded in similar circumstances.

In 1984, I joined the Crossmen, and I had a good time touring the United States for the first time and learning from some great instructors like Mark Thurston. The Crossmen got back into finals after falling out in 1983, so the year ended on a high note. Unfortunately, the revelry was not to last, as 1985 brought disaster to the Crossmen in the form of bad Spanish music, a uniform designed after a snack food, and a tour that had more misery than mere mortals should be expected to endure. We ended up in 17th place, and needless to say, I left that summer intending not to march anywhere until I could get the money to move to California and march with the Vanguard.

I joined West Chester University’s college band to keep up my snare chops, and I marched next to Tom Aungst, who taught the Garfield Cadets. One day, Tom and Cadets’ bass drum instructor Steve Keifer showed up to my dorm room, told me to grab my sleeping bag, and literally dragged me out the door to a Cadets’ camp. The intense rehearsals were very difficult, and initially, I doubted that I would survive the season. Although I initially hated every minute of being with the Cadets, somewhere along the line, it dawned on me that I was in the middle of the greatest learning experience of my life, our show and staff were brilliant, and I had a lot of great friends in the corps. To this day, I look at my experience in the Garfield Cadets as being one of the primary reasons that I was able to get through law school. I poke fun at George Hopkins, but the guy has created an absolutely incredible organization.

In 1987, however, it was time to accomplish my dream … a dream that started in the mayhem of the 1982 Vanguard bottle dance. I said to goodbye to my many good friends in the Garfield Cadets and at West Chester, and I moved out to California to march with the Vanguard and study with Ralph Hardimon. At the end of the summer, Vanguard lost the DCI title to the Cadets by .1, which I think is technically called “poetic justice.”

In 1988, I returned to SCV for my age out year, and became Vanguard’s center snare and the drum line section leader. With a majority of the corps aged out after the 1987 season, we had a rough winter, and an even rougher early season. We debuted our Phantom of The Opera show wearing black capes and green pants, and proceeded to get beat by the Blue Devils by approximately 700 points. However, we were on a mission, and the show was magic. We improved quickly, and we were surprised to beat every other corps we competed against that summer, until DCI, when the Madison Scouts pulled off the drum corps equivalent of a Hail Mary pass and captured the DCI crown. There were many tears and laughter in the Vanguard drum line when they announced that we had won high drums. Which was a pretty cool way to age out.

SV: Moving on to your instruction career, what corps have you worked with and in what capacities?

LR: I returned to the Vanguard as a snare tech in 1989, and won another high drum title and a DCI Championship—despite the random overage English guys who were kinda-sorta trying their best to get us disqualified. I then took the 1990 season off of drum corps to try to get my rock band career going.

In 1991, I returned to the Vanguard staff, and had the amazing experience of working with Scott Johnson for the first time. Scott and I co-wrote the battery book to the Miss Saigon show, and that summer was one of the most creative experiences of my life. Scott was open to anything and everything, and we had an incredible amount of fun trying out new sounds and techniques for the battery. We even wrote some music on a napkin in a Denny’s one day! Scotty Sells wrote one of the most bizarre and innovative books I have ever heard for our pit, and we ended the season with a genius collaborative percussion book and for me, my third consecutive high drum trophy with the Vanguard.

In 1992, I taught the Blue Devils for two strange and random months, and then moved to Los Angeles to intern at a record label. I returned to the Vanguard staff in 1993 to co-write the book with Scott again, and then became the percussion caption head in 94 when Scott returned to his home with the Blue Devils. A quick phone call to Ed Teleky at 3:00 a.m. the day I got the gig started a unique percussion writing partnership of sorts, and the season spent designing Vanguard’s Red Poppy show was a great one. The Not-the-Nutcracker 1995 season was one of those unfortunate drum corps years that you want to forget, despite having a lot of great kids in the corps.

Forty-eight hours after the 1995 DCI Finals, I was in a classroom listening to a lecture on contract law. Over the next three years, I went to maybe one drum corps show. Instead of drum corps, I spent my summers studying international law and business in Ireland and the Czech Republic. Frankly, it was a nice break, and I met a lot of amazing people from all over the world. I spent the summer of 1998 taking the California bar exam, which was not so fun. A few months later, I answered an advertisement to write drum parts on RAMD for a drum corps I had never heard of, the Bay Area Renegades. I went to a Renegades’ rehearsal in the winter of 1999, and the rest is history. After being the percussion caption head of the Santa Clara Vanguard, attending an ensemble music rehearsal with only two horn players and five drummers was a humbling experience.

SV: I know you're an entertainment lawyer and you now live in Southern California. How has your educational background fit into the corps world?

LR:

Well, my legal background gives me the tools to do some very productive business development work on behalf of the Renegades and DCA. For example, I was able to help negotiate the deal that made the Renegades appearance in North Carolina possible last year, and I also re-structured DCA’s contract for the recording of the DCA Championships along the lines of a traditional major label recording agreement. Which was key, from a business perspective, as it instantly gives every DCA corps and the video company a mutually beneficial financial incentive to work hard to increase sales and visibility of all of the DCA corps = a win-win situation for everyone. I am currently working on television, film and music projects, and I hope to get the Renegades involved in all of the above at some point.

SV: Turning to the beginnings of the Renegades, what role did you play in the formation of the corps?

LR: Absolutely none. The Renegades were founded in 1996 by a group of seven people who were determined to “be” a drum corps, whether anyone wanted them to or not. They were doing parades and other small gigs long before I showed up.

I came onto the scene in 1999. I went to a rehearsal in San Francisco, and I was hooked. Although the corps was not very good (putting it nicely), something kept me at rehearsal that day. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but there was something very special about the Renegades. Despite the chaos, the corps obviously had a great deal of heart—and they looked like they were having fun. At that very moment, I decided to teach the Renegades. I don’t know exactly why I did. Maybe something clicked in my head and I realized that drumming was missing from my life. Maybe in the span of twenty minutes, the Renegades taught me that drum corps could be fun again.

Once I decided to teach the Renegades, I had one immediate problem. Although the corps was small, I certainly couldn’t teach a whole corps by myself—especially a horn line. I needed reinforcements and I needed them fast. That night, I called Kent Cater, the Vanguard’s award-winning bass drum instructor, and Chris Nalls, a talented horn instructor who I also knew from Vanguard. Although the corps had little money for instructors, Chris and Kent both thought the name “Renegades” was cool and they agreed to join me on the staff. I wrote a book about the incredible events that followed, The Renegade Journal, which you can get at http://www.cafepress.com/rj7

SV: You brought some interesting strategies to the table . . . the "Evil" theme, the "7" trademark, the "Loud Music Symposium." Marketing is obviously one of your fortés. Tell our readers about what these intriguing things have meant to the Renegades' progress.

LR:

Well, the answer is simple. We had to choice BUT to be innovative with our marketing. Despite the corps’ constant improvement and the huge number of drum corps alumni who lived in the San Francisco Bay Area, it remained difficult for the Renegades to recruit new members. One issue that we faced—besides the fact that the corps was small and not very good—was that there hadn’t been a viable senior corps in California for many years. Unlike the East Coast, with its strong and long-established DCA senior corps circuit, you were expected to permanently “age-out” when you turned twenty-two in California. No senior corps existed in California and to even think about marching after you aged-out was not socially acceptable. In fact, it was considered fashionably idiotic.

For the Renegades to succeed, we needed to break the negative stereotype that West Coast drum corps fans held of senior corps. Somehow, we needed to make joining a senior corps a “cool” thing to do in California. We knew there was absolutely no reason that music performance should be taken out of your life just because you turn twenty-two—especially when most professional musicians are not even taken seriously until well past that age. We just needed to make people realize that.

When we mapped out the future of the Renegades, we knew that no one will likely ever out-Vanguard the Vanguard. Ditto for the Blue Devils, the Cadets, and every other world-class drum corps with a strong identity. Our mission was to create a unique identity that might borrow a few characteristics or tunes from world-class drum corps, but would not result in the Renegades being seen by fans and potential members as a wannabe or “cover corps.” To attract new members, the Renegades needed to be perceived as something new, and not just an organization around for people to relive the so-called glory days of marching in a junior corps. Since the corps’ name was “Renegades,” and chaos and controversy followed it at every turn, we defined the Renegades’ “marketing image” as controversial, exciting and way off the beaten path of traditional drum corps. We weren’t going to run away from controversy—we were going to embrace it. To this end, we launched a marketing campaign that promoted the Renegades as “evil.” No, the corps did not sign a pact with Lucifer. To us, “evil” simply meant the Renegades were a rebellious, exciting, and urban/cool type of drum corps.

SV: Any idea how many different corps are represented among the corps' membership?

LR: I have no idea. I literally cannot think of any corps off the top of my head that has “not” been represented in the Renegades over the last seven seasons.

SV: How about the corps your design and instructional staff have been involved with?

LR: I wouldn’t even know where to start, except to say that almost all of us have either taught the Vanguard or the Blue Devils at one point, and all the corps that Frank and Shirley Dorritie have worked throughout their careers with would probably fill up this entire page.

SV: Almost since the beginning of the corps, the size of each section has been near capacity. What do you think are the reasons you are drawing such talent to the Renegades?

LR: First, marching in the Renegades is a lot of fun. Frankly, I have had some great times in drum corps, but I never had as much fun as I have had in Renegades. I think you would probably get this same answer from most of our members and staff. Second, we make performing music fun and rewarding. You don’t need a music textbook or a three-hour lecture on Russian history to appreciate the Renegades’ show. There is complexity in our show design, to be sure, and we have some of the best show designers on the planet on our staff, several of which still teach Vanguard and Blue Devils. But above all, the Renegades are about figuratively dragging the audience out of their seats and making them a part of our show. If we don’t electrify the crowd, then we have failed, and I don’t care what the score is. In 2004, during the Triumph of Evil, we got SIX standing ovations during our show ... twice! There is no trophy on this Earth that I would ever trade for that experience, and I think the fans would say the same thing. One another corps that understood this philosophy perfectly was the Bayonne Bridgemen. In fact, when we explained our creative direction to the corps in the early days of the Renegades, we told them that we are out to be “Bridgemen without the comedy.”

SV: What's on tap for 2006? More tunes to get strong audience reaction?

LR: The 2006 show is tentatively entitled “Stairway to Heaven.” It opens with Adventures in Time, a hot and relentless jazz tune made popular by Stan Kenton that just screams for a nuclear horn line to play it. We follow this up with Stairway to Heaven, by the band Led Zeppelin. This was definitely not on the forefront of our repertoire list until Chris Nalls found a brilliant recording of the London Philharmonic playing it that just blew us away. The final production of our 2006 show is “Tocatta” by the band Emerson Lake and Palmer, which we plan to Renegade-ize, if you will. The corps will be much improved from 2005. Key Poulan joined the corps as our brass arranger, and most of the horn line is returning from last season, which is scary. The Renegades’ color guard will return to a theatrical approach, of sorts, that we last took in 2004. The drum line has had an exciting development, with the addition of former SCV percussion caption head Murray Gusseck to the staff on a full-time basis. Blue devils drill designer Jay Murphy has signed on board for a fourth season of writing our drill. All in all, we are all looking forward to another great year of Renegades, but louder, cleaner and more exciting than ever.

SV: You took your "Loud Music Symposium" on the road, so to speak, last summer when you presented an eastern version on the weekend of the DCA Regional in Winston-Salem, NC. How did that go over?

LR:

It went very well, and was a great opportunity for all the DCA corps to hang out in a non-competitive and extremely loud atmosphere. Frankly, I think DCA needs more events like this throughout the summer. One of the more memorable moments of LMS South, besides announcer Fran Haring’s shirt, was seeing a member of Renegades’ colorguard cry during Buccaneers concert (she was in Vanguard when they played the same music).

SV: I understand you're adding another location this year in Southern California. Is that in conjunction with Dream?

LR:

Yes, the tentative plan is to hold Loud Music Symposium Los Angeles this summer, in conjunction with So Cal Dream. I started working with So Cal Dream this year as a program consultant, and we are looking for ways for the Renegades and So Cal Dream to work together to help get the West Coast senior corps scene to thrive. LMS Los Angeles seems like a natural place to start and the Renegades are touring Los Angeles this summer for some DCI shows, which hasn’t happened in a few years.

SV: Any word on whether or not there will be additional senior or all-age corps on the West Coast in the future?

LR:

God, I hope so. Three corps does not make a circuit!

SV: Anything else you'd like to add?

LR:

Seven.

SV: Thanks for doing this interview. I'm sure the DCW readers have learned a lot about you and the Renegades.

Thanks Steve.

Jester Day 2005

2005-07-19T22:11:00.000-07:00

DISCLAIMER: ... a surprise ending to this story.

On with the story.

Over the last few weeks, I read horrible review after horrible review on DCP, RAMD and other forums about Jester, a relatively new corps from Arizona. Frankly, I had never seen such bad reviews about ANY drum corps, and my curiousity was piqued. I could not imagine how bad a corps must be to generate reviews where fans complained about having to sit through the corps, and in one case, swear revenge on their friend for getting them to watch them. In fact, the reviews were unbelievably crummy.

Here are a few actual excerpts from reviews about Jester, which you may have see on here before.

1. " ... a bit upsetting ... they're good kids, and it bugs me that their investment of time and heart is being mismanaged by the corps staff."

2. "Extremely hard to do anything with 9 horns. They started with 10 but one contra player walked to the front, sat down his horn, and stood there through the entire show ... when 10 percent of your hornline is standing at the 50 yard line, it's a distraction. "

3. "I will get you back for making me sit through [this corps].

4. "Those poor kids were put through a torture chamber and forced into that. I hope someone from DCI-DII/III personnel happens to be reading this, cause I am going to implore you to step in and make the director of this corps stop. "

5. "NOTHING MAKES SENSE with this product. Choose a book/show that your kids can execute, clean and get better with...please, for the sake of your members."

6. "... the show is over their head. "

7. "I can't believe I sat through that ... the show was pretty bad. "

8. "I cannot believe for a second that any of those kids, except perhaps for their talented drum line, is having a life-changing positive experience that I would think a corps would want to promote, or that DCI would like to have corps promote."

9. "What the [bleep] was that?"

So anway, I could not imagine how bad a corps had to be to generate such reviews.
And if a corps was really that bad, doesn't it say a great deal about the character of the kids, to take the field night after night after night, to little applause, no trophies and scores that resembled scores from a football game more than drum corps? I mean, all they want to do is perform. Isn't that what drum corps about?

On Saturday, when we circled up the Renegades after rehearsal, we told them about Jester. Having started out in exactly the same way a few years ago, the Renegades were very interested in hearing about Jester. In fact, we decided to call Saturday "Jester Day," and dedicate our performance in Sunnyvale to the little corps that everyone hated. Jester was set to take the field immediately after Renegades in Sunnyvale.

After the Renegades performed, our entire corps lined up to watch and support a corps that we expected to be really, really bad. Horrible, in fact.

THE SURPRISE ENDING.

And guess what? Jester was not that bad. Really. In fact, they had parts of their show which were actually cool. The general consensus among 100+ Renegades was that Jester was okay, and the statements I kept hearing from our corps members included "I have seen worse..." and "You gotta hand it to those kids, they are really trying out there." Not one person in the Renegades thought Jester was the worst corps they had ever seen.

The moral of this story is that the kids and staff in Jester have earned our respect, and we thank them for taking the field night after night in the face of extreme and total adversity.

As an aside, you might be interested to know that for one and only time in our corps history, the Renegades cymbal line did not form a "7" at the end of the show in Sacramento.

They formed a "J."

True story.

DCM 2004

2004-07-23T23:27:00.000-07:00

Copyright Lee Rudnicki 2004

Curtain: Open

ACT 1. THURSDAY.

Four groups of Renegades covertly assemble in different airports across California; Los Angeles, San Jose, San Francisco and Sacramento. The flights are synchoronized so they all arrive at Chicago O'Hara Airport within minutes of one another.

After Veronica hands me a Lionel Richie photo that she tore out of the in-flight magazine, the red-eye flight is uneventful. Although the excitement is factor 11, most Renegades try to sleep. Rumi plays Nintendo Gameboy.

Plane: Zzzzzzzzz. Snore snore snore.

Beep (Gameboy).

Lights: dim

ACT 2. FRIDAY KINDA STILL THURSDAY.

Ridiculously early in the morning (5:17 a.m. = 3:17 a.m. PST), the Renegades assemble in Chicago O'Hara. One tenor player is MIA. Three horns comically missed the flight from LA, and will catch up with us in Dekalb in a few hours (tying the missed flight record we set at DCA 2003). Another horn player is not here because he just became a father (congratulations Tony!)

DCM guru Roman Blenski arrives at Chicago O'Hara in a convoy of three red Northern Illinois University buses and an equipment truck. The Renegades and their equipment are soon mobile and heading towards Dekalb on a Mission. First order of business on the Mission is breakfast.

Then sleep.

Roman gives us the keys to Pioneer staff van. Very cool. Thanks Roman. The Renegade staff is now mobile. The staff checks into the Stratford Inn in the nearby town of Sycamore.

ACT 3 - DEFINITELY FRIDAY. REHEARSAL

1:00 PM. Rain. Rain. Rain. Rehearsal begins inside, with the horns in the gym, the drums in a classroom and the Reneguard rehearsing outside until they got sufficiently wet, and then inside. The Blue Stars rehearse in the school, and I spend some time checking out their horn rehearsal. They sound really good.

Note to Self: Make sure to see the Blue Stars show tomorrow tonight.

Brent Turner, Director of Minnesota Brass, and Brad Furlano from Blue Stars drive up in a rental truck full of Blue Stars pit equipment for the Renegades. This kind gesture quickly sets the tone between the Renegades and Minnesota Brass for the rest of the weekend. The two corps may be fierce DCA competitors, but they are also fast becoming close friends. After talking to Brent on the phone for 6 or 7 months to help plan the DCM mission, it is great to finally meet him in person.

Eventually the rain, stops, and the Renegades heads out to the field. The huge fields around Dekalb High School are crowded with approximately 492 girl's soccer games in progress and a few assorted drum corps.

The corps and staff alike are extremely jet-lagged and ensemble rehearsal does not go well. In the middle of production runs of Channel One Suite, it starts to rain. The rain quickly turns into a monsoon. WTF.

Rehearsal continues in the monsoon. Frankly, this was not one of our better rehearsals of the year, but the final run-through pulls things together somewhat.

[DINNER]

ACT 4 -- THE GEORGE HOPKINS PARK CONCERT.

The Renegades arrive at George Hopkins Park for the Friday Night drum corps concert, and I immediately go watch the Kilties horn warm-up. Jerry Kelsey, who arranged Russian Christmas Music for Renegades last year, is in the middle of the horn arc. The new and improved Kilties hornline has a very warm and in-tune sound. Very cool.

The Reneguard gets off the bus in their new "Goodbye Blue Skies" uniforms, which immediately cause a commotion in the parking lot, even among our own corps members. At one point, Chris has to turn the entire horn line and drum line around to give them directions for the concert (they were staring at the Reneguard).

Frankly, we were a little nervous how the new guard uniforms would be received, especially in the Midwest. They are definitely one step over the edge. Well, OK. Maybe 25 or 30 steps over the edge.

The concert venue is perfect. Hundreds of people are in the audience, and the corps looks menacing on stage. Spotlights coming up from the ground light up the individual members faces like an old Dracula movie. Since the stage is too small for Reneguard, they take positions to the left of the stage to get a run-through to the music in their new iniforms.

Please allow me to get right to the point. This was not an ordinary drum corps concert for me. This was an EXPERIENCE ... one that made the entire DCM trip worth it for me. This was the best I've ever heard the Renegades in concert, and the best fan reaction I have ever seen for the corps in concert, bar none. The corp was on fire, and the acoustics of the band shell turned the first 20 rows or so of the audience into a nuclear blast zone. Hiroshima x 6. The fans seated around me went completely BERSERK!! Standing on their seats, pointing, cheering, crying, jumping, hopping, yelling, ... you name it, they we're doing it. It felt like Beatlemania ... freaking incredible, and I was in tears by the closer.

Dear DCM corps and Dekalb fans: thank you, thank you, thank you for this concert. You were UNBELIEVABLE, and you gave the 128+ people in our corps an experience that we will never forget. Hopefully, the Renegades did the same for you.

***

ACT 5 -- FRIDAY NIGHT, POST CONCERT FESTIVITIES

After the concert, many Govenaires and Renegades assemble in a bus for a night time bar hopping bus trip reminiscent of the Merry Pranksters bus trips of the 1960s. The majority of the staff assembles at the bar in the Stratford Inn for a strategy session. Horn instructor Larrie Dastrup orders two drinks called "Grateful Deads." After the second Grateful Dead, he immediately announces his impending retirement from consciousness, and heads back to his room.

ACT 6 -- SATURDAY MORNING, HUSKIE STADIUM

We assemble the corps outside Huskie Stadium for warm-up, as the Royal Airs rehearse inside. At 12:00 PM, the corps marches out onto the field, and launch into a run-through. The Royal Airs cheer and scream at the end of each tune. The Renegades hype off the Royal Airs applause, and the run-through is the best of the entire season. Awesome.

After the run-through, we do production runs of various parts of the show. Playing on completely new instruments for the first time (Blue Stars pit), the pit is having a little difficulty locking in, but overall, things are going well. After the stadium rehearsal, the corps has 2 hours for lunch, and then 2 hours of sectionals back at Dekalb High School.

[DINNER]

ACT 7 -- DCM CHAMPIONSHIPS

The Renegades arrive at NIU at 8:00 p.m. for warm-up. Rumi and I immediately go into the stadium to catch some of the Marines and Blue Stars. What can you say about the Marines drum and bugle corps except that they are great, and their presence adds something very special to a drum corps show, especially these days.

Blue Stars did not disappoint me. If I had to pick one corps that I think is headed for the top 12 in the next few years, I would go with the Blue Stars. They also had my favorite uniforms of the night. Simple, but very cool, and they don't look like any other corps.

As the Renegades go to the gate, I go inside to watch Kilties. Although there is work yet to be done, the Kilties are good this year, and they will make a serious run at Finals on Labor Day Weekend. Dear Micheal Cesario -- the new Kilties uniforms are very cool. Nice job.

At exactly 10:10 PM, the Renegades took the field. The show definitely went over well with the fans. We had the first of 5 or 6 standing ovations in the first minute of the show! The guard uniforms did not create the riot we had feared, but instead the crowd started cheering for the individual characters in the guard. Which means that the new visual program theory works. Woo-hoo! All in all, the show was good, and the excitement level was an "11."

Interestingly enough, I heard different reactions from fans about the Reneguard, including that they looked liked the Cirque du Soliel cast, characters from The Crow, Madonna's dancers etc. You name it, I heard it. My favorite was a guy from Blue Stars who told me "I couldn't stop looking at them ... but I had to ... I had to look away ... they were freaking me out, man!!"

Truth be told, although the corps was good and the crowd went nuts, from a technical execution standpoint, our show was not as good as I had expected it to be. Sorry if that is not p.c. or whatever, but I gotta call it as I saw it ... I am incredibly proud of our corps, but I was a little bit disappointed in our performance. We were better in the morning run-through, and tonight included one major but brief ensemble tear in the Appalacian Morning drum break. New pit equipment, jet-lag, blown chops, first time under lights this year ... whatever. As a corps, we need to take our best run-through into the competition ... that is the Mission for the remaining two months or so of the season.

Having said that, this is the Renegades ...

We'll be there.

***

So then came Minnesota Brass. Minnesota Brass was very good tonight, especially their fantastic drum line. Some solid show design ideas, and the corps is marching cleanly for this time of year.

After their performance, I told Rumi that Minnesota Brass was cleaner than Renegades, and that I thought that we lost tonight. I went down to talk to our drum line, they told me that they did not have a good show. Ug.

[insert brief moment of drum instructor stress]

Royal Airs took the field, and I had an opportunity to check them out from the side. I like their music a great deal. Whoever pulled this corps out of retirement a few years ago did a great thing for drum corps, and I hope they keep the Royal Airs tradition going strong for years to come.

Then came the scores. So, there I was, standing outside of the stadium during retreat talking to most of the Renegades staff, and they announced my name on retreat as a "corps manager." I didn't know this was going to happen, but even if I did, the person out there should be Chris Nalls, the corps director. Chris raised much of the money for the corps to take this trip to DCM, and his genius contribution towards running the corps and coordinating housing and rehearsals is second to none. So, I defer to Chris as the "corps manager."

BUT ... I was outside the stadium, and they had just randomly announced my name over the PA System to the entire crowd. Humored, I raised my arms, tipped my hat and waved to the crowd like Cal Ripken Jr. Of course, no one in the crowd actually saw this, since the fans were all in the stadium, and I was amused and outside in the parking lot jumping around like an idiot. LOL.

Then came the scores. When they announced Renegades in second place by eight tenths of a point, I was bummed. Who wouldn't be. But, the better corps won tonight, and all the corps all put on a fantastic DCM show for the fans. It's early season for DCA, and it's all good.

I walked back into the stadium and over to Minnesota Brass to congratulate the corps. They welcomed me with open arms, and I got to hear them sing their corps song, which was cool. Brent gave me some Minnesota Brass t-shirts, and we planned to meet at the after-show party. I went back to our souvie booth to grab an armload of Renegades schwag for our Midwest pals (Brent got the new Renegades fleece and Kilties drum guru Chris Thompson is the proud new owner of a Drum Corps is Evil shirt).

[INTERMISSION]

DCM 2004 CONCLUSIONS.

1. Success. Even with another major drum corps show scheduled for the same night in the area, I understand that DCM hit their target paid fan numbers, and the show was a success. Hopefully, DCI and DCM can work together closer next year, and make more great drum corps shows for everyone. If DCM continues in this format, it would be great to see the Empire Statesmen AND Renegades AND Minnsota Brass at DCM next year. The crowd would double.

2. Goodbye Blue Skies works. We have a fantastic show on our hands, but now we need to clean it and max out the musicality (the loud we got, lol). For me, Goodbye Blue Skies is the best drum corps show I've ever worked on, and it has the potential to become epic by DCA. After next weekend, Renegades go into the traditional "death camp", where the corps drops out of sight and cleans the show for 6 weeks before DCA. Look out.

3. Math. The judges got the Minnesota Brass/Renegades placement right at DCM, and the best corps won the night. But for the record, (since I broke my usual practice and actually looked at a recap), I respectfully but strongly disagree with one judge's point spread. Dude...

[END INTERMISSION]

So then came chaos. Things got really, really fun when a huge drum corps party broke out on the grounds of the Best Western Hotel. Hundreds of Renegades, Kilties, Governaires, Chops and Minessota Brass running amok. The "Kilites choir" broke into song, many beverages were seen, as the party chaos factor crescendoed. Besides my Renegades pals, I hung out with Brent Turner (MBI), Mike Phillips, Chris Thompson and Jerry Kelsey (Kilties), evil Gabe Kangas(Kilties and Crunchy Frog) and Stefanie K. (Kilties) and about 777 other people I met whose names were probably permanently erased from my memory bank by the evil beverages the Kilties gave me. The chaos continued, and in some circles, the chaos factor greatly exceeded all expectations.

Meanwhile... the Kilties choir was still happily singing.

At around 2:00 AM, law enforcement arrived, but they miraculously did not shut the chaotic party down. They just moved it a block to the West.

Dear Scranton Cops: Imagine that. Being nice to the groups that pour millions of dollars into your economy.

At around 4:30 AM, the party had diminished somewhat, as there were only 200 drum corps people left standing. (!)

Before I ended up back at my hotel, I have vague memories of hanging my two Renegades staff passes around the necks of two absolutely gorgeous blonde women who I randomly saw kiss one another. I have no explanation for how or why that brief intense scene occurred right in front of me, but if these two mysterious women don't deserve staff passes, I don't know who does.

The day ended at 5:00 AM. when I climbed into bed at the Stratford Inn (one of the coolest hotels in the world, BTW). Our first-ever DCM trip was a success, and I went to sleep with a smile on my face.

And now ... some thank yous --

Disclaimer: Please note, there are some sincere "thank-yous" in here, and I reserve the right to amend any of them if I leave someone out, because I almost always do. Got it? OK? Good. Here we go.

1. Drum Corps Midwest. Thank you to our friends Brent Turner and Roman Blenski for going above and beyond the call of duty for making the Renegades feel welcome, and for solving our logistical issues. I cannot believe how smoothly things ran. Special thank you to the Blue Stars for the use of their pit equipment, and Pioneer for their staff van.

2. Minnesota Brass. Much like the early days of the SCV-BD West Coast rivalry, the early season DCM competition made both Minnesota Brass and Renegades both a much better drum corps this year. With so many great corps this year from all over the country (World), DCA 2004 is gonna ROCK!

3. Movers and Shakers. Moving an entire drum corps and its equipment across the country by airplane is a logistical operation second only to things like getting the Army to Iraq. We are getting better at this every year, but the Renegades pulled the logistics part of the DCM trip only through the heroic efforts of Johanna Miller (people), Matt Heckmann (equipment), Robin Kinoshita (souvies, hotels etc) and Chris Nalls (everything). United and Southwest airlines also were pretty cool about the whole thing as well, but we still plan on getting our own black jet with shark's teeth someday. One step at a time.

4. Our Financial Donors. Renegades trip was made possible in a large part because we have had numerous financial donors step forward from within and outside of the organization. In fact, the level of support is incredible, and I cannot believe how many people truly believe in the Renegades enough to go the distance to get whatever needs to get done, done. Thank you to everyone who donated to make this trip possible. Also, thank you Renegades Souvie Team X, who kept the Renegades merchandise flying off the shelves.

5. Blue Stars. I am officially a fan. Very cool anime-inspired t-shirts, by the way. I want one~!

6. The fans. Thank you x 1,000.

7. Seven.

the end.

Curtain: Close

Goodbye Pop

2004-04-29T23:16:00.000-07:00

Patrick Cooney, my grandfather, passed away today from brain cancer.

It has been a sad, and sometimes beautiful, few days at the hospice where he spent his last few days on Earth.

I arrived in Wilkes Barre, Pennsylvania on Tuesday, after catching a flight out of San Francisco on a few hours notice. Although he was not expected to live but more than a few hours, I got to see him before he died. He was a fighter ... to the very end.

On Tuesday, he was obviously in a great deal of pain ... but completely aware of our presence. For the next two days, each member of the family took their turn comforting him, holding his hand and telling him how they felt about him ... and also recounting many funny and touching stories about our family throughout the years. Many tears were shed ... but there was also laughter. Yesterday, he drifted away ... still alive, but we knew that he did not have much time.

My grandfather had a great deal to be proud of. Coming from a poor family of coal miners, he led a very hard life when he was young. Although it is hard to imagine today, his family was so poor that they often did not have enough food to eat. His younger brother Jerome passed away when he was only 17 years old, due to their inability to afford proper medical care.

In this harsh environment, my grandfather got the will to succeed. In high school, he became a star football player and semi-pro boxer. When World War II hit, he answered the call of duty, and helped supply ships traverse through the North Atlantic through packs of Nazi U-boats. Many of his friends died in the war, and he always told me that at the time, he realized that "the war was an incredible learning experience ... if you could just live through it."

After the war, he returned home and went into poltics and business. He became the mayor of his home town of Ashley, PA, and held the post for sixteen straight years. He followed this up by going into the law, and became a magistrate judge.

After a huge flood resulting from Hurricane Agnes hit Northeastern Pennsylvania in 1972, my grandfather started a mobile home park in Ashley for the many flood victims with little more than a backhoe and a shovel. He himself dug all the needed trenches for the water lines etc.

Over time, Cooney Park, as it is now called, prospered, and become the family's financial lifeblood, with hundreds of tenants. He used the proceeds to buy real estate and start other business ventures, to ensure that no one in his family ever had the kind of hard life that he had growing up.

When I was a little kid, my grandfather was more of a father to me than anything, and for this, there are no words that can capture my gratitude and love that I have for him.

The last few days have been extremely difficult. But, I am grateful for the final hours that my grandfather and I had together ... with nothing left unsaid.

The Evil Lobsters

2004-01-01T11:04:00.000-08:00

I haven't had lobster in a long time, so I asked Rumiko to pick up two lobsters for New Years Eve. Apparently, on the West Coast, its not really tradition to buy just lobster tails ... you get the whole thing.

So Rumiko goes to the store where they have a tank full of lobsters. She tells the guy she wants two. The guy takes two out of the tank (alive), and puts them in a bag for her (still alive). She brings them home. Alive. Puts the bag in the fridge. Don't get freaked out yet, the story gets even better LOL.

So New Years Eve comes, and we get invited to a New Years Eve party, hosted by my clients, the band Krenshaw, at their studio. So, we leave the lobsters in the bag, in the fridge. Presumably, they are dead.

So, we go to the party ... it was awesome, all kinds of people there (radio DJs, band members, producers .... ) and have the most fun New Years Eve of all time. We get home around 3:00 a.m., and decide to have the lobsters on New Years Day.

So, this morning, Rumiko takes the bag out of the fridge and puts it in the sink. One small problem ... the fucking LOBSTERS ARE STILL ALIVE AND MOVING AROUND!!!!!!!!

We were both really freaked out. I suggested that we thrown them in the ocean, but I thought that the ocean environment here Northern California would probably kill them. If they could live here, then it seems like people would fish for them here (they don't). So, we were stuck. We spent the money on them … but apparently lobsters can live outside of water, at least for awhile. Ug.

Rumi takes a deep breath and says, "I'm Japanese ... they are from the ocean … I can deal with this."

So, we had fresh lobster for New Years. Really fresh. Really, really, really fresh.

And that, my friends, is the story of probably what was the last lobster dinner of my life.

(true story).

The Cellphone Incident

2003-10-17T23:21:00.000-07:00

Disclaimer: Graphic Language. Reader Discretion Advised.

Friday.

The Cellphone Incident.

Aka Anger Management II aka The Berserker Klingon Assassin in the Barney-Purple Sweater

This morning, I ended up in court. And technically, had an "incident." In fact, this might go down in history as "The Cell Phone Incident."

You ended up in court? Well, yeah. Although I am mostly a transactional attorney, I also do a certain amount of litigation as well on occasion. Litigation skills are a good thing to have in your attorney "toolbox," so to speak ... especially if a client, such as the Renegades or Krenshaw or whatever, ever had someone come out of the woodwork try to harm them somehow. We could legally fight back without me having to run and get another attorney who.... blah blah blah.... Zzzzzzz.

Bored by the stupid intro? Yeah, me too. OK. Sorry. Back to the story. Keep reading, this gets entertaining, I promise.

So, this morning... I had to go to court of behalf of a very large and important corporate client. Through the metal detectors I went ... up the stairs ... and into the courtroom.

A few minutes before the judge was to appear, the court clerk informed me that they needed some more information to process the paperwork I was trying to get signed by the judge before the hearing. So, I walked out into the hallway and found a corner with a window to place a call on my cell phone to get the information they needed.

About three sentences into my hallway conversation, a random office door opens ... out walks a tall blonde woman in a Barney-purple sweater. She points at me and says,"There are no cell phones allowed in this part of the hallway."

"Oh, sorry" I respond. As I walk away, I tell the other party on my phone to hang on a minute, and that I might get cut off, because "I am being kicked out of this corner."

I go down the hall, finish the call, and head back into the court room. No big deal. Five minutes later, mission accomplished, I head back out into the hallway to go downstairs to file the new paperwork with the court clerk's office.

As I open the door to leave the court, the antagonized woman in the Barney-purple sweater is standing there waiting for me.

She looks really angry. And I mean angry. Like a tiger who hasn't eaten for three days that just got punched in the fucking nose by a guy with a slice of balogna tied to his hand and a smirk on his face.

Uh-oh.

Thought: What is this all about??

Emotion: Confusion and slight concern.

The angry woman in the Barney-purple sweater walks right up to me, points at me with a bony index finger and says "Are you the gentleman who was speaking on the cellphone?"

"Errr, yes," I respond. "Hi. How can I help you?"

At this point, the angry woman in the Barney-purple sweater points at me again, and starts barking like a rabid dog. Ruff!! Ruff!! Arrgg!! Ruff!! Ruff!!! Bark!!! Arf!! Arf!! Arf!! Ruff!! Ruff!! Ruff!! Ruff!! Ruff!! Ruff!! Ruff!! Ruff!! Ruff!! Ruff!! Ruff!! Ruff!! Arf!! Arf!!Arf!! Arf!! Howlll!!!!!!!Ruff!! Ruff!! Ruff!!Ruff!! Ruff!! Ruff!!Ruff!! Ruff!! Ruff!!Ruff!! Ruff!! Ruff!!Ruff!! Ruff!! Ruff!!Ruff!! Ruff!! Ruff!!Ruff!! Ruff!! Ruff!!Ruff!! Ruff!! Ruff!!Arf!! Arf!! Arf!! Arf!!

Well, she really didn't bark like a dog ... but that's how my brain processed what she was saying. If we were on Alley McBeal right now, my producer could demonstrate ... but just try to imagine it for now.

Thought: What the Fuck? Is this about the cell phone call? I apologized already, the call lasted all of three sentences in that part of the hallway ... and it was almost 10 minutes ago.

"Uh, sorry." I say to her.

The woman does not stop barking. Her face turns red, and her voice gets louder. Ruff!! Ruff!! Arf!! Arf!! Arf!! Ruff!! Ruff!! Arf!! Arf!! Arf!! Ruff!! Ruff!! Arf!! Arf!! Arf!! Ruff!! Ruff!! Arf!! Arf!! Arf!! Ruff!! Ruff!! Arf!! Arf!! Arf!! Ruff!! Ruff!! Arf!! Arf!! Arf!!

Suddenly, the dog barks morph into human words, and I hear her yelling at me.

"This is so unprofessional!! I don't appreciate the way you are speaking to me!!" she yells.

At this point, I am stunned. Hmmmm. I don't remember speaking to you. Hmmmm. OK. I'm either on Candid Camera or the woman in the Barney-purple sweater is not an employee of the Court, but is a Klingon Assassin sent to kill me for reasons unknown. A Berserker Klingon Assassin, to be specific.

"The way I have been speaking to you?" I softly repeat back to her, crinkling my nose with the glazed look of a confused 90-year old librarian. At this point, I am fucking dumbfounded, as all I've said to this enraged woman was Sorry. Twice.

My quizzical look somehow further provokes the woman into a rage. She goes ballistic. Def Con 2.

"You said you got kicked out of the corner!!" That was so unprofessional!!!!! I don't appreciate the way you are speaking to me!! I have never...!!!" Ruff!! Ruff!!! Bark!!! Arf!! Arf!! Arf!! Ruff!! Ruff!! Ruff!! Ruff!! Ruff!! Ruff!! Ruff!! Ruff!! Ruff!! Ruff!! Ruff!! Ruff!! Arf!! Arf!!Arf!! Arf!! Howlll!!!!!!!Ruff!! Ruff!! Ruff!!Ruff!! Ruff!! Ruff!!Ruff!! Ruff!! Ruff!!Ruff!! Ruff!! Ruff!!Ruff!! Ruff!! Ruff!!Ruff!! Ruff!! Ruff!!Ruff!! Ruff!! Ruff!!Ruff!! Ruff!! Ruff!!Arf!! Arf!! Arf!! Arf!!

All conversation in the courtroom hallway stops. This is officially a Scene, for reasons unknown to me.

****

Commercial Break: Want to get Away?

Fly Southwest Airlines blah blah blah....

****
Thought: OK. Apparently anything, and I mean literally, anything I say will do nothing but further enrage this freak .. even a further apology. This is officially scary, and just like the airplane scene in Anger Management, where anything Adam Sandler said just got him in more trouble. This crazy lady is getting angrier by the second, and there is not a thing anyone on Earth can do about it. Her face almost as purple as her butt-ugly sweater. Time to evacuate before this situation mysteriously escalates.

Ruff!! Ruff!!! Bark!!! Arf!! Arf!! Arf!! Ruff!! Ruff!! Ruff!! Ruff!! Ruff!! Ruff!! Ruff!! Ruff!! Ruff!! Ruff!! Ruff!! Ruff!! Arf!! Arf!!Arf!! Arf!! Howlll!!!!!!!Ruff!! Ruff!! Ruff!!Ruff!! Ruff!! Ruff!!Ruff!! Ruff!! Ruff!!Ruff!! Ruff!! Ruff!!Ruff!! Ruff!! Ruff!!Ruff!! Ruff!! Ruff!!Ruff!! Ruff!! Ruff!!Ruff!! Ruff!! Ruff!!Arf!! Arf!! Arf!! Arf!!

I mutter the words "I apologize," and turn as quick as I can and nearly run down the hall away from the woman in the Barney-purple sweater.

The berserker stops yelling for a second, and then I hear the words "Thank you!" yelled as I turn the corner.

Antagonized Thought: Thank you? Thank you????? Fuck you, lady. What was that all about? Maybe it's about time you sought out a good shrink. And your sweater looks like baboon ass. Have a nice day. Fuck you.

Not Antagonized Thought: Whew. What was that all about? I am not amused to have been verbally assaulted by a Berserker Klingon Assassin, but at least I got away.

I walk down the hall to the clerk's office to file the paperwork, and then get back to my warm and safe office.

Minutes later, I am in the court clerk's office. Suddenly, the berserk woman walks right behind the clerk who is helping me. Uh-oh. Red Alert. Danger. I turn around, and pretend to read from a bulletin board while a bored clerk looks through my paper work.

"Excuse me sir," says the bored clerk. You will have to go down to window #4, Linda will help you (name changed to protect the innocent).

I look down at window #4. There is no one at the window. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the Berserker Klingon Assassin in the Barney-purple sweater walk by again.

Thought: Oh my God. This cannot be happening. The clerk ... LInda ... is the Berserker Klingon Assassin. Fuck!!! Fuck!!! Fuck!!! Fuck!!! Fuck!!! Fuck!!! Fuck!!! Red Fucking Alert!!

I slide the paperwork on the clerk's counter, and sit down in a chair and attempt to hide. Maybe she will stamp my paperwork, and not know it's me. Then I can grab the papers and run before she has a chance to grow three heads and Medusa snake hair, or whatever's gonna happen.

Suddenly, another clerk appears and sits down at the counter. It is not the Berserker Klingon Assassin in the Barney-purple sweater. It is happy clerk. Whew. Thank God.

After happy clerk stamps my papers, I wish her a great day, and sneak out of the courthouse.

He who fights and runs away ... live to fight Berserker Klingon Assassins another day.

Or something.

Crunchy Frog 2003 (Show)

2003-09-01T22:49:00.000-07:00

Cli

Renegades Announce New Snare Tuning

2000-04-01T11:24:00.000-08:00

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE:
April 1, 2000
Renegades Announce New Snare Tuning

SAN FRANCISCO, CA. In a stunning development, the Renegades drum and bugle corps announced that they will be tuning their snare drums to Bb. This announcement completely stunned the drum corps community, as no one has actually heard a snare drum with any tone whatsoever since the introduction of the falam drum head in 1987 by the Santa Clara Vanguard.

In a related story, rioting broke out in several small California towns following the Renegades announcement. Several angry residents and drum corps alumni were interviewed as they set police cars on fire, and carried TV sets off into the darkness from the stores they had just looted. "This just ain’t drum corps any more ... and we're gonna make DCI realize that," exclaimed Bruce Kray, former beadless-maraca player for the Sacramento Mandarins. "Ya! Ya!!" added former Cavalier snare drummer Bor Voltaire, as he rummaged through the stores for another controller for the Sony Playstation he was about to carry off.

Several arrests of notable drum corps figures were also made in the town of Petaluma as they angrily protested the Renegades’ change to Bb snare drums. Madison Scouts’ percussion caption head Jeff Moore was wrestled to the ground after poking a police officer in the eye with his new signature drum stick, and George Hopkins was summarily given a thirty-day jail sentence for high marking time in front of a television reporter who was giving a live report. According to witnesses (and three million viewers), he was wearing nothing but white bucks, a maroon shako and a sign around his neck that said "Death to the Bb Renegades!"

In response to the riots, Brandon Wilson, the Director of the Renegades, issued an emergency statement to be broadcast on all California radio and television stations. In it, he directed any and all participants in the riots to please attend the Renegades’ next rehearsal. "You would be perfect for our corps," he said. "And bring the Playstation, we'll put it in the Anti-Pit."

2000-01-05T21:39:00.000-08:00

DECISION 2000

9:39 p.m.

Rumiko talks about Japanese election

Ralph Nader is a factor

Tom Brokaw is stunned

Hillary Clinton won

Widow of governor may win

Bush won MO as winner always does

FL looks Republican w absentee ballot

WI is only 6000 votes away

242 to 242 at 9:45 p.m.

Republicans confident about FL and New Mexico

Charlie Cook says house stays Rep.

Could be Republican sweep

10:19 - No change but newscaster on Channel 4 looks like Slobodan Milosovic

Gore has 75% of SF

Diane Feinstein was so expected to win, she got no money from her party

Bush wins

no speeches by anyone

12:30 a.m. Wait Florida is only 629 votes off

Uh oh. Gore people are cheering again

12:40 Bush crowd quiet

Florida recounting 5 precincts due to "discrepancies"

Dan Rather freaking out. Calling it weird and strange

12:48 Gore withdraws concession

Dan Rather compares computer model to Swahili or High Norse calls it a “wild wooley weird situation”

12:54 - Bush finds Gore subsequent retraction unbelievable

The Enterprise Incident

1999-12-04T11:20:00.000-08:00

Music: “Leaving Las Vegas” by Sheryl Crow

In December of 1999, Brandon and I flew to Las Vegas to represent the Renegades at the annual DCI Pacific winter meeting. Our mission was to ensure that the Renegades got into as many drum corps shows as possible. Of course, we didn’t have to accomplish much to improve our lot, as just about anything would represent progress over the seven-minute season that we just came out of.

As the meeting began in a hotel conference room on Saturday morning, Brandon sat at the director’s table, and I sat behind him quietly taking notes and drinking as much coffee as possible.

The meeting was basically run as an organized free-for-all, with directors and staff members from every drum corps loudly chiming in from around the room on various issues. At one point, I looked up from my notes and uttered the words “… and senior corps …” when someone left them out of the discussion.

Apparently, this was a faux pas, as my impromptu comment was met with sudden and profound silence, a few rude stares, and the sound of chirping crickets. Well, maybe I imagined the crickets, but if I would have known my comment was going to elicit such a stunning response, I might have scattered a box of the little critters around the room for dramatic effect. I looked down at my notes and the meeting continued. During the next break, Brandon was pulled out into the hall by an irate woman who told him that only drum corps directors were allowed to talk at the meeting. I had to be quiet.

THOUGHT: Apparently, I made quite an impression on more than just my online service provider in the fight to get Renegades into the Stockton show. I guess the fact that every other corps has staff members participating in the meeting is of absolutely no consequence. Attention Group. The Lee Rudnicki Rule is now in effect.

SARCASM: off

Music: “Without Me” by Eminem

Not happy at being rendered moot after three words (and one was a conjunction), I did what any true Renegade would do under the circumstances—I went back to my hotel room to watch college football on television.

At halftime, Brandon retrieved me for the DCI luncheon, and Dave Gibbs urged me to come back to the meeting. I took the free lunch and Dave Gibbs’ advice and returned with Brandon to the conference room. As we stood in the doorway before the meeting, Brandon stopped, shook my hand, and saluted me. Then he temporarily resigned as corps director. I was stunned, but I surmised from the evil grin on Brandon’s face that he was up to something.

When the meeting resumed, I was seated at the director’s table with a new director’s placard written in pencil, complete with huge little kid letters and a backwards “E” in “LEE.” For the next three hours, I was the Director of the Renegades. And I got to talk.

A few people were noticeably taken aback by our stealthy on-the-spot organizational restructure and musical chairs, but once the initial shock subsided, the meeting continued amicably and we got a lot done. At Dave Gibbs’ suggestion, we volunteered the Renegades to travel to the Northwest on our first-ever weekend tour. Although this was nearly twice the distance of a tour to Los Angeles, the Northwest show sponsors desperately needed more corps in their shows, and we hoped that our move would build some desperately needed goodwill with DCI.

After the meeting, most of the participants went to the Bellagio Hotel for dinner. Brandon and I closely followed Dan Acheson, DCI’s Executive Director, so we could sit right next to him. Initially, Dan seemed a little surprised at his involuntary choice of renegade dinner companions, but the tension subsided quickly, and dinner proved to be an enjoyable experience. It was also beneficial, since we used the opportunity to talk to Dan about the Renegades, and we learned more about the man who was instrumental in making DCI the great organization that it has become.

After dinner, Brandon and I ran amok among the slot machines, drank a celebratory toast of some Czech Becherovka that I brought along for the occasion, and tried to discuss a senior corps marketing plan with some representatives of another fledgling California senior corps, the Conquistadors. Unfortunately, our Conquistador pals were more interested in watching a rerun of Beverly Hills Cop 3, so the meeting never happened (and neither did the Conquistadors).

Sunday morning came way too soon (compliments of the Becherovka), and with our drum corps mission concluded, it was time to return to the Bay Area. Brandon and I met up in the lobby and drove our car back to the rental office near the Las Vegas airport. There, an enterprising employee named Wade took our keys and called for an airport shuttle bus on his walkie-talkie. As Wade looked over our car for damage, a voice on his walkie-talkie said “I can’t pick them up for an airport run right now. I need to regroup.”
“Regroup?” I asked Wade. “We are going to get in a shuttle bus with a driver who needs to regroup? That doesn’t sound good. I mean, let him regroup or whatever he needs to do, but keep him away from us.”

Wade laughed nervously and pointed to a shuttle bus in front of the office. “Don’t worry,” he said with a grin. “You are going with that guy over there. He is perfectly safe.”
Brandon signed the invoice and we walked across the parking lot to the waiting shuttle bus. There were three other passengers already on board, an old woman with a wheelchair that was propped up against the luggage rack, and a married couple in their late forties who sat towards the front.

Brandon and I went to the back of the bus, sat down and relaxed. Ahhhhh. It was an entertaining and productive weekend, but we were glad to be going home. The bus slowly pulled out of the parking lot. The man in the front stood up next to the driver and looked out the front window as the bus picked up speed. Within a minute or two, we were going about 40 mph towards the airport. Suddenly …

BONK!!!

SPLIT-SECOND THOUGHT: Hmmm. That was interesting. Something just hit the roof if the bus. I wonder what it was. A bird? A plane?

CRASH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

A huge crash and the sound of ripping metal accompanied the experience of being hurtled through the air!

SLAM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My career as a human cannonball ended abruptly when my head and right shoulder smashed into the metal bars of the luggage rack and I fell to the floor.

[STUNNED SILENCE]

As I groggily pulled myself off the floor, I looked up and saw sunlight through the roof of the bus, which was ripped open like it had been attacked by a giant can opener. What the fuck?

[MORE STUNNED SILENCE]

The next sound I heard was from the man who had been standing behind the driver. He was crumpled up in a little pile near the front door. “I can’t breathe,” he gasped. His wife stood up and yelled to the old woman who was lying on the floor next to her husband. “Mom, are you OK?”

NARRATOR: The old woman was not OK. She had fallen and could not get up.

I then realized what happened. Our driver took a wrong turn. We were headed for the parking garage. The first sound we heard was from our bus hitting the rubber “warning balls” that hang down on chains to warn drivers their vehicle won’t clear the garage. Unfortunately, our driver ignored the warning and continued to drive until we smashed into the steel beam that hangs over the road at the same height as the parking garage. Ta-da! Instant fucking sunroof.
Brandon got to his feet and pulled the wheelchair off of the old woman. The man lying near the door continued to gasp for air as his wife screamed, “Call an ambulance—my husband just had a kidney transplant!” Despite the carnage, our driver was miraculously uninjured. He calmly got out of the bus, dusted himself off, and called for assistance with his walkie-talkie.

THOUGHT: Regroup. Definitely time to regroup.

It took awhile, but the Las Vegas paramedics arrived and put the old woman and the guy with the smashed ribs into an ambulance. They also decided that Brandon and I—the newest members of the Flying Walenda Brothers—needed medical attention as well. My head was swollen and my right arm was numb. Brandon’s knee was turning into mush.
As we stood near the crunchy shuttle bus, a visibly angry police officer asked for our statements. My statement to him came in the form of a question. I asked the officer if he planned to give our esteemed kamikaze bus driver a DUI test.

The cop responded to my inquiry by yelling at me in a rage. “Listen here, pal! In Nevada, I need PROBABLE CAUSE for a DUI test! Since you don’t know anything about the law or PROBABLE CAUSE, you need to relax and be quiet!”

Antagonized by my human cannonball experience, I responded to the cop by yelling back at him. “As a matter of fact Mr. Cop, I DO know the law and I DO know about PROBABLE CAUSE! I’m a lawyer! When a bus driver hits the warning balls and then continues to drive like a motherfuckin berseker kamikaze until he crashes the bus into a huge-ass fucking steel beam—THAT IS PROBABLE CAUSE! HAVE YOU EVER BEEN SHOT OUT OF A FUCKING CANNON??!? BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT IT FELT LIKE!!!! ARRRGGHHHH!!!!!!!”

The cop stood his ground and yelled back at me. I felt dizzy. The idiotic scene was becoming surreal and not-so-funny, like a bad episode of Saturday Night Live. I mentally checked out and started thinking happy thoughts. Through the fog, I couldn’t understand what the cop was saying, but I distinctly remember hearing the words “Mr. Lawyer” at the end of his tirade.
On my return to reality, I decided that I should at least have the last word. “Thank you, Mr. Cop!” I yelled as I saluted with my left hand. The cop turned purple.

Uh-oh. An antagonized police officer is one thing, but one who turns purple is quite another. Sensing my imminent arrest, a Rodney King reenactment and a subsequent CNN interview, I limped away from the cop as my arm tingled. Apparently, we can’t all just get along.

A few minutes later, Mr. Cop turned a few shades less purple, and he pulled me aside to explain the situation. “Look, the driver wasn’t drinking. He crashed into the beam because it was his first day on the job. He didn’t know which road to take to get to the airport.”

I shook my head in disbelief and began to take pictures of the crash site with Brandon’s camera. With the tingling sensation in my arm increasing, I was scared that my arm was seriously injured. I decided that if my arm fell off, I would use it like a bat to beat the crap out of the bus driver right in front of Mr. Cop. In fact, I might even use it take a few swings at the cop, just to complete the trilogy. Or something like that.

Anyway, a few minutes later, an apologetic rental car guy helped Brandon and I get into the backseat of his car so he could take us to the hospital. Meanwhile, his coworker frantically tried to drive the shuttle bus out from underneath the steel beam.
“Get that bus out of here,” Mr. Cop barked.
Startled, the guy in the shuttle bus stepped down hard on the gas pedal.
Suddenly…

CRASH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The shuttle bus quickly moved in reverse and smashed directly into the car we were sitting in. That made two car accidents in less than forty-five minutes.
I momentarily lost all reason. It is all a blur, but I am told that I jumped out of the car and ran around the accident scene like a maniac, screaming at cowering car rental employees and waving red and orange pieces of broken taillight over my head.

“Arrrrgghhhhh!!!!!! Regroup! Regroup! You guys need to fucking regroup! Arrrrgghhhhh!!!!!!”
Stunned by the chaotic scene unfolding right in front of him, Mr. Cop stood there in a momentary daze with his mouth open.

Finally, the frazzled car rental company employees decided to get us medical attention—or at least get us out of there before a riot broke out. We were zoomed away from the scene in yet another rental car.

There would be no third accident that day, unless you count missing the last flight out of Vegas, and spending a few hours in a rainforest bar drinking mysterious purple drinks so that our bodies didn’t hurt so bad.

Which we did.

Tale of a Drum Line

1999-11-04T00:53:00.000-08:00

This story has been featured in Modern Drummer magazine and Drum Corps World

Tale of a Drum Line
Copyright Lee Rudnicki 1998

The Introduction
Music: "Stand or Fall" by the Fixx

There comes a time in the history of every drum corps, where for any number of reasons, things don't go as planned. Instead of preparing for a run at a possible Championship or other significant accomplishment, the corps finds itself in a struggle for its very survival.

The members and staff of a corps in such a predicament have two choices. The first is to accept the corps downfall and/or rationalize the disastrous season as a "rebuilding year." The second is to take a stand and fight to get the corps back on its feet, until no one has anything left inside to give, and the season finally runs out.

This is a story about some young men and women that chose to take a stand.

A Cold October Night at Vanguard Hall
Music: "Do you know the way to San Jose? by Dionne Warwick

After a brief stint in Los Angeles, I find myself living in San Jose (again) and on the Santa Clara Vanguard drum staff (again). It is the 1993 SCV "Orientation Night" and the drum staff meets with Percussion Caption Head Scott Johnson. At around 5:30 p.m., we hear prospective drummers in the parking lot furiously attempt to play flam drags on the heavy copper snare and tenor drums. Although their drums are still here, the vast majority of eligible veterans from the talented 1992 drum line are conspicuously not in attendance.

After an unbelievably long speech from new corps director Dr. Len Kruszecki, the auditions begin. One by one, scared young drummers enter the room as we sit behind a long table. Over the next three hours, we audition the majority of the SCV b-corps drum line, some Freelancers, one Canton Bluecoat, the entire Oak Grove High School snare line and a few local "percussionists" that might be better off trying out for a soccer team. As it turns out, some of our new recruits have never even seen a live drum corps, let alone marched in one. We spend most of the night waiting for talent that never arrives.

Uh-oh. Not good.

The evening concludes in San Jose with a spirited game of Sega video-football between fellow drum staff member Kevin Murray and myself. Kevin was Blue Devil's center snare in 1988, but is now head coach of the 1993 Dallas Cowboys. I was Vanguard's center snare in 1988, but am now the offensive coordinator of the 1993 San Francisco 49ers. The game keeps us from dwelling on the disastrous Orientation Night. Unfortunately for me, Dallas triumphs in the video mud of Candlestick Park, 28-14.

Live from Santa Clara: Saturday Night Ensemble
Music: "Bring on the Night" by Sting

It is the Saturday night of the camp weekend, and things look grim. Several of our veteran pit percussionists handed in their resignations yesterday, but they still lurk in the shadows and watch us rehearse in the poorly lit parking lot. There's not much for them to see. Age-wise, the group looks more like a middle school band than a drum corps. The intensity level is three levels below "ham sandwich in a puddle." Luckily, we recently filled a few holes in the drum line with seasoned veterans. We filled a bass spot with a seasoned veteran of the San Jose Raiders Colorguard. We also recruited an assorted cast of seasoned veterans from the b-corps to play the role of our snare and tenor line.

As the alumni watching rehearsal soon discover, we have a unique ensemble sound to compliment our impressive display of inexperience. It could politely be described as "not quite presentable." In fact, the only section of the corps playing at a level anything near what SCV is traditionally known for is the bass line, taught by bass drumming legend Kent Cater.

Instead of the music from Sir William Walton, our crummy ensemble sounds more like an episode of the TV show THE Waltons (when you can actually understand what they're attempting to play). This is the lowest point of the season so far. Our pit is in hiding. The horn line sounds like a kazoo band. The drum line sounds like a loud AM radio in-between stations. Wonderful. We have a kazoo band on the radio. Maybe we should just call it performance art and tour Quebec all summer. After the dismal rehearsal, the drum staff convenes an important meeting at my house in San Jose, where Scott unveils his new video-football offensive scheme and becomes nearly unbeatable as the all-star team of the Oakland Raiders. At around 11:30 p.m., Kent Cater inadvertently discovers the "quick slant pass" to Sega video 49er Brent Jones, and scores his second touchdown of the evening.

The Overfelt Mud Bowl
Music: "Wipeout"

SCV spends most of the rain-soaked weekend learning drill at Overfelt High School in San Jose. Every eight counts or so, corps members fall into pools of mud that cover the football field. The corps soon resembles a mass audition for a rugby team, and it doesn't take long for most members to be covered from head to toe in thick black mud. Despite the horrific conditions, the marching staff continues to demand that the mud covered corps gives their absolute best efforts.

At the end of the camp, our section leader makes the painful decision to leave the Vanguard to march with the Denver Blue Knights. He is in tears as he tells the drum line, and many drummers sit in the bleachers after rehearsal in a state of sadness and shock. Despite the bad news, no one holds it against him. You have to march where your heart is, and he decided to study with one of the finest percussion arrangers of all time, Ralph Hardimon. I can't blame him, as I made the same difficult decision, when I left the Garfield Cadets to march with SCV and study with Ralph in 1987. Apparently, this was also the correct decision for him, as he went on to win snare "individuals" before he aged out, and the Blue Knights drum line was outstanding.

In any event, not only are we left without a section leader, but we are now without any veterans in the snare line whatsoever. The drum staff reacts quickly. We "knight" a rookie snare drummer by the name of Tony to the position of section leader.

After one year of marching with the Freelancers, and a few months of our rag-tag rehearsals, Tony finds himself in the unexpected situation of having been drafted into a position of leadership by the drum staff. We salute him and shake his hand. "Congratulations Tony. Thank you for attending. You are now the center snare and Drum Line Section Leader of the five-time World Champion Santa Clara Vanguard. Congratulations and Good Luck."

Tony is stunned.

So are we.

Memorial Day Weekend
Music: "Squeak, Boom, Quack, Buzz-Buzz"

On the Sunday evening of Memorial Day weekend, SCV prepares to perform its traditional "preview show" for the local townspeople, band members and assorted alumni within driving distance of the school. Pit arranger Scotty Sells flew in from North Carolina, and the drum staff is at full strength. As our inexperienced corps takes the field, we climb to the top of a rickety press box for the first public run-through of the season.

Announcer: Santa Clara Vanguard, you may enter the field for exhibition!

The drum major salutes, and the corps begins. It doesn't take long for everything to completely fall apart. Within fifteen seconds, the entire horn line stops playing except for one soprano enthusiastically engaged in something resembling a duck-call. The drum line fares somewhat better, as we have two musicians that don't stop. Unfortunately, they are 40 yards apart, and neither one is in time, in step or watching the drum major. Several corps members trip and fall down. A member of the audience laughs. Somehow, the corps regroups and the miserable show continues.

The World Premier of our drum solo begins with a loud suspended cymbal crash from every member of the pit, after which they quickly kneel down behind their keyboards. They are not performing a visual--they dropped out of sight to hide the fact that they don't know their music to anything after the initial downbeat of the drum solo. To complete our "fine presentation," the terrible drumming going on behind our hidden pit is probably the loudest "Rice Krispies being smashed in a bowl" sound in the history of the Free World. Eventually, everything just kind of stops with a raucous barrage of "ticks," and a loud "schlock."

Oh. Chirp.

The show is over?

Chirp. Chirp.

The sound of polite applause and chirping crickets follows the corps as they dejectedly march off the field.

clap. clap. Chirp. clap. Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.

(crowd murmur).

Announcer: Ladies and Gentlemen, The Santa Clara Vanguard ! The Staff includes...

Music: The buzzing of stadium lights and some crickets.

It is official. Chirp. A new standard has been set. We just had the distinct honor of witnessing (and producing) the absolute worst performance in Vanguard's history, and quite possibly the worst performance in the history of the entire drum corps activity. Luckily, this is one of the few times when the announcer pronounces all of our names correctly. Wonderful. Maybe we can sign autographs in the parking lot.

Later that night, after the corps falls asleep in the humid gym, we convene the 3rd annual SCV drum staff "brass ensemble." This year's edition is led by cymbal instructor Robert Chavira, due to his ability to get the "oom-pah" sound from a brass instrument. We aren't good (or even mediocre), but at least we're having fun. At one point, someone remarks that our ensemble should include the horn staff on drums. Then we would sound exactly like the corps did in the opener tonight. Bummer.

Music: "Ball of Confusion" by Love and Rockets

On Monday morning, we decide the battery will get back to basics. Once again, we try to get them to play simple sixteenth note check patterns as they march around the field. Once again, with the solitary exception of the bass line, we are unsuccessful. Off in the distance, a pit player chases her music after it blows off the music stand. The whole drum staff is thinking the same thing. Inexperienced corps or not, we are in serious trouble.

The First Show: Public Humiliation #2
Music: Theme from Sega's "John Madden Football" Video Game

It is the first show, and we're fortunate enough to have added one veteran from 1991 to our snare line. Our competition is none other than the Concord Blue Devils. As usual, the Blue Devil horn line is spectacular. Unfortunately for us, the rest of their corps is just as prepared as their horn line. The Devils have approximately fifteen seconds of slight ensemble phasing in their show. We have approximately fifteen seconds in our show where we're not completely falling apart, and exactly "zero" where the entire corps is in step.

After our stellar performance, my girlfriend (at her very first drum corps show) looks at me and tactfully announces, "You guys suck." I have no rebuttal to her at this time.

When the scores are announced, we're lucky enough to have only lost by eleven points to the Blue Devils. The drive home is depressing, as my girlfriend tells me about the amazing Blue Devils all the way to San Jose. The Sega is fired up as soon as we walk in the door. Dallas 21 - San Francisco 20. Kevin Murray blocks the final extra point that would've put the game into overtime. I wonder if we can bring the Sega on tour. We might need it.

Staff Bus Incident #17
Music: "Shadows in Silence" by Enigma

As our bus navigates through the mountains, I lay on the floor in my sleeping bag and stare out the window at the full moon. I'm amazed that we finally finished the show and the corps is now on the road (although we still don't have an ending to the drum solo). As I drift off to sleep, I'm distracted, as our bus driver gets out of his seat, steps over me, and walks down the aisle toward the back of the bus with a video tape in his hand. "Who's movie is this?" he asks.

Subconscious dream-state thought: "Whose movie is this?" Heh. Now there is an interesting development. Our driver has just walked down the aisle of the bus, and is standing in the back inquiring about Beverly Hills Cop II. That means our bus is hurtling through the Rocky Mountains at 65 miles per hour with no one in the driver's seat. Hmmm.

"NO ONE IS DRIVING THE BUS!!!" comes the startled reply from the back. All conversation on the bus immediately comes to a screeching halt. I am suddenly wide awake. "Attention Group."

The bus driver now has the undivided attention of the staff.

And he is smiling.

Music: "On the Road Again" by Willie Nelson

It doesn't take long to realize that someone is driving the bus, and that we're not headed to our doom. The roar of laughter is deafening. Apparently, a relief driver took over at the last minute before we left the last truck stop. Our usual driver was crouched down in the seat behind him looking for for a video. We, the half asleep staff, never noticed the driver change. Someone jokingly comments that they thought they saw the Grim Reaper when they looked up at our driver. Ultimately, we decide the Grim Reaper was among us that night, but was so scared that he jumped off and was last seen running next to the bus. hahaha. Somehow, despite our disappointing competitive status, we are still easily amused.

A Very Strange Place in Kentucky
Music: "Twilight Zone" by Golden Earring

Although the corps made a dramatic improvement in the last few weeks, this fact appears to escape the drum line. We're in the midst of the worst pre-show warm-up of the year, and the drummers are suddenly and mysteriously unable to play the most basic of exercises clean. The drum staff eventually evacuates the warm-up altogether, leaving them with explicit instructions: "Get your $%!# together!"

Unfortunately, they do not, and the entire corps proceeds to have a terrible performance that could be the new "worst show of the season." To add to our misery, periodic rain made the field very slippery and corps members fall down into the wet grass continuously throughout our show.

I wonder what you get for last place with a full corps score of "9"? Honorable Mention? One hundred and twenty-eight coupons for a Whopper with cheese? A "thank you for attending" card from the mayor? I guess we will find out.

The exemplary performance inspires the staff. In fact, a few of us are so inspired, we immediately set out on a mission to a local convenience store. As we return with our (non)alcoholic beverages (p.c.?), we hear the distant strains of the victory concert, which we're sure is being performed by the Blue Knights. The closer we get to the stadium, the more the music sounds like our show. As we enter the parking lot, our driver gleefully tells us that we won. And we had ours highest score of the year. You've got to be kidding.
We may have had some good shows recently, but this was definitely not one of them. Oh I get it. We're back in the Twilight Zone. What's next? The Grim Reaper appears again? hahaha.

Music: Off

Back on the Bus
Music: "to wish impossible things" by the Cure

The staff has an informal meeting as we prepare to leave the show site. The consensus is that the corps must never perform that poorly again. We collectively decide to run tomorrow's rehearsal with an approach and pacing that will later be described by corps members as "relentless."

As the SCV convoy heads off into the dark Kentucky night, the drum staff stays awake and tries to brainstorm a new ending to the drum solo. We're officially out of ideas. We've tried everything, yet nothing works. Eventually, at 3:00 a.m., I suggest ending the solo by "drumming slow." So slow in fact, that the drum line will be in slow motion.

Narrator: The idea catches on, and the concept evolves throughout the "Twilight-Zone Evening" as the drum staff finishes off the beverages. The Jackal subsequently creates the first official written transcription of the "slow motion" ending by writing it down on a napkin he found on the floor. At tomorrow's rehearsal, the staff will constantly refer to the scribbled notes.

Music: Theme from the "Twilight Zone" TV show.

As the staff bus starts down the dark winding road, a rather humored, but somewhat out of breath, shadowy figure sits on the curb with a judges' recap at his feet. He smiles, pokes an ethereal skeleton hand out from the sleeve of his cloak, and waves good-bye.

(Fadeout)

THE PREVIEW
Music: "Stand" by REM

It is the DCI Preview of Champions show, and SCV is finally starting to perform consistently well after weeks of intense rehearsal. We're relatively close to the Missouri home of one of our snare drummers, Tyler Dempsey, and his parents and friends can hardly wait until the corps arrives at the stadium.

Suddenly, three sparking white and silver corps buses (with license plates that read "SCV 1," "SCV 2" and "SCV 3") roll into the parking lot in a tight formation. As the imposing vehicles near a group of fans, it becomes noticeable that the green curtains on the side windows are closed. The message of the SCV time-honored tradition of closing the curtains before rolling into a show-site is subtle, but clear. "Attention everyone: The corps has arrived." The convoy comes to a halt and determined corps members spill out into the parking lot.

At precisely this moment, Tyler realizes that his uniform is sitting on a hanger back at the school. Conveniently enough, the school is only a one hour drive from here. This is unfortunate, but not a complete surprise, as this is our snare line's standard operating procedure. There has only been a handful of times when all six have arrived to a warm-up with all of the equipment and/or uniform parts needed for a show. Interestingly enough, it is usually a different snare drummer that forgets something back at the truck, on the bus or at the school each time.

Eventually, the corps enters the stadium, and marches by several competitors with a snare drummer being hastily put into uniform by support staff. The drum line proceeds to have one of its first great shows of the season. Although they performed well, we half-jokingly present them with a pre-show checklist written on a white board on the side of the food truck. It includes such items as drum sticks, drum, tunic, pants, hat, socks and brain.

The DCI Individual and Ensemble Competition
Music: A suspended cymbal roll played behind you with stealth.

are several memorable individual and ensemble performances from the corps, especially from our now-magnificent pit and bass line, but none is more symbolic of the 1993 season than our cymbal ensemble. Until four days ago, there was no SCV cymbal ensemble. It was on that day that rookie/age-out Anthony Aranda publicly announced that HE would become the cymbal ensemble if the corps would not field one, because this year was his one and only chance to march with Vanguard. The cymbal line rallied around his decision, and Robert Chavira hastily, but ingeniously, put together their ensemble piece.

It's now the afternoon of the DCI individual and ensemble competition. Robert deploys the members of the street-clothed cymbal line to various locations around the concert hall. They enter with stealth, and are soon in seats or standing among the crowd. They remain unnoticed and are effectively disguised as audience members. The only one actually wearing a Vanguard uniform is Anthony, and he proudly takes his place on center stage. The judges and audience are initially confused by the fact that our "ensemble" has only one member.

After the signal to begin, Anthony starts to make the soft scraping cymbal sound known by SCV as a "whale call." Suddenly, the vast hall comes to life with the sound of cymbal rolls, wind chimes and various other sound effects swirling around the room from within the astonished audience itself. The stealth ensemble eventually concludes with Anthony actually drinking out of the bizarre percussion instrument known as a waterphone (which is not played with water).

Although they do not win, the SCV tradition of cymbal ensemble innovation continues, and the conceptual limitations of the DCI ensemble competition are changed forever. The standing ovation lasts for several minutes.

DCI Prelims
Music: "Smells like Teen Spirit" by Nirvana

It is the morning of Prelims at the World Championships, and the corps has started its next to last rehearsal block of the season. Over the last 14 days, we've seen an unbelievable rate of improvement from the corps. Despite the oppressive Mississippi heat, and the fact that many members are sick and/or injured, the corps rehearses without any visible let-up in intensity.

The drum line seems nervous, although they're playing well and continue to draw strength and resolve from vets like tenor player Mike Apodaca. This is Mike's age-out year, and he refuses to sit out of rehearsal, despite having knees that are so badly injured that he must be helped from the field after run-throughs. The staff is amazed by the determination and resilience of the kids in the corps. After rehearsal, Scott tells us that the plan for Prelims is for the drum line to have fun and to be as relaxed as possible.

With these instructions, Kevin, Christy (one of the guard instructors) and I retreat to a local mall in search of dinner and proper attire for the show. Our mission is to find a clothing ensemble that will help the drum line relax and hopefully have a great performance. Eventually we decide upon our wardrobe -- black plastic glasses with "holographic female eyes" and white T-shirts that read "Thank You for not Projectile Vomiting."

Surrounded by a large group of fans with cameras and tape recorders, and a drum staff run amok, the drum line has the best, most confident and most fun warm-up of the year. The efforts pay off, and a relaxed, if not humored, SCV drum line marches down the ramp to take the field for Prelims.

Announcer: Santa Clara Vanguard, you may enter the field for competition!

And then something magical happened.
Music: 1993 SCV

The corps stands at attention as fans, family and staff members yell encouragement. Suddenly, the drum major counts off, and the field comes alive. As the drum line starts the eerie musical introduction, they find something inside themselves we've not seen all season. They begin to play and march with an aura of extreme confidence. The drum line comes together in the middle of the field, and charges directly into what will be later described by many of them as the greatest performance of their lives. The pit's performance equals the battery's, and they perform at an emotional level we did not think possible.

Finally, it's time for the drum solo. The drum line does not just "begin" the solo tonight. They attack it. It is clear, from the look on their faces, that we are witnessing something incredible. The house is officially coming down.

We wrote the middle of the solo to give each individual section of the drum line a chance to shine. One after another, each section plays their feature perfectly. Scott's "stick on stick" snare feature is the last to be played, and the snare line nails it directly in the face of the drum judge. It appears that the drum line has not only taken command of their instruments, but for approximately eleven minutes or so, they have taken command of Jackson, Mississippi.

The drum solo ends with the new "Slow Motion Sequence." The crowd is mesmerized as snares, tenors and cymbals move in a Matrix-like "slow motion time-flux" set to a musical back drop of lightning fast 32nd note runs played by the bass line. Suddenly, all sound abruptly halts. After a millisecond of silence - Kaboom! The drum line hits a cannon rim shot as the horns play the loud chords of the closer. Crowd members near the field go berserk. So does the drum judge.

It is official. There's magic on the field tonight -- the drum line just had THE GOLDEN SHOW.. There is no other way to describe it. As the Vanguard drummers march out through the tunnel, they look at one another in astonishment. As their staff follows, they're also looking at one another in astonishment.

The Post-Performance Fiasco.
Music: "These are the Days" by 10,000 Maniacs

As we wait in the parking lot for our staff bus to leave, Dr. Len walks up with a judges' recap and announces that we won field percussion tonight

"What?" (stunned silence) Apparently, we won field percussion tonight. (random yelling and jumping around) Touchdown SCV! The reaction that erupts from the staff (and director) can be described as nothing less than complete and total euphoric chaos. I regret that this isn't the forum to tell the complete story, but I'll always remember the night of Prelims as one of the most fun, happy and absolutely out-of-control times of my entire life.

Eventually, a large contingency of the staff returns with cat-like stealth to our "zone" at the school, a few minutes before the morning sun appears over the Mississippi forest. God Bless America.

the talk under the tree
Music: "One" by U2

On the morning of DCI Finals, Scott Johnson gathers the drum line and staff under a large tree near the practice field. We're still in a state of disbelief from the fantastic events of Prelims and the subsequent post-performance fiasco. As Scott gives an emotional summary of the season, and congratulate everyone on their achievement, the entire drum line starts to cry (followed by the staff).

Everyone gets some time to express his or her feelings about the season, but most are too choked up to say more than a few tearful words. It does not matter. The drum line and the staff are both thinking the same thing: We succeeded. Any final score or placement the corps receives tonight is irrelevant. No one can ever take this moment away. What started as a rag-tag, blue-light-special, group of drum line rejects has miraculously transformed.

They have become the Santa Clara Vanguard.

In all my years of drum corps, I've never seen a group of kids who had such little experience, went through so much adversity and who cared about, and believed in, one another as much as the 1993 Santa Clara Vanguard. It's unfortunate that Gail Royer, the Vanguard's founder, didn't live to see what the 1993 corps accomplished by the end of the season. He would have been proud.

Although the kids in the 1993 corps never received the trophies or accolades of many other great SCV corps ... on one hot August night in Mississippi, they showed the world what is possible when you refuse to surrender to adversity.

And that my friends, is what drum corps is all about.

the end.

Notabando

1999-09-03T22:56:00.000-07:00

A writing experiment ... that turned into a cult.

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Open Letter to DCI - 1999

1999-06-23T11:03:00.000-07:00

This infamous open letter to DCI was posted on the drum corps newsgroup a few hundred timesa fter the San Francisco Renegades were pulled out of their very first (and only) drum corps show performance of the 1999 season.

The firestorm caused by this letter got the Renegades back into in the show, and me kicked off the Internet. Tom Hope and I are pals now, and what happened to the Renegades next is history ... but eight years ago, this open letter to DCI officials caused its share of chaos.

Dear Tom Hope et al:

Several months ago, I agreed to write the drum parts for a Bay Area senior drum corps called the Renegades. At first, this group could not even be really called a drum and bugle corps, as it was just a couple of guys that got together for the love of playing their instruments.

After the first rehearsal, I saw how enthusiastic the members were, and I agreed to occasionally teach the drum line, and also to put together a staff for them. For the drum line, I added 3 former Staff members of the Blue Devils and SCV, and 2 former instructors of the Blue Devils and SCV to teach the horn line.

Little by little, the corps began to get more members, and the momentum began to build. Communication with DCI began about the possibility of performing in a DCI show this summer. At such time, Tom Hope gave several requirements for the Renegades to perform at a DCI show.

One of these requirements was to obtain a million dollar liability insurance bond. As Tom Hope requested, the Renegades raised a great deal of money and purchased the required insurance bond. In addition, the Renegades were also required to pay DCI $250 to become associate members in order to perform at the Stockton show, which they did.

It was beginning to appear as if the West Coast was actually going to have a senior corps (not an alumni corps) on the field!!!!!!! The members grew very excited, and the corps began to grow in membership. In preparation for this performance, the corps also began to pay additional monies for outdoor rehearsal facilities in Hayward.

After the corps spent all of this money, there was one final prerequisite communicated by Tom Hope, that they needed to be evaluated by him personally. Well, the Renegades rehearsed and rehearsed, even adding extra rehearsals to be ready for Tom Hope's evaluation. When that day arrived, a few weeks ago in Hayward, things did not go as planed BECAUSE TOM HOPE DID NOT GIVE THEM THE COURTESY OF SHOWING UP. Needless to say, the corps was stunned and disappointed.

When the corps administration tried to contact Tom Hope afterwards, they were told not to worry, as "they would be performing at Stockton." They were distinctly left with the impression that everything was fine, and that they would be performing at the Stockton show. The rehearsals continued, and the Renegades began to spend money on outdoor rehearsal sites and new uniforms. Soon, more people began to join the corps, including two ex-Blue Devil soprano soloists. The Renegades began to improve, and the fundraising and corporate support plans continued.

A few days ago, corps administration inquired with Mr. Tom Hope about their performance time at Stockton. They were stunned to be told that they would have to contact the show sponsors directly????!!! Well - The response of the show sponsors is posted here for you to read below --

I would love to have you guys perform...but the lineup is set. All the time slots are full. If you want, you can perform at the main gate (ticket booth area). This will give you a lot of exposure and would also pump up the crowd. We also have our reception inside the stadium (PAF Clubroom). There is a large patio area there that you could entertain our sponsors and special guests. They would love it. I wish I could put you in the lineup, but it is simply too late. Our last corps is scheduled to perform at 10:38 P.M. That make it a long show. Get back to me. Home: 209-951-XXXX (between 10 A.M. and 2 P.M.)
Thanks,
Rick

So that's where we are ladies and gentlemen. The Renegades have spent a great deal of MONEY, time and energy to start a senior drum and bugle corps in Northern California. Much of the money that was spent over the last several months, was done so due to representations made on behalf of DCI by Mr. Tom Hope in the understanding that the corps was going to perform at Stockton - the first on the field performance ever for the corps.

What have they received in return? They have met with unprofessionalism, indifference and extreme callousness on the part of Tom Hope. They are now being told by the show sponsor that they cannot perform at the show, but they can play at the gate, or as a lounge act for everyone else while they enjoy snacks and punch after the show.

Bullshit, Mr. Hope. Let me say that again in case you didn't hear it. BULLSHIT.

If you and the others in the Drum Corps International organization want drum
corps to survive and thrive in Northern California, it certainly isn't going to
do so in the face of your personal callous indifference. I ask that you immediately take steps to rectify this situation for the Renegades. Do you realize that the corps members have spent a great deal of money and time preparing for this one opportunity, and you didn't even give them the courtesy of showing up to the evaluation that YOU demanded? This show is very important for the future of this corps, and it is unbelievable that you are sweeping them under the rug, possibly dooming a new corps to extinction before it even takes
the field.

This is grossly unfair, and a slap in the face of all of the people that have given their time, energy and MONEY to jump through all of the hoops that YOU put out for them in order to be allowed the privilege of performing at one DCI Show.

For the corps to grow in the future, they must be allowed to meet the goal of stepping on the field for the first time at Stockton, as you represented to them over the last several months.

If the Renegades are not allowed to perform at Stockton, I hereby demand the
resignation of Mr. Tom Hope, and a FULL refund for the money the corps has
spent on the insurance bond, the $250 spent becoming associate members of DCI,
any and all money spent on new uniforms and outdoor rehearsal facilities in
Hayward from 3/1/99 to the present. To be sure, NONE of this money would have
been spent had not the implied contract been made with Mr. Tom Hope on behalf
of DCI that the Renegades would be able to perform at Stockton. Should this
unfortunate scenario transpire, I will see to it that the Renegades legally
receive the refund that they are legally entitled to receive. Be rest assured, this is not "posturing," and I will not let this issue die quietly -- too any people have done too much and spent too much of their own money for me to sit by and watch the dirt be thrown in their face. I will not. This is not fair, and more importantly -- it is not in the best interests of the drum and bugle
corps activity.

The corps, and the activity, deserve better.

Sincerely,

Lee Rudnicki, Esq.

p.s. Those that wish to support the first ever appearance of the Renegades,
please contact DCI via e-mail at D...@DCI.org.

Email to Renegades - 1999

1999-06-06T16:39:00.000-07:00

From: drumlaw80@aol.com
Date: Sun, 6 Jun 1999 16:39:18 EDT
Subject: To the Renegades

Hello everyone. Please forward this e-mail to all corps members and staff, as I don't have a master list. This letter is in response to the recent emails I have received regarding the electric guitar idea. Please read the whole thing before you draw any conclusions from what I am about to say.

First, I am not surprised there is controversy. But, controversy is not necessarily a bad thing for the Renegades at this point. Let's look at the reality of the situation we’re in right now. We have a drum corps and it is the middle of June. At our last rehearsal, we only had nine brass players and eight percussionists. Seventeen people.

Our treasury is non-existent. We cannot even afford gold sashes for the uniforms, let alone new horns. We have no drill. We have no pit percussion. We have no colorguard. The DCI representative who was supposed to check out the corps didn't even show up.

Now, there are three scenarios that could transpire with this corps within the next year.

Scenario A. The corps does not perform at Stockton and little to no interest is generated in the Renegades. At our first rehearsal in the fall, we are lucky to have the same members we have now and the corps may or may not perform at a drum corps show in 2000.

Scenario B. The corps performs at the Stockton show with a traditional line up of horns and battery percussion. Since we perform before every other corps, most people do not see the corps and by the time the Blue Devils and Vanguard take the field, we will have become a footnote of the show. People may or may not talk about the corps, depending on how many people actually see us or not. Since we do not have a drill, color guard or pit, most of their comments and criticism will reflect this situation.

Scenario C. The corps takes the field at Stockton and not only plays well, has screaming ex-Blue Devils’ soprano soloists—but also does something outrageous, like taking the field with electric guitar, keyboard and a very, very beautiful dancer. Although we do not have drill, a guard or a pit, "the buzz" starts about the Renegades. Some people hate the corps. Some people love the corps. All are intrigued by the fact that we flaunted the rules so brazenly. No one has "no opinion" on the Renegades. Drum Corps World gives us a big write-up and we become a hot-topic of discussion in the drum corps community.

In the fall, we start a massive fundraising and corporate donation campaign. We also announce that we will not be fielding an electric guitar, but we have purchased new horns, we are fielding a larger corps and a guard, adding more staff members and have an expanded performance schedule. It also becomes easier for us to recruit, as people will have actually heard "The Renegades" and the corps becomes famous for being... errr... "renegades." At our first rehearsal in the fall, we have twenty-five brass and the beginnings of a guard, and the "snowball rolling down the hill" begins to grow at a much faster rate. Next summer, we perform at several DCI shows with at least thirty-five horn players, fifteen in the guard, and twenty percussionists. In other words, we have a "drum corps."

So, that is how I see this situation playing out. Should we add
guitars in the line-up forever? NO. Do we need to do something drastic to kick start this drum corps? YES. We have to make a decision whether or not we really want the corps to take off in the future, or whether we are content with a parade corps that hopes to be invited to a DCI show. There are plenty of other things for people to do in the Bay Area besides march with our corps and we must put the Renegades on the map if we want the corps to grow.

I know there is controversy. Ask yourself this question—is controversy a good thing or a bad thing if no one knows who you are? I put forth that as long as we make it clear at some point in the future (after Stockton) that we are not seeking to permanently add guitars, the controversy is a good thing for this drum corps.

In any event, we must do something to kick-start this drum corps, especially since we only have one opportunity for the drum corps community to see it this season. If everyone votes to not go this route, I understand, but I ask you to think for a second about the ramifications of this decision beyond a few people getting angry about instrumentation. Drum corps people have been mad about instrumentation ever since the xylophone was added. So what.

Our mission goes beyond the instrumentation issue. We are trying to turn a corps that started with a few guys in baseball shirts that loved to play their instrument, into a full size, fully funded, world class senior drum and bugle corps. It isn't going to be easy, as we all know. But we have got to take some chances if we are to succeed.

Is it scary? Yes.

Do we have anything to lose? No.

But we have everything to gain.

Lee

RAMD: A One Act Play

1998-11-05T22:53:00.000-08:00

Copyright 1998 Lee Rudnicki

ACT ONE
Music: "Get Connected" by the Stereo MCs

RICHARD: About time I responded to this!

Lee: blah blah blah

Vince: blah blah blah

Whitney: blah blah blah

RBECKHAM: I get off on rudimental drumming... I get off on screaming sops...

Music: OFF

RICH: I am embarassed to say I follow RAMD when threads like this show up.

RICHARD: About time I responded to this!

WHITNEY: Yup!

ISTEPONYOU: Me too!!! Oh Me too please!!!! Me too!!!!!!

RICHARD: Well, look at this!!!!

WHITNEY: I'm looking. What's all the commotion? A UFA?

WHITNEY: Fill it in with another word that begins with 'F';

VINCE: Heh, Lee, you're not the only namedropper on RAMD. <-:3

evilbass3: Well, I dunno, who came up with the idea for BD's snares?

BARITONE99: Does anyone know the names of the songs in the "Save the Earth" show?

ANTISPAM: Drum majors who grab their jocks... top-12.

TODEKAAL: The quote above has been incorrectly attributed to me.

MICHAEL: There is much wisdom in your humility.

VINCE: I'll remember that!

RBECKHAM: I like to move, when a precision guard grooves me. I got a drum corps, I got a drum corps heart!!!!

SUE: Heh. ;-)

DAN: Which corps has been 13th the most times?

ANTISPAM: A giggling hornline.

DRUMZLP97: I think he meant the pit must go get some pizza. We'll never know...

WHITNEY: Big Grin C-: I think I've decreased namedropping on my part, this year (phew!).

WILLIAM: Dang i was sort of hoping that those tornadoes would wipe out the citrus bowl stadium so that Finals could be somewhere decent!!!

CHRISTINA: Was that the Very Controversial Burger King Incident?

LEE: No. That was 1995.

VINCE: gRAMDies are coming up! Think about nominations!

ISTEPONYOU: Me too!!! Oh Me too please!!!!

WHITNEY: I hope you aren't calling for new categories this year - too many categories means more work.

GEORGE: Now time to implement huh ???

BILL: Thanks George.

WILLIAM: The first thing we do. We kill all the lawyers.

BEN: I am sadded by those still saddled with the "drum corps" mentality.

CHUCK: If you don't stop making sense soon...

RLRRLL: That's about right. (just an asumtion)

RAJEEV: That's about it.

LEE: Enough to cast a vote for me?

VINCE: Gee, Lee, if I thought it possible to campaign for one of the non-director's seats on the executive board from RAMD.

Nikk: I'm trying to drag my girlfriend up there, but she hates flying, so we maymake a vacation out of it and take a train. Qould help if I knew the date, tho' (Doh!)

JOSH: You just described our drumline.

WHITNEY: And I would have volunteered as your assistant.

VINCE: Always Most Helpful!

STEIN: You sir are a true value to this noble activity.
Thank You, Thank You, Thank You !!!

RBECKHAM: "An instructor who is too impotent to produce such a result will think of craftier ways to justify his position, like having the snares lie on the ground and do the "Curly."

NARRATOR: Ladies and Gentlemen, we now have a winner for this weeks RAMD quote contest. RBECKHAM wins an all expense trip to The Memorial Day Parade in Ashley, Pennsylvania.

PIERRE: "The kk is only 550$ U.S it is very inexpensive for for a
> corp like that . come at the next camp. thrust me"

NARRATOR: And our runner up is Pierre. Pierre wins three months of therapy.

mrmoon21: Isn't this just so much fun, you guys are fun to listen to.

VIC: Why do you keep replying?

WHITNEY: I think you should announce your own candidacy, Vince. You're the most intelligent person I've ever met.

VINCE: I don't earn enough to pay you what you're worth.

WHITNEY: Someday you will. I'll start a tab.

WHITNEY: And no, I don't do windows.

MARK: What about Windows 95?

VINCE: Actually, the Spring of '95. Lee has become a much better net citizen since then.

WHITNEY: Agreed.

LEE: "... is complete fucking bullshit."

MRMOON21: Isn't this just so much fun, you guys are fun to listen to.

SEAN: I need to interview someone.

SPOW1: I'll get that photo back to you after we're through with it.

MUNDY: We expect this to be the best.

MICHAEL: We're growing fast, recieving 4 applications just today.

VINCE: In the very likely chance that you don't get elected and you wish to run again, you have my support.

WHITNEY: Well, unless you're running against Lee.

VINCE: I'll remember that!

WHITNEY: There's little you don't remember.

NOTABANDO: Nobody ever learns there music. And they sing on the bus.

VINCE: Gooood Luuuuuuck :) It's not there. But I just happened to have a copy of it, for a price

WHITNEY: Got it! Thanks!

LEE: No prisoners would be taken.

WHITNEY: The flag? I like our versions of Bevo and the grad cow better than the flag.

JEFF: If ya put the Cellular One logo on it, I might!!!!

DDAY: Saw the drum line perform at the Annual cultural concert last Sunday and they were EVIL !!!!.

Hrhbailey: What if only one part of the competition involved the same piece?

JOHN: I would kill myself before the last corps took the field.

LEE: Someone nominated Bill Haas for President. I must either be too inactive lately or spending way too much time in school.

WHITNEY: That's it.

HOVIN: And like Kissimme, where my corps was supposed to stay.

VINCE: I've been posting every day this week. I hope it helps!
or I'm losing my touch.

ISTEPONYOU: Me too!!! Oh Me too please!!!!

CHARLES: Having said that, I think you are completely wrong in you assessment in stating that Bill only wants to call tham a Drum Corps.

SAM: Integrity without knowledge is weak.

ALEXANDER: What is the ULDBC?

NOTABANDO: heycha heycha heycha

VINCE: Heaven forbid!

WHITNEY: I don't think I'm losing my touch either!

VINCE: Midas.

LEFTY: It is July 3rd!!!

OLIVER GRIMM: Hi, I will move from Germany to the south-west, near to the french luxenburg and belgium border. Does anyone know a corps in that areawitch is active.

MrOrange19: You would be better off in Afghanistan.

RONINVEGAS: Oh Brother.

SCRUMMYDI: This argument is surreal and non-sensical.
And yet I can't stop reading it. It's making my hair hurt.
Please stop.

JEFF: It was also incredibly hot that day in the Orange Bowl, so later meant cooler.

WHITNEY: Well, The Riot Club is razzing me about being King of RAMD. I think they have me confused with Bill! +3]:-)

BILL: That's OK, I get called George alot.

BEN: I choose to move forward.

MRMOON21: Isn't this just so much fun, you guys are fun to listen to.

LEE: Oh yeah. No offense to anyone depicted in the story. Thanks for reading. "Tale of a Drum Line: The 1993 Santa Clara Vanguard" coming soon. The end.

Law School

1997-05-08T20:47:00.000-07:00

A few months after the attempted car-jacking in Santa Clara, CA, I started law school at the University of San Francisco. At the time, I was a drum corps drummer. I didn't much about the law at the time, but I was on a mission to become an entertainment lawyer.

I worked hard at USF, spent the summers studying international law in Europe, and by the second semester of my second year, I was running on all cylinders...

Drum Corps 2007: The Future of the Activity

1997-02-04T00:58:00.000-08:00

Author's note: This piece was published in Drum Corps World in December 2006, and it immediately set off a firestorm of controversy in the drum ands bugle corps activity. Although drum corps officials were initially highly critical of Drum Corps 2007, many of the changes suggested in this piece have since been implemented by DCI.

Drum Corps 2007: The Future of the Activity
Copyright Lee Rudnicki 1997

Introduction
Music: "Connected" by the Stereo MCs

Hello. Welcome to "Drum Corps 2007: The Future of the Activity."

I should warn you right now; this column is not for everyone. I am about to present a completely different philosophical outlook and approach to the future of the junior drum and bugle corps activity than the one that has been recently suggested by various members of the DCI Executive Committee. I am also, for reasons that will soon become apparent, going to suggest immediate changes that need to be made in the infrastructure of the DCI organization itself.

If you are unwilling to have an open mind and positive attitude regarding the future of junior drum and bugle corps, you should probably stop reading right about now. You will likely remain a critic regardless of what I am about to present, so you might want to go back to that WGI article that you were so happily skimming through... Read last month's issue again... Wear this page as an "origami hat" and "high mark time" around the room... Whatever. Your "Drum Corps World Experience" will be much more enjoyable if you don't read this column.

The Mandatory Disclaimer
Music: Off

This column represents my opinion regarding the current status and future direction of the junior drum and bugle corps activity. YOU are asked to examine all of the information available and draw conclusions of your own. I am not claiming to have all of the answers to any of the problems currently faced by DCI. I do believe however, that by encouraging an open discussion, we can eventually arrive at solutions that not only reverse the current state of decline, but that will lead to a rate of growth and success never before experienced by Drum Corps International. I would also like to make it clear that it is not my intent to personally offend or attack anyone. In addition, nothing in this column is to be construed as legal advice to anyone under any circumstances as I am still in school. blah blah blah. Are you are still awake? OK. Very nice. Grab your popcorn. On with the show...

SCENE ONE: THE PARTY
Music: "1979" by the Smashing Pumpkins

The idea behind this column started last spring at the party of a former SCV and Blue Devil percussionist named, ironically enough, "Garfield." You should have been there. His party had everything; a DJ, European Beer, Great Food, Beautiful Women, Christmas Lights, Palm Trees... As this entertaining evening went on, several of the conversations that could be heard over the pounding music turned to the topic of drum and bugle corps. At one point, someone remarked that the Velvet Knights had folded. I was completely and utterly stunned. The Velvet Knights had folded?? DCI had lost another one of its most popular corps?? Unbelievable. VK was gone. POOF. Good Bye. Thank you for attending DCI... Or, as VK members might put it: "Later, Dude..."

To be fair, I should make one point clear. The Velvet Knights were definitely a "thorn in our side" when I was with the Santa Clara Vanguard (87, 88, 89, 91, 93, 94, 95). Each and every year, the VK drum line would play well enough to beat us at some point in the season, regardless of how well our drum line was progressing. To make matters worse, they had goofy red hats, ugly shoes that did not fit, crazy wacky shows and seemingly little to no respect for the rules and traditions of the drum and bugle corps activity. And then one day, I attended a party and found out that they were gone. No more lawn chairs. No more shark. No more red Converse shoes. Like I said, I was stunned...

SCENE TWO: THE QUESTION
Music: "What's going on?" by Four Non-Blondes

The next day, I still wondered; How could DCI have lost another one of its major corps? North Star. Muchachos. Freelancers. Rivermen. Avant Garde. 27th Lancers. Bayonne. Take a look at some of the photos in this issue. The list goes on and on ... And now - the Velvet Knights.

With the loss of VK, I believed that the leadership of DCI owed all of us the answer to one very simple question. I decided to publicly ask (via the internet) the leadership of DCI what their substantive "plan" was regarding the future of the activity and how they were going to prevent the loss of any more drum corps. Would you like the short or the long version of the answer that I received? Well, there is no short version... In fact, there is no long version either. I have never received a substantive and satisfactory answer to my question (Although one enterprising individual did tell me something along the lines of "Be Quiet!!!" - but I do not believe we should count that as a "response").

Interestingly enough, DCI appears to have recently acquiesced to the public pressure, and on the surface at least, seems to be finally attempting to address a few of the inherent problems of the organization. You may have read the material that was presented in last month's issue of Drum Corps World by Scott Stewart in his "State of the Activity" address or the recent DCI press release relating to the decisions that were made at the "DCI Director's College." For the record, I should mention that the "State of the Activity" paper was extremely well written and that I do agree with much of what was said, especially regarding the perceptions of how the activity has been run in the recent past.

Although much of this material seems to represent a "step in the right direction," I believe that the discussion below will demonstrate how many of the new measures currently under consideration by DCI, although motivated by the "best of intentions," will actually do little if anything to change the "status quo of decline" currently experienced by the activity. I would now like to contribute the following two statements, three conclusions and seven proposals to the current discussion regarding the future "plans" and present infrastructure of the DCI organization.

Two Statements Regarding the Current DCI Infrastructure
Music: Track Number 4 from the Depeche Mode CD "Ultra"

1. DCI Instructors and Directors have "Winning DCI" as their primary motivation. That is their job, and that is what keeps DCI instructors and directors employed. Competitive success is also the most effective manner in which to attract experienced and/or talented members to your corps. I understand that it is occasionally trendy for various corps to announce that they do not care about the competitive outcome and are only interested in "the educational experience." With one possible exception, I have not personally seen that philosophy actually employed by anyone.

The sad reality of the situation of a corps folding is that it actually results in several benefits for the remaining drum corps. Ask yourself this question: If you were an instructor or director of a west coast corps, wouldn't you, in the short term at least, actually benefit from the demise of VK?? Doesn't a corps folding usually have the immediate effect of filling holes in the horn line of other corps??? The chaos within the Freelancers certainly helped our cause (Garfield Cadets) in 1986.

The clear but unfortunate result of VK folding is that the few remaining west coast corps have moved one step closer to a monopoly re: the fan base, souvenir sales, competitive success and the talent pool of the kids interested in marching with a DCI corps. No one is suggesting that anyone was "pleased" when VK folded. But, it does stand to reason that the average instructor or director does not "lose a lot of sleep" when one of their competitors fold.

3. Regardless of how "great" their intentions, DCI should not have its financial, marketing or strategic decisions influenced and/or made by people that:

a. Have a competitive interest in the outcome of the Drum Corps International Championships OR

b. Lack the professional skills and credentials to successfully market and finance DCI on an international level.
* (note: "b" does not specifically implicate anyone in particular).

Conclusions from the previous two statements:
Music: 27th Lancer Snare Line playing a buzz roll releasing with the VK Cymbal Line dropping their cymbals on the DCI Headquarters' sidewalk.

1. Drum Corps International should be controlled by a group of individuals that do not care about acquiring another DCI Championship. These individuals should have the economic viability and expansion of the activity as a whole as their primary job description. Nothing more. Nothing less. Failure to do so will only hurt ALL of the corps in the long run, regardless of the amount of trophies any individual member happens to accumulate along the way. "Neutral control" of the organization is the only manner in which to insure that DCI will not be consumed with the usual political infighting and issues regarding the competitive success of a few prominent members and will be more concerned with the economic viability of the activity AS A WHOLE.

2. You may have noticed the recent DCI press release that contemplates a "dramatic" change in the membership and rules of the Executive Committee, which will become the governing body of DCI if the new measures are passed in January. In this release, DCI proposes that "the mix of directors on the current 9 member Executive Committee will change slightly, with one more outside director and one less corps director, for a ratio of 4 to 5 respectively." You might have also noticed that under these new rules, DCI officers will now be elected solely by the Executive Committee, instead of the entire voting membership.

The actual result of these "dramatic" changes: The new Executive Committee that will be responsible for "strategic direction and organization governance, including ratification of budgets" is still controlled by the majority vote of individuals that have a competitive interest in the outcome of the DCI Championships (i.e. - a conflict of interest). Once again, it appears that the DCI policy makers have made a decision that is not "realistic and beneficial for the health and growth of the entire activity."

3. Year after year, the number of competitive junior drum and bugle corps decreases. Yet, in my opinion, DCI continues to be controlled by the few people that have achieved competitive success within the organization. It should be noted that we are talking about people that deserve a great deal of respect and should be commended for the success that they have brought to their corps. Despite these remarkable "on the field" achievements, the corps directors and staff members need to be less concerned with the strategic decision making process of DCI and should be "free" to concern themselves solely with the ONE individual "product" they are trying to "sell" and "promote" to the public. In my opinion, DCI can not function effectively if its business and/or strategic marketing decisions are made and/or influenced by people that have conflicting competitive interests with each and every decision made by and for Drum Corps International. I believe that the history of the activity demonstrates this point quite effectively.

Proposals for the Success of Drum Corps International

1. Hire and/or Recruit a "Promotions Team." In regards to all business and strategic marketing decisions, DCI should hire/recruit a "Promotions Team." This team should consist of seven people that have little IF ANY, interest in the competitive outcome of Drum Corps International. Let me repeat the few key words. "Little IF ANY, interest in the competitive outcome of Drum Corps International." Thus, any potential for conflicts of interest will be eliminated. The Promotions Team should consist of two lawyers, one accountant, two people with a marketing background (or media), and two professional grant writers (OR at least two people that are committed to learning how to write grants and prepare corporate promotional material). As an aside, it should not be that difficult to find committed individuals willing to assist DCI on a "pro bono" basis should budget constraints be a problem.

The mission of the Promotions Team is as follows:
1. Location and pursuit of new corporate sources of revenue and sponsorship.
2. Assistance of ALL member corps in their financial planning and strategic marketing concerns.
3. Formation of a "promotions package" that is individually tailored for each market that DCI is trying to expand into
4. Getting the DCI Championships on Television. This goal shall be given the highest priority.
5. Supervision of the newly formed DCI Annual Fund Program (see below). All money collected in this manner will be allocated to the following two projects:
i. An emergency fund to assist corps through difficult periods (As long as the corps agree to financial counseling and oversight from the DCI Promotions team)
ii) Advertising for DCI sanctioned events
6. After consultation with the DCI Executive Committee, make all final decisions regarding any and all rule or instrumentation changes that could have negative financial implications for the activity as a whole.

2. The DCI Executive Committee should consist solely of corps directors, but its jurisdiction should be curtailed to concern itself only with decisions that will not have negative financial implications for the activity as a whole. As a few examples of what these specific duties might be:

1. Consideration and ratification of any and all instrumentation changes and/or rules of competition that do not have negative financial implications for the activity as a whole.
2. Creation of an objective judging system that rewards the excellence achieved by the performers, as opposed to the "political" status of the show designers. This is one of the areas where Scott Stewart has shown tremendous insight and vision.
3. Compilation a worldwide database of alumni and subsequent creation of an "Annual Fund" program for DCI (i.e. - raising revenue through greater contact/participation of drum corps alumni).
4. Compilation of a nationwide database to help ALL corps in their recruiting and promotion.
5. Serving as a non-binding advisory committee to the "Promotions Team" in matters/rule changes that do have negative financial implications for the activity as a whole.

2. Take the Corps to the Public. Why are we waiting for the fans to come to the shows? Bring the Show to the Fans!!! Every DCI Corps should have to perform at three professional sporting events per summer (i.e.- baseball), preferably close to an upcoming DCI sanctioned contest. At every one of these performances, two hundred complimentary tickets to the upcoming DCI show shall be given out. Before we argue about lost revenue, these are people that would likely never have heard about DCI, let alone attend a competition. However, they may very well return next year. Thus, your fan base grows. Scrounging for that extra "nickel" is irrelevant to the survival of drum corps at this point. Also irrelevant, in the scheme of things, is the minute amount of rehearsal time lost through this endeavor. Getting more fans into the seats is the answer.

This is just one of many methods that could get the public visibility of the corps increased outside of the traditional competitive venues and would lead to a larger fan base and talent pool for ALL the corps in the activity. DCI Color Guards, brass choirs and percussion ensembles should also have a year round performance schedule at art galleries, malls or other unusual venues where people would be become interested in supporting and/or joining the corps. The organization of an alumni corps that performs throughout the year is also another excellent manner in which to increase local exposure with a minimal financial commitment (as SCV has recently done). Approaching the solution in this manner will help alleviate the local public relations/exposure problems currently experienced by organizations that are not "in town" for the duration of the summer due to their tour schedule.

3. Get More Kids Involved. As an example of this, All DCI Corps should form several additional non-cash intensive youth groups as part of their organization. As it was explained to me, this was the original theory behind YEA. It is much easier to attain corporate funding and/or sponsorship when you are talking about more than 128 kids. For example, forming a community VK Symphonic Band would have required very little money, as most of the performers in a symphonic band already have their own instruments. BUT: When my hypothetical DCI Promotions team would approach southern California corporations for their support, their "promo" material would show that over two hundred VK kids will benefit from their help. As an additional benefit, another one hundred sets of parents are suddenly available for fund raising...

4. Drum Corps Deserves "Prime Time." It is currently in vogue for people to list the reasons why drum and bugle corps can not be successful in the "main stream" television market. I have only one rebuttal. I once saw Alaskan lumber jacks throwing big logs on ESPN. Think about the implications of that for a second. Someone at ESPN said YES to the Alaskan lumber jacks. They also said yes to the "spelling bee kids. " Why can't we get the "live" DCI Championships on a major television network? Could it be possible that the Alaskan lumber jacks or a bunch of sixth graders that can spell have a better PR person than Drum Corps International? I do not think that is the case. If it is, maybe DCI should consider holding their own spelling bee or log throwing event on the Wednesday night of Championship week. That might be a great way to get the media's attention.

Of course, we can continue to insist that "all is being done" that possibly can be done in the marketing and expansion of the drum and bugle corps activity. Meanwhile, the Alaskan lumber jacks will continue to throw their big logs in front of millions of spectators.

DCI - Get the Championships Televised LIVE, and on a Major Television Network. No more excuses. It can be done. They said No? There is one very simple answer - You did not pound on their door hard enough. I believe that is the attitude that you will have to take if you want to be successful in this endeavor. The drum and bugle corps activity deserves nothing less...

5. Listen to Bill Cook. He didn't get where he is by fluke. By the way, he also produced a finalist corps out of thin air. There is a lot to learn from that experience. Many people still resent this. Too much insecurity. Not enough "big picture."

The following issues regarding instrumentation changes may have been rendered temporarily "moot" when DCI made the wise decision to "suspend" the next DCI Rules Congress. Due to the economic implications they will have on the future of drum and bugle corps, and the fact that these issues have a habit of "reappearing" every few months, I believe that they are worth repeating.

6. Do not add Electronics until ALL of the corps can do so on an equal basis. I agree that the addition of electronics could one day add a great deal to the musical "presence" of drum corps. But, considering the present state of the activity, the decision of whether or not to add electronics must currently be viewed an BUSINESS decision which will have very severe implications for the economic future of many corps in this activity. You should be very apprehensive about adding additional cost to corps that has difficulty putting safe buses on the road and/or feeding their kids. These instrumentation changes can be made when both "DCI" and its member "corps" are financially stable.

The question to be asked here is: What is in the best interests of the activity as a whole? (i.e. - not only those particular corps that happen to be able to afford the instrumentation changes). Rule changes such as this should be made when it is best for all of "DCI," NOT when the "big kids on the block" decide that it should be so. It stands to reason that any corps that failed to add the new instrumentation would pale in comparison to the "spectacle" that a few of the larger endorsers would immediately add to their "crown jewel" corps.

Two hypothetical questions:

i. Should the Troopers be forced to spend their time and money worrying about how to acquire a Korg M-1, a sound system and a computer to run it all or would their time, energy and money be better spent with other logistical efforts such as acquiring a full horn line?

ii. What endorser is going to "break the bank" by supplying the Delta Brigade and the Les Etioles de Dorion with the wireless mikes on snare drums linked to drum machines, samplers and synthesizers that have suddenly become the competitive "ticket of admission" to DCI Finals???

6b. Do not Change the Brass Line Instrumentation.
Ditto. Ditto. Ditto. Same Line of Reasoning. Just read the paragraphs regarding Electronics and change a few words. However, this line of reasoning does NOT include instrumentation changes that do not have negative financial implications for the activity as a whole (i.e. - most kids already have their own clarinet). These decisions, as discussed above, should be placed in the hands of the DCI Executive Committee or the entire DCI membership. In other words, "Let the creative people create" - but only to the extent that is in the best interests of the activity AS A WHOLE.

7. No more Ties. What if the "Super Bowl" had ended in a tie last year? Could you imagine what a lackluster ending that would have put on the 1996 NFL Season? I can see it now. "Feel The Power!!!!!! OF A TIE!!!!!!! I can not see how you can have an event promoted as the "World Championships" if it does not even proclaim a "World Champion." That is absurd. While evolving the substantive changes in the judging system, DCI also needs to implement a rule to eliminate the possibility of a "tie" at the "World Championships."

The final word:

We are tired of Corps Folding. It is very sad when drum corps such as VK continue to fold while DCI continues to market itself, in my opinion, slightly better than the Peruvian Yahtzee Team. With the talent and entertainment level of most of its drum corps, DCI should have at LEAST reached the level of success that organizations such as Cirque du Soliel have by now. That is obviously not the case. I believe that it is time for this activity to hold itself accountable for the continued demise of its member corps and figure out exactly what needs to be done to turn things around. There are still a number of great drum and bugle corps left in the United States today. We don't want to see any more drum corps die. You can do much better. As I stated earlier, I don't claim to have all or necessarily any of the answers regarding the future of this activity. But I do think that it is time for DCI to eliminate the inherent conflicts of interest that are present in the organization and it is also time for us to arrive at a realistic and substantive plan regarding the future direction of this activity. Before it is too late...

A Quote from a Statue in Dublin:

"The great appear great because we are on our knees. Let us rise."

-James Larkin

USF Euro-Summer 1996

1996-09-01T01:09:00.000-07:00

After the first year of law school, I spent the summer studying in Dublin, Irleand and Prague, Czech Republic. This story, about my experiences during that amazing summer, is the first piece I ever published (in the USF School of Law newspaper). Fellow law student Doris Cheng gave me some great input as I wrote this.

USF Euro-Summer-1996
Copyright Lee Rudnicki 1996

Hello everybody. Welcome to another year of law school. I still remember the fear of not knowing what a plaintiff was in the first Torts class. Somehow I survived and even managed to have a great time in the process. If this is your first year, don't worry. It won’t make sense for a while, but when it is over, you will have an entire summer to regroup. I attended the Summer Law Program in Dublin and Prague. I anticipated a relatively leisurely academic experience coupled with a bit of sight seeing. I ended up with many new friends, some great classes, and a summer that was definitely not described in the brochure...

June 16: ARRIVAL IN DUBLIN

Arrive at cement steps of back entrance to Trinity College after a brief but exciting cab ride with a driver that is training for the "Taxi - Olympics." Drag luggage past the Douglas Hyde art gallery and onto rocky cobblestone which almost achieves the complete destruction of my suitcase wheels. Eventually, I am directed to my dorm room which is on the third floor of a ominous gray stone building, complete with gargoyles. It is not hard to believe that Bram Stoker, the author of Dracula, went to school here. After a six hour jet lag induced cat nap, meet with fellow USF students for a "pint" to commemorate the beginning of the summer law program. What begins as a quiet evening in a sedate Irish Pub ends in drunken revelry at a club known as "Howl at the Moon." Sometime during my tenth viewing of the Irish version of "Macarena," it dawns on me that I actually survived the first year of law school. At this point we give ourselves a standing ovation. We return to our respective dorm rooms by 4:30 a.m., but only because class starts at 8:00 a.m. Our rediscovery of social life turns the first week of classes into an amusing experiment in sleep deprivation.

TRINITY COLLEGE

Our classroom has desks that are similar to those in Pink Floyd's movie The Wall and that are about as comfortable as sitting on bedrock. Trinity's Professor Phelan serves as European Community Law teacher as well as social director for the program. He supplements the academic curriculum by arranging guest speakers, a trip to the Four Courts (where we observe a murder trial), the Irish Derby, and an Irish music festival. (Not to mention pointing out various local pubs of notoriety). Professor Phelan also tries to pique our interest in European culture, especially in the sport of soccer. Although skeptical, I give the "broaden your horizons" theory a chance and watch an entire televised "Euro-96" game. "Luckily", there are no goals scored in what seemed like seventy two hours of regulation time. Give Professor Phelan a "San Francisco 49ers" football on the last day of class.

June 28: VACLAV HAVEL

Surprised by several suspicious looking men hanging around outside of my dorm. These men turn out to be Czech Secret Service Agents, that are on campus for the express purpose of guarding Vaclav Havel (the President of the Czech Republic). Shortly thereafter, President Havel, clad in an ermine fur lined robe, walks by me to receive an honorary degree from Trinity. This brings the official total of heads of state that I have seen in person to two (the other one was Ronald Reagan at the 1986 Statue of Liberty dedication).

June 29: WELCOME TO BELFAST

Formed group with USF students Rachel Puno, Doris Cheng, and three others to rent a car and drive to Belfast. Luckily, the first exit puts us in the middle of a mob that is trying to provoke the local police force. The police were in defensive positions about 50 yards away from our rental car and quickly advancing towards us. After a car maneuver best described as "cat-like stealth,” we are able to escape the angry mob and continue on our way. Spend the rest of the day photographing Sinn Fein Headquarters, various political murals and antagonized local citizens randomly setting large objects on fire. A few days after our Belfast excursion, Northern Ireland erupts into bombing and rioting.

June 30: VACLAV HAVEL II

Return rental car from the Belfast fiasco to the airport with Doris. While waiting for the bus to return to downtown Dublin, we are suddenly surrounded by paramilitary soldiers in black leather suits on motorcycles. Literally almost bump into Vaclav Havel (again) as he gets out of his limousine and meets Mary Robinson (the President of Ireland) directly in front of us. My "head of state" count is now officially up to three. After boarding bus, a tremendous "explosion" erupts from the direction of the two leaders. Several more follow in rapid succession. Spend the next minute or so trying to figure out the proper response for a terrorist attack. Luckily, the "explosions" turn out to be a cannon salute for President Havel. This seems odd in a country where the police don't carry guns.

July 14: PRAGUE

Arrive in Prague and join other students that have been here since June. USF student Gil Kennan arrives as the lone representative from the USF Program in Bali. Culture shock upon arrival at the dorm approximates the level of shock one acquires when reading the first question on the Fall Torts final. Apparently, the Soviet architects were partial to the "bunker effect.” Later, we assemble a group and tour the Old Town Square. Surprisingly, this section of town is completely devoid of the box-like communist buildings. In fact, every building is practically a work of art in and of itself. Since Prague escaped much of the destruction of WW II, most of the buildings are extremely old, and almost all have statues, gargoyles, and various ornate designs. Add in cobblestone streets, sidewalk cafes, and a moonlit Charles Bridge, and Prague is officially the most beautiful place I have ever been.

We eventually meet other law students at a local bar known as the Chapeau Rouge ("Red Hat"). The ambiance of the Chapeau can best be described as a cross between a third world opium den and the cantina scene from Star Wars.

July 23: THE IRISH CONTINGENCY

Gil and I meet group of seven Irish girls at the Chapeau Rouge. Our group bonds quickly with the "Irish Contingency" and social life in Prague becomes a bizarre mixture of Irish, American, and Czech Culture. Eventually, it dawns on me that the most interaction I've had with the Irish is occurring in Prague. The continous Czech-Irish connection starts to seem a bit surreal. The evening ends with a view of the Czech sunrise over the castle on the hill.

July 27: AUSCHWITZ I

Rachel, Gil and I take the night train to Krakow, Poland. Once we figure out the bus schedule (about as easy as translating a contracts case book into Apache), we catch a bus to the town of Oswiecim, the site of the Auschwitz camp. After viewing a film shot by the Red Army during the camp’s liberation , we walk down the path to the main gate. The electrified fence still stands, as do the barracks and guard towers. At one point, we are even allowed to walk through the eerie confines of the gas chamber. The wild flowers that have grown throughout the camp can conceivably be described as beautiful, but they only enhance the sense of overwhelming grief that emanates from the place.

July 27: AUSCHWITZ II

Take shuttle bus with Gil and Rachel to Birkenau (The second camp of Auschwitz). While walking through prisoner barracks, we overhear a man in his late sixties say to a young boy - "and there's where I slept...". We realize that this man is obviously not just a tour guide. Somehow find the nerve to ask him if we could accompany him and listen to his story. For the next hour we sit near the ruins of the crematorium, listening to the man describe his separation from his family when the SS guards pulled them out of the boxcars and then selected those that would live to work in the camp. His mother was not one of the chosen and passed away in the gas chamber that same day. When he points out the last place where he saw his mother alive, he starts to cry (as do we). We miss the last shuttle bus back to the main camp, and discover that we really don't care...

CHARLES UNIVERSITY

I have a class on Central European Constitutional Law. The classroom is a large acoustical nightmare that overlooks the Charles River. Initial assesment: I'll be able to survive about three classes before sheer boredom forces me to fake my own death to avoid attending the rest. Enter professor Vojtech Cepl. Professor Cepl lectures for two hours straight, without notes, and without taking a break. Much of the class consists of his first hand account of what it was like to live under communist domination and how that experience has shaped the current government of the Czech Republic. He also casually informs us that our classroom was used by student activists in the planning of the 1989 Velvet Revolution. Attendance ends up hovering somewhere around 100%. It's not every day that your professor happens to have co-written the constitution of his country. When he is not teaching, Professor Cepl also spends much of his free time as a justice of the Constitutional Court of the Czech Republic.

August 2: LECH WALESA

Professor Cepl mentions a speech to be given by Lech Walesa. (Leader of the Polish Solidarity Movement, Former President of Poland, Nobel Peace Prize Winner...). The speech is to be delivered today at a ceremony located in the Headquarters of Radio Free Europe. Get past my Czech Secret Service friends by repeating the words "Charles University," "Special Permission," and by randomly waving and yelling to people that are already inside as if we know them. Once inside, our shorts and tee shirts blend in rather poorly among the formal attire of the dignitaries. We don't mind. As President Walesa talks about the future of Eastern Europe, I realize that I am witnessing history in the making. Afterwards, I conspicuously make my way into the receiving line to shake his hand and convince him to sign a copy of his speech. I can't believe I don't have a camera with me.

August 2: LECH WALESA II

Leave Radio Free Europe Building and proceed immediately to Kodak store to purchase disposable camera. As Rachel and I head back to the dorm, we run into two others from the program and proceed to tell them about our experience (and the fact that we did not have a camera). As we are telling the story, Lech Walesa and his entourage walk right past us on a sight seeing tour of the square. Run after him with new disposable camera and attempt to get a picture. A sharp gesture from Walesa and a secret service agent grabs my camera. At this point, I wonder if I might cause an international incident. As Lech Walesa poses with his arm on my shoulder, the agent takes our picture.

August 7: NEW YORK

Upon arrival in New York, my mother asks me the inevitable question, "How was your trip?"

I'm not sure I really know how to answer that question.

Different Trains

1996-08-04T22:24:00.000-07:00

Rachel, Gil and I board the night train for a weekend excursion to Poland. Employees in maroon uniforms and hats that say "Mars" nervously pace up and down the hall to show people to their rooms before the train starts moving. I enter our room first and pick the top bunk because it appears to have some semblance of privacy. Although I don’t realize it at the time, this is a big mistake. Within two hours, the temperature in the top bunk hovers somewhere between “Africa-hot” and “rainforest.” I chuckle to myself as I think that if gets any hotter, I may openly weep.

Music: "Dancing on the ceiling" by Lionel Ritchie

Our train pulls into Krakow around five a.m., and we have some time to kill before things open. As we leisurely stroll past small restaurants and shops, something suddenly lands on the top of my head. To my disgust, it is white and has apparently originated from a pigeon. ARRGGHHHHH!!!!!!!! I run down the street in a rage trying to kick birds as they scatter in every direction. When there aren’t any pigeons left within kicking distance, I sulk back to my friends, who are doubled over laughing. Through his laughter, Gil tells me that in Jewish culture, this is considered good luck. “Yeah right,” I reply as Rachel hands me a napkin to wipe off my head. "No really, it’s true" he says. I don't want to believe him, but what the hell. At this point, I have no better option. I clean up, and we continue to walk around Krakow, eventually finding a small restaurant that just opened. As we take our seats, a Lionel Ritchie song plays in the background.

Now here is something you don’t do every day … sit down for breakfast in Poland, while listening to Lionel Ritchie with bird poop on your head. Hahaha.

After breakfast, we walk to the town square. There is not much going on this early in the morning, but several groups of odd young men in cloth ponchos walk around singing and chanting. I want to take their picture, but don’t want to be responsible for the melee that breaks out when it turns out they don’t like to be photographed. To avoid antagonizing them, I snap their picture as Gil stands in front of me and pretends to be the subject of my photo.

Music: "Quartet for the end of time" by Oliver Messiae

An hour later, Rachel announces that it’s time to catch the bus to Auschwitz. We walk to the bus station and try to read the bus schedule but this turns out to be about as easy as translating a torts book into Apache. Rachel eventually figures out what bus we need to take with the use of her Polish phrase book, and we board one heading to the town of Oswiecim, the site of Auschwitz.

Nearly two hours later, our bus arrives at Auschwitz. The camp is not visible as we get off the bus and walk up a narrow road past thin white birch trees.

Before entering the camp itself, we are ushered into a small theater to view a film shot by the Russian army during the camp’s liberation. I have seen some of this documentary footage before, but that does not make it any easier to look at the haunting sunken faces of the prisoners. After the film, we talk quietly as we walk down the dirt path to the main gate. Suddenly, we stop in our tracks. There it is. Arbeit Macht Frei. Works Makes You Free. After seeing this gate hundreds of times in photographs, I cannot believe I am actually standing in front of it.

A double electric fence runs on both sides of the main gate. As we walk through the gate, we notice a large black and white photo on the side of the barracks to our right. It is a photo of the prison band, and it marks the spot where the band used to play music for prisoners marching off to work. In stark contrast to the electric fence and brick barracks, colorful wild flowers grow throughout the camp. Although they can conceivably be described as beautiful, they only serve to enhance the sense of overwhelming grief that emanates from this place. As we continue our tour, we find that many of the barracks have been turned into ghoulish museums of sorts. In one, huge piles of items the Nazis took from prisoners lie behind glass partitions. There are piles of eyeglasses, brown leather suitcases, assorted shoes and a huge mound of human hair. Upon noticing several tiny pairs of baby shoes, a young Jewish boy sits on the floor and weeps.

We continue to walk through brick barracks around the camp. Several countries, including Russia and Poland, have turned several of the barracks into their own personal statement about the Holocaust. The Polish building features a long line of life-size figures in prisoner uniforms marching off into oblivion next to an endless list of the names of Polish victims. It doesn't take long to find the name "Rudnicki." The Russian building contains strange large metal industrial-looking objects that look as if they haven't been maintained for years.

Our final stop is the gas chamber, and a small gallows sits outside of its entrance. Our guide tells us that this is where the camp commander was hung after the liberation. We quietly descend the concrete stairs into the eerie confines of the gas chamber. At the far corner of the chamber, a steel door leads to a small room with two brick ovens, and the black metal devices that fed bodies into them. Our guide mentions that the ovens had to be reconstructed after the war, since the Nazis smashed them in an attempt to destroy the evidence. Small colorful flowers and lit candles adorn the ovens.

Music: "Different Trains" by Steve Reich

We are emotionally drained as we board a small shuttle bus to Birkenau, the largest camp of the Auschwitz complex, approximately a mile away from the smaller camp. Behind Birkenau’s main gate and guard tower, the camp is cut in half by ominous train tracks that abruptly end directly in front of us. The wooden barracks of Birkenau have not been well maintained since the war, but the camp is enormous, and stone chimneys dot the landscape where buildings have disappeared through the years.

As we walk among the dilapidated barracks, we come across an old man with a small boy at his side. As I walk by the man, I overhear him say, "and that is where I slept." I realize he is not just a tour guide. I quietly ask him if we can listen to his story. He introduces himself, and welcomes us to join him and his grandson.

Music: off

For the next hour, the man tells us his story. At one point, we sit on the train tracks, he talks about his family's arrival at Birkenau. "When they let us out of the train," he says, "an SS officer directed the women to the right, men to the left. The old, feeble or young were sent right to the gas chamber. My mother was sent to the gas chamber that day." When he points out the last place he saw his mother alive, he starts to cry. So do we.

We miss the last shuttle bus back to the main camp.

We don't care.

Prelude: February, 15 1995

1995-02-15T23:19:00.000-08:00

February 15. A Day to Remember.

Today is the anniversary of a day that changed my life. A day when I found out what and who is truly important to me, and a day that should have been my last day on Earth.

The last 15 years have been an amazing ride, especially when put into the context of the "bonus round." As a result of the events of February 15th, 1995, I gained clarity of vision and launched myself into the next phase of my life, including the decision to go to law school. If this account seems overly "detailed," please note, it was written with the intent of remembering the event in as much detail as possible. Also, there is vulgarity in this account. If that will offend you, please don't read it.

The Prelude: February, 15 1995
Music: "Right Here, Right Now" by Jesus Jones

It is a cold Wednesday night in Santa Clara, California, and I, the Percussion Director of the Santa Clara Vanguard drum and bugle corps, have just finished teaching the b-corps, our feeder corps. I am not supposed to be here tonight, but the entire b-corps drum staff just quit, and I need to help out until they can get a new staff. Dave Gary, another Vanguard instructor helping out the b-corps, asks me if I want to play video football after rehearsal. I agree to meet him back at my apartment in San Jose for the rematch of the video 49ers v. Dallas Cowboys.

Rehearsal ends, and I get into my black Ford Escort with the sound of a few kids still drumming resonating in the background. I'm hungry, so I decide to grab a Jack in the Box cheeseburger on the way home. I only have two bucks in my wallet, so I pull into the Bank of America parking lot on Scott Blvd. There are no other cars in the lot, and I pull in close to the ATM, and jump out to get a quick twenty bucks.

As I walk back to my car, a man wearing a black jacket and red baseball hat comes out of the shadows towards me with his right hand in his pocket. He orders me to get in the car, and I notice a glint of metal from the edge of his pocket. He has a gun. Uh-oh.I put my keys between my fingers, and move quickly towards my car. My plan is to fight. Actually, "attack" is a more precise word, since surprise is going to be the only way to get out of this. I notice that he has surgical glove on his right hand. This can only mean one thing -- he plans to use the gun. He is too far away for me to attack. My car lies between us, and he will get a shot off before I can get to him. Fuck.

"Get in the car," the man says again. I sense he is nervous, and I hear a touch of "loss of control" in his voice. I walk quietly towards the driver's side door. He goes to the passenger's side as if he expects me to get in and open the door for him. "Yeah, right, motherfucker," I think. Then I start running towards the expressway.

According to the witnesses who were driving by at the time, the man suddenly pulled his gun out of his pocket, and ran after me with his shooting arm extended. Suddenly, I hear what sounds like a strand of firecrackers going off. Things go into bullet-time, and I see several small "explosions" near my foot and something zips by my right ear. Apparently, I am in the midst of a hail of bullets. I hear myself yell and feel pain in my right hand as I squeeze my keys tightly. Despite the nearby traffic, and the assassin behind me, I have a profound sense of being very, very alone in the Universe.

Somehow, despite the flying bullets, I am still running. I also apparently have cat-like stealth, as I think I am not hurt.I run towards the Central Expressway, and come upon a chain link fence. There is no time to vault the fence, so I run along side it, and then run blindly onto the freeway. A second later, I hear screeching brakes, and speeding cars swerve towards me. I stop in my tracks, and a car comes to a screeching halt two feet from me. For some unknown reason, I punch the car's front window, and yell at the stunned driver. I then turn away quickly and continue to run.I am now on a mission to find a phone.

About 150 yards up the street, I realize the assassin has stopped chasing me. The only emotion I feel is euphoria. I fucking survived. Unbelievable. I now know what it must feel like to score a touchdown in the Super Bowl. Euphoria quickly gives way to caution, as I realize there is no phone within sight and duck into the shadows.

Eventually, a police car turns the corner, and I run onto the street to get its attention. The police car turns sharply and speeds towards me. The cop jumps out, and yells for me to put my hands up.This puts me in a rage and I respond with a stream of obscenities. "Put my hands up?? What the fuck do you mean, put my hands up? I was just shot at!! What the fuck! Let's go get him!!!" The cop responds to my enraged belligerence by telling me to calm down, as he needs to make sure I am not shot. "What?" He says people who are shot sometimes don't know it because they are in shock, and he has to make sure I was not hit. I am stunned as I raise my hands and look for blood. There is none.

After the quick exam, I jump into the cramped back seat of the police car, and we speed back to the bank. More police cars pull up around us, and a helicopter flies overhead as cops with rifles run towards the direction I last saw the assassin.

As two officers interview me, others scour the parking lot for bullet casings. When they find none, they conclude the would-be assassin used a revolver. Dejected police officers walk back to our location. Apparently, my assailant escaped. A cop says, "Congratulations on your survival. You did exactly the right thing. And the guy ran out of bullets."

When I finally get home two hours later, Dave is still waiting on the stairs. I say, "Hi Dave. Sorry I'm late. I was just shot at." Dave is stunned. He calls his wife (and my former roommate) Rachel to come over, and they drive me downtown to see my brother. On the way there, we stop at a 7-11 so I can buy a six-pack of Corona beer and twenty-five dollars worth of lottery tickets. I already won the lottery today. Why not twice? I am in the bonus round.

Music: fade out

Post Script.The next day, my mom flew in from Pennsylvania. In one day, I bought a cell phone and a new car. The new car was needed because my car was the one way the carjacker could identify me. The dealer obviously figured out that I was desperate to get a new car that day, so he was "nice" enough to give me mafia-like interest rates on my car loan.

The next day, came my first lessons in Constitutional Law. The San Jose Mercury News placed a full account of the shooting in the newspaper, complete with my full name and occupation. The publication of all of my personal information by the Mercury News led to the necessary, immediate and somewhat uncomfortable exercise of another constitutional right, the right to bear arms. Which was a right that I never imagined myself as having to exercise, let alone be forced into it by a idiotic newspaper reporter named Tom Schmitz.

Insert: Stunned silence.

The end.

7

Here's what happened next.

Allen Hall, SJSU

1987-01-07T08:28:00.000-08:00

** Warning: Graphic Language **

In 1987, I moved from Pennsylvania, to California, to march in the Santa Clara Vanguard. Staying in school was a condition of my parent's support of my trek across the country for a drum corps, so I moved into the dorms at San Jose State University, and started school as a music major.

On the first day of school, my roommate broke every piece of furniture in our room. Things went downhill from there. In fact, my experience in the SJSU dorms was like being in an Animal House film that never ended. Everyone on the floor was an out-of-control berserker, including the RA. (BTW, my old roommate is now a professional photographer, on assignment in China. He has reportedly stopped breaking furniture).

For your amusement, here is the sign that hung on our dorm room door for the last few months of the Spring 1987 semester. Obviously, we were not invited back.

Kids, don't try this at home.

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