Hmmmm. Interesting. Not sure we needed a whole bunch of changes, but then, I know engineers; they love to change things!
Here's a tip: as the percentage of people around you who think you're an asshole approaches 100%, the odds that they're wrong drop precipitously.
Dr. Schwarzenstein staggered across the lawn, bleeding profusely, as he thought once again that maybe, just maybe, re-creating velociraptors from frog DNA and the contents of fossilized mosquito stomachs had been a bad idea, and that maybe, just maybe, genetically enhancing the raptor for super-intelligence had been a really bad idea.
And then there she was, the Queen Raptor, in front of him. He wasn't going to make it to the jeep. This was it. She bared her fangs, bristled her claws. "Surprise, I'm pregnant!" she said.
"I've created talking raptors?" he thought -- a scientist to the end -- as she leaped toward his abdomen.
My father is a retired trumpet player. I remember, when I was a boy, watching him spend months preparing for an audition with a famous philharmonic. Trumpet positions in major orchestras only become available once every few years. Hundreds of world class players will fly in to try out for these positions from all over the world. I remember my dad coming home from this competition, one that he desperately wanted to win, one that he desperately needed to win because work was so hard to come by. Out of hundreds of candidates and days of auditions and callbacks, my father came in....second.
It was devastating for him. He looked completely numb. To come that close and lose tore out his heart. But the next morning, at 6:00 AM, the same way he had done every morning since the age of 12, he did his mouthpiece drills. He did his warm ups. He practiced his usual routines, the same ones he tells his students they need to play every single day. He didn't take the morning off. He just went on. He was and is a trumpet player and that's what trumpet players do, come success or failure.
Less than a year later, he went on to win a position with the Los Angeles Philharmonic, where he played for three decades. Good thing he kept practicing.
From the liner notes to the remastered If I Die Young, the one album released by Thrash Davis:
He was born Reginald Aloysius Bixby III, so it's not hard to see why he eventually changed his name to Thrash Davis. His quiet youth ended in his mum's kitchen when he found a wooden spoon and a saucepan, giving rise to a noisy passion that would last him all his short life. Davis would later revolutionize the drum set in much the same way that EVH revolutionized the guitar....
The title of Thrash's first-and-only album proved eerily prophetic when his tour blimp crashed into that tire fire, leaving rock lovers worldwide to forever wonder what might have come in future albums, after fiery songs like "Comet Vomit", "I Hate Jude", and the ribald "Rhymes with Trucker"....
Mr Dylan can knock all he wants, but Thrash Davis is drum drum drummin' on Heaven's door.
I posted about A Tale of Two Cities last week, but I figured it was still a prime candidate for Page One feature.
(BTW, is this feature popular at all amongst the readership? I'm enjoying it, but I'm not sure anyone else is....)
"This is what you do for fun?" he said. "I'm a mess!"
She grinned through the whipped cream. "I told you I'm a blast! Now kiss me, and try not to laugh out loud?"
"Too late," he said, laughing, but he kissed her anyway.
"We should go shower."
Best first date ever.