Band Camp

In my high school band, when we were struggling to keep time or couldn't keep up with the tempo or were just sucking, my band director would pull out the metronome-from-the-pit, called "Dr. Beat." Not only was Dr. Beat loud and beat at an obnoxious pitch, but my director would hook it up to these huge speakers he would set up at various points throughout the band. It subdivided, it put accents in different parts of the measure, and (worst of all) it talked. I will forever be haunted in my dreams by the creepy female computer voice of Dr. Beat screaming out "one-e-&-a, two-e-&-a..." Darn Hindemith.
This week, I'm chilling with my friends around campus here at Hope in good old MI. On campus during the summer there are all these camps and conferences. This week, there is cheerleading camp and band camp. The cheerleaders are annoying, skinny, uptight, and loud. Way too easy to make fun of (sorry Julie). The saddest part about them is that in walking through their practices I learn the cheers better than most of the girls. Oh well, they are working hard out there in the 90 degree weather. Band camp is a little wierder. Mostly, only the percussionists are visible. Maybe it's just percussion camp or something. Anways, they have set up shop in the parking lot across from where I'm staying, and they practice the same 2 minutes of music pretty much all day. It kinda grates on the ears. The worst part, though, they've got a Dr Beat pumping through some speakers, echoing around this end of campus like a staccato banshee wail. Ah, the horrible memories. My whole soul ticks in time with that terrible ringing beat. Dr. Beat, you have ruined my internal clock forever.