Pom Regionals at Heritage High School

What's up, gang.

Abby and the Northeast Pom team had a performance (exhibition, game - whatever you wanna call it) today for the MPA Regionals in Saginaw at Heritage High School.  Their team this year, while stacked with a lot of younger kids opposed to last year, has been performing much better - they're tighter and more in sync, having been together for a couple years now.  Going in to the early morning event, Abby was pretty confident that they'd do well enough to advance on to State, which was taking place next month.

Unfortunately, they didn't - one of the new kids on the team screwed up a few times, bad enough that the judges decided Northeast didn't qualify to advance on to the next level.  The girls took it hard - lots of tears, which, for a bunch of drama-prone, teenage girls, should be expected - but Abby eventually let it go.  I'd be surprised if she decides to stick with pom next year (she's mentioned before an interest in joining the Swim Team instead), but we'll see.

Anyway, here's a brief run-down on how we spent our Saturday morning. . .

Warming up with some Tik Tok crappiness in the Heritage cafeteria, before all the performances kick off.

Team selfies while waiting to perform.

Kids have to get sick of making the same damn faces all the time (I know I'm already sick of it.)

Northeast Pom takes the 'stage'. . . or whatever the hell we're calling it these days.

The mandatory Kick Line segment (you can see here why we didn't advance on to State.)

These pics were all taken by the official MPA Regionals photographer - we were forbidden from taking pics or video during the performance (but, as you'll see in a sec, I snuck a video anyway - they're crazy if they think I'm not gonna record my own kid at one of these things. . .)

The Team, following their disqualifying performance.  Of course Abby is giving Ella rabbit ears in the official team photo. . .

After Regionals wrapped up, and our kids' dreams were unceremoniously crushed by the judges, us and the Johnsons drove over to nearby Timbers - a cool bar/restaurant sorta by my school - to treat the girls to some lunch.  While Erik and I had a few beers, Kris and Courtney scrutinized the girls' routine in order to figure out where the mistakes were that kept them from advancing to State.  #pommoms

- Brian

The Great Christmas Record Odyssey, Ep. XCV

Good Baby Jesus, guys.  I got a bizarre one for us this evening, make no mistake about that. . .

Album Title:  The Spirit of Christmas

Album Artist:  Gene Riley

This is another installment from my recently-acquired stack of Dollar Bin treasure from Radio Wasteland a couple weeks ago.  Couldn't resist this one, folks.  Just look at this guy.

At first glance, I assumed Gene Riley was some kind of Southern Evangelist Preacher from the '70s/'80s.  You know, the kind that owns a mega-church somewhere down in Alabama or Florida, where he probably ranted and raved against 'the gays' and the AIDS virus, and people commonly spoke in tongues.  He would probably have lived in some opulent mansion, purchased through the ill-gotten contributions of his ignorant but well-meaning parishioners, and inside everything would have been gold-trimmed and pastel-colored, with leopard-print pillows covering plastic-wrapped couches and a large-ass painting of him and his blonde, heavily make-up'd wife hanging in the foyer.  And of course said wife would have to have had major substance abuse problems - pills, booze, both - and he would have to have been a closet homosexual with a laundry list of sordid kinks.  Then there would have been several criminal charges against him and his wife that led to their ultimate downfall - embezzlement, bribing a senator or two, human trafficking maybe. . . 

Honestly, you could create a whole, depressing backstory based on this guy's album cover and sell the rights to Netflix.  They'd easily make a show about this.

Anyway.

Back when '517' covered the Tri-City area, too. . .

I had to know more, so I attempted to Wikipedia this Gene Riley dude and figure out who the hell he was, but ultimately came up with nothing.  I then turned to Google, and finally came across THIS - the guy was a local preacher from nearby Saginaw, MI.  Holy crap.  This Holiday album was recorded in Oklahoma City (at Christian World, Inc, in case you were curious - I found their Facebook Page), but this release was party of his local 'Music Ministries.'  Talk about random.

So what's this guy sound like, you ask? 

Well, have you ever heard your grandfather sing at church?  How about in the family station wagon as you ride down an interstate highway?  What about while he's sitting on your aunt's couch after too many egg nogs during an Extended Family Christmas?  Maybe your grandfather had a booming, baritone voice, slightly slurry and full of spittle, and maybe he didn't really care about carrying a tune all that much.  Maybe he was totally content with just remembering all the lyrics to the song, and not passing out from exhaustion before he reached the end of said song.

That's Gene Riley, guys.

Want more?  Sure, you got it.  This album sounds like it was recorded in a swinger's lounge.  It almost sounds like Christian World had a stack of pre-recorded Holiday backing tracks all ready to go - very late-70s/early-80s, I'd guess, based on the chintzy Casio keyboard/synthesizer vibe  - and Gene just drove the RV down to Oklahoma one summer with the Mrs. and knocked out an entire Holiday album over the course of an afternoon.  Maybe two afternoons, depending on how his meds were working - you don't wanna push yourself too much, you know.

Lots of love for Jesus here. . .

Frankly, I'm surprised a recording studio that goes by the moniker Christian World green-lit the recording of some of these non-religious numbers - 'White Christmas,' 'The Christmas Song,' and 'Jingle Bells' - for this album.  I'm not a Christmas Musicologist or anything (though I'm closer to one than most, after all these years), but I don't think there's any secret, religious meaning to any of these secular songs.  Pretty sure 'White Christmas' is about snow.

There's not a whole hell of a lot to say about this album, honestly. The backing tracks are all pre-recorded, and vary between cheesy upbeat tracks and overly-dramatic slow ones - usually they do a mediocre job at pairing with his voice, but sometimes they're so out of sync with his vocals that it's just, well, downright hilarious.  I think the best tracks on this album are the ones those secular ones where he can unbutton his cardigan sweater a button or two and really cut loose, as you know he's gonna take the religious ones super seriously.  With the upbeat numbers like 'Jingle Bells,' you can almost picture him doing that awkward, fat, old white guy shuffle in the sound booth while he sings it.  Which is just. . . awesome to picture in your head while listening to this.

Ultimately, I gotta sa, good ol' Gene trying to hit some of the high notes in these songs is definitely one of my favorite things about this album.  You think he'd shy away from them when they pop up throughout the album, seeing how he has NO chance of even coming close to them, but NOPE - he goes all in with his singing.  Caution has been completely thrown to the wind here.  I mean, sometimes he kicks up his voice an entire octave or two without the need to, just so he can attempt to hit those high notes.  And of course he doesn't.  What's funny - and, admittedly, somewhat respectable - is that he could've taken the safe route on these numbers, but he's not having any of that.  Like Custer at Little Big Horn, folks.

VERDICT:  3/10 - Seriously? (This is the Christmas album your church-going grandfather would have recorded if given the chance.  It's horrible, for sure, but in that old-guy-not-giving-any-f***s sorta way. . . which definitely gives him a couple pity points.)

- SHELVED -

- Brian

Back to the Point

You know, I'm not a huge fan of long bus rides, I'm not a huge fan of roller coasters, and I'm definitely not a huge fan of Ohio, but somehow these annual Cedar Point trips are among my favorite things we do in the 8th grade at my school.

This was my third year chaperoning three hundred-some teenagers down there, and - like in 2017 and 2018 - it was a hell of a lot of fun.  Got some serious sun, walked about 20,000 or more steps per day, and got paid to not be stuck in a classroom.  No complaints here.

I didn't tackle the Gatekeeper this year (the park's third-lamest roller coaster), but I did ride the Mine Ride (the lamest) and the Iron Dragon (the second-lamest,) much to the amusement of my students.  Maybe next year I'll man up and ride the 'Keeper. . .  if only to keep pace with all the little 9-year-old girls who were doing so.

I hate roller coasters.

Anyway, here's a slideshow of random stuff from my two days at Cedar Point this year.  Enjoy. . .

Ohio - like much of the interior of the Midwest - has seen a crap-load of rain and flooding in recent weeks.  Here our bus driver says 'f*** it' and decides to ford the river.  Something that Oregon Trail has shown us is a perilous endeavor indeed.

Fording the stream. . .

Four hours after leaving our school, we're finally ready to hit the rides (or, in my case, sit on a bench and read a book while catching some sun.)

The Work Wives (along with our AmeriCorps volunteer, Michaela.)

That blue roller coaster you see here is the Gatekeeper (as it's the first roller coaster you come to, right over the gates of the park entrance.)  I chickened out this year - maybe next year I'll do it. . 

While I helped a student get back on to our charter bus in order to retrieve her money and phone, all of my coworkers posed for this picture.  Thanks for waiting for me, guys. . .

A cloudy start to Day One in the park (it cleared up eventually, thank God.)

Benkert, Priem and Bryant - the Work Wives.

Cedar Point's Frontierland (or whatever the hell it's called) is one of my favorite places to walk through, but we didn't do much stop-and-shopping this year.  Once you're at the point where you go to this place every year, you stop wanting to duck into every, last shop to check stuff out.  Still, this particular building would've been awesome to check out, if I do say so myself. . .

 

A stockade fort.  It's strategic importance to the defense of the park is questionable.

 

The Work Wives take a page from the ol' Social Studies Department. . .

Ms. Bryant holds a student's huge-ass plush duck while she rides a coaster. . .

The team opted to drive the ole-timey cars once Benkert and Priem had a few rides in under their belts.  As the sole man on the team, I was obviously the best choice for driver. . .

Headed for a tunnel. . .

I drove the shit out of this car.

Hands down, my favorite ride at Cedar Point.

Waiting in line for the Mine Ride (technical difficulties created an actual wait for this, if you can believe that - you can usually just walk right on.)

After the Mine Ride, Bryant and I headed over to the Breakers Hotel - Cedar's Point's adjoining historic hotel - in order to check in and collect all the room keys ahead of time (seeing how neither of us were really riding anything crazy anyway.)  Last year's congestion had taught us that it'd be wise to iron out all the logistics of getting 300-plus teenagers their room keys - and telling them what floors their rooms were on - before getting off the charter buses.  Live and learn, folks.

Livin' the dream.

After we got the room keys, maps, and rooming lists from the hotel, we met up with the rest of the teachers at a nearby Henna kiosk.  Here Benkert has her house sigil - an owl - done on her arm.

And Priem got her sigil, a deer.

Valravyn.  Hell nope.

Temporarily leaving Cedar Point for the neighboring Famous Dave's - our annual dinner spot.

We hit this place up every year - awesome food, within walking distance of the park.

Settling the bill after a nearly two-hour meal.

The sun dips as we draw closer to the end of Day One. . .

I frickin' LOVE historic markers. . .

After corralling all of our 8th graders at the front entrance, we headed back to the buses. . .

Back at the Breakers.

Headed around the back of the hotel to a rear staircase in order to reach our floors.  Bryant and I had devised a way for students to get up to our room without cluttering up the front lobby like they had the previous year.  I like to think it worked out pretty damn well.

The hotel pool.  That neither we, nor our students, were allowed to use.  Kids seriously checked into their rooms and had, like, two hours before a strict no-noise policy was enforced on their floors (we hire out local law enforcement to do floor patrols throughout the night.)  Definitely gives you peace of mind, that's for sure.

This year only Wincent and I shared a room, so we each got our own bed - hell yes.  Of all the teachers that go on these annual trips, only three are males, and we usually end up having to cram into a single room like this, so one of us always has to take a roll-away.

 

Sunset over Cedar Point.

After the cops took over the halls, we adults got to go downstairs and hang out by the beach like normal people.

Sunrise over scenic (pfft) Lake Erie, the next morning.

Walking to breakfast, after getting all of the students ready for the day and checked out of their hotel rooms. . .

Day Two was supposed to be way sunnier.

This year, instead of eating outside under the hotel dining pavilion, we were placed indoors.  Way nicer, if you ask me.

After breakfast, it was time for Day Two in the park. . .

I have no idea what the hell this thing is called, but I had no frickin' part of it.  I can assure you.

The Raptor.  I rode it once in the early 90s.  I'm good now.

Valravyn and the Raptor (I was sitting on a bench, reading a book and tanning, while watching my Work Wives' purses while they rode these.)

I seriously don't see how people think this is fun. . .

Riding the train around the park.

They had a bunch of monster trucks on hand.  I forget why, I wasn't paying attention.

In line for the Iron Dragon.

Day Two draws to a close.  I didn't take as many pictures this time around.  Spent a lot of time reading and bronzing, for which I'm definitely not complaining.

Leaving Cedar Point, the last stragglers having been collected and forced to the buses.

While I was boarding a bus bound for Saginaw, Kris had a few friends over for some drinks in our backyard.  Wives at first, but then their husbands made it over as well.

Mitch sent me this picture of his foot, enjoying my backyard (and a beer) while I was stuck on a bus with sixty-some teenagers, somewhere around the Flint neck of the woods. . .

Both of our girls decided to have a sleepover with the same friends Kris had taken out to Tiki Pineapple (if you'll be so good to remember from the other post - this was the same day that Alayna graduated from Elementary School.)  They decided they'd have a camp-out in the backyard, and so began setting up tents.

Of course neither Kris nor either of our girls bothered looking for the tent's rainfly.  Hell, that's not important, right?

Soon, the guys lit a bonfire. . .

While they were lighting aforementioned fire, Yours Truly had just docked at my school in Saginaw.  I high-tailed it back to Midland, about twenty-five minutes later.

I had been saving this one for a special occasion.  This seemed evening seemed as appropriate as any.

So the remainder of my evening was spent hanging around this fire, enjoying some much-needed craft beers alongside fellow adults, without a single teenager in sight.  Huzzah.

- Brian