I dropped my car off at my Honda dealer this morning. Whenever they ask me which car is mine, I point and say, “the gold Honda.” I do this quite unintentionally, but I still think it’s funny to indicate the make in a lot full of identical cars.
So last night I went to see the Marines’ silent drill platoon and drum and bugle corps. As seen on hit CBS television series Major Dad. They perform every Tuesday night at the Iwo Jima memorial from now until August; if you go in for pomp and celebration of military discipline, this show is for you. The marines walk around, spin rifles, throw them to each other, right face, about face, left face, right flank, forward hut, all without verbal command. The drill platoon, as far as I could tell, was practically flawless. I watched the drum and bugle corps with a more critical eye, since I once pretended to know something about marching band. The band had nice drill, maybe not top tier of competitive D&B, but some complicated formations and none of that standing around business. Musically it was… insert Groucho Marx comment about military music here. The poor lead trumpet was having a rough night, missing a couple of notes (both, of course, off the charts of anything I ever played). But who cares, it was fun and it didn’t rain, much.