First Day

back at work.

woot.

Coming back to HGO, even after a meager (2) weeks away, still feels a bit like the first day of school...

New clothes.

New pens.

A new Trapper Keeper (j/k, but how awesome would that be?)

And when you see people for the first time... again, people with whom you have spent countless hours/days/weeks/months with over the course of previous reps, they give you that surprised-interested-mildly-amused-though-not-outwardly-excited-but-good-to-see-you face.

You know the one.

But a good day back it was. Production meeting for Studio Showcase, this and next week, with a Director that I know (apparently) from the SFO Apprentice Scenes. The plot thickens.

Spent (a lot) of time in the comfy chairs in the ATD office.

Emails, plots, work blah, blah, blah

And...

I played Christmas Music all...day...long!

I realize I may be jumping on that horse a little soon, but it is after T-day, and I think I have the right.

Right?

Last year my Room-mate/Office-mate and I made the unspoken decision to exclusively play Christmas music for all of the December prep period (to be fair, mostly my decision, and with much chagrin from the aforementioned Room-mate/Office-mate).

But, as I may have mentioned earlier in this space, I am absolutely and totally swayed emotionally/physically/spiritually by the music I happen to be listening to at that moment. Which means I have the benefit of being able to force myself to be just a little bit more lively and cheerful as we push, unavoidably, towards the jovial Holiday Season by simply hitting play on my "350 Christmas Favorites" playlist.

It is a good skill/curse to have when you need to get the previously discussed emotions/body/spirit back on track, in a professional sense. Considering how useful I have been the week leading up to and the (2) weeks away from my desk, there is a good deal work to be done this week, and a bit of levity and cheer might just tip the scales in my favor.

So, to sum up: First day at school, thickening plot, comfy chairs, christmas music, and cupcakes (I may not have mentioned those).

And, it's only Monday.

350 Christmas Favorites...

PLAY.

I am

A full on Nerd.

Like, no kidding, a nerd in the strictest sense.

The definition of the word (that someone made up one day on wikipedia) is a derogatory connotation or stereotype, that refers to a person who passionately pursues intellectual activities, esoteric knowledge, or other obscure interests that are age-inappropriate rather than engaging in more social or popular activities.

I was raised in a home of Star Trek, Sea Quest (yes, the one with the talking dolphin), and Isaac Asimov.

I wore out my Star Wars, Labyrinth, Krull (yes, the one with the spinning knife), and Willow VHS tapes.

I created whole worlds, universes, story lines, heros, and villains while sitting on my living room floor, using these films as the raw material for my imagination.

Over the course of this last week, I had a few conversations with my Aunt about how and why we think and formulate opinions. Which has a great deal to do with who we are, who we associate with, who we are attracted to, what we excel at, and what we never touch or never let touch us.

I really feel like a lot of it has to do with the media we are exposed to when we are growing up. I will admit to being programmed/wired mostly by the strangeness ( read::awesomeness::) of the 80's. A lot of adjectives could be thrown around to describe this period in Western society, but it could probably be explained by saying that pretty much across the board, it was an era of Aesthetic for the sake of making/showing something New.

REALLY new, in most cases.

Big hair, bigger shoulders, why not?

Hyper-colors, music videos, and electronica...sure.

I feel like my claim to Nerd-ness resonates around my tendency to think a little (read::A lot::) off-center. Combine the strangeness ( read::awesomeness::) of my thought process with the inward-turning-day-dreaming tendencies of an only child, and that pretty much sums me up.

So I'm a Nerd.

But we all have to live out our destiny, right?

I choose to embrace the one that's a little strange (read::awesome::).

So...

March 2008 huh?

Well... I remember writing that last post.

Different apartment.

Different Job (title).

Different people (mostly).

Basically a very different point/place in life.

Sitting in LAX today I had the unexplainable desire to get back to my (newer) apartment in Houston, and write.

Something, anything, doesn't really matter. After the last 20 months, give or take, and all the events, mishaps, wins and losses, it felt like the thing to do.

March 2008 huh?

The last two weeks, give or take, have in some ways enacted more change in my life than the previous 80.

1) My Family has lost it's absolute Matriarch, and perhaps it's physical center.

2) I have been more honest with family/friends about myself than I have been my whole life.

Both of these have, needless to say, changed things quite a bit on the home front. For the better, he tentatively says. But definitely a change.

I'm not great at summing up, and to try to provide some sort of deep insight about my last 20 months would be folly. Lets just say a lot happened, and some things didn't.

So moving forward. I have put forth the challenge to myself to post something to this space at least once a day thru the end of the year.

March 2008 huh? Well this should at the very least take us into 2010, right?

3 Phases

Phase 1:
Acquire a bicycle.

Acquire a helmet.

Acquire WWII era tank goggles (has been proven to be the ultimate accessory)

Get used to, and enjoy riding the surface streets in open air. Wind on face/goggles. Feeling good about my trip to and from work. Get exercise and show up to work looking a mess.

Phase 2:
Acquire a scooter. (yes, I know the one I want, and it rules)

Acquire a better helmet.

Continue to use said tank goggles daily.

Get used to and enjoy motoring the surface streets in open air. Wind on face/goggles. Feeling the exhilaration on my trip to and from work. Get onlookers who wonder who that rad guy on the scooter is, and show up to work looking a mess.

Phase 3:
Officially start a scooter gang, finally. (Oh, we have a name)

Acquire custom jackets with fringe under the arms and our gang name emblazoned across the back.

Get used to and enjoy cruising with my gang thru the surface streets in the open air. Wind on our faces/goggles. Get mad respect when we role up to our café/bar/restaurant/movie theater, not as some strange people on scooters, but as a gang, with all the street cred’ and reverence we deserve.

Oh, and show up to work looking a mess.

The Chinese, and Tapioca

are surrounding me.

I love being the minority.

It is a bit like travel, only it doesn’t take very long and it’s much less expensive.

Houston continues to surprise me, in terms of cultural diversity.

I am currently sitting in the Tapioca House, soaking up my minority-ness and sipping / chewing an earl grey milk tea, with tapioca of course.

I am sitting in a high chair, next to a floor to ceiling window in full sunlight.

As I look around the place, and into the adjoining parking lot, I cannot seem to find a single English word. A great deal of Chinese and Korean, no English.

As I was writing the last sentence 2 men having an argument / conversation sat at my high, round bar table with me. No acknowledgment that I am sitting here. No refrain because it’s such a small table, and I have spread out over most of it. No awkwardness about entering and exiting the Western concept of “personal space” without so much as a glance in my direction.

There were 2 empty seats. And they sat.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t feel like any of this is strange or wrong, I just can’t help but be amused by being forced to confront my own upbringing and culture. Those hardwired modes of operation that make us who we are and yet remain invisible when around like minded, like spoken, and like appearing individuals.

During that last paragraph I attempted contact by saying in “perfect” Mandarin, “how are you?” Which prompted a very broken but perfectly enthusiastic English response of “good, thank you.” Apparently I was sized up as not being able to continue in the conversation much farther than “how are you?” in my “perfect” Mandarin.

It’s a beautiful day in Houston.

The sun is shining, the wind is blowing, and the Chinese, and Tapioca, are surrounding me.

Illness (still)

A list of things that were supposed to make me better:

- Going on a very long drive thru the country(ish).
- Drinking lots of Tea.
- Drinking my weight in Airborne.
- Watching the Second Season of The Office (brit.)
- Watching Dressed to Kill by Eddie Izzard (brit.)
- Staying warm.
- Shopping for Meds.
- Shopping for Soup.
- Being shocked by where all this Mucus actually comes from, because I’m pretty sure Mucus has the ability to break the physical law of conservation of mass.
- And lots, and lots of NyQuil

A list of things that will make me feel better tomorrow:

- Showing up to work with my own boxes of Kleenex and a fresh tube of Airborne.

World Premiere, Horses, Illness

I sit, crossed legged on my couch, sweating from fever, and confused but happy as to why Linksys has once again opened up it’s doors to me.

World Premiere:
In the world of opera that I have known for the past couple of years, world premieres are not that common. Yes, yes, new “productions” of established opera’s have become the norm, but an actual premiere, not that common.

I have to admit that the whole idea of premiere had me a little awe struck on Friday night. I got to be part of a production that, for all intents and purposes had never been seen by an audience before. True, it had been work shopped, honed, practiced, and refined for a very long time, by a great many people. But never before performed.

When one looks in Opera books, libretto’s, et cetra, information you are always given is composer, librettist, date and venue first performed.

This marks the first time I have been a part of that last piece of info about a work.

Horses:
Saturday morning was the Rodeo Parade thru downtown Houston.

So naturally I went.

And naturally, I wore my cowboy boots and faux pearl snap down plaid shirt.

There were many a horse, and cowboy.

One of the more entertaining parts of the event were what could best be described as Houston Zambonis.

Every few thousand horses, there would be an exchange, nay, a dance between 2 miniature street sweepers. Criss Crossing back and forth down the avenues, leaving nothing but a fine mist of vaporized horse manure in the air.

Illness:
For the second time this winter season I am ill.

Nothing quite like getting my first 3 day weekend off in recent memory, than being able to spend it sitting on my couch/bed feeling miserable.

But I am resolved to be healthy by tomorrow so I can go do fun things with my last free day before diving into the next 2 shows for the Spring.

So if you wouldn’t mind, please send positive vibrations and thoughts of warm chicken soup my way.

And I will attempt to put them to good use.

Another Opening

Another Show

The buzz around the office a little louder.

The talk of dresses, shoes, and other accoutrements of the trade.

The paper work appears a little more important.

The problems and accomplishments of the week melt in anticipation of the main event.

Plans for parties are made.

And every time, I am surprised when I walk downstairs, and see the sea of people that have shown up for the festivities.

Who are all these people?

And every time, it takes me a minute to realize that all we have poured into these few brief hours is going to be lain bare before 1000 sets of eyes and minds.

Careers are elevated.

Careers are tarnished.

And we are off and running.

Happy opening.

I have a terrible habit

of becoming unreachable in times of working on a show.

Sorry.

I guess it’s just a hazard of the business. I am getting better though.

For instance, the show I am currently working on does not open until Friday, and already I have made phone calls, delivered emails, paid bills, and even sat down in a favorite bubble tea place to blog, and comment.

All-in-All, an improvement to my normal modus operandi of total radio silence in the midst of a production.

But Michael, you might ask, could this dramatic change of events be related to the fact that the aforementioned production has had more free time scheduled into it than any other production here at HGO to date.

Well, yes.

But being handed time on a platter has not always, (usually doesn’t), (never has in memory) driven me to reach out and touch someone.

I find that for the first time in my life I am not surrounded by my usual group of up for anything any time kind of crowd that I usually find myself in. The “leave work, don’t want to go home, but don’t have any money, so buy a 99 cent box of hush puppies and walk around Wal-mart for the better part of 2 hours talking about everything and nothing and riding every damn children’s sized bicycle in the place”, kind of people.

Most people here want to go home at the end of the day. And watch TV. And order in.

Now, to be fair, a lot of them are married, or as good as. And there have been a few standouts, which enjoy a good adventure at the end of a very long day.

But such is not the norm.

Now I know the morale of this story, to make a concentrated and motivated effort to move outside and expand my social circle in this new hometown I have. But as was stated earlier, it has been historically difficult to do such a thing when every couple of weeks I completely disappear from all my existing social extensions.

I am getting better though.

I could use some help

I have been (on again, off again) collecting and thinking about an expressionistic idea. Not expressionism like the movement, more like the definition of; “to convey meaning by gesture, behavior, representation in art or drama, or in some other symbolic way.”

Regardless, I could use some help.

I have produced/found some 40 images that associate with the word Fall. They all follow a the relatively strict format of being black and white, high contrast, maintain a square format of about 4”, and (obviously) relate to the word Fall.

Ways in which I could use help:

1. I have no idea how to assemble these images. Collage, stand alone, suspended, mounted, applied, et cetra. Ideas for assembly would be appreciated.
2. I could always use more images. From literal to esoteric, the images range from the season of fall, to falling off a ladder, to the fall of Rome, to falling in love. Pretty broad. Additional images would be appreciated.
3. Suggestions of other more interesting interpretations of the word. I have thought of a few as was listed previously, there are many more. Additional interpretations would be appreciated.

Some might be asking what the possible purpose of this exercise will be. To be totally honest, it has none. Oscar Wilde stated that “all art is quite useless.” And when it really comes to the necessities of life and existence, he is pretty much correct.

Rather, take it as a call, both to myself and you, to flex that aesthetic muscle that seems to immediately atrophy when not in use.

That, and a constructive cure for the early stages of boredom.

Rain, Rain, Go Away

It’s raining in Houston.

When I was growing up, I loved the rain. I looked forward to the rainy days in anticipation of long coats, and puddle jumping. It was a change, a shift, in the everyday. Growing up in Southern California, rain doesn’t’ happen on the regular every year, if at all. So it’s kinda neat.

During High school, while wearing all black, raincoat flapping in the breeze, and Tool playing in the headphones, rain became an outward expression of my turbulent, darkened soul.

Or so I thought.

While still in High school, the “El Niño” happened. And it rained, always, for a very long time. Rain slowly stopped being the Emo justification I always wanted it to be, and became much more of a wet nuisance.

While in College, I came to enjoy the rain again. Southern rain, that is.

It comes in the spring. It’s warm, intense, and finite. Those were the days of the 5-minute thunderstorm; complete with lighting, thunder, and rain drops the size of small puppies. Glasses of wine, coffee, sweat tea on porches and park benches.

And of course, a resurgence of puddle jumping.

Living in Santa Fe brought the monsoon storm, at roughly 6 p.m. every day. Standing on the back deck of the opera house, amongst colleagues and friends, a cup of organic black lighting coffee in hand. The desert sky gone wild with fragments and shards of red and amber streaking the white cotton wisps. Raindrops lit from a thousand angles by a thousand colors falling on red desert sand, with an orchestra tuning up in the background, barely audible over the torrent.

It’s raining in Houston.

Things to remember about rainy days in Houston:

1. It’s takes a REALLY long time for laundry to dry in this already humid climate.
2. Nobody listens to tropical storm warnings.
3. Everyone brings up the rain in conversation while going through their rainy day, as if to justify not listening to tropical storm warnings.
4. And, people flock to the 4th largest mall in America, to avoid the rain, and carry on conversations about it.

It’s raining in Houston

Harold and Maude

Is genius.

You should go see it.

Or if you have seen it.

It’s genius, right?

I had a midnight movie date tonight with a new person from the Alley.

New social circles being forged everyday. Apparently, that’s how I role.

Today ends my time working at the Alley for a bit. I have to go back to my day job tomorrow in hopes that I can prep for the week ahead. And quite a week it shall be. Details to follow, as it unfolds.

Mostly out of curiosity, I sat in for about a half an hour on a technical rehearsal for Houston Ballet this evening. It’s odd to feel like a stranger again in a house that has become home over the past months. Different company, different people, different product, same problems.

Well, maybe not problems…

Entanglements.

I will say, it was nice to sit in that theater and not be all that concerned with what was happening onstage.

To just watch, and try to figure out what Gershwin has to do with throwing folding chairs around the stage.

I think it was meant to be ironic…

Or sad.

Either way, I’m glad it was dark. I was smiling from ear to ear.

I'm at work

The place, not the act of.

"why" you might ask "are you sitting in your office on Tuesday night when you could be out, um, livin' it up."

Well, like so many other species that have come and gone, the internet at my house has become extinct. Additionally, I have been moonlighting at the Alley Theater, right next to the opera, for the past two days doing some good old manual labor and have not had the constant and ever present internet that I have here.

It has been really great to work outside of the opera for a couple of days. Eight hours, I do what I'm told, I hang lights where I am told to hang them, and nobody complains.

There is something inexplicably satisfying about washing your hands at the end of the day (well, lets be honest, throughout the day) and watching the sink turn gray.

It fills me with a sense that I have accomplished something, progress has been made, and it was made by me.

So often in my "day job" we work for hours and days and weeks, and see nothing at all, except for the occasional change of a number and an ever increasing stack of very important documents.

It's nice to put effort into something physical, every now and then.


I have also been working with just finished or just out of high school kids. No unions to be found. Work is asked to get done, work gets done, more work is then requested.

What a different world to the one I am sitting in right now. Not 100 feet away from a union stage where it is so easy to get jaded about every facet that goes into making a show. Increasingly so when every step is met with opposition and attitude.

But not today.

And not tomorrow.

And that's good enough for me.

I am determined

To fall asleep tonight.

But a coffee sounds really good.

I have of late, been suffering from the inability to fall asleep at a decent hour. That, compounded with the fact that all this week we have been maintaining “office” hours at work have led to a general gauzy haze around the day.

I keep thinking back to that one Palahniuk book. He discusses, with himself, the idea that when you don’t sleep, you are never really awake either. That you can’t have one without the other.

I would love to make an addendum to my pinky sworn oath. An addendum that has to do with caffeine. I wish there was a way to gently and easily let yourself down from the stuff. But I guess that just wouldn’t be the fun of the one-two combo of chemical and psychological addiction.

I guess you’re permitted at least one vice. Right?

Today contained another goodbye. In all fairness, the same goodbye as last night, different locale. And a good deal of rain and gloom to fit the theme.

It would have been great to have a cup of coffee.

It’s been 5 minutes

And I’m still looking at the blinking curser.

…

I’ve written and erased about 10 sentences in as many minutes. Some were witty. Some had lugubrious prose. Some employed unrealistic vocabulary. Some sucked. Some started very interesting story lines in my head, that ran their course, and ended with me staring at a blinking curser after a single word like “So..”, wondering what was so interesting about that particular storyline to begin with.

It’s crazy that so much can happen in a single day. Or two. (p.s. sorry about missing the post yesterday. I blame it on faulty internet connections, a.k.a. someone within a hundred yards of me figured out leaving your internet named “Linksys” and not putting a password on it is probably not a good idea).

But really, a day.

Yesterday, I did my dandiest to break routine. I drove for miles and miles, fueled by office coffee and the tunes provided me by one little ms bossy.

Miles and Miles.

Yesterday I watched Chinese New Year unfold, sipping bubble tea, with thousands of fire crackers and bottle rockets exploding and extinguishing in a cacophony of sensation that made me smile for 2 solid hours.

I found out I have summer, among other things, employment.

Today I worked, flirted, ate, drank, killed time, and said good byes.

Said Hello.

I was challenged to be a better person.

And I was reconciled for not.

World, as in wide web, a lot can happen in a day,

An hour.

A minute.

It’s been 5 minutes

And I’m still looking at this blinking curser.

I went to museum today

Well a couple of them.

I heart museums.

I went to this one first. It might be among my favorite spots it Houston thus far. It has never really been that populated when I’ve been there, which makes for a strong sense of ownership for the place when you are there. It’s the kind of place that you can find a new niche or perspective every time you visit.

And it’s free.

Then, after some misadventures and exploration, I ended up here. First time, and it did not disappoint. I’ve always had a love / hate relationship with Contemporary art museums. I feel like a lot of what is in them has not / will not withstand the test of time. That’s why it is called contemporary I guess. But it did have a really great assortment of stream of consciousness works. One of them continually referenced NPR, and wanted to know why there wasn’t more music being played. All in all an enjoyable, if not pretentious visit.

And it’s free.

Walking back to the car, I found and walked through this sculpture garden. I would describe the works as vaginal. Mostly because there are a lot of sculptures of vaginas.

And it’s free.

Upon completion of the walk, I entered the adjacent parking lot, where I was parked. I then realized that the overflow parking for the museums, where I was parked, is the parking lot for this Presbyterian Church. I audibly laughed when I realized that the vagina garden leads to a Presbyterian church. Or vice versa. Either way, it’s a bit funny.

And it’s free.

It really is nice to have a free day, every once in a while.

I could speak to you of work

But I won’t.

I could speak to you of egos and eccentricities

But I won’t.

I could speak to you of the endless hours of an endless day

But I won’t.

I could speak of 100 clinks, from 100 glasses, at 100 tables

I could speak of meats, cheeses, and a seemingly endless array of sweets to delight the masses

But I won’t.

Instead, I will speak to you of a single quiet moment.

A moment of rest, amongst well orchestrated chaos.

I found myself wandering.

Some can make a fortune, secure a career, and live a dream at a party like this.

Some can.

I found myself wandering.

The building isn’t usually this dark. It’s like seeing it for the first time all over again. I almost forget what it looks like in the light.

I wander higher.

And higher still.

I sit on the bench I’ve sat before. I almost forget what it looks like in the light.

I sit, and I am quiet.

The endless hours of an endless day.

I am exhausted.

Egos and eccentricities.

I am at peace.

100 clinks, from 100 glasses, at 100 tables.

I am happy.

I work, A lot

It’s the nature of what I do. My job, if you will.

I am often shocked, that others are shocked, when I explain a normal day, week, “contract”.

Yes, Contract. I know exactly when I am going to be unemployed. All the time. Every time.

So for those of you who don’t know, or wish to learn, or just want to kill some time peering into another life.

This was my day today.

7:30 – Snooze, toss, sleep

8:00 – Snooze, toss, sleep

8:30 – (begrudgingly) shower, dress, et cetera

8:55 – Arrive at work. Coffee. Notebook. Onstage.

9 to 1ish – work out the kinks of a new show. Run around. Placate.

1 to 2ish – Continue in my commitment to explore the tunnels of Houston and “enjoy” new and interesting subterranean eateries. (you can walk the entire length and breadth of Downtown if you know what turns to take!)

2 to 4:30ish – Drive to a local lighting shop to continue learning a new control console that the city is purchasing for next year. Translated, geek out unabashedly and for no particular reason with the representative of said console company (shocking right).

4:30 to 6:00 – Drive back to the opera. Coffee. Granola bar. Email. Email. Email.

6:00 to 7:30 – Work with the crew at the theater to get the show ready for tonight’s performance.

7:00 to 10:30 – Work/Watch the performance of the show. Critique. Compliment. Inquire.

10:30 to 12:30 – Go out with colleagues for beer, fried food, and venting.

12:30 to 12:45 – Walk back to the Opera. Drive home.

12:45 to 1:15 – Blog.

1:15 to … - Sleep?

Next time on “My Life”

7:30 – Snooze, toss, sleep

You should listen to physical therapists

Because they know what they are talking about.

Really.

They do.

So once upon a time, a caliboy decided it would be fun to go roller-skating with his friends.

This same caliboy then fell.

Hard.

And it really hurt.

Then there was surgery, narcotics, and physical therapy.

The physical therapy came with all the fixings: big squishy balls, elastic straps of varying strengths, hot towels, cold packs, and a myriad of interesting electrical shocks.

Conversations go something like this…

“So, how are you feeling today?”

“Fine. I mean it hurts a bit, or whatever. Can I walk now”

“Not until the Surgeon gives the o.k.”

“Right”

“But that should be pretty soon. Things seem to be healing well”

“ya. So how long until, you know, I can run, jump, play? Basically do things other than get shocked and pull on elastic”

::chuckles nervously::

“Well running… Did you run before this happened?”

“Yup. Not for a while, but I really was looking forward to going out on the (insert job that didn’t happen), and they have lots of space and tracks to run and a couple of gym’s.”

“It’s going to take a lot more physical therapy to get this leg ready to take the kind of shock load that running exerts.”

“Oh. Like, how much longer?”

“Probably another 9-12 months.”

“Oh. Well my health insurance runs out in about a month.”

“wow…really?”

And so it goes.

I went to the gym tonight thinking I could prove him wrong. I was going to take my 3 months of physical therapy, my “perfectly-fine-and-capable-of-anything” left leg, and my thick-headed determination and I was going to run.

And it worked.

For about 5 minutes.

Up until the point that the grindy, poppy, numbing, then really painful sensation became too much to ignore.

And I walked.

I walked for an hour, out of spite.

But you can bet, come Friday I am going to rock the hell out of that elliptical machine. And I might even do the one with weird handles that move with every step.

Just to step it up a notch.

But hey, here’s to finding your limits.

So I drum

A lot.

With my hands, straws, chopsticks, the elevator, the walls of the hallway I walk up and down everyday. It’s comforting, and I never seem to have a lack of rhythm, syncopation, and tempo in my head. It hit me today that I have not really played the instrument I studied/loved/lived for 10 years of my life, in many years.

No I don’t count the hallway walls as “playing”.

It was one of those things that, for a reason I can’t even remember any more, I just dropped. Monday, the usual hours of practice, the sticks held nonchalantly, my thumb toying with the layered upon calloused spots on my hands, a testament to the commitment of my technique. Lazy conversations in the pit, in the hall, on the stage, on the field, about where this career would take us, and what our end game would be.

Tuesday. Nothing.

Tools of the trade set down never to be pick up again. Calloused commitment fading to memory. Talk of money, of day-jobs, of maybe talking a few theater classes to pass the time.

And boom.

I live in Houston. I work at the Houston Grand Opera. I go to work, and draft, and plot, and talk with designers, and wear a headset, and carry a binder with lots of interesting documentation.

I talk to “the guys” about the benefits of HMI sources and L.E.D technology. I discuss the graphical, architectural, confrontational, and romantic quality of what I’m seeing on-stage, with the designer sitting next to me.

All of this world, vocabulary, and sphere of influence are, in the broad scheme, new to me. Really only 6 years old.

6 years since I existed in a very different world, vocabulary, and sphere of influence.

I went to a Percussion store today.

A privately owned place with a dozen or so practice/teaching rooms. I talked with the owner for sometime about my past, my present. And I put into words for him, for the first time, the story of how I came to be where I am. How I cam to live in Houston. How I don’t own a single stick, mallet, or drum.

He said “we should fix that!”

I said “yes we should”