A Reasonable Amount of Mayhem

I have this habit of walking into a lion's den dressed in a suit made of chicken wings.

Tonight, comma, I'm at Bard Coffee. I was hoping to do this entry on the incredible waterfalls I saw yesterday in Yarmouth. It turns out that Bard closes every 4th Thursday for a barista smackdown - a latte' decoration contest.

So, with the room filling with an avuncular (if highly caffeinated) crowd - and on sufferance of the manager, who loves Macs and hangs out a lot at the Orchard - I'm sitting here listening to another room full of chatty people and intensely hip music.

The table next to me is occupied by a proud father and what seems to be a 5-year old daughter, said young lady being entered in the contest.

The idea is like a poetry slam with foam - they're going to be handed cups of steamed milk and coffee then given a few seconds to draw a decoration in it.

I remember seeing my first anthem appear online (the publisher has since gone under) and I was able to download it at the late, lamented JavaNet. One of my Multi-Age colleagues had a summer job working there and she decorated my mocha Java with a staff and treble clef.

So it's quite an art. It's also fun to see a community of folks sit and like each other so much.

Oh - the judges are being called out and I think this little party is about to get started.

The owner informs me that this is a free pour of steamed milk into espresso - no implements allowed - pure skill.

I don't think anything actually gets consumed at these things - well, at least, not coffee ...

The Valid Magnificent and the Miracle of Peristaltis

Facebook gallery is here

Well, it had to happen sooner or later. My candle has been burning rather brightly of late and at some point my wick was going to get trimmed.

(Oh dear, that's not the best image, is it? - oh well, I'm sick...)

Friday has been my most consistent day off lately. Usually my day at the Orchard ends early on Thursday and I can either go to a show or relax at home or sit and write. Yesterday I could feel a strange heaviness all through the end of the day and wasn't looking forward to that night's "Inuk" rehearsal.

Which is sad; I like working with the kids, it's a safe, non-comittal look into a life I chose not to enter - that of a full-scale academic.

I was also afraid as I was scheduled to work until 10:30 - the Seals have had their music redone and the blocking is dictating some different approaches to starting/stopping the tunes - in short, a long, long day.

Got to USM 90 minutes early and lay down in the theatre under the lip of the stage, trying to rest. It's a strange feeling, thinking you have to rest to get through an evening - rather like plugging in an iPhone that's almost dead and hoping half-an-hour of charging will get you through two hours of life.

So I studiously tried to blank out my mind and just let my body recover.

What I now know - 24 hours later - is that I've got some kind of flu. It's been going through all of us at the Orchard. I got home and could feel the "furnace" turn on inside my stomach, the strange feeling that part of my body was speeding up, like my breathing suddenly got heavier even though I wasn't running but simply sitting in a chair.

What is the flu, anyway? What is my body doing?

I can hear food gurgling through my intestine - if I had time I'd hook a mike up and track it, it's a fascinating sound.

The more I think about it - fighting the urge to cheat and look it up on Wikipedia - the more I wonder. If it was a broken bone or a gunshot wound then cause/effect and treatment would be easier.

But having the flu? I'm not so sure.

I just feel lousy, sore and off-balance. Staying medicated and hydrated - Gatorade, no less - I usually drink it only when I'm sick, so it doesn't seem a big part of my life - I'm generally healthy.

There's no trauma i can point to except the exhaustion that comes from staying up late to write or practice on top of a job that's more of a game than place of employment.

Therefore, once I finally out of the house today, around 5, I was grateful when EH suggested we have lunch and go for a walk at Kettle Cove. I wanted to get back home and to bed, I'd only dropped by while getting some butter. But, EH was gently insistent so I went.

These pics are the result, so I guess it wasn't a total loss. I still have to think about tomorrow but I've spent just enough time to be prepared - now I'm going back to sleep while trying to quaff as much Gatorade as possible, rebuilding my fluid levels and settling the horde rampaging in my stomach.

A Burst of Uncharacteristic Gravity

A spot of tea - and photography.

At Bard Coffee on St. Patrick's Day. I suppose I should be out drinking - heavily - but the late afternoon and twilight have been so pretty that I've been seduced into taking my camera and going to wander around downtown.

I saw the stumble-through of the second act of Inuk last night. This gives me a chance to see the final moves and transitions in the show - well, the current final positions.

So tonight, when I'm done with my cup of tea and done with this blog post I'm going to hi myself up and over the hill to my apartment. I also want to do some tango at the practica and if that's going to happen I have to bustle.

The pictures are here. Embed them as you will.

I'm seeing a lot of police cars belting by the street, in both directions. I hope no one has gotten in trouble.

Up In the Air with One Foot on the Ground

Some folks have jobs that are even more interesting than mine.

Getting a donut and a lemon-water at the Portland Market House, about 2 minutes before Noon. A day off.

The apartment vacuumed, the cat fed, laundry sorted, the coat picked up at the tailor's, reservations made for "Cinderella" at the CMTM and I've picked out what I'm going to work on while the laundry is running.

Rehearsal for Inuk was cut short by a power blackout on the USM campus. I was down in the director's office in the basement of the theatre building when the lights blanked and the emergency lights perked on.

The Sea Monster and I continued to work on his phrasing - he's got a nice voice but the balance of rhythm to shape of the text needs some work - when the production assistant (you've got to love academic productions - they can generally find people to do everything, and to spare - big time Equity shows can do the same - it's the store-front and regional houses where all the hats are worn by the same people) popped in the door to tell us that the evening was being bagged for safety reasons.

I can't say I was bitterly disappointed - it had been rather a long day and no let up. Went home and did the two earlier posts to this.

Still, it looks like we've got pretty much all of the show covered now - major rewrites are done, the Raven has to have a new structure for the opening chant but most of it looks like it will work.

Don't have a show yet, but things are starting to head in the right direction.

Now I have to head off to an afternoon of accomplishment and perhaps, finally, some time to sit down at the keyboard and explore some new ideas.

The Nexus of Desire and DIsposition

The end of another full, interesting day.

Catching up with another blog post, having a small Scotch before bed. Tomorrow will begin the same as today; I'm at the Orchard for an 8 a.m. lesson and thence out to Gorham for an Inuk rehearsal.

Friday will be a day off. Life maintenance.

I love my job. I'm fortunate that it fulfills my desire to connect with people, pays the rent and supports my eventual retirement.

It also has its odd little rewards. The other teachers have gotten small gifts from folks they've worked with - handmade donuts, brownies, a box of barbecue dry rubs, instantly shared out with everyone.

I got a DVD of Biblical Prophecy and Endtimes Scriptures.

I'm told there were some good recipes on it, though.

Just like Pearl Buck's famous creative person quote implies, I'm too sensitive not to draw sad comparisons of my personal worth with that of my colleagues, measured in grams of carbohydrate and milligrams of sugar.

Well, that all changed today. A gentleman I've worked with who hails from Lewiston gave me my own genuine whoopie pie from the Italian Bakery down behind Lewiston H.S., where I spent two pointless but entertaining years teaching Band and music.

Photo above. It's the only record that remains, once I've tossed the wrapper.

Earlier tonight I had a chance to celebrate by winding myself up with tango. Our regular Wednesday practica gave me a chance to just focus on movement, music and my body. I love the sense of pure movement, non verbal, focussed on balance and drive, expression and presence.

My French professor friend, Prof. L, is shown at the NorthStar on Monday, taking a second by the piano which we never use.

Tango is coming to mean a lot to me. I'm coming 'round to letting myself take a lot more chances in my life than formerly. About time I caught up with myself.

I have a tango friend who is working on her doctorate in Philosophy at MIT - she's a Kiwi and a richly expressive dancer, very assured in her technique and willing to be a little mad when prompted to be so by a Native American Tanguero.

We got to talking about writing and she brought up her dissertation. I've been reading a copy, for two reasons:

1 - to see what she's thinking about as I almost majored in philosophy right at the beginning of my academic career and 2 - to look for a way to write a tango about it.

I was kind of joking when I made the offer - I think this Kiwi was calling my bluff when she sent it (I did ask and say "pretty please").

That said, her work is on the nature of conflicting desires and how they reflect conflicting behavioural dispositions. That if we desire things that conflict (good coffee and a good night's rest - notice I'm drinking good Scotch right now - McClellan's...) that there may be parts of our psyches that conflict with each other.

At first blush I'd say that if such conflicts are a natural part of our makeups then are they really conflicts? This whole line of thought can lead to some fascinating areas.

Talk about desire and you are very easily into the emotional vocabulary of tango. I can easily imagine - but cannot yet enunciate - a scenario where this dialogue of desire and disposition can play out - and therefore come up with a piece of music that will express it.

This is how I like to think about my feelings.

This is how my feelings grow from what I think.

I know I have to be careful not to be swamped. But I also have to be careful let myself - heart and mind and everything in between - have full space to live and grow.

Not a bad day.

The Long Sunny Day in Midwinter

Actually I didn't realized until just this moment how suggestive this picture is - but those of you who know how fuzzled I can be before I have coffee in the morning will forgive me for taking this shot and then thinking about it.

I was out for breakfast, met a friend (dancer/costumer BG) and had a nice chat about artistic politics in Portland.

Artemesia started off as a printer's that served tea, became a stationer's that served bagels and has now become a bistro that serves brunch. The creamers are distinctive and the coffee is quite strong.

It's a very enjoyable place that I don't get to all that much. A long walk to escort BG back so she could get to a dance rehearsal and I managed to visit my German friend - or specifically his family. A lot of kids and a cup of yogurt.

After that I should have sat down and written music but the day was just too seductively warm and bright out.

This took me on a long, interesting peregrination all over western Cumberland County.

The first stop was the Fore River Sanctuary of the Audobon Society. It's behind a corner of car dealerships and run along the site of a canal that was hand-dug by enterprising Mainers back at the turn of the 19th Century.

They basically connected the timber area around Naples and Bridgeton with the seaport of Portland. Now it's all overgrown but you can still see signs of it in the land around exit 48 and on the far side of Westbrook.

The most striking feature, on this side of the railroad, anyway, is the waterfalls and wetlands. Over the years this kind of urban jungle has been trailed and bridged; if you have the time or enough dry socks you can see some lovely sights, all surrounded by houses and car dealerships.

I took time to stop at the waterfalls.

It was a very bright, oddly warm day. I love Winter, I love the quality of being able to see the bones of the land around me. There is no leafy distractions, no flowers or birds to confuse me.

The world is very apparent, very present to me.

It's not that I don't like trees and leaves and flowers and birds - it's just that to me each season is just long enough.

Which makes the odd warmth of this Winter very disturbing to me. Many of my friends are telling me how much they love "Spring" and I'm suspicious enough of any good fortune to think that Spring needs to be earned a little bit. We need - or maybe "deserve" is a better word - to struggle a little bit.

Not too hard, but enough to appreciate it. I know that everyone has their own level of positive struggle, I know that I'm only speaking for myself. (Thank goodness).

Still, I'd like to have a little bit more snow and am slightly nervous for the world that said snow is not present.

I suppose this is why the front-yard scene in Westbrook, a snowless sleigh tableaux overlooking the Presumpscot River, caught my eye.

On the way to look at a burying ground - I love old New England burying grounds - it popped into view and shocked me. I had to stop and get a picture so I can look at it in August and think how rich my life has become.

My friend E., along with her Mom were trying to sell a condo held by E's dad, who passed away a year or so ago. It was the work of a moment to drop by, on the other side of the Presumpscot. Her newborn nephew was also in residence, his cries filling the space his grandfather used to call home. I get along well with kids and we had a nice time, chatting and catching up.

By this time the light was starting to turn noticeably warmer so I headed on further West to North Windham, and Babb's Bridge, a still used, still sound specimen of the classic New England covered bridge.

I'm not exactly sure when the Bridge was built. There is a school of thought - or more "activity" - come to think of it, E is a good example of it - a school of thought that moves to follow thoughts with actions that bring out more knowledge, that connects in an active, manipulative way with the world around it.

I know now that I can act that way too, that sometimes my curiosity take me over and drives me to all sorts of strange pastimes.

But most of the time I am content to just sit and look, to be there and experience it. I suppose this is where a lot of my artistic POV comes from and if people find me pleasant at all I'm sure that's the reason.

For whatever reason I love to see things, to stand there and let my eyes take them in. It seems a waste, I know to just feel all this stuff and let it fade to dust when I die. Maybe, with no immediate heirs and not a great likelihood of siring any, that is why I try to use what I feel to create music.

The day ended at Gilsland Farm in Falmouth, the other sanctuary run by the Audabon Society. Sadly the pic does not seem to want to load so I'll link to my Facebook gallery - you can see the pics here.

All told it was a rich and eventful day - small bites of great richness, events of no great moment but very great meaning. I'm glad I had it.