second weekend

Tonight starts the second weekend of performances of "Footloose." We've added a show (tonight, Thursday) because we're expecting sellout crowds this weekend. We came close to selling out a couple of the shows last weekend. I hope for a good-sized crowd - and really think we'll have one, though not many tickets have been sold in advance for it.

The band for the show consists of me/keyboards, phil/bass, ken nelson/percussion, barrett hughes/trap, rob/lead guitar, ben hester/2nd guitar and pablo tani/sax,flute,clarinet. I've passed on the responsibility for setting tempos for most of the songs to Rob. He was chafing at my choices for tempii and asked to take the responsibility. So, I passed it to him. It took a lot of pride-squelching to do. In fact, I remember agreeing to this with my head while my insides screamed in protest. It was a good choice, though, because not only is Rob doing a decent job (hard *not* to do a good job when you use a metronome as a reference - and that referencing the tempo of the songs on the soundtrack recording) but it is a new experience for him. He's enjoying telling people that he's directing the band.

I have to admit that part of me is still resistant to the idea of letting go of a piece of my authority where it comes to the Pit. I'll get over it. I know it's a good thing for me to deal with. Besides, it allows me to relax a little bit more at the shows - one less thing to do. Unfortunately, Rob is still struggling to learn the cues for the start of the songs. Seems to me that the person setting the tempo ought to know that. So, that's still my job.

So many things keep popping into my head that I want to write about, but I don't feel like I want to write them right now. One or two of them are pretty weighty. I want to take the time to focus and get my thoughts out clearly. Right now, I'm at work and it's early - I don't really feel like doing that kind of focusing. So, sometime later I want to write about: crazy; more job search; my attitude at work; each small event that makes me want to get out of this town all the sooner.

Boss

This entry is the first in the new category of "Fuck Off." And I cannot think of a more appropriate first entry than one for my boss, Ken Nelson.

A little background first. When I started working here at KAMU/EBS, Wayne Pecena was my boss. He was an absolutely great boss for me:

• He gave me tasks to do, and I did them.
• He hated confrontation. So his attitude when, one time, a co-worker (Tony Hockenberry) complained about me, Wayne's comment to me was, "Please fix this so that Tony doesn't bother me." I liked that. We worked well together. I loved this man in his role as my supervisor.

After a while, and a few more full-timers were hired, we had a change in our administrative structure. The significant changes were that I was no longer the supervisor for Margene; and my supervisor changed from Wayne to Ken. Ken also became the supervisor for Margene, and a couple others here.

Prior to this, Ken was a co-worker. We'd worked together just fine. In fact, it was before the change that he expressed interest in playing trap for shows at the theatre; but it wasn't until after this change that the first theatre gig for him was to come. That was weird. I'm pretty sure that was for Little Shop of Horrors.

Now he was my boss.

In the first meeting with him, he mentioned to me that he had really no idea what it was that I did around here. We came upon a solution to that: I was simply to copy him on relevant emails. That way he'd see the things that people were requesting of me and how I dealt with them. I liked that. It added no significant work to my day.

He also mentioned that he is a "hands-on" boss.

I absolutely choked on that.

I remember just fuming at the mention of that. I am an independant worker. I am goal-oriented in the way that I work; and I just hate being checked up on. So, this comment did not sit well with me. I even thought about focusing on Nikken and the St. Francis gig such that I could quit the KAMU job.

Well, I didn't do that. But managed to get past my initial fuming.

The most irritating thing about the way that Ken supervises that he is a stickler for 40 hours of work in a week. I tend to work about 35 hours. Well, I tend to be in the office for about 35 hours. My lunches are long; I come in at around 8:30 or 9:00 and then leave between 5:00 and 5:15. I always get my work done; I'm on call all the time with regard to the computers here - and part time with regard to TTVN. This is not a mode that the new boss can deal with, apparently. We worked out an "arrangement" whereby I stay after 5:00 the amount of time that I arrive later than 8:00 a.m. He emphasized that if I take longer than an hour for lunch I need to make it up later.

Then, from time to time, he'd say something that brought the initial "deal" to mind. For instance, one time when he saw me leaving earlier than he thought I ought to, he emailed me to remind me of the deal. At an annual review, he questioned me, saying, "Now, what hours do you work, again?" That came across to me as passive-aggressive. And I fumed some more.

Yesterday when I walked in at 2:30 p.m. after lunch, he caught my eye and then stood next to me near the Operations area (something was going on there that we were both paying attention to) and said, "Did you take an extended lunch?" "Yeah. I got held up at the bank." "Yeah, because I thought I saw you leaving at 12:30." "That's right."

The implication was that I should stay late and make up the time.

It's funny. Lately I'd begun to think that we wasn't so bad. He didn't mention time at all in the last annual review - only had good things to say. We were working on the music to "Footloose" at the theatre together. And all felt good. I was silly to let myself think that he was chilling out about this.

I submitted several job applications via geekfinder.com. Even went so far as to apply for three different positions at Real Networks in Seattle.

I feel like I'm being watched. I feel like I'm not trusted. I feel like I'm being perceived as stealing from the "company" because of the way that I coordinate my time. I fucking HATE this. And I'm going to get out.

Independence Day

This past weekend was a great one, in terms of parties: my "1776" party on Saturday night, and then a 4th of July / Independance Day party on Sunday, down in Clearlake at Scott Buford's parent's place.

Right after church on Sunday, I hurried home to gather Rob up and get on the road to Clearlake. The party started at 3 p.m., and it was just before 1 when we finally got onto the road. We brought our appetites and swim trunks: those were both explicitly noted on the invitation. Of course, we also brought along the Longbottom Leaf. After all, we'd spent most of Friday night and Saturday stoned, why would Sunday be any different. In fact, we started out on the 1st, because I had been paid, by getting 3 gram bags from Teena. That was Thursday. So, we celebrated Rob's finishing the first summer session at Blinn College (and he kicked some ass, too!), payday, and the oncoming party holiday weekend by using our new Leaf. And it was some of the most amazing Leaf we'd ever had. Very good start.

Because of some thick traffic, we got to Scott's place at about 3:30. When we walked into the house, we saw about five people standing around the kitchen table. The table was laden with a great spread of food. The people all had partially eaten plates in their hands. [Is that how we really talk? about a half-eaten plate??] It looked like the party was about to end. Well, with Rob in the house, even a dead party like this one can come back to life. But when you throw both of us under the influence onto a party, the results are unpredictable!

There were a lot of pregnant pauses. And you know how it is - we all knew what was going on. We all were trying to think of the next topic for discussion, or joke to tell. We all heard that there was no music filling in the gaps in speaking. And, yet, nobody acknowledged the gap. I began to interrupt the "gap" and throw it at Scott, saying, "You're the host, man. When the conversation dies, the ball's in your court." That didn't help.

After more of this, I was just vamping; making stupid comments that I thought were funny. Rob was the recipient of looks from the other guests, as if saying, "Is this guy for real? When's he going to shut up?"

Eventually, the party developed enough energy of its own to sustain itself. We played water volleyball for a good long time; continued to eat snacks; tried some video games on Mrs. Buford's [Debbie] X-Box. She was so proud to point out that the video game setup was HERS. Hilarious.

Well, the last thing of note was the viewing of fireworks. We had a plan to go down to the Space Center to watch. I understand we'd have had a pretty good view. We travelled in three cars: Scott and a few guests, followed by Josh and Andrea [I liked Josh because he was freakin HOT and had one of those swimmer tummies that looks like he's holding it in - and Rob liked Andrea not only because she has the same name as his new girlfriend, but she was a fun girl, too. And pretty.], followed by Rob and me.

The roads began to be quite congested with moving cars, not to mention cars that were parked on the side of the road. As we seemed to be getting close to our destination - "seemed," because we kept getting slower and slower - Josh pulls into an apartment complex, complete with a gate and cop. We followed, but since Buford was ahead of Josh, he didn't make the turn.

As Josh pulls up to the gate and talks with the cop I pull up behind him. At that point, Rob starts to geek-out a bit because there is a cop, and here is our/my pipe setting in the truck's drink holder. I was oblivious to the potential for Bad Things to happen. Rob quickly cleaned up the pipe and we pulled up to the cop. With a little discussion of, "we're with them," we pulled into the complex right behind Josh and Andrea.

We wove through this place: around cars, around buildings, through gates for a really long time; all the way looking for two places to park. But this place was completely PACKED with cars. It was a huge complex, too, so we drove for a long time until we finally came upon an area that was open. We parked and started walking through the complex in the direction of the flashing lights in the sky. The fireworks had started.

There were about three places along the path of our walking where we could see a good portion of the sky, and had a decent view of the fireworks. Josh kept on. We kept following. Once I spoke up to say that, "We have a pretty good view here. Why don't we stop?" Josh said, "There's a little park up ahead that should be a good place to stop." A park would be nice - all of the places I thought might be good viewing locations were just concrete parking lots and sidewalks with apartment buildings looming an most sides.

We approached the park by walking between two buildings. The sky opened up to our view and we saw what looked like the most perfect location! The perfect location not just to view the Clearlake fireworks display, but also three others! We could see four fireworks displays all at the same time from this park-on-a-hill which overlooked the water. Wow! Josh had really come through!

As the Clearlake show neared its end, another display in the distance could be seen. That made a total of five fireworks shows that we could see. Incredible.

* * *

When it was all over, we walked back to the cars, said our goodbyes and drove off. Rob and I didn't see Scott, or stop at his folks' house - we just hit the road for home. That reminds me that I haven't thanked Scott, yet, for the party. I need to do that.

mitigate

I like the way this word sounds; the way it rolls off the lips. Its meaning, too, makes me feel good. I mean, what is better than a word that implies relief, right? Usually it's used to talk about things that make a bad situation bearable. But it can certainly be used to refer to stuff that make good situations worse - except we usually don't use it that way.

mitigate.

mitigate.

mitigate.

1776

Saturday, 3 July 2004 was the target date for my annual "1776" party this year. I was a little apprehensive about this year's party because the last time I tried to watch this movie, I was by myself and wanted to try watching it while high. While not quite what I'd call a disaster, the movie just did not grab me, and I could only watch the first> few scenes. I gave up.

Well, this time I knew I wasn't going to be watching it alone, but I did plan to be high - so I wasn't sure if I'd find the movie to be boring a second time.

I needn't have worried. The party was great fun for me, including the movie. Joe Barron brought three pounds of sausage and more chicken. He grilled it up on the gas grill on the patio - so it was fresh and hot. That, alone, was enough of a 'home run,' but the food kept on coming. And everyone ate plenty.

I ate too much. So did Rob.

It was one of the better attended "1776" parties. I think there were at least 13 people there. Including Ruthie Johnsons who came in from Houston for it. She got there about an hour early so we could chill and hang. We did that, and continued after the party, too. She's even cooler than I'd expected. She and Rob 'grooved.' Rob and I felt that she was a lot like his Andrea. I had to agree. And then suggested that we ought to figure out a way to get the two of them together... and then watch to see what happens. Ruthie liked the suggestion, too.

Denny mentioned having seen more stuff in the movie, "It gets better with each viewing." Even I saw a new thing or two. But, after the disappointing pot-induced viewing of the start of this film - when I was solo - I just could not get so excited about having just seen it again.

Ray started a motion, which got a second, that next year we watch The Theatre Company's version of it. Although I really didn't want to do that, I said nothing, because:

1. It's my party, so I can choose what I show.
2. I don't intend to be around by this time next year!

Each little annoying thing now just is one more reason to get out of here and in to Portland.

Clean up after the party was pretty easy. Ruthie stayed around a while longer for the three of us to bond some more. She, of course, didn't want to leave. She was staying with her sister in Bryan - and had until about midnight to get there.

It was sad to let her leave, but, man, what a great visit.

Standing O

Rob and I were driving about yesterday and something in our discussion triggered my thinking to think about the ridiculous nature of the Standing Ovation in this town. I'd swear that a crappy Steven Segal impersonator would get a Standing O here. People seem to be thrilled to their core by just about any performance art that manages to come to this town: whether a local phenom or something travelling through. So thrilled that they can't help but to rise to their feet at the end of the show.

It's terrible.

I've seen practically every performance of every show for the last three years get a Standing Ovation. Most of the shows were just not Standing O material. Certainly a good show, but not great.

I'm not sure, but I think I've seen a film get an S.O., too.

It makes me feel like I'm living in a low-brow, arts-starved desert. Come to think of it...

Where the hell is the thrill of giving (or receiving) a Standing O if it is done all the time? How does one express appreciation of an over-the-top performance? If the Standing O has lost its significance, I suppose a Naked Standing O would be the next generation.