Quietude

"Being drunk on their plan,
They lifted up the Sun.
A spoonful weighs a ton."

-- The Flaming Lips, "A Spoonful Weighs a Ton"

--

Geekin out right now. The Alan Parsons Project released an albumin 1976 devoted to Edgar Allan Poe. It's called (aptly), "Tales of Mystery and Imagination: Edgar Allan Poe." Orson Welles narrates on the opening track, and there's a five-movement symphony for "The Fall of the House of Usher."

Turns out, it was their debut album. Clever start.

--

Watched Up last night and experienced something new.

For a performer, silence after a winning moment can be a great compliment--some say, the greatest after a standing ovation. But a moment of complete, tense silence is rare in the theatre, let alone the movie theatre.

And even rarer if it occurs in the presence of children. Children make noise.

Yet last night, in a family filled with popcorn-chompers and their parents, there were several amazing moments of quiet, epochs of noiseless wonder as big-eyed kids froze in their squeaky seats. It happened at least three times. It was stunning.

--

Years later than everyone else (it seems), I've taken up with sudoku. Tried it on a whim when I saw it on the back of a newspaper in a hotel, and it had me going for a good half hour. I was dumb enough to use a pen: black splotches in tiny boxes, and somewhere in the blindness, numbers.

Bought my first book last night. Seven bucks for a hundred puzzles.

--

Got into my cubicle yesterday. It's bare and slightly stocked with leftovers from its prior tenant, so many plaster casts and ugly grooves roughed into the desk. Tinkered with the computer, slow going; I suspect it has gone un-defragged for years. It was on when I got to it, idling where it sat. And the phone was on a shelf.

My phone. I have my own office phone. That's a first.

For all the cons about the cube, there are of course plusses: It is the largest space in the Children's Theatre office. It used to be the workstation of the guy who made the puppets and plastic armor (hence the plaster casts on the top shelf, hence the grooves). He needed the space for his projects, and I need it for, I don't know, naps or something. Right beside the copy area and on the other side a wall, so it is secluded. No strange knockings on the fabric dividers, those gray hedges.

As of Monday, I can formally declare my new job titles: Tour Coordinator and Arts Integration Specialist for the touring division of the Children's Theatre.

--

And I have a car now. Drove to Indianapolis this morning to retrieve it from a transmission servicer's lot. Two hours both ways for the '03 Neon that I'm thinking about naming Stella.

It shakes a little when it idles, more so in reverse. But it rides, a powerful golden coaster in the early-morning sunshine, chasing eastward at its origin. And the stereo delivers. As I drove up my street to the city, it seemed a grand amber entrance, me beating every impending yellow for fifteen solid blocks, lights flicking to red as the car passed beneath, missing maledictions. This may sound silly, but it was a rush at thirty miles per hour.

I loved the smell of car in the morning. Smelled like...freedom.