In which we discuss the quietude of tour life, my newly discovered love for the French language, the perils of bottomless coffee and the balancing of recreational vs. professional nerding.
Canton, NY is a quiet town.
Distant enough from any major tributary of motor traffic, the whole place is as sleepy as you would expect of a new england college town.
The loudest thing the happen here is the occasional train cross and the most color you will see will be in the changed leaves being tread underfoot by what seems to be a legion of spandex clad joggers.
The boys and I tried our hand at a local pub (plopped perilously close to the aforementioned tracks) and found it as dull as you could expect from an October Wednesday. Our unrealistic expectations of a party where'ere we went being squashed like a penny under a train-car, we went back to our hotels to ruminate on our failures as party animals.
In an instance of uncharacteristic helpfulness, i found myself driving our dear Stephanie Earl to the ER for a look at a potentially twisted ankle from a spill she had during yesterday's 'Tis. The drive over was pleasant; Stephanie is a delightful young lady full of laughter and conversation. She handled the trip (one that she might as easily have treated as an unnecessary inconvenience) with all the poise expected of an avid professional.
But back to me.
I sat with Stephanie for a while until her gallant husband showed up. Don't think Patrick a slacker, dear reader! He just had to wash all the blood off of him before he could swoop into her rescue (come see 'Tis and you'll get that bit). With his arrival we traded van keys; he had the Cargo and I had Grey.
We haven't named our vans yet save referring to them in the most utilitarian fashion; Blue, Grey, and Cargo. Had we any appreciation of consistency, we'd call Cargo 'White' but that's about as dull as the other two; variety, it seems, no matter how minuscule, truly is the spice of life.
After getting into fervent debate with a vending machine as to the authenticity of my American dollar (who knows, this far north maybe it only takes the Loonie) and losing, I started my drive less candied and more hair-sprayed (come see 'Tis and you'll get that bit, too) than i generally care for. Settling into the luxury van's driver throne, adjusting the angle of the seat and back with push-button controls, my mood immediately improved. i began to search the radio for acceptable ambiance. At first I though i could enjoy the classic rock station Patrick had left me. Mr. Thorogood and his Destroyers were telling me the tale of his being born Bad to the Bone and i thought i could get behind it...i was wrong, of course.
For all of my posturing, i am not a Rock and Roll-er. Mine is the tender ear raised on Sarah Brightman solo CDs and Nat King Cole Christmas vinyl.
A couple of turns of the radio dial and i find myself nowhere else but on a French Canadian public broadcasting station. The man behind the mike was weaving some vocal sedative in the rolling crunch of a PM FM jockey speaking whatever variation of French is typically broadcast into the radio waves of upstate New York. He finished his introduction and put on a smokey room jazz piece sung by a voice sultry enough to give even the Mad-est of Men pause.
And it was then, making a ten mile drive that took not nearly as many minutes, that i realized i love the French language.
It's not as if i didn't have opportunity enough to realize this sooner. Amelie is one of my favorite movies and that's due largely to the curt, indulgent voice of the narrator. I even have one of those exploitive mix CDs that play in Cafes that features a collection of different songs from a specific culture devoted entirely to French music. And yet still, until that drive, in that moment, almost accidentally i found my active and acknowledged love for the language. Someone find me a language tape, cause i'm going to sweet Paris.
Speaking of exciting ways to eat up time, i'm finding the challenge of balancing off-time spent in leisure and time spent at work a...challenging one. I have Christmas lines to learn, I have a pre-show to prep, and i need to make an effort to stay in some semblance of 'shape.' Whatever shape it is, it's the one i was employed in, so i feel duty bound to maintain it. Hehe. Duty.
Anyway, the days roll by and we come closer to returning to Staunton. The draw of my recreational reading (a dive in the George R.R. Martins Song of Ice and Fire epic periodically spiced up with a one shot from a new author here and there) is becoming an e-inked distraction. I fear my kindle and i may need to take a bit of a break. At least until I'm confident that Fred is lodged as surely in my brain as the doings of the Stark family, or the failings of the Florio family (come see 'Tis and you'll get ALL these bits).
Oh right! Bottomless coffee...well, let's just say that if i've misspelled anything then my caffeine palsied hands are my excuse. Now, if you'll excuse me, i have to go run a few laps so i can sit still.
Canton, NY is a quiet town.
Distant enough from any major tributary of motor traffic, the whole place is as sleepy as you would expect of a new england college town.
The loudest thing the happen here is the occasional train cross and the most color you will see will be in the changed leaves being tread underfoot by what seems to be a legion of spandex clad joggers.
The boys and I tried our hand at a local pub (plopped perilously close to the aforementioned tracks) and found it as dull as you could expect from an October Wednesday. Our unrealistic expectations of a party where'ere we went being squashed like a penny under a train-car, we went back to our hotels to ruminate on our failures as party animals.
In an instance of uncharacteristic helpfulness, i found myself driving our dear Stephanie Earl to the ER for a look at a potentially twisted ankle from a spill she had during yesterday's 'Tis. The drive over was pleasant; Stephanie is a delightful young lady full of laughter and conversation. She handled the trip (one that she might as easily have treated as an unnecessary inconvenience) with all the poise expected of an avid professional.
But back to me.
I sat with Stephanie for a while until her gallant husband showed up. Don't think Patrick a slacker, dear reader! He just had to wash all the blood off of him before he could swoop into her rescue (come see 'Tis and you'll get that bit). With his arrival we traded van keys; he had the Cargo and I had Grey.
We haven't named our vans yet save referring to them in the most utilitarian fashion; Blue, Grey, and Cargo. Had we any appreciation of consistency, we'd call Cargo 'White' but that's about as dull as the other two; variety, it seems, no matter how minuscule, truly is the spice of life.
After getting into fervent debate with a vending machine as to the authenticity of my American dollar (who knows, this far north maybe it only takes the Loonie) and losing, I started my drive less candied and more hair-sprayed (come see 'Tis and you'll get that bit, too) than i generally care for. Settling into the luxury van's driver throne, adjusting the angle of the seat and back with push-button controls, my mood immediately improved. i began to search the radio for acceptable ambiance. At first I though i could enjoy the classic rock station Patrick had left me. Mr. Thorogood and his Destroyers were telling me the tale of his being born Bad to the Bone and i thought i could get behind it...i was wrong, of course.
For all of my posturing, i am not a Rock and Roll-er. Mine is the tender ear raised on Sarah Brightman solo CDs and Nat King Cole Christmas vinyl.
A couple of turns of the radio dial and i find myself nowhere else but on a French Canadian public broadcasting station. The man behind the mike was weaving some vocal sedative in the rolling crunch of a PM FM jockey speaking whatever variation of French is typically broadcast into the radio waves of upstate New York. He finished his introduction and put on a smokey room jazz piece sung by a voice sultry enough to give even the Mad-est of Men pause.
And it was then, making a ten mile drive that took not nearly as many minutes, that i realized i love the French language.
It's not as if i didn't have opportunity enough to realize this sooner. Amelie is one of my favorite movies and that's due largely to the curt, indulgent voice of the narrator. I even have one of those exploitive mix CDs that play in Cafes that features a collection of different songs from a specific culture devoted entirely to French music. And yet still, until that drive, in that moment, almost accidentally i found my active and acknowledged love for the language. Someone find me a language tape, cause i'm going to sweet Paris.
Speaking of exciting ways to eat up time, i'm finding the challenge of balancing off-time spent in leisure and time spent at work a...challenging one. I have Christmas lines to learn, I have a pre-show to prep, and i need to make an effort to stay in some semblance of 'shape.' Whatever shape it is, it's the one i was employed in, so i feel duty bound to maintain it. Hehe. Duty.
Anyway, the days roll by and we come closer to returning to Staunton. The draw of my recreational reading (a dive in the George R.R. Martins Song of Ice and Fire epic periodically spiced up with a one shot from a new author here and there) is becoming an e-inked distraction. I fear my kindle and i may need to take a bit of a break. At least until I'm confident that Fred is lodged as surely in my brain as the doings of the Stark family, or the failings of the Florio family (come see 'Tis and you'll get ALL these bits).
Oh right! Bottomless coffee...well, let's just say that if i've misspelled anything then my caffeine palsied hands are my excuse. Now, if you'll excuse me, i have to go run a few laps so i can sit still.
I can't wait until 'Tis Pity comes back! (And all the rest, too, of course. But that one was surprisingly good considering I hated it when I read it.)
ReplyDeleteNo George Thorogood? That's a little sad. (Though there is that point where most of his songs get to be the same.)
I hope Stephanie's okay and you find some new way to entertain yourself on the road. Maybe it IS an opportune time to learn la belle langue de francais.
I want to see 'Tis Pity so much!!! I should be seeing you all in Staunton in December... :)
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