Robert (gurdonark) wrote,

saturday anti-blues clues

This morning I arose and recorded and sent off an ambient baseline for a song collaboration I'm doing with a really cool guy from South America, and then I did a remix at, making a new dance track out of a rhythm track and the sound of a whistlepad. I left the dance track uncompleted, after a few hours cutting and pasting and slicing and basting, so that my wife and I could go to our sister-in-law's house. We picked her up and headed into "uptown" Dallas, the odd monicker now appended to Oak Lawn and Turtle Creek, just north of downtown.

We pulled into the Dallas Theater Center, in a city park by a creek on which large autumnal hardwood trees still show fall color, on a street lined with skyscrapers of luxury apartments and townhomes. We were out to see Dickens' "A Christmas Carol".

When we arrived, we got sidetracked a bit in the "will call" line because the person ahead of us was not actually in line, but merely
resting in a wheelchair, which prompted someone behind us to barge ahead of us, which is no big deal, because the seats are all assigned, but is a pet peeve of mine. Thus, I was not entirely feeling peace on earth and good will toward people, and thus was in need of a Dickensian antidote. I felt a slight trepidation when I realized this was a musical version of the story, a story which, by the way, I love. Then I realized that the songs were almost all period songs, which I found comforting.

When the play began, the charming child chosen to sing the opening notes was off-key, and the synthesizer which was trying to do the work that should be done by a lute or mandolin was overpowering. I thought this boded poorly, but my fears were premature. Soon the play resolved itself into an elegantly-done tale, surprisingly faithful to the original story. Usually, the social message in the actual Dickens story gets left on the cutting room floor, in favor of the snowmen-on-Norelco-razors-quality schmaltz which which retellings are often plagued. The play is a solid winter kale, tart and refreshing, and not the pansy often shown in the movies. I think a message of peace on earth and good will to all, not to mention charity for the less fortunate, is well taken.

We thoroughly enjoyed the play, including even the way that Jacob Marley's ghost frightened the four year old girl one row ahead of us, driving her temporarily into her father's lap. We applauded when it was over, and resolved to attend in April a play about Hank Williams.
Then we trekked back up to Allen.

We dropped off our relative, whose company we particularly enjoyed, and then went home. Our friends Scott and Donna, with whom we had dinner plans, left a message that they were stuck doing one of the myiad saintly things they do for others (in this instance, giving blood), and needed to have dinner begin a bit later than our planned restaurant rendezvous. This suited us like kippered herring, as we wanted to walk young Ted around the small pond in the blistering cold. Then I edited out all the remix things that sounded like they didn't fit, making the piece fairly listenable. We headed to the Clay Pit Indian restaurant in Addision to meet our friends.

We had a lovely meal with our friends, who brought presents. Their church had had a missions day, when goods from foreign lands were on offer, and they got me a rainstick with a crocodile paintined on it, and an Indonesian percussion instrument I cannot identify, but which reminds me of the ball-and-socket toy game. I had a heavenly salmon tandoori. We spoke of our current amazement at the state of national affairs, and the myriad frivols that make our lives work out fine.

I've made arrangements to go hiking in the cold tomoorrow. I'm jazzed up to move rapidly and freeze, like freestyle dancing in a winter coat.

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