Orchestra Seats

Last week my mom and I went to the ballet. I realized with some embarrassment that it’s been more than a few years since I’ve been to a ballet. I came away feeling very cultured and refined, with some unique and unexpected impressions from this night of music and art.

We had first row orchestra seats, front and center right up at the orchestra pit. Since I enjoy watching musicians playing as much as I enjoy watching dancers and other performers, I was thrilled with these seats.

When you sit that close to the front, in an opulent but small 1920s-era theater, it means that you’re really close to the stage. If I’d stretched, I could have almost touched the orchestra conductor. This put me in a rare position to hear nuances of the music that those farther back in the theater wouldn’t have heard.

I heard the conductor breathing. He began each musical phrase on an inhale or exhale. Since the conductor sets the tone for the entire orchestra, this seemed appropriate for him to be breathing the music, living the music.

Musical instruments sometimes make sounds besides just the music they were designed for. Fingers sliding on the strings of the cello or the bass. The click of the keys on the bassoon and the clarinet. To me, these mechanical sounds are part of the music, and something that can be lost listening to a recording or to electronically-produced music.

Tchaikovsky’s Serenade, the ethereal string composition that began the evening, featured female dancers in white airy garments. But from my seat, I could tell that even though these dancers floated like fairies, they were still just human like me. Skirts swished, toe shoes thumped with soft little hollow sounds as they twirled. Hearing these sounds made the experience no less magical for me.

The same was for the following two numbers – Bernstein’s Fancy Free, and Stravinsky’s The Rite of Spring. The movement, the music, the athleticism of the dancers – all of that goes into making a memorable ballet. But so does the clicking of the beads on the girl’s skirt in Fancy Free, and the thumping of feet as the male leads each performed their solo numbers.

Or the pounding of hands and feet beating the stage in The Rite of Spring, or the heavy breath of the lead dancers after their grueling solo of acrobatics. These sounds are invisible to those sitting in the mezzanine seats, with their grand overhead view of the entire stage.

My view was limited to the musicians right below me, and the dancers right above me. And I could hear everything. The next time I go to the ballet, I will do whatever I can to get those orchestra seats.

How I met Batman

I first started going to the comic store regularly back in high school. It was on the way home, right where I got off the bus, and my friend and I would stop in after school at least once a week. I was an insufferable Trekker at the time (we both were), and Barry’s comic book shop always had boxes of individual trading cards from every series under the sun. A card collector’s dream, since those packs never had that one last special card you needed.

Barry was always ready with a smile and a friendly comment, whether my purchases were Star Trek cards or X-Men comics. Even twenty years ago, collecting every X-Men comic in existence was no easy feat – but Stories Comics and Barry behind the counter could help me make it happen.

The store was like a low-tech Bat-cave – a tiny hidden gem of a shop, with secret treasures stuffed in every nook and cranny. And I emphasize low-tech – those old manual knuckle-buster contraptions for running credit cards on carbon paper, index cards for tracking customers’ trade-in credits. There was no computerized inventory. It was all in Barry’s head – every comic, old and new; every action figure, t-shirt, video tape, collectible lunch box.

I needed a part-time job during my summers and holidays while in college. And since I didn’t want to flip burgers and I was tired of babysitting, I was elated to get a job at this low-tech Bat-cave. And so thus began my journey, like a young Robin under the tutelage of Batman. Barry the comic master taught me:

  • Everybody should have a nickname or a super-hero name.
  • Never buy a new comic from the top or the bottom of the stack; those are the ones that get the most abuse during shipping. Buy a comic from the middle of the stack.
  • Classic monster movie memorabilia is always popular, not just at Halloween.
  • If the toy companies don’t make action figures of your favorite characters, then cannibalize cheap or broken figures and build and paint your own.
  • Eat all your meals off of Justice League dishes. If those aren’t available, Looney Tunes dishes will do in a pinch.
  • If someone is scared of bugs, make sure you keep plenty of plastic cockroaches on hand to terrify them.
  • A rubber snake on the t-shirt rack will also freak some people out. Both are equally hilarious.
  • Don’t waste valuable storage or display space. Everyone has room for a giant inflatable starship Enterprise the size of a bus – that’s what the ceiling is for.
  • You can never have too many comic books.
  • Or toys. Or videos/DVDs. Or unique/one-of-a-kind/weird collectible items.
  • Batman is the greatest super-hero ever.

I worked harder at Stories than I have at most any other job. Comic boxes are heavy. Customers aren’t always happy. Returning damaged merchandise to the distributors is a hassle. Employees don’t always get along.

Barry knew how to work hard and how to run a business, and kept us working hard. When I was just a customer, shopping for my Spock and Picard and Data cards, Stories was just one tiny store in a center of a strip mall. But it wasn’t long before it took over half of the strip mall; plus two other stores opened across town, and the online sales continued to grow.

But what really made the business work was that Barry knew how to play hard and laugh hard. My boss was really just a big kid who never grew up. At an age when most adults were settling down to the drudgery that the world teaches is “real life,” Barry still believed in super-heroes.

He believed there was still some fun to be had in life, some joy to be found, some good worth fighting for. Kindness mattered, smiles could really help people. That’s what the toys and the comic books taught him, and he lived it every day.

Thank you, Barry, for rescuing a lost nerdy college girl and giving her smiles and giving her friends. You were just a regular guy, a Bruce Wayne everyman, sitting behind a cash register or posting cartoons on Facebook. But really, you were Batman. Thank you for proving there are still super-heroes.

In memory of Barry Pryor, founder of Stories Comics.

A Few Thoughts on Iceland

I’ve been away for the past week, checking another country off my places-to-see list. I then suddenly remembered that I should put up a blog post, so here it is. This is me working off of several days straight of must-have-more-fun-faster traveler’s exhaustion, and trying to compose words that do not contain the letters ð and þ.

I quickly learned the all-purpose greeting of “góðan dagin” (that was about all the Icelandic I mastered). But apparently I did master that one phrase so well that when one cashier told me the price in Icelandic and I asked her to repeat it in English, she gave a laugh of surprise. “You said góðan dagin so well that I thought you were Icelandic,” she told me. Score one for me, the professional linguist hopeful.

They say that if you don’t like the weather, just wait five minutes. Well, I had to wait a whole day, but I did experience weather of all sorts:

Mt Esja on a sunny day

Mt Esja on a sunny day

Mt Esja the next day. Clouds and snow rolled in!

Mt Esja the next day. Clouds and snow rolled in!

Iceland is volcanic (no kidding. Eyjafjallajökull, anyone?) So there are lava fields everywhere. Or big chunks of lava. Or both.

Lava, lava everywhere

Lava, lava everywhere

Walking around the city, it felt like everything was uphill both ways.

Walking around the city, it felt like everything was uphill both ways.

I went into a few books stores, of course, and did buy some books (all in English. My mastery of góðan dagin isn’t quite enough for me to read an entire book in Icelandic). One book store sold knitting supplies in the basement. Why not, right?

If you like to knit, Iceland is the place to shop.

If you like to knit, Iceland is the place to shop.

Apparently Icelanders do not want tractors cluttering up their city streets. C’mon, Reykjavik needs a few tractors, surely.

Tractor-free zone this way

Tractor-free zone this way

Stay tuned for more Icelandic-themed posts in the future, and maybe a guest-post by me on a blog about Iceland!

Story Ideas – Some Writing Prompts

One might consider this week’s post lazy on the part of yours truly, but you could also look at it as a chance to get creative and share.

Here are a few random pictures. Does one of them spark an idea? Bring back a memory? Take you on a flight of fancy? Please share your stories! Jot down an idea in the comments, or even put a link to your blog if one of these images prompted a story!

Let me know where your story ideas come from!

a busy street

a busy street

An old gun

An old gun

Everybody likes a good crystal skull story

Everybody likes a good crystal skull story

Music

Music

Music Review: Vellamo

Welcome a new duo to the world of modern Finnish folk music! The self-titled album by the band Vellamo was released earlier this year. Being a fan of Finnish mythology, I was immediately drawn in by the band’s name—Vellamo was a sea goddess in the old stories.

And it turns out their music is equally enchanting. A singer-songwriter style, with a little rock tossed in here and there, adds flair to the simple yet enticing tracks on this album. The clear, unadorned tones of singer Pia Leinonen are accompanied by the acoustic stylings of guitarist Joni Tiala.

This album may be in the folk genre, but Vellamo offers a lot of variety for your listening pleasure. There’s fast and folksy like “Juokse Frank Juokse,” or slow and melancholy like “Kaipaava.”

There’s a little bit of Finnish—“Oman kullan silmät” or “Ja se mies;” a little bit of English—“Lovebirds” or “Silver Dagger.” And even a little bit of Swedish—“Elin i Hagen.”

Vellamo’s sound—whether toe-tapping or soothing, Finnish or English—gives me that warm feeling of live music night at a local coffeehouse. Or that lazy calm of sitting on a boat out in the lake. I’m excited to see where this music from the mythical sea spirit goes in the future.

Vellamo on Facebook

Music Video – Suljen