jam out with your jam out

Things are moving fast again because I'm out of vacation days at work and Improv Aslyum shows are in full swing. Plus, I had some guests in town this week.

Thursday during a lunchtime in-service on pap smears I got this phone call from Jay "Action" Petrone:

Jay: Hey. I'm in Connecticut on a road trip with a friend. Can I-
Me: Sure!
Jay: (laughs) Well then. That's all. I'm not giving you any other details.
Me: That's fine. I already put the key in your pocket.
Jay: Good. I copied it and gave it all all my friend's friends.
Me: They better be hot.
Jay: Seriously. It's tonight.
Me: Even better. I have some other guests staying over whom you know very well.

Agent Heart* and one Mr. Brennan Clark came to see my show that same night and afterwards we were met by Jay and his friend Chris. The timing was perfect. We all got to JP at the same time.

I showed the boys around my digs (of the group only Brennan has been there) and then we stayed up and spent some time in my living room making music. You know, like people do.

All day long my veins had been electrified by anxiety. I was worried about making it to the theater on time due to some scheduling problems. I didn't want to let anyone down. Not my cast, my patients or my co workers. The adrenaline was actually physically overwhelming. The taxi I hailed at 6:45pm might as well have been a spaceship. Doing a show helped, but I still had plenty of energy to burn off, and I needed something to unwind my chest muscles.

Two guitars, one harmonica and as many of the words to Sweet Home Alabama as we could remember or make up, and that's all we needed. We played and sang for a couple of hours; it made my chest cavity feel light and empty. I didn't stop smiling. It reminded me of college, where I took so many similar nights for granted.

The night in its entirety made me some of the happiest and burden free I have felt in quite a while. From getting out of the show to the first time I opened my eyes in the morning it was like nothing else mattered, and like nothing could go wrong.

In the morning we all had breakfast at Java Jo's and then I took everyone on a tour of one of my other favorite places, The Forest Hills Cemetery. I showed off e.e. cummings' grave ad some of the best sculptures, and we tried to find Fern Hill with no luck. "It's super spooky," I promised, "I just can't find it right now."

They've all left; I just got home from dropping one of them off at his parents' house to spend the last night of spring break. It'll be nice to go to bed early for the long day ahead of me tomorrow (work, church and then two shows). Still, I can't help but feel a little bit lonely in the quiet. I wish that every night could have guitars and harmonicas - no drama or stress, just a ton of laughing, feeling safe and happy and being surrounded by love.

And I wish that for everyone. Because I know there are people who experience it even less frequently than I get to. Or maybe not ever, not even at all.

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* I'd use his real name too, but in his blog he gave me a code name which I think is bad-ass and awesome.

Coffee Shop

Last night Johnny, Laura and I were all home at the same time because I found out my student's improv show is next weekend. This almost never happens so to celebrate we walked to Java Jo's . That morning I had stopped there for breakfast (as usual on days when I teach) and to pick up a bagged lunch to bring to school with me. I noticed that the soup of the day was "Italian Wedding," and knew without the slightest hesitation that I would probably be back for dinner. So I was. This day has been brought to you by Java Jo.

As we sat at the table and talked it became clear that the large Latino man sitting nearby was not just talking on his cell phone. He was free styling in a low monotone. The free styling went on for about twenty minutes at a time, would be punctuated by something along the lines of, "please make them play that, homey, don't make me beg," and would begin again.

At first some of it was actually kind of good. Nothing like the stuff we used to "kick," at McClellan house parties, but hey, not everyone can be us, right?* The longer this went on the more colorful the language became and the less creative the content. Also, the volume increased and the flow got less cohesive. So we kept overhearing things such as, "Eff this, eff that, eff my effing gat. I'm not effing kidding." And "eff eff eff my n***** , pull that effing trigger." And "I'm hungry. Where's the food at? Do you have enough food to feed me? Do you have enough food to feed my crew? You don't have enough food to feed my team. You don't have enough food to feed this country. You don't have food to feed this town**. This town is going up."

Jen the Coffee House Girl had to go tell him to quiet down twice and eventually escorted him out. When he began walking I saw that he was drunk. I wondered if anyone was actually on the other end of his phone. Because sometimes in the past I too have pretended to be on my phone for various reasons. Just never that long.


* I am so sorry.
**At which point Laura and I made eye contact and I said, "a town is smaller than the country, he should have switched those," and Laura replied "you should go tell him that."