Anti Climax!

Sorry for that cliffhanger ending. What, you didn't realize you've been suspended from the lip of a cliff all this time? You were. I'm not going back to Florida after, leastwise not yet.

Ten years earlier

Here's the deal. I stuck it to the man up at the Stanley as planned, packed up all my belongings, and left that overpriced mountain town in my Mazdan dust. During my "brief" stay in Parker I began searching hill and dale (of which there are none) for jobs in Florida. Nothing promising. Then I had this wise idea that I could prolong my summer in Colorado and remain in Parker with my brothers for a short time. It was all dependent on my not being able to find a job in Florida right away, and my being able to find a job in Denver right away.

No luck in Florida. And through a staffing agency here in Denver, I'm now employed full-time for the month of July. I'm working for a company called National CineMedia; they handle all of the advertising in the major theater chains. I'm basically a glorified secretary, save the glory. I sit in a cubicle and retrieve voicemail, then enter the data from said voicemail into a computer system. I prefer to think of myself as a professional sleuth. I have to fill in the puzzle pieces left (suspiciously!) out of the messages—things like addresses, zip codes, etc. I put the phone receiver to my ear and instantly become a detective, looking for clues wherever I can find them, and then searching the Internet high and low for answers to the diabolical riddles concocted by these hopeful advertisers of the big screen. It's thrilling stuff, really.

Oh, it's also really easy. I'm sitting here at work, listening to a film score and blogging. (Don't worry, Mom, I have permission.) It's a real treat to have this job, and it should enable me not only to survive out here, but also to put away a little of the old dough.

Wait! What was that sound? I thought I heard a door open upstairs...

What will happen to our favorite Search Engine Sleuth? Tune in next month for the thrilling conclusion!

Gone too soon.

Two things have come to an end: the short life of Michael Jackson, and my brief stint at the Stanley.

I will say nothing about the former, except that I have been an ardent fan and admirer of Jackson for almost ten years. I always maintained his innocence and gave him the benefit of the doubt in almost every situation. I felt sorry for him. And, of course, I loved his music. It made me a little sick when I heard he died so suddenly, so young.

Regarding the second: I was involuntarily removed from the tour department and reassigned to the cafe. I chose the anti-establishmentism route and quit altogether. There are reasons aplenty for my decision besides just a desire to "stick it to the man" for dropping me in such a tactless manner. As a newly engaged man, I have this novel urge to be responsible and start saving for my future. Increasingly, my very bachelor summer in Estes Park began to feel more and more frivolous and impractical. I enjoyed my two months living there and all of the accompanying perks. Getting kicked out of Tours was just the camel that broke the straw's back, and I am shipping back out to the sodden marshlands of Tampa.

I've already begun the tedious expedition of job hunting, and hopefully I will be able to line something up before I am cast into debtor's prison. As weird as it sounds (to me), I am looking forward to being back in that hellishly hot tumor on America—not, of course, for the weather or landscape. I am looking forward to earnestly starting down the path of my future: finding a job that will enable to support a wife, and beginning my preparations for graduate school. I think there is a lot that I can accomplish in Florida, and a lot God can accomplish through and for me. These two months have been a nice break, a relaxing breather. I love the Centennial State, and I've enjoyed this brief respite from the daily grind. But now I am eager to get back to reality (whoops, there goes gravity!), and to start making an honest woman of myself.

Back to Michael Jackson, briefly. In my state of mourning last night, I was listening to his music and going through old documents on my hard drive related to the King. I found this surreal sentence in a lengthy (and slightly embarrassing) letter I penned to MJ when I was 16:

The sun just won’t shine as bright when you die, and I hope that sad day won’t come for a long time.

I know most people can't relate to my defense of and fascination with Jackson. So be it. But suffice it to say, he meant a lot to me. I felt very sorry for him, and am more than a little stunned that he's gone—in his words, "gone too soon."

Captain Jean-Luc Picard: Engaged.

In my nerdy, faux-Trekkie brain I've been wanting to make a Picard "Engage!" pun for a long time. But I had to actually get engaged first. So I did.

I flew into Pittsburgh a day earlier than Alison expected me, which required a good bit of lying and manipulating (good practice for marriage) beforehand. I took a taxi to her house, but of course she had just left to run some errands with her mom. I made a (brilliant) story about having sent her a package and expecting her to get it anytime now in an effort to lure her back homeward as soon as possible. When she pulled up to her house, there was I on her front porch with rose in hand, shooting the breeze with her Pepe.

We enjoyed each other's much-missed company for the duration of the afternoon, and then I took her to Ruth's Chris Steakhouse for dinner. I very straightforwardly brought up the question of marriage, and within the context of a very normal, calm conversation "popped the question." Sorry; no monkeys, hot air balloons, or robotic quadrapeds were involved in the proposal in any way.

Of course she said "yes," otherwise I would not be recounting this tale. Instead I'd be halfway to Siberia by now, with only the clothes on my back and an insatiable thirst for revenge.

Other than just basking in the euphoria of strutting about town with a be-ringed fiancée, I have enjoyed various activities already during my time in Pittsburgh. We've eaten at several fantastic restaurants, spent time with Matt and Katie Harber, heard Mahler's "Resurrection" symphony, heard the Penguins win the Stanley Cup on the car radio, gone kayaking, and explored the woods near Alison's house with her two precocious twin brothers (who I have already clearly informed that I will be shipping off to reform school as soon as I marry their sister). Yet to do: more wonderful restaurants, lots of good dessert, cathartic piano playing, lots of walking, seeing Up!, and of course more basking.

When I return to Estes Park next Friday, I will begin guiding tours full time. I'm using this vacation week to compile as many bad puns as possible.

A thousand words are worth a picture.

I'm sorry for the total absence of images on this blog.

One of the items I'm missing this summer is a camera. I owned a cheap, primitive digital camera several years ago, but it has since gone the way of the Polaroid. I've had little to no "disposable income" since coming out West (forget the stack of vinyl records I've purchased...those are cheap), and a camera always seems to fall below food on the totem pole. Or isn't it above food on the totem pole, technically?

Anyway, if you want some photographic wonderment and variety on this sucker, I'm afraid you'll need to pony up the cash or the camera in order to make that dream a reality.

I had a wonderful coffee and breakfast with Herr Paul Greiwing yesterday morning. I was able to motormouth my future plans in a short window of time, and (I think) he was able to process all of the information. (I don't blame you if you were totally zoning out, Dad.)

Said future plans include, but are not limited to: I am seriously considering voluntarily going back to school next fall. And, as things are shaping up right now, I want to pursue a master's degree in music composition. I know many of you are scratching your heads right now (or chicken pox, depending). But after a delightful conversation with former Film Score Monthly contributor, and now all-around film music journalism hero Doug Adams, I am (nearly) convinced that I can marry my love for writing and music into one practical degree. Since my writing topic of choice is music, and I also enjoy doing a bit of composing, an education that will give me a much better understanding of the rules and regulations of music will be incredibly advantageous. Such a degree should also enable me to teach music (theory classes, private piano, etc.), and teaching has been rolling around in my head as a potential career for a while now.

Of course a lot can change in a year. This is purely theoretical at this point, but I have started researching a few schools and their music programs. We shall see what will come of this dream...

Tomorrow will be a full day of tour guide training. In other words: a piece of cake.

Go well.

Coffee Stain Birthmarks

I finally swallowed the last vestige of pride I had and purchased a Pirates of the Caribbean score.

For those of you who know me well, you know that doing so is almost as embarrassing as dressing up in full cowboy attire and going to a square dance. I have a love/laugh relationship with composer Hans Zimmer, but the whole Pirates empire is, to me, among the absolute dregs of filmmaking. And the scores have been, by and large, homogenous power anthem scores that are entirely indistinguishable from the vast majority of modern blockbuster scores...which is completely logical, since they are all composed by the same committee of clones.

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In news that some of you might actually care about, I was indeed able to get my current apartment rented by June 1. This came as excellent news and an answered prayer. It means that I can make a clean break tomorrow and not be obligated to pay any of June's rent. I will move all of my meager belongings to the Petersons' abode tomorrow and begin my new life in Estes Park. I've really enjoyed my current apartment, but the cons were just too large to ignore in favor of the pros. Fare thee well, Drake, Colorado.

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I interviewed composer Theodore Shapiro yesterday (we're building quite the rapport now), and tomorrow afternoon I'm set to interview David Newman. I can't describe how much I love my work with Film Score Monthly. It is absolute euphoria for me to be on the "inside" of the film music industry as much as I am - talking with famous composers on the phone, emailing composers, developing connections and even friendships with high-ups in the industry. And of course I love to write. I am very thankful for the many opportunities I am afforded as a volunteer contributor. ("I'd also like to thank my agent...")

Y'all have a nice day.

Elk Burgers In My Front Yard

I parked next to an elk.

Actually, the elk technically parked next to me. I was meeting with a nice older couple who have graciously offered to house me for the remainder of the summer yesterday evening. They were telling me about the wildlife they often see in their front and backyard (including the usual deer and coyote, but also the occasional bobcat and mountain lion), and minutes later—as they were showing me to the door—we saw the majestic, fuzzy-horned beast munching away at the grass next to the Jeep. A good omen, no doubt.

So yes, I will be moving in with a very nice family who I found through one of the churches here in Estes. They are an extremely nice couple who ran a home for delinquent children for most of their life. They have one son in the army, and one disabled son who lives with them. They’ve offered their guest room and complete use of the rest of their house—all for a price lower than I offered, and one much lower than my current rent. God has really answered my prayers.

They are a stone’s throw from main street in Estes (literally, I threw a stone and hit a store downtown). I will have a significantly shorter commute to work. Everything will be conveniently situated in town, as I originally hoped would be the case. I have cell phone service, which was a big deal for me. I will have the opportunity to be a blessing and to be blessed by a lovely Christian family. It should be a wonderful experience in all directions.

I gave my thirty days notice to my current landlady last night, who received the news very graciously. Technically I’m obligated to pay rent for the first twenty days of June, but she was very optimistic that she could find a renter by June 1, as many people had expressed interest in renting in June when she posted the rental earlier. That would be ideal, releasing me from any further rent obligation at this place and making my financial dreams at night much sweeter. Another thing to pray about.

Alison has been brainstorming about her career. I won’t divulge any details, as she’s still sorting them all out. But if your interest is piqued, you should give her a ring-a-dingle. I’ll just say two words: galactic and food smuggler.

I’m sitting in a laundramat again…which should be one of the last if not the last time this summer, since the Petersons (my future landlords/housemates/adopted parents) will let me do my laundry at their house. Another major blessing (I haven’t needed this many quarters since my trip to Vegas in ‘78).

I’m interviewing composer Theodore Shapiro next Wednesday. It will be a fun full-circle experience, as he was the first composer I interviewed since I came on board at Film Score Monthly.

Okay, bye.

My girl

I need to give some love where it's due.

My mind may sometimes wander off on tangents of barbecue and hives, but my heart is always squarely centered on a young lass in Pittsburgh. My perpetual obsession with said lass has not been evidenced in the content of my blogs, and it is to my discredit.

The truth is, I'm madly in love. It's fun being out in Colorado and all, but a big chunk of my heart has been surgically transplanted to the wilds of Pennsylvania. And it's hard to survive with a bleeding stump of a heart.

So I dedicate this post to the owner of my heart: Miss Alison Naomi Konrad. She is my better half, and the light in my eyes.

I will visit her, Lord willing, in a few short weeks, and it will hopefully cure me from total emotional insanity.

Swine Flu with Extra Sauce!

Working at a coffeeshop is like sticking my hands in a paper shredder.

I had the same problem all throughout my time at Starbucks, maybe specially more so in the dry Colorado climate. Between the espresso duststorms and the high volume of time spent in hot dishwater, my hands get insanely dried out and start to crack like clay. It would be cool if I was actually made of clay and could fight Gotham's caped crusador, but sadly my special powers only include things like painful cuts and pruny skin. I have a feeling that being a tour guide will not be nearly so hard on my epidermis...though, I could be horribly, horribly wrong about that.

In the most recent hives news: I was struck with a theory late the other night that perhaps the itching plague all over my body was not an allergic reaction after all...but bug bites. It was quite the chilling revelation, but upon (briskly) changing my bedsheets, finding and killing a spider, and spending the last two nights in clean sheets...the bites seem to have subsided. The theory holds much closer with the facts, although it is still technically unproven. Thankfully, though, the itching has all but disappeared. (Too bad it wasn't a radioactive spider. Wouldn't it have been lame if Peter Parker was bitten by a spider, and the only effect was that he had serious itching for a few days?)

I ate some incredible BBQ tonight in Estes. "Big Dave's" was the name, and I violently consumed some St. Louis-style ribs, and smoked sausages that were cut in the shape of hearts (how masculine). The place gets four stars for offering my required four sauce options. The meat was delicious; full of flavor and free of fat. The sauces were delectable, and the sides were mighty fine (sweet potato fries, oh my!).

Now I'm going to run under the slamming library gate and check out a matinee showing of Angels and Demons. I'm skeptical, but at least very grateful that Tom Hanks left his mullet somewhere in The DaVinci Code. I just can't really tell my priest that I'm seeing this film. You understand.

Bad Tour Guide Jokes

I am going to be a tour guide.

My prayers for a transfer of job duties was answered in a wonderful way this week. I will finish out the month of May working at the cafe, and then after a brief visit to Pittsburgh will start as a fulltime tour guide at the Stanley.

It will be a wonderful job that will incorporate my love of performance and public speaking. It will enable me to know the fascinating history of the hotel inside and out. It will provide a very normal 9—5 workday for me - so no more pre-6AM alarms going off.

I now have to decide whether I should develop an obnoxious routine of cliche tour guide schtick and bad ghost and death puns - or take a different approach. I'm leaning towards the latter, although the former does have its ironic appeal. I still like the idea of emphasizing words and syllables as though I were making a pun...without it making any sense. I.e., "Please watch your DEAD step!"

I am very thankful and very excited about spending the majority of my summer in this position. I won't dare say that my coffee career is finally coming to an end, though. I know better than to do that.

In other news, I'm still suffering the allergic reaction to some mysterious variable. I'm itching for a cure, but I have no idea what the cause is.

Tonight I hope to fellowship with Eric and Leslie Ludy. It will be nice to see them again.

I'm counting down the seconds until Alison's return to the States. Lady Cluck was absolutely right about two things: King Richard the Lion did, indeed, end up with an outlaw for an in-law. AND, absence does, indeed, make the heart grow fonder.

Aliens and Hives

I saw the new Star Trek last night.

The jury's still out. I admit I thoroughly enjoyed it, and was very entertained from beginning to end. I was afraid it was going to be a dumb, over-sexualized Star Trek 90210. It had a brief moment of that kind of silliness, but fortunately that is not what characterized the film.

It was a fun night at the movies if nothing else. As a diehard Trekkie (tongue kind of in cheek), I enjoyed many of the in-jokes and self-references. One critic's complaint, however, rang very true: This isn't a movie about anything, really. It's a movie about itself.

The plot is very thin. It's all about establishing these characters (again). So it is very much a Star Trek movie about...Star Trek. But I still enjoyed it. I'll give it some time to really thumbs up or down it.

I'm enjoying my first day this week of sleeping in past 6 AM. I'm tempted to waste these empty mornings - surfing the net, watching free Star Trek episodes on CBS.com, etc. I'm praying for discipline, that I will develop good habits in my free time and not just watch it slip by in multiple hour increments with nothing productive to brag of. Even contributing to this blog is, believe it or not, a productive use of my time.

I am sorely missing my Alison. This summer adventure is, and has already been, worthwhile if only to show me how much I care for her. It takes a few hard swings at the dam of masculine emotionlessness, and puts me face-to-face with my true feelings and needs. I'm grateful for that. Hopefully I will relocate to a place with cell phone service soon, and my cut-off distance from Alison will not be quite as cut off.

I made a demo CD for the TV production man I met at the Stanley. It's a "greatest hits" collection of all five of my film scores. When I boil it all down to the very "best," it's really kind of neat. I have plenty of gripes with my music, but I'm actually kind of proud of this demo CD. I hope to put it to some good use.

I go into work at 2pm today. I'm getting awfully hungry, but I'm trying not to spend undue amounts of money on food. So I think I'll go make myself a peanut butter and cinnamon honey sandwich, washing it down with some deliciously natural sugared Pepsi-Cola Throwback.

Enjoy your day. Be a good steward.

(Oh, the title for this blog was a veiled reference to Star Trek, the Aliens score I am currently listening to, and the allergy hives which I mysteriously contracted that have provided fulltime employment for my fingernails.)

Laundromat

I am at a laundromat for the first time in my life.

That’s not exactly true. I think I’ve probably been in one before, and I actually had my clothes laundered at a Jamaican ‘mat (ya mon!). But because I grew up in a stable WASP home, had access to Grandma’s Free Laundering, Ironing, & Delivery service during the college era, and have been living back at home in the years since…I’ve had no need to carry my filthy garments into a filthy, tiled community laundry room.

But as is fitting for my solitary summer adventure, here I sit, on an orange, plastic chair that looks like it was purchased at a McDonald’s playground furniture auction. My clothes still have another 35 minutes or so in the dryer, and it’s the perfect opportunity to add something to my impressively up kept blog. 

I had my first full day as an espresso jockey today, complete with a forest green Stanley Hotel polo and a shiny gold name badge. Unfortunately there are absolutely no interesting stories or cute anecdotes to share, because we had a total of about 10 customers today.

When they talk about a busy season and a non-busy season…they’re not kidding.

It was nice for the café to be so dead (get it? I’m practicing my bad tour guide puns), as it allowed me to experiment with drinks and feel my way around the job. But my legs now ache from standing around for 9 long hours with absolutely nothing to do.

I also regret to inform you that the free cafeteria lunch, seemingly a financial manna from above, is not in good standing with my digestive system. I honestly don’t believe that any part of the Stanley is haunted…except the cafeteria food.

Finally for today, I am hoping to find both another place of residence and another job title at the Stanley.

Place of residence: because I am growing weary of no cell phone signal and terribly inconsistent and weak internet. Add to the communication quarantine a slow commute through a winding canyon (and the subsequent gas receipts), and I am pressed with a need for a superior option.

Job title: because I never applied for the barista position in the first place. I wanted to be out west and I thought working in Estes Park at the Stanley would be a lot of fun, but I was definitely not in the market for another Starbucks job. After five long years in “the service,” I swore to myself (not literally, because the Bible is very clear on that matter) that I would never work in the food industry again. I looked into the tour guide (they really need a skeptic anyway) and front desk positions, but they could only offer me the barista spot. Thankfully, the human resources director is an incredibly nice lady (who reminds me of Maggie from Angels in the Outfield), is sympathetic to my plight, and is on the lookout for a change in position.

I want to stay at the Stanley, but I’m not keen on slinging espresso and getting dry dishwashing hands all summer. Also, waking up at 5:40 AM has never really appealed to me.

Prayers on both fronts, if you please.

Finally finally, I did meet a man today who owns a local TV station / production company. I asked him if they need any composers, and he told me “we would talk.” Very cool.

(I know I said there were no interesting stories from the day, but I needed the blog to flow this way for dramatic effect.)

Tune in next week for the thrilling conclusion!

Everest: Day One

I conquered my first day at the Stanley like a porky kid conquers a tub of Rocky Road.

Although, to be perfectly honest, today was rather tame. The first hour brought a fascinating and whirlwind tour through the employment paperwork. The setting for this event was the ultra-femininely decorated "wedding room," where opulent brides-to-be sit and look over wedding albums and fabric colors.

Next up was the thrilling ghost and history tour. The Stanley encourages all of their new employees to take this tour (offered to guests at a hefty price, but free to workers) to get a better grasp on their new place of occupation. The Stanley is certainly full of history. I was interested to hear about the incredible exploits of F.O. Stanley—including the creation of a line of Stradivarius-caliber violins at the age of 10, the invention of the Stanley Steamer, and a breakthrough in photographic film technology. The man was a tireless genius, who also happened to be an amazingly kind man and a very self-expending husband. (He basically built the Stanley for his wife, so that she could have her friends from the East come visit for the summer. Also, he would bring her milk and cookies every night before she went to bed.)

The next part of the tour led us on a tour through the paranormal elements of the Stanley. I understand that if it weren't for Stephen King's The Shining, the hotel would probably have been compost for a new parking garage a long time ago. Interest in the supposed ghosts roaming the Stanley are its bread and butter, but the lady tour guide took it all a little too seriously. I laughed internally watching her walk down the hallways holding the invisible hands of invisible little ghost girls, and at the half of the tour group who bought it. But hey, maybe I'm just the skeptical Scully to their belief-wanting Mulder. It takes all kinds, right?

After a light salad that wasn't so light on my constitution, I hit the (espresso) bar with my Russian manager, Dmitri. Dmitri is 24, like me. But unlike me, Dmitri is a 20-year veteran of the classical violin who graduated from (in his words) the best conservatory in the world. Props, Dmitri.

I was given a refresher course on the art of pulling espresso shots, and a crash course on whipping up delectable fruit smoothies and milkshakes. My 5-year experience with Starbucks has prepared me for probably 80% of this job, and I don't think the other 20% will take too long to seep its way into my dilapidating brain.

I'm still battling the internet demons at my apartment, currently freeloading off an unprotected network in the area (I'm not too worried about some baddie hacking into my bank account since there's nothing in there).

On a serious note: I am doing very well all in all, and am enjoying the rewards and challenges that this summer solitude is presenting. I have been much more active in Bible study and prayer than normal, and I am very grateful for that. Let's pray it becomes a lifelong habit. I am excited about the white harvest of souls that I am in, and hope to be a diligent ambassador to people like Dmitri. Your prayers would be wonderful.

Time for bed. We'll see how much I like this job when my alarm goes off at 5:40 tomorrow morning.

Faint Echoes from the Canyon

I have arrived in my summer home.

It took me this long to find Internet access, as the wireless in my apartment has decided to play hide-and-seek — and I can't find it.

For the uninitiated, I am spending the next four months (Lord willing) in beautiful Estes Park, Colorado. By day I will be a regular old barista, an espresso jockey, at the historic Stanley Hotel. By night (or in most cases, late afternoon and weekends) I will be a budding freelance writer.

My seasonal occupation could be seen as an irresponsible, irrational impulse. Or it could be seen as a glorious attempt to merge a Colorado summer with the solitary, isolated conditions in which great writers thrive. Take your pick.

This blog is my attempt at maximizing my prolificacy as a writer. I will continue writing for the prestigious Film Score Monthly Online magazine. I will also (hopefully) be writing small feature stories and shopping them around to magazines and newspapers. This blog is a way for me to update family and friends on my whereabouts and happenings and whatnots, while also spurring me to write, write, write.

So stick around! The fun's just getting started (though the fun may be spontaneous and infrequent if my blasted internet doesn't reveal itself soon).