Introducing Nate

Bree scurries into the lobby of Cheetah, rummages through her purse for her driver's license.  Nate, the desk clerk is in the middle of a phone conversation.  Bree tries not to eavesdrop.

 

Nate - "So, I got a ticket last night.  Yeah.  For possession of an open container in public"  Nate smiles and nods his head at Bree.  He takes her license.  "Yeah, I was standing on the Belmont el platform at 1:30am with half a beer, and the cop ticketed me.  Fifty bucks!"  Nate swipes the license and looks Bree in the eye.  "I know.  Well apparently you can get a ticket for that."

Bree giggles and walks to the locker room, reflecting on all the reasons she adores Nate.

Introducing Fran

"Can we have Fran back for the summer?" This is just about the highest compliment a person can receive in the key department.  It's tough enough to survive a crazy season in our loud, obnoxious, hysterical office.  To flourish and be asked to return is divine. 

"I might do it for 3."  This may have been the most exciting moment in the key department. 

Franny.  She is lovely.  She is calm.  She has a quietly devilish sense of humor.  She made a big impression on us in a matter of a couple of months.  She appreciated the love and warmth that emanated from the chocolate birthday cupcakes she received on her last day of work.  Each was littered with various and sundry toys from Uncle Fun's.  Bootylicious gum, army men, jewelry, etc.  My particular favorite was the baby doll's severed arms, legs, and bald head drowning in chocolate.  Franny left us the tiny plastic plate of spaghetti as a memento.  The spaghetti has not moved from its post in a year. 

Now, I don't want to alarm anyone, but Fran is a bit of a daredevil.  She is also a victim of peer pressure, but not without a strugle.  An average day in the key department, it was time to dare Fran to snort Purell.  I think the dare was halfhearted, but the stakes began to escalate.  Fran had a glimmer in her eye.  Mark knew she would do it if the price was right, "I will give you a dollar to pump Purell in one nostril." 

I wish I was kidding about this story. 

Long pause.  Fran inspected the Purell bottle.  "I don't know."

"Who has some money?" Mark asked.  "How about 2 dollars?  I will give you 2 dollars!"

Longer pause.  "I might do it for 3."  There was an explosion of laughter and applause.

We breathlessly gathered around, Fran inserted the nozzle gently in her left nostril, and slowly pumped.  Cheering.  Hysteria.  Tears of joy.  Our hero.  Fran left us with 3 extra dollars in her pocket.  I hope it all goes straight to her college education. 

Introducing Aimee

Nicknames.  I make fun of the guy who insists on giving all his friends nicknames.  Since my blog project has begun, I realize... I am that guy.  I nickname everyone.  To be fair, the reason I call Aimee "Sheppy" is because there were three Amy/Aimees in our office, and we had to distinguish.  Although none of those foxy ladies work with me anymore (thus negating the need for nicknames), it's a struggle to call them by their given names. 

Introduction.  Sheppy.  Sheppers.  Sheepperdoodlydoo.  Crazy about that gal.  She and I had to work Gay Pride Day 2004, in a building that was directly on the parade route.  The two newbies in the office, we didn't know to ask for the day off.  We probably wouldn't have gotten it off, anyway.  We did get to wear jeans to work, though.  We tag-teamed it all day, one person going downstairs and watching the floats while the other manned phone calls.  In the meantime, our drunken compatriots staggered upstairs to visit with us.  After 8 hours of resentment, we decided to jump in a cab and get a glass of wine elsewhere.  We arrived at Sullivan's where I met Janet (to be exposed later) who served us pinot grigio and appetizers.  We told each other our life stories.  This was the first time I really got to know what an amazing journalist she is.  And funny as all get out.  She is easily the funniest woman I know.  On the cab ride home, Sheppy advised the cabbie, "Take good care of her.  She is a blushing flower."

Comedy.  I realize what a wonderfully naughty sense of humor Sheppy has when I take comedy too far with other friends.  If anyone ever saw the text messages we send back and forth, they would either gag or think that we are a passionate lesbian couple. 

Education.  I have learned so much from Sheppy.  How to talk to boys.  How to talk to girls.  How to get a raise.  How to draw a line in the sand.  How to go back to school despite debt and work constraints.  How to tip your server.  How to stand up for your friends.  Sheppy is consistently strong and outspoken.  I often pretend to be her when I am in a stressful or unpleasant situation.  There is only one time I can think of when I was stronger than her.  Sheppy and I planned an evening together.  She called me to push back the time at the last minute.  I waited an hour.  She called again.   I waited another hour.  She called again.  She was outside of my house.  Stuck in a cab.  Taxi-man would not let her pay with a credit card.  When Sheppy originally got in the cab, she told him she had no cash, and he was fine with it.  Sheppy told me she was a little scared.  It was after 11pm, and the tone in her voice was the most vulnerable I ever heard from her.  I stormed out of the vestibule.  I jumped in the cab, slammed the door, and launched into a diatribe that sounded a little like, "$19.05, hmmm.  Since you have decided to deceive my friend, and hold her hostage while she is ready to pay good money for a long ride from downtown, you will drive us to the next ATM machine on your dollar.  Take a right at the end of the street.  Don't mind me while I look for a nickel.  You will NOT be getting a tip.  (Aside to Sheppy) This is bullshit."

Sheppy took my arm and smiled, "Boner."  When we arrived at Bridgeview Bank on Clark, she inserted her debit card. 

"This machine is unable to perform the transaction.  Sorry for the inconvenience." We had to laugh.  I tried my own card as I reminded the cabbie that I have already made a note of the charge before we left for the ATM.  "This machine is unable to perform the transaction.  Sorry for the inconvenience."  Big laugh. 

"Well, car #5486," I chortled, "Looks like you're going to have to drive us to another ATM.  This one has nothing left." 

"Well, sometimes this credit card machine does work," Taxi-man admitted.  "Let me try your card, and we'll see if it works."  And guess what?  Sheppy the Tipper refused to stiff him, and I guess that was her prerogative.  He offered us a free ride home, and we chose to walk. 

Farewells.  Although we are relatively new friends, we have been around to seen each other through a few major family issues.  Marriage, pregnancies, kidneys, death in the family, we have been each other's counselors.  It seems whenever one is up, the other is down, and we keep each other floating along.  The day Sheppy told me she was moving, she cried.  I didn't.  I blame the last year for my unusual lack of tears.  If there is anything I think I can teach my teacher, it is that farewell does not mean goodbye.  I never thought I could make closer bonds than my childhood friends.  In this short amount of time, I have fallen madly in friendship with Sheppy.  I am not worried about us in the least.  Thankfully she is going to a place that I visit semi-regularly.  Gone are the days of our twice weekly excursions to Lensly's, Egan's, Andy's or her apartment.  However, I guess it will be a good chance for both of us to get to the gym more often. 

Introducing Amanda

About a million years ago, I recall reading an article in Seventeen Magazine.  It chronicled the lives of four young gals who literally ran off to join the circus.  There was a contortionist, a gal who rode on the backs of elephants, a trapeze artist, and a clown.  Seventeen gave them all makeovers and took tons of pics, etc.  The article made a big impression on me because I just couldn't fathom dropping out of junior high to be in the circus.  I also couldn't imagine that someday I would meet one of those girls.

Amanda performed with Barnum and Bailey for 11 years as "Coco the Elephant Wrangler."  Apparently her parents were not especially supportive of their daughter dropping out of 4^th grade, but eventually, the circus won them over.   And more than that, Amanda's parents ended up working with the circus as well.  I can't say that I am a seasoned circus follower, but I always had a gut feeling the bearded lady and lobster-boy types were fake.  Amanda reinforced that feeling.  However, the art of subtlety in the circus biz seems to be the most overlooked talent.  Sitting around in a tank quietly displaying yourself for gawking passers-by requires a meditative quality that took Gene and Liza months to perfect.  This unusual family unit saw the entire landscape of North America through trailer windows.

After Barnum and Bailey faced charges of animal (particularly elephant) cruelty in the mid-90's, Amanda knew it was her time to go.  Throughout her circus life, she had been tutored by the wife of the ringleader, and she immediately got her GED so that she could attend college in Indiana, her home state.  Her parents also moved on and opened a circus camp for children in the Pocono Mountains.

After receiving a degree in History, Amanda now writes travel guides designed for twentysomething vacationers.  Although she makes a swell living as a traveling author, during her downtime she dabbles in graphic design with a notable theater in Chicago.  Ah, to have known such adventure at such a young age.  And she is a huge Peter Weller fan.

Introducing Kidney

In my quest for knowledge, I started looking up info on renal disease.  Thank goodness for the internet.  Following doctor's orders, I didn't look up HUS or TTP for too long, but I would do goofy searches like "body builder kidney" or "cute kidney" just to keep things interesting.  When I searched the word "kidney" on MySpace, this is the little guy who came up.  You should definitely visit his profile.  All his friends are other internal organs.  It's lighthearted way of looking at kidney problems/kidney successes.  And how cute is this image?  I mean, he makes Spleen look like chopped liver.  Sorry Liver.  Sorry Amy.

 

The comments on this page are great.  Some people are counting the days before their transplant.  Some folks are proudly announcing that they donated a kidney.  Some people are mad at kidney for not working well.  During the time when I had no sense of humor about Marky's kidneys, this was a good giggle for me.  Kidney is, of course, my favorite in the "I Heart Guts" series, but if you ever have issues with any of your own organs, I highly recommend becoming friends with them!

Introducing Della

Ah, my little Della Bella.  When did I fall so madly in love with her?  I think it may have been in an Italian port-o-potty. 

We were the short-haired gals in the music department.  We have the brains for classical singing, but our hearts beat for country and rock.  We both struggled through the piano proficiency.  We ran away from home and moved to our respective music meccas.  We are good storytellers.  She is the soprano to my alto, but we like to switch roles when we sing Dixie Chicks and Nelly Furtado. 

Della has inspired me in many ways.  She is luminous on the stage.  During a performance of City Called Heaven, in the middle of singing the rollicking chorus, Della turned to me and yelled, "I LIKE SINGING NEXT TO YOU!"  I almost fell over.  When I got carsick on the bus in Italy, the sound of Della crunching Melba toast comforted me.  Della made sure to pack plenty of Melba toast each morning.  She packed up the Jimmy and left for Nashville before Chicago was a twinkle in my eye.  And when I came to visit her, she threw me onto the stage within 2 hours of my arrival.  Della is my favorite songwriting partner.  I trust sharing my ideas with her more than anyone. 

My best day with Della was when I knew she was about to leave town.  We found ourselves in a bar in El Paso (I honestly can't remember the occasion), and she drove me home on the old highway.  The old highway takes a lot longer than I-10, and it is bumpy.  I couldn't imagine a better backdrop for my introduction to the Dixie Chicks.  She popped "Fly" into the CD player, and told me what each song meant to her.  Della turned up the volume on "Heartbreak Town," looked me in the eye, and told me that this song is about our lives as female musicians.  It is so true, and I can't sing that song without tearing up.  Della and I got a chance to sing "Cowboy Take Me Away" at a wedding.  I don't do well with duets.  Della is my singing sister.  This duet felt perfect.  The Dixie Chicks' music has become sacred to me since. 

I miss college.  My friends were all at arms length.  We had the time to drive around aimlessly and listen to CDs.  We collaborated regularly.  We dreamed of the future.  The future is here, and Della and I are both working hard.  I know that someday we will get together and do something.  And that something will be big. It may be an album.  It may be a foundation that helps young artists get started.  We might open our own school that teaches little girls that it's okay to be independent, it's okay to cut their hair really short, and it's okay to laugh and sing the loudest.  Who knows?

Introducing Robert

Pink Doublewide.  Okay, to be fair, it was mauve.  Do those boys even know what mauve is?  Well, it's the color of the Doublewide.  Is Doublewide two words? 

Robert is a relatively quiet human being.  Quiet and chill.  So quiet and chill that when he does finally open his mouth, you listen closely.  Robert is also a fan of comfort.  The sofas in the doublewide were not beautiful by any means, but they were covered with the softest, billowiest, smooshiest cushions your ass ever felt.  Robert is a tall guy, too.  He just kinda reminds me of a big dog that doesn't make any sudden moves or bark too loud.  But he's a good guard dog, super lovable and loyal.  Hope you don't get offended, Chum Chums, for my comparing you to a dog, but you know I mean it in the nicest way. 

My favorite story about Robert took place in Siena.  He and Della and I were sight-seeing in the quaint Italian village when we found ourselves ready for some snacks.  Pizza you buy on the street is amazing in Italy.  It has unusual toppings like ham and corn, or roasted potatoes.  After a long afternoon of walking, we purchased all different slices of pizza, wrapped them in paper, and decided to find an eating spot.  We trudged through to a shady spot near the town cathedral.  We leaned up against the wall, taking a much needed break, and opened our tasty pizza packages.  We each chomped down and enjoyed our first bite.  Then, Splat! Split! Spl-pl-pl-plop! PLOP!  It took half a second to realize we were all being pooped on by a very full pigeon.  The pigeon managed to get poop on everyone's head, shoulders, and all over our long-awaited pizza.  During our initial shock and dismay, an American tourist with a very heavy southern accent leaned toward us and said, "Y'know, they say that's good luck!"

And then we all burst into hysterical laughter.  Della got the worst of it in her hair, and she was understandably upset, but Robert gently poured some of his bottled water into her bangs.  He was so tickled, he couldn't control his chuckling.  It was all he could do to keep from doubling over with laughter.  The thought of that day still makes me giggle. 

Later that trip, the same group (plus our friend, John) broke off from the pack to stick around in Rome for a few more hours than the group.  Della and I had already been to Rome, but I didn't get to see La Boca Della Verita the first time.  Being a huge Audrey Hepburn fan, I had to see the landmark made famous by Roman Holiday.  We were in a race against the clock.  We had a mile to walk, and only about 15 minutes to do it before Bocca closed.  We jogged through cobblestone paths, and the boys held back oncoming traffic so that we could run through the streets.  After huffing and puffing, we made it.  It was in sight.  We ran to the door.  A kindly priest walked up to the entrance and SLAM!  He closed the gate in our faces.  Mere seconds away from our destination, we begged the priest to reconsider.  Italian priests don't mess around, though.  We were out of luck.  We took photographs through the wrought iron gate.  After seeing a few more sights, we braved the Rome train station.  We purchased tickets, found our train line, and ordered McDonald's without knowing a lick of Italian.  It was a little scary, but once our butts were in our seats, we celebrated our bravery.  We all got back to our hotel in one piece, had a cocktail together, and swore that we would always remember that day. 

I have lots of fun stories involving Chum Chums, but I think Italy was when I first really felt like we were buddies.  We also have the Cider Jazz bond.  So he's family. 

Introducing Ida

One sunny weekend afternoon (what afternoons aren't sunny in NM?) Ida, Kathy, Angie and I got together to watch a movie.  We had been discussing the Color Purple for weeks, and we decided to make a date to view it.  We also decided to incorporate some craft time into the day, so we bought a paintable tea set.  Each girl got a cup and saucer.   We painted to our hearts content, and then used the cups for tequila. 

Thinking of Ida also makes me nostalgic for Three-Dollar Cleavers Night.  Whoever wanted to be part of this weekly Sunday evening extravaganza would simply supply me with three dollars beforehand.  Once I collected that from each person, I would go to the grocery store, buy as much dinner stuff I could with the cash, and come home and cook for everyone.  Usually we had meatloaf and mashed potatoes and peas.  And salad, too.  Don't forget the salad.  I pretended to be June Cleaver all for a $3 cover charge.  This all took place at Ida's house.  She lived in the house with the best kitchen and dining room, so it was a given that dinner parties would happen there.  I miss having weekends to do whatever. 

Finally, Ida is part of one of the cutest girl pics ever.  I will have to post it when I get home.  It's an assembly of the aforementioned girl crew.  We looked very sweet and good, but we were famous for making disgusting "your mom" jokes. 

Introducing Kelleigh

Kelleigh and I went to high school together.  More than once, people got us mixed up, or at least thought we were sisters.  If we were sisters, I would have been pissed that I didn't get the genes for the curly hair or the cute nose.  But really, I think there are a couple of theater photos in the yearbook where our names are mixed up.  We even dated the same dude.  Creepy.  Eh, c'est la high school. 

 

To be honest,  I haven't communicated that much since connecting with Kelleigh on the 'Space.  She still looks artsy-fartsy and is making her way in the world of entertainment, a relief that I am not the only one fighting the good fight.  Swing out, sister.

Introducing Megan

LB.  Little Brain.  She doesn't really live up to the name.  I know it comes from the days of yore when Kelly (her big sister) would get a frantic phone call from God-knows-where in Chicago.  "I lost my wallet," LB would admit. 

 

"Oh, LB,"  the key department would sigh in unison.

 

Megan has come a long way from her early days searching for a job, searching for her soul path, searching for her wallet.  I have only known her for 3 years, but I feel that I have seen her progress from adolescence to womanhood.  Her posture, her attitude, and her flair for accessorizing are to be envied.  I find Megan sporting the hair color of my dreams, then the next week it's something different, but equally dramatic.  She also makes going to school and changing jobs look effortless.  I know there is more emotion behind it than I see, but I have always wished I could be more of a B-type personality like her.  And, just when I think there is no more that White Stripes and Led Zeppelin records rattling around in her noggin, she suddenly knows every word to my jazz songs.  Truly a chameleon.  Megan will continue to grow.  But she will always be our Little Brain. 

Introducing Aya

Aya has a wicked sense of humor.  I can say something repulsive and she will, without blinking, trump me.  Hanging out with her is kind of like hanging out with a really pretty frat boy.  It's a damn shame that people who are not her immediate friends can't see her bulletins, because she posts wonderfullly sarcastic quizzes. 

 

Throughout the month of Marky's hospital stay, Aya was one of those people who made life easier.  She doesn't know me well (Marky and Aya work together occasionally), but she reached out when she knew I needed it.  Offering to take care of paperwork at Cheetah, to have her boyfriend extract our A/C units, to visit Marky at St. Joe's, etc.  The knowledge that someone was at the ready made life a little less daunting.  Back then, she was a virtual stranger, but I know now that she is a mature, strong, caring person. 

 

I am indebted to Aya for giving us a hand up when we were in need.

Introducing Matt

I really wanted Matt to be Josh. 

Matt is the keyboardist for Bob Perna and Persistance, the jazz band I sing with.  Of this generation of Pernites, Matt has been around the longest.  A friend of mine calls him "Kitten Paws".  It's amazing that such melodious sounds can come from hands that look like they are just randomly slapping the keys.  He also plays for a band called Abstract Giants.  I don't feel right about trying to describe their genre until I actually see them perform.  I have seen pictures, though, and the audience seems to be having a blast. 

I met the lovely gentlemen of Persistance a couple years ago at my audition, and I never thought I would be able to remember all of their names. Coming from New Mexico, I was used to memorizing names like Alejandro, Juan Carlos, and Manuel.  For the longest time I thought Matt was named Josh, and I just decided not to address anyone by name until I was totally sure. 

Once I got a little more comfortable with the idea of actually speaking to my bandmates (about a year later, geez!), I asked Matt to accompany me at a wedding.  He created lovely arrangements of Led Zeppelin and the Doors to play at a swanky ceremony.  Then cocktail hour.  I didn't have a microphone to croon, so Matt pretty much took over.  Matt has an old music soul.  His brain is a jazz encyclopedia.  The bride's otherwise grouchy grandmother sidled up to Matt, and started making requests.  Grandma would give him half a lyric, and he would play exactly what she wanted.  I think she sat with him for 45 minutes.  Awestruck family members remarked that they had never seen her so giddy. 

Aside from being a supportive band member, Matt is creative and makes me laugh.  And I have little personal funerals for his hair when he cuts it short. 

Introducing Knitta

All right.  Knitta is not a close personal friend of mine.  That doesn't mean I don't love Knitta. 

As I walked to my car at lunch today, I closely inspected the six adolescent trees that line Briar Street, which have been tagged by gangsters.  Tagged with yarn.  Beautiful yarn.  By craft gangsters.  This is, I can only guess, a random act of craftiness inspired by none other than Knitta.  Houstonian founding members with handles like P-Knitty, Granny SQ, MascuKnitity, and the Notorius N.I.T. have put their fuzzy mark on the world one car antenna at a time.  Bike racks, stop sign poles, traffic lights, stair rails, subway handles, statues, really anything that will stand still is at risk of being decorated by these maniacs. 

I find their work exilarating and inspiring.  I love people who get away with stuff.  I never sneaked out of the house or drank beer in high school, and the thought of joining the Knitta momement might be more than I could handle.  But my name would be "McSchnafty".  As in "Crafty McSchnafty", which is pretty badass, but McSchnafty sounds a little tougher.  I have already said too much.  I have given away my proposed alias, and you all know what I look like.  The Knitta Crew is untraceable.  There are photos of them, but they don't show their face.  All you will ever see are menacing hands wielding bamboo needles, toes entangled in eyelash angora, or a decolletage with voluptuous boucle balls spilling out. 

Back to the trees on Briar: I feel so hopeful to live in a city that supports art installations, no matter how small.  These trees have been sheathed in knittage for at least a year.  What if a hoodlum comes along and slashes it?  Maybe the City of Chicago will intercede at some point when those trees need more room to grow.  Then again, maybe the world will come to an end tomorrow.  Why do I worry?  Thank you Knitta, for making me think, dream, and to strive to be a better knitter.

Introducing Annie

Annie and I are in the Brunette Brigade.  Her hair is fabulously curly, and mine is phenominally straight.  There is a third member of the brigade, Megan, whose hair is fantastically thick.  We are all mezzo sopranos and sat together in several music classes throughout college.  Really, can you think of any better reasons to start a brigade? 

 

My friend Annie is one of the best people I know.  She is smart, funny, and nice.  I know those seem like mundane qualities on paper.  Annie always studied hard, and as far as I know she is still working on her Ph.D .  She is one of the kindest people I have ever met.  She really listens to people, and she has a big beautiful laugh that makes you feel like a the funniest person in the world.  Also, she has great legs.  And she wears high heels.  As an altitude-deficient person, I am totally jealous!

 

I'm not what you would describe as a religious person.  When I get on a plane, though, I will pray to whatever deity will listen.  Right before our college choir boarded a flight to Italy, Annie's dad gathered a group of us together, and just kinda made a shout out to God.  It was so sweet and casual, and I really felt better when we got on the plane.  I think it's so nice when parents reach out and shelter their kids' friends.  That family raised a lovely, brave, intelligent girl. 

 

It takes more than just an ounce of bravery to leave your nest to strike out on your own in Japan.  But Annie managed to pack her bags and do it right after college.  She has lived in a lot of big cities since then, and she is still the same old gal.  The last time I talked to her on the phone, she was talking about being starstruck when big names would walk into the restaurant she was hostessing.  I know that it won't be long before people are acting the same way when they meet her. 

Introducing Hugo

I have to be honest.  I didn't like Hugo when I met him.  He was in my physics class.  He seemed sort of aimless and goofy.  Typical college party boy.  Besides, vocalists didn't hang out with instrumentalists.  Back then I certainly couldn't imagine he would become one of my great musical influences. 

As a music major, I had a certain number of recitals I had to attend per semester.  I only listened to vocal concerts, because, well... I was a singer.  I didn't see the point in watching instrumentalists.  What could I learn from them?  And there were no words.  My voice teacher, Chris, always pushed us to go to band recitals.  I refused.  For years.  Then, my last year of school, I went to see a jazz band thing.  And Hugo had a solo.  It was called "The Preacher".  Hugo walked to the front.  The band began to play an instrumental gospel choir arrangement.  Hugo planted his feet, took a breath, leaned back, and blew his horn.  Until that moment, I had not understood what an instrument was singing.  Hugo was the preacher, the band was the church, and I understood every word.  He was confident and strong, a 180 degree turn from the boy in my physics class. 

I have had the good. fortune to collaborate with Hugo at live performances and in the studio.  He is incredibly inspired, multi-talented, humble, and generous.  I wish him the best in all of his efforts, musical or otherwise. 

Introducing Marco

Life is skittles.  Marco is a brilliant and talented individual, but all I care about is the way he performs "Poisoning Pigeons in the Park". 

Marco approached me while I was doing crossing guard duty at Conlee Elementary.  He wanted to use me as a featured artist in a recital he was directing.  I don't think I had ever talked to him before that.  For a young dude, I thought that took some balls to just approach me on the street like that.  Anyway, we walked back to my classroom and ran over some songs.  This was my first year out of school, first year as a teacher, and I was excited to do a concert again.  When we played through "Can't Help Lovin' That Man", a song I could sing in my sleep, my voice cracked a little.  I chalked it up to being out of practice, and vowed to warm up every morning for the two weeks leading up to the concert.  And I was going to knock those people out of their seats with my four super-diva musical theater songs. 

Throughout the next week, Marco checked up on me, making sure I was feeling ready, expressing his excitement that I would be starring in his concert.  I tried to keep our conversations short, because I was feeling a little hoarse, like I was getting a cold.  I knew that I could get over a cold in two weeks, and didn't want to worry him.  Little did I know that "cold" was the first sign of the months-long illness I suffered due to an allergic reaction to my classroom.  My tonsils were huge, my vocal cords were rough, and my ears were swelled shut.  Even if I could utter a sound, I couldn't hear it to know if I was on pitch.  I had to confess to Marco. 

Marco kept an optimistic front, assuring me that I would get better, and even if I didn't, my sheer presence at the concert would be important.  I conducted silent lessons in my music classes, rested as much as possible, but just couldn't sing. 

The night of the concert arrived.  Marco had talked me up to ticketholders and performers alike.  I regretted every prideful thought that had ever entered my head.  We cut three of my four songs, and I just tried to growl through "Over the Moon", which was a disaster.  The rest of the concert was wonderful, though.  Josh and Marco had assembled a terrific bunch of young performers, including themselves.  The night was a big success, no thanks to me, and Marco never made me feel bad about it. 

I probably wouldn't blog at all had it not been for Marco.  He passionately encourages all of my creative endeavors, no matter how small. 

Introducing Josh

Sweet Joshie.  What a roomie.  What a tenor. 

When Josh and Marcos sang solos in one of our college concerts, the local paper covered the event.  The days leading up to the concert were pretty average, we worked hard on the music, and publicized the hell out of the show.  Our concerts were always a big deal.  They were black tie affairs, and we had to be on our best behavior.  The day of the concert, Marcos and Josh dyed their hair bright purple and turquoise, respectively.  Well, there was nothing Dr. Alt could do about it, and the show had to go on.  The concert went on without a hitch, and the audience was a-buzz about the hair colors.  The newspaper in the morning praised Josh McDougall's (NOT his last name) performance and mentioned his fucshia hair.  Rather than get upset about the misspelling of his name, Josh exclaimed, "It's turquoise!"

NATS competition, (circa 1998, forgive the paraphrasing), a bunch of singers stayed at my mom's house in Albuquerque.  Mom loved talking to everyone, listening to them warm up in their bedrooms, and creating a bed-and-breakfast atmosphere.  Again, Josh and Marcos, sitting at the dining room table with Maureen, now she's the reporter.  She asked Marcos, who was hooked up to a personal humidifier, how he gets in character for his songs.  He told her, "I will be performing an aria was about a man who wants to exact revenge on the man who stole the love of his life.  I visualize two mighty soldiers in battle and pretend to be one of them."  Then he reattached the mouthpiece of his humidifier. 

Mom asked the same of Josh, who replied, "This is a song about a guy who is really arrogant.  I just pretend I'm Marcos."

Josh was very much the homemaker in our world of college chaos.  He made blueberry pancakes for Marky's birthday breakfast.  That may have been the first and only breakfast ever eaten at 1310 Van Patten.  And when I came home from school Josh would as me how my day was, recititative style.  We would review the day like a mini-opera.  When I was really struggling to learn piano, he was super supportive.  Josh got really excited for me when I learned to harmonize the McDonald's melody from a tray cover. 

Josh could speak to his dog.  He would say things like, "I have to go to work now, so you have to go to the backyard and refrain from barking."  Mudley would always look at him, process the information, and do just what Daddy told him.  Our crazy calico, Max, wouldn't really snuggle with anyone but Josh. 

Introducing Panya

Oh, Sister Panya.  Is that a green thong on your vacuum cleaner?  Can I help you with your MySpace Page?  And why is that black dog so racist?  Don't you touch that dial if Lifetime is on.  I don't care if she is on her phone. DON'T TOUCH IT!!

Aside from tormenting her about chewing gum while she was in a fashion show, making fun of her modeling photos, and hiding her cleaning supplies, we have a good relationship with Panya.  She is a big hearted lady and a hard working mom. 

My favorite memory of her is when she was sitting in our office during her break.  We were all working silently when "Kashmir" came on my radio station.  Panya, in perfect unison, joined Robert Plant, "Whoa let the su-un beat down upon my fa-ace..."

I looked at her, surprised she knew every little breath of the song.  "Panya? Listen to you!"

"That's one of my skating songs," Panya declared.  And in that moment I saw her in a different light.  I guess she goes roller skating in the evening.  I get a kick thinking of her gliding along the hardwood floor, making eyes at the guys, and jamming to classic rock.  Oh Panya.  Stop wearing jeans to work. 

Introducing Alex

Alex likes to ride horses.  And play softball.  And she's a really lovely, tall blonde gal.  Aaaaaaand she's got a healthy sense of humor.  Once I sent her a comment with a picture of a Barbie doll riding a horse, and she thought it was funny.  For the company newsletter, she and Dixie (the office hotties) interviewed our CEO.  While sitting on his lap.  Priceless.

Alex always makes me feel special when I run into her.  Even though she doesn't work at the office anymore, I still occasionally run into her because she is friends with a girl who lives in my building.  She is usually accompanied by her also-lovely boyfriend.  Their future children will be somewhere in between exquisite and stunning.  I hope they have the same sweet personalities as their parents.  I love planning people's future's for them. 

Their children's names shall be Quinn and Chadworth. 

Introducing Matt

I have seen Matt naked,  but who hasn't?

This story is an office favorite.  Sorry if you have already heard it. 

He's a singer, an actor, a musician...  Matt is an entertainer.  Matt is also a sweetheart and a lovely supporter of the arts.  There are a ton of performers at our office, which means there are a ton of performances to see, which means you could go broke supporting your buddy's Iron Maiden tribute band.  As a performer myself, I feel the need to make my gigs stand above the rest in hopes that I can get a crowd to gather.  $15 is a lot to ask of your friends who are strapped, but I shelled it out to see Matt in "Hair".  And I always feel bad for asking people to pay cover and adhere to the two-drink-minimum at Andy's, but a handful of people have shown up.  Anyway, what I'm saying is, you have to wake up pretty early in the morning to encourage people to come to your show, and there really should be some pay off.

So, I was going to have a gig at Horseshoe.  I needed to get people in the door in order to get future gigs there.  It was a free show, but I felt that our coworkers needed more encouragement to show up.  A flyer got some attention, word of mouth always works, but I made tickets.  They looked pretty good, too.  I printed out generic-looking business card-sized passes.  They had phrases like "Admit One," "Void if Duplicated," and "Lot #0668243."  We put a little pile on our desk, and told people there were a limited number them.  Then the fun began.

People started grabbing them left and right, planning which friends they would bring along, placing them back in the pile when there was a cancellation, everyone seemed very excited to have a free pass.  It was a great marketing scam.  No one ever asked how much this (free) concert would cost without a ticket.  Matt, knowing the value of a comp, only took his fair share, but was excited to see the show for free.  As the week went on, people were buzzing, and the tickets were gone.  I promised to try to get some more, but couldn't make any promises.  Gig day was coming up, and Mark and I estimated we could get about 30 people in the door to this thing. 

The day of the gig comes up, and people are buzzing.  Mark and I are giggling because we have fleeced the entire bunch.  Mark goes for a smoke break.  Mark comes back to the office cracking up.  He tells me that Matt cornered him in the smoke room, desperate.  Matt apparently pleaded with Mark to "score some more comps, man." 

Matt was a very good sport when he arrived at the venue and realized he never needed a ticket at all.  We all had a good laugh. 

Introducing Zak

Now, there was some great hair at my high school, but Zak's was the best. 

Guitar class brought people from all the different social cliques together.  Once I entered that realm, I developed an enormous crush on Zak.  He turned out to be a really nice guy, too.  Zak would walk into class in the morning. sit down, and brush his hair.  His spirit animal had to be a horse, because he had this long face and this beautiful flowing mane.  If he had given me a chance, I would have brushed his hair on the daily.  Once he let me French braid it, and I swear I thought I was going to have a heart attack.  I was so fixated on his hair, that I would find myself twirling my hair around my finger when he would twirl his.  While sitting in the audience at a guitar concert, my mother scolded us for twirling our hair.  We looked at each other, traded strands, and twirled each other's hair in a fit of laughter.  Twirl.  Say it.  Twiiiiiirl....

Anyway, that sad day came.  Zak hacked his locks off.  All that was left was a chin-length bowl cut. I cried a little inside.  He sat down beside me.  I told him it looked nice.  I was lying.  And he told me that he was a little disappointed.  I asked why.  He said, "Well, I was really hoping it would look a little more like your hair."

Introducing Isaac

Most of my stories about Isaac are incriminating.  I will do my best. 

He is a dancer.  He is a singer.  He is an actor.  He feels a little naugty when he eats mango with sticky rice.  He likes candy.  He fell out of a moving car when he was little.  He watches movies out of the corner of his eye.  His mom is sexy.  He was in a water ballet group called "Goldenfische".  He knows that licking 9-volt batteries too much will give you a headache.  He likes that Paula Cole album.  Isaac makes me do things I don't think I can do.  He has a weath of ego.  And I mean this in a good way.  He believes in himself, and it is easy to get swept up in it.  He makes me feel like I am a good dancer, a musician, a comedian, an intellectual.  He is my tenor. He is my Cosmic Twin. 

Father's Day, 2002(ish?).  For some reason, Isaac and I just decided to spend the day together.  His enormous clan was gathering at his grandma's house.  I was the only non-Quiroga, but they always made me feel like a part of the family.  I had attended several other parties of theirs, and I was no longer allowed to show up without my guitar.  They didn't have to twist my arm very much, seeing as Isaac's uncle Fernie sometimes threw $20 bills my way for my rendition of "American Pie".  Isaac's grandfather started the party by giving us a speech (en español).  It went on and on, and Isaac's dad rolled his eyes.  Isaac quietly explained that his grandfather was instructing us to think of the children, and to not drink to excess, and that this party was about family, etc.  At the close of his diatribe, Isaac's dad looked at me and Isaac and said, "Bring on the tequila!" 

We ate to our hearts' content, drank a little, sang a little, and Isaac and I decided that since we were in the right town, we would go see my dad, too.  It was a slightly different experience at my dad's place, and Isaac and I didn't stay long.  Even though the sun was setting on us, we decided our last stop would be a bar on Mesa.  We yukked it up, played some pool, had a couple shots, and I tried to read Isaac a chapter out of a textbook on the ride home (a major gift on my part if you know how carsick I get).  That was probably my favorite day with Isaac.

Introducing Tom

My favorite story about Tom has already been written.  It's under "The Day That Changed My Life" circa August 2006.  What else could I say about Tom?

Well, he bosses me around.  And I like it.  Once he was trying to teach me to jitterbug, at which I stink, and he stopped mid-jitter to instruct, "I lead, you follow."  I took a breath and relaxed, and we did much better.

While blocking my first kissing scene in a play, he made me spit out my gum.  Who isn't nervous about that?  But it actually made me feel a little more at ease. 

Tom knows that I am a fast, high, loud singer, and my audition pieces reflect that.  I get much more nervous about singing sweet, emotive songs.  After shakily performing the ingenue ballad in a show with Tom, he took me aside and made me promise to use that song in my next audition. 

Also, when telling the story of the coffee mug tattoo on his ankle, Tom will tell you of the design that was its runner up, years ago.  It was a green mermaid logo of a homey little coffee shop in Seattle.  Starbucks was the name, if memory serves. 

Introducing Eric

"Ah-ha-ha-ha luv 'im sa-ha-ha-ha-ho mu-huh-huh-huch!" I cried.

"Ah know ya do, hunneh," Eric repiled.

It always feels good when someone can immediately respond to your quirky movie quote.  And Eric doesn't hold it against me that I can't quote "The Big Lebowski," a huge quotable in our office. 

Our little key department has a doorway that all the newbies trip on.  After a couple of stubbed toes, you teach yourself to step gingerly over the treacherous carpet strip.  No one will ever forget the day that sweet Besty Sugarman's feet flew out from under her in a flurry of office activity.  Seriously, you could get some air if your are walking fast enough. 

Summer 2005, the office is buzzing.  Agents are running about, all four of us are on the phone, keys are jangling, the all-page is bellowing, Eric comes flying through the door, and "Smack!" He is face down spread eagle on the floor.  Everyone jumps up from their desk, and drop their respective duties, concerned that he has broken his nose.  What I saw in that split second before the fall (that no one else spied) was an ear-to-ear grin on Eric's face as he made his dramatic pratfall.  It was all planned.  Nice gag, Eric. 

Introducing Damian

Let's see...  This is weird, because Damian and I dated in high school.  Even though it was a long time ago, and we are both married to other folks, now, I have this strange feeling about writing a blog about him.  I'm gonna just go for it. 

Damian was in a band.  The band rehearsed in a house catty corner to my house on Washington.  I liked things like the Monkees and Nelson, and although I was excited about having a boyfriend in a band, I had a strong feeling I would not like their brand of music.  Well, the band let me sit in and be a groupie for an afternoon.  The first song was really cool.  Once Damian got through the first verse, I recognized the hook from Nine Inch Nails' "Head Like a Hole".  Until then, I had written Trent Reznor off as a moody little bitch who had no cultural significance.  Then Gabe did "The Choice is Yours" by Black Sheep (I think?) and that opened a little window to rap that hadn't been there before. 

Also, Damian told me something that I will never forget--and every member of every band should know this.  Sometime after rehearsal, like a week or two down the road, I begged Damian to skip rehearsal to spend time with me.  He told me that Paul, one of the former members of the group, became a former member when he missed one too many rehearsals.  They realized they didn't need him, and they just went on.  It was a very grown-up-way-of-the-world idea.  Even though he was chronologically younger, Damian was typically a little more of a mental adult than me when it came to practical life issues.  I think of what Damian told me every time I feel too tired or busy to go to rehearsal. 

Introducing Dixie

Ask anyone and they will tell you that Dixie is the nicest person at work.  I have been trying to think of a great story to tell about her, but I just keep coming back to her smile. 

Dixie smiles big.  She smiles with everything she has.  When Dixie smiles at you, you feel like you are a superstar.  Dixie is also physically intense.  She hugs tight, she dances hard, she laughs loud, and it is totally contagious. 

Dixie has a little niece, Isabel, who is getting older, but she will always be a little toddler to me.  The first and only time I met Isabel, she was watching Dixie play softball.  She seemed like a happy little girl, but also very calm.  When Dixie got off the field to say "hi," Isabel lit up like a Christmas tree.  Dixie smiled and did a little happy dance, and Isabel imitated her move for move.  And Isabel smiled her biggest smile for her.  Anyone who was watching this exchange had to be doing the same. 

That was about two years ago, and it is still one of my favorite memories of Dixie.  For something that costs nothing and takes no time at all, it's amazing that a smile can last forever and make you feel like a million dollars.