Could it be the more you discover, the less you know?
Even about me?
~*~
Of course, you can exclaim, What an asshole!
You never know what we'll churn up in cleaning a stall
Could it be the more you discover, the less you know?
Even about me?
~*~
Of course, you can exclaim, What an asshole!
I mean, focusing on material goods! very atypical for us, you and me, not philosophy or fine arts or even dramatic late fall weather we’re having we really show ourselves at our crassest but as long as I’m being confessional, let’s continue in the vein: last week, at our Guild meeting, we voted to accept the company’s latest final offer for our new contract, which means I’ll be getting a big retro check covering the wage difference from Jan. 1 till now
Often, the halls where I’ve encountered the most incredible musical performances have been pretty utilitarian. Some were cramped, others had questionable acoustics or sight lines, and many were bland to the eye. Something, quite simply, was missing.
The big auditorium at Indiana University comes to mind or the related high school where the weekly Saturday night operas were presented or my hometown’s Memorial Hall and National Cash Register Company’s venue. (NCR’s back in the day before naming rights.) Even Philharmonic Hall in Manhattan, as it was known then, or Chicago’s.
Here are ten I remember quite differently, with fondness.
~*~
Let me add honorable mentions to Mechanics Hall in Worcester, Massachusetts, and Faneuil Hall in Boston. I’ve been inside both and am impressed but have yet to hear a live performance in them.
In my novel What’s Left, Cassia’s father is from Davenport, Iowa. Maybe via Tibet, in a way. And later, Cassia makes her own move.
What’s your biggest relocation been from your own hometown?
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Not that I ever planned it that way.
~*~

The skills Aristotle gains in the shipyard in the old country allow him to navigate through a lifetime in my novel What’s Left.
What did your grandfathers do for a living?
Salad writers
Salad winters