He's A Pirate (Vogler Remix)

Herr Vogler (Brad) visited me this week. We both took our paid time off for it. I’d never had a vacation before. Ever. Of course, I didn’t even vacate, but that’s beside the point: it’s nice to be paid to not work. Those aren’t “entitlements,” though: they’re “earned benefits.” Same thing, different connotation.

There’s no way I can do Herr Vogler justice on this blog. It was a much-needed respite, for so many reasons.

First and most immediately noticeably, it was rejuvenating to have a normal person’s sleep cycle. Even if Herr Vogler hadn’t come down here, it would have been awesome just to have daylight for my time off.

Phone conversations are nothing. Having real-time, in-person, live-action interaction is exactly what companionship is. Obviously. But man, I’ve been cut off for a long time. Working night shift and geographically separated from my would-be companions has left me solitary and self-reliant. So, having an actual party member recharged my batteries.

I also find that spending time with a fellow composer, and one with mostly similar tastes, magnifies things considerably. Inspiring conversation never runs out, and listening to music together is ten times as enjoyable. My hat is off to you, Mr. Fowler.

It wasn’t a blast from the past, though. It was more like… a blast from the alternate future. We’re not kids anymore; we felt and acted like people our age, but in a good way. Specifically, it’s assumed that people our age are… um… more financially well off? Also, after a fiasco with my rental car (I’m still not finished with that whole thing, either) breaking down, I was upgraded to a Toyota Scion, a car I’d probably never afford to own. So, the combination of vacation time, good companionship, and a nicer car brought with it a strange, nagging, out-of-body experience when we went to see Game 1 at a sports bar: I kept thinking that this is the kind of thing I “should be” doing far, far more often. I kept thinking back to my time in Overland Park, being on the outside looking in. I don’t know… something about “young professionals” and the lifestyle of not being as downtrodden as I always seem to be. Of course, this financial freedom was an illusion, but maybe that’s the best part about vacation: an escape from yourself.

I guess what I’m saying is, I’m thirty years old, and that’s exactly how old I want to be.

An important point to make is that, ever since my time at Truman, I’ve always felt the desire to be a good host. I want to be the architect of others’ pleasure and recreation. I am, after all, an entertainer. No small part of that would be the pride I take in being credited for it, the supreme satisfaction of having my friends feel that I was responsible for a good time. The motivation is threefold: one, they are encouraged to come back for more, without anticipating a down side to the experience like they might with other hosts (too much drama, bad conversation, or otherwise cramping their style); two, there’s my reputation to consider, so I don’t want to lose credibility when I talk about doing things with style and feeling like a million bucks in the process (I wouldn’t want the mentioning of my name to evoke the image of a boring old couch potato or anything); three, and most importantly, because hey, I want to share the experience.

It’s actually very, very hard to articulate. But Dean Yzon would understand. And I more than suspect that I am demolishing the effect simply by attempting capture and reveal it in words.

Try this:

”Being your friend is always an adventure!”
“Yes, it is, isn’t it?”
—The Count of Monte Cristo

”You may not like him, Minister, but you can’t deny: Dumbledore’s got style!”
—Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

”It will be nice working with proper villains again.”
—Ocean’s Eleven

”Danny, I like you. And you, Rusty. I mean, you’ve got style. You’ve got brio. You’ve got loyalty…”
—Ocean’s Thirteen

”Well, Jones, at least you haven’t forgotten how to show a lady a good time.”
—Raiders of the Lost Ark


Now that the intro commentary is out of the way, lest I completely undermine the “cool factor” of the week, I shall describe our actual exploits…

We agreed at the outset to avoid national chains at all costs. Scheming over burritos at Freebirds, we decided to buy beer first, then drop it off at my apartment on the way downtown.

I don’t see the need to log an exact chronology of the minutiae of activities, but the main attraction of going downtown was that we hunted for treasure at Waterloo, a record store I will have to revisit sometime. Unsurprisingly (to me, at least), the best part of aimless meandering is always the knowledge in the back of my mind that the whole night (and next day) is ahead of me. Not only enjoying the present, but still having something to look forward to. That is freedom.

Of course, that freedom invariably leads to bad, awesome decisions. Sipping coffee at Mozart’s, Herr Vogler proposed a course of action, with just a hint of Jack Nicholson’s inflection: “I say we drive west about an hour and start a fire.” It took a couple seconds for that to register. Wildfires. Tables around us may have overheard, and I thought of just how near Bastrop was, and I realized how that joke was in such awesomely poor taste. And I nervously responded with the handle he had created earlier for the whole visit (Operation: Dude, You Can’t Say That In Texas).

Ah, but was he joking? Was he, really? Hmm.

It later occurred to me, the late afternoon sun beating down on my face, can of gasoline in hand, that he had once again convinced me not only to do something dire but that it was my idea in the first place.

And then the screaming began.

Stonewall, Texas. Eh, nobody was going to miss it, anyway.

Safely back on my apartment balcony, pausing the conversation occasionally to listen for police sirens, we had plenty of time to reflect. Cigars and beer, sitting on the patio of my second-story apartment, discussing life, music, politics, and religion… exactly like we did so many times back when I lived in Kansas City. It was an interesting then-and-now experience. Such an obvious throwback to an earlier time, taking a moment to examine how much (and yet how little) had changed since the last time we sat on the balcony of my apartment in KC… It was one of the few moments in life that resembled a decent screenwriting trope. It would have made a good, thoughtful ending to an episode, at least from a formal structure standpoint.

We did other things, but as I said earlier I don’t want to bore even myself with a play-by-play. But having some time to kill after lunch on the second day, we popped in Raiders of the Lost Ark, and it occurred to me just how luxurious it felt to be able to spontaneously help myself to a Killian’s with a DVD matinee. Am I really so starved for such freedom? I guess I am.

Time is the ultimate luxury.

Wednesday we went shopping for travel gifts for his mother, wife, and daughter, still intent on avoiding chains. It wasn’t until after he left town that I found the exact gift shop in Round Rock that we were looking for. Dang it. It was right there on Mays—we even drove past it together at least twice that day! I knew it was around there somewhere, for it was in the recesses of my memory, of old mental notes taken for future reference like a shoe box full of disorganized receipts…

That night, we went to Home Field Grill to watch Game 1 of the World Series. St. Louis Cardinals vs. Texas Rangers. Rooting for the Cardinals, we were pilgrims in an unholy land. I had my cap on, like a strobe beacon, setting my IFF transponder to “foe.” In fact, all week long, instead of going the “high roller” route I selected my wardrobe around what looks good with a Cardinals cap. We could have done Austin in true Ocean’s Eleven style, but it was the World Series. So we opted for “casual-belligerent.”

What really bothers me is that Game 1 of the World Series was actually the first game of the entire season that I actually got to watch. I missed the entire baseball season, a fact of which I am unimaginably, indescribably regretful. And once again, as I do with Halloween and Christmas and the Fourth of July, I tell myself, “Next year is gonna be different!”

I thought I should mention all of these things, because it’s at least as worthwhile as the stupid tripe we all post on our Facebook feeds.

Now, a word about The Salt Lick. It is a nationally renowned Texas brisket restaurant. It is very, very yummy. BUT. Next time somebody visits me, I don’t really want to go. I’ve taken every one of my visitors there as a “required” experience. My sister visited. My brother and his family visited. Andrew, my friend since kindergarten, visited. And now, the Indomitable Herr Vogler has visited. I took all of them to The Salt Lick. And it was very good. But… quite frankly, I don’t think it lives up to the hype. And I’m tired of going. If you are the next person to visit me, I can’t guarantee I’ll buy you brisket.

Mozart’s Coffee Roasters, however… well, that is something I will continue to push on everyone.

It was a good time.

Man, I have got to get some local friends.


Listening List:
Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides (Hans Zimmer)
Thor (Patrick Doyle)
The Bourne Ultimatum (John Powell)
The Dark Knight (Hans Zimmer and James Newton Howard)
Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (John Williams)