OT: A night at the theatre

(Writer's note: When a post title is preceded by OT, that means it's off-topic. So if you were hoping to read my thoughts on riding my bike in front of OLN/Versus' coverage of Ironman Coeur d'Alene 2005 for the 12th time, you might skip such a post. Onward...)

There were several things that made taking this job a no-brainer, not the least of which was the salary. Those of you who know I was in newspapers know what I'm talking about. For example, during my days in Denton, Texas, Jack in the Box was hiring managers at $31,500, per a sign alongside I-35E. That would have been a $10,000-a-year raise from what I was making at the time.

The other fringe benefits involve being on a campus. I have a fairly nice gym and pool in which to work out (so there's the obligatory tie-in to my workout regimen), there are roughly 7,000 college co-eds strolling across campus for me to ogle (for better or for worse), there are roughly 4,000 of the sharpest minds on the planet in this community to challenge me in my work on a daily basis, I can finally become a paying customer of the college sports I love, and any campus is the cultural epicenter of the community.

Let's not forget the work hours. I played trumpet from fifth grade through college, and since May 12, 1996, my graduation day, my horn has sat unmolested in its case through however many times I've moved. My parents are always after me to play again but I've explained to them on a semi-monthly basis since I graduated that it's hard to engage in a hobby that requires nights and weekends free (any musicians ever do gigs at noon in the middle of the week?) when you work nights and weekends. True story here -- when I moved to Denton, Texas, in 1997, I was walking near the University of North Texas Campus when I saw a flyer posted to a light pole. It said a ska band (again, this is 1997) needed trumpet and trombone players. I started to tear off one of the flaps with the lead guitarist's phone number on it when I realized what my work hours were going to be. "Sure," I thought, "I'll play horn for you. I just can't do gigs on Thursday, Friday or Saturday nights." The life of a sports writer, indeed.

Plus, the "normal" hours mean I have time to enjoy such things, if not participate in them. Like last night, I went to a theatre production. I knew all about it because it's a story I'm working on for the magazine, and because it involves so many elements (dance, drama, comedy, music, physical theatre) I couldn't help but want to see the finished product, even after sitting in on one rehearsal and a dress rehearsal. Plus, now that I have a little more money I want to support these things as much as I can, partly to compensate for not doing so in the past 12 years.

I'll see if I can synopsize it briefly. The production is called "Heyokah/Hokahey," a devised theatre production conceptualized and executed by a group of University of Wyoming theatre students, guided by world-famous mime Bill Bowers. "Heyokah" is a person in Lakota Sioux whose job is basically to be a court jester. "Heyokah" literally means "the opposite," and that person shows us new ways of looking at things, fearlessly questioning things that have gone unquestioned. So the show looks at the world, in particular some of those Lakota stories, in different ways, from the perspective of a person on the fringes of society. It was absolutely amazing, more so when you consider Bowers has been on campus all of six weeks, and that he came here with nothing more than a concept, a seed to plant with his students in the hope that something would grow from a mere idea. It's not for everyone, for sure, but if you ever see "devised theatre" in an events listing, approach it with an open mind and enjoy.

Plus, you can't help but get caught up in the passion of the performers, especially if you've spent an hour chatting with them about what they've done the past six weeks. I love watching people engage in their crafts because you know they're pouring every ounce of their being into this performance (assuming you're not watching Randy Moss run pass routes for a 4-8 team), and sometimes that passion spills over to the audience. When a cynic like me can feel this way, you know there's something special going on.