Day in the Life of an Idiot

First, Mason and I had a lovely day today so far.  As you may have read here before, Mason is a bit of a music lover, but it's difficult for us to find venues that are kid-friendly.  We found a list of summer concerts in the park (there's one nearly every night, but most are past Mason's bed time.)  Some, by chance, are afternoon.  Today was one.  We went off to see the Capitol City Wind Ensemble play at Rice Park in downtown Saint Paul.  My only complaint was that they decided to point the trailer band shelter toward the Landmark Center and the central fountain, what that meant was that there was only hot concrete to sit on (or a ring of park benches with a view that mostly obscured the musicians.)  If they'd only faced the other way, we could have sat on the grass and in the shade.  Luckily, I'd brought a blanket so we sat under the sliver of shade the band shelter provided. 

Mason was so excited (or, in his words, "jazzed") to see a contra bassoon.  Unfortunately, they didn't have one.  They did, however, have a regular bassoon, which made Mason pretty darned happy.  There was much directing and hopping around.  The only problem was the heat.  We had to leave before the concert was over because we couldn't stand the temps.  Official temperatures were only 85, but I bet with the glare from the asphalt/concrete it was a hundred.  Plus, we both managed to get sunburned when we were at the beach last Friday, so it was probably just as well that we got out.  We bought a hot dog from a hot dog stand, just to complete the urban experience.

The crappy day was last Thursday.  It was just one of those days when, if I could stub my toe, not only did I, but all five of them, while knocking over a vase, you know?  I had a podcast that night, which I was looking forward to (details coming, though I think Shaun said it would be up on Wednesday of this week), but as I was taking some garbage out to the alley I came across a very injured starling.  Worse, it looked like our makeshift gate (just a piece of board to keep neighboring dogs from pooping in our backyard) may have fallen on it.  At first, I thought it was dead.  Flies had found it.  Then, it moved.  I have no doubt that the poor thing didn't have long for this world, but despite my various fishy adventures, I can't just throw something living away.  So, I had to get my garden gloves, paper towels and a shoe box and take the poor thing to the Wildlife Rehabilitation Center on Dale Street in Saint Paul.  Luckily, it's not a long drive, but, of course, I got lost.  I made it back to the house with a minute to spare.  Anyway, the podcast should appear at:  http://adventuresinscifipublishing.com/.

Oh, other quick news, Mason discovered the Fantastic Four  (or, as he says, "Four Fantastic") while we were shopping at Target on Saturday.  Marvel apparently now has what they're calling "all-ages" comics, which are meant for the younger reader.  The FF we picked up had four very short moralist stories in it that read a bit like classic SF from the 50s.  It was AWESOME.  I must have read it to Mason twelve times already and it's not getting old for either of us.  We're going to subscribe to it and two other "all-ages" titles: Avengers and Spider-Man.  Mason has been spending his free time running around the house shouting "Flame on!" and "I'm going super-nova!" just like I used to as a kid.  My work here is done.  I am raising the next generation of fan.

Hooray.
 
Oh, and there may be a "Free Mouse" tee-shirt on the way.  Could my life get any better?  (Well, yeah, I could have Tate's revisions finished and six new book deals, but let's not be greedy, shall we?)

Mason and I went to the MomCulture jazz duo performance at the McPhail Center yesterday.   We’d been advised to bring two dollars to pay for parking in the lot, but when Mason and I arrived (fifteen minutes prior to the show) the lot was full.  I made the decision to park on the street at a meter, even though I only had fifteen minutes worth of quarters in the ashtray.  Once again, Mason and I were popular because we brought crayons and activity books – Glom and his mom were there.  Glom, once again, decided that Mason and I were better than sliced bread.  In fact, the second he saw us, he said, “Oh, what did you guys bring this time to play with?”

            This room actually had a stage, though they set it up lunchroom style again, with long tables.  I think the stage worked to their disadvantage, in a way, because the musicians acted slightly more aloof.  Mason saw the trumpet player in the hall when we had a pre-show potty run, and greeted him with his usual, enthusiastic, “Hello, Trumpet Player!” and got a rather startled “Hello” in response.  The trumpeter, to his credit, was very kid-friendly – he had very cool hair, a kind of Mohawk – and he was great at getting audience participation once the show started, but, unlike the divas (ironic, eh?), both he and the piano player kind of disappeared once the show was over and didn’t really invite much admiration or 4-year-old discussion.

            Mason also wore out of this show a lot sooner.  About half-way through, he was ready for his snack, and loudly announced that he thought it must be time to go home.  But, he was still quite impressed with the first number, particularly the wa-wa attachment the trumpet player had.  He did garner one of the more precious moments in the show, though, too, which was when the trumpet player explained that we could clap, hoot, or shout whenever we heard anything we liked, and then demonstrated when that would be appropriate by leading a solo.  At the end of the solo, Mason not only clapped, but also shouted at the top of his lungs, “I LOVED THAT!”  Everyone laughed. 

            I encouraged Mason and Glom to do a little dancing, which they did with abandon, but Mason didn’t have nearly the staying power he had with the opera.  I think part of the problem might have been the stage and our nearness to it, which is to say, I think we chose spots too far away.  Also, if I had been the organizers, I might have actually made a little spot near the front for kids to dance, and told parents to let their kids gambol, you know?  

            Plus, I think I need to feed Mason before we go.  Even though it was perfectly fine for him to snack when he wanted to at the table, I think he might have had more focus for the music if he wasn’t hungry.  Or maybe pianos and trumpets just aren’t his thing.

            After all, who knew opera singers were?