Almost Busted

Last night on my way home from class, I stopped for gas at a very well-lighted Shell station right before the freeway entrance. Toodling along on I-71, listening to a mix CD, I noticed the traffic slowing as we approached the municipality of Linndale. Linndale is a tiny community, encompassing only a few hundred yards of the freeway, and is universally known as a notorious speed trap. The general impression is that nailing speeders is their primary means of municipal income. There is almost always a cop car lurking on the far left shoulder under the overpass, just waiting for the opportunity to score.

The speed limit on that part of the freeway is 60. I saw the cop car and checked my perfectly illuminated speedometer display. It read about 58 mph. All was well with the world. No one around me was speeding, either.

After passing the bridge, I glanced up at my rear-view mirror. I saw that the cop had started his flashing lights. I figured that this was a don't-mess-with-me display, not unlike that of a cobra flaring its hood or a dog baring its fangs, just to warn people to slow down. But then he started moving, with the lights. I wondered who he was after. Usually, they don't bother unless someone is going recklessly fast, weaving in and out, etc., and I didn't see anyone around me who wasn't on their best driving behavior.

Pretty soon, I saw the lights in the lane right behind me, and realized he was after me. I pulled over, having no idea what I'd done. My heart started pounding. What on earth did I do? The thought of a moving violation jacking our insurance rates through the roof gave me a sinking feeling. A young cop got out, came up to me, and asked for my driver's license and proof of insurance. And then asked me if I realized I had been driving without my lights on!

I had no idea. Obviously, I had turned them off when I stopped for gas and never remembered to turn them back on. The streetlights lit the road so brightly, I couldn't even tell the difference. He spent several minutes in the cop car, presumably writing me up. Ugh, what a stupid brain fart. And for that, I would probably have to pay a ticket (a day's pay or so) and then eventually an extra week's pay on next year's insurance premium. This suuucks!

After making me sweat for a few interminable minutes, he came back to my window to hand me back my documents. I said I couldn't believe I hadn't noticed about the lights. He asked, "You didn't notice that your dashboard display was dark?" I showed him that the dashboard is fully lit whether the lights are on or off, and I really had no idea. He then said, "Well, remember to drive with your lights on from now on."

Sweet--I got off with a warning, and no ticket! That hasn't happened to me for 15-20 years. I guess that means my feminine charms are still good enough to get me out of a jam. More likely, I reminded him of his mom. :-)

Night Out (the Having-A-Life Part of My Weekend)

Last night, Paul & I went to see Verb Ballets at the new Breen Center for the Performing Arts in Tremont, a whopping 12-minute drive from home. It's a beautiful facility for dance--just a few hundred seats, all with good sight-lines and an excellent sound system. Saw lots of people from the Cleveland area dance community. It was a one-night engagement, so everyone who wanted to come was there the same night. Highlights:

• The opener, "Cleveland Flats Symphony," had stunningly bright and sharp video images of architecture and scenery from the Cleveland flats projected on the backdrop. The dance seemed almost like an accompaniment to the video, the choreography echoing its images. One I liked: a dancer doing the backstroke across the stage as river paddle-boats floated by across the screen.
• "Reflections of...'" a new duet by the Greene/Medcalf Project (Terence Greene and Michael Medcalf, both of whom have taught classes I've played for over the years). Terence's choreography is to movement what melisma is to a melody. It was nice to talk to both of them after the show.
• After intermission, under the pretense that she had won a Verb t-shirt in a raffle, a young lady was called up to the stage where her sweetheart presented her with a red rose bouquet. He asked the audience to sing "Happy Birthday" to her, which we did, in the keys of D major and F# Major simultaneously ("Happy Birthday" arranged by Charles Ives). He then proposed to her on stage, much to the delight of the audience (lots of shrieking and standing ovations). Good thing she said yes!
• The final piece was "The Myth and The Madness of Edgar Allen Poe." Schubert and Bizet were mixed in with eerie, diabolical- and and dramatic-sounding music to accompany this narrative of Poe's descent into madness as all of his loved ones die before their time, one after another. Lots of black ravens carrying them off into the next world and dancing menacingly. It made me think about how nasty, brutish, and short life (and death) were back then, when most people died of acute diseases and infections around age 36.
• Afterwards, we went out for dinner at the Flying Fig (first time for us) with Brad and Elaine and Brad's mom, Grace, who we know from the CWRU Dance Department. Great food and great conversation--we talked a lot about the tension between science and religion in this country, and about the book about the changing nature of death that Paul and I read last month. Next thing we knew, it was after midnight and we were closing down the restaurant!

I've got four (count 'em) nights playing at Stages Restaurant this month, starting tonight, after a five-month hiatus. I'm a second-stringer there, and usually get called about once a month when one of the regular pianists gets another gig that pays more. One of them John Parkinson, is convalescing after having a heart attack and won't be up to it for a while. I wish him a full recovery. Meanwhile, I'll enjoy the windfall of extra paid work.

Of course, this also means my having-a-life nights will probably not take up a whole evening again for a while. After the gig tonight, we could have gone to a party, a wine tasting, or out dancing, but I'll be cracking the books for school until the wee hours instead.