I've always wondered about IT departments. I mean, in general, I know what they do: They send technical emails nobody reads, they fix your computer when Windows has its daily mutiny, and they let you install programs you pretend are for work but are really used to play Zelda on the internet. They are widely mocked for high levels of dweebdom and, in fact, at my old job, our IT manager had a life-sized cardboard doppelganger of Commander Deanna Troi from Star Trek: The Next Generation. Talk about living up to expectations.
But what I've wondered about are those times when they aren't operating on my computer, saving it from binary purgatory. I mean, they've got access to everything, right? Or is this just what my bosses have hoped I would believe? Can they tell I'm writing this blog on a blank MS Office email? Do they know I spent my morning reading about Emperor Norton? And if so, why aren't they blackmailing me? In my private, paranoid universe, IT is like that geriatric fellow behind the curtain in the Wizard of Oz, only way, way more powerful, hiding out with flying monkeys and witches with bumblebee socks, knowing all my sordid internet-y secrets, stockpiling them like some bizarre (albeit bored) fascist dictator.
This, along with a brand new song, was bouncing around my head this morning. The song, I assure you, is more interesting. What with all the touring, van-sitting, show-playing, and getting back together of frantically scattered home lives, it's been a long time since we walked into the studio and finished something in the sum of four or five hours. It's a great feeling. I think making anything is, ostensibly, enjoyable. Even a really good Matzo Ball Soup. Especially a really good Matzo Ball Soup.
But now comes the moment of truth: when do you play something brand new live for the first time? We've learned from experience that "on a stage where you can't hear the drums or vocals" is a bad time. We've learned from experience that live can be a monkey of a different color and that sometimes, that monkey has rabies and is very, very angry.
You must stay clear of that monkey.
p.s. I am aware of the fact our nifty little image on the top of this here page is now the dreaded red X. I'm trying. Or rather, Zach's trying for me. He's like the IT of Birdmonster. See how I brought that full circle? And you thought I was rambling. Shame on you.