Eight stories

So I was eavesdropping today on a man telling a story about picking a fight with another man in a wheelchair, but it's really hard to blend in when you're the only person under 60 in the room. Anyway, I was trying to pay attention to the exhibit I came to see.

I like art where you don't expect it -- a photo show in the dining hall of the Stevenson House senior complex would have to qualify. There are portraits of eight Stevenson residents, some arty, with the people's poems and stories. It's not the Louvre, but resident Vlasta Diamant did a nice job shooting the photos and pulling it all together. You get glimpses into long lives.

The stories about real winter were the most interesting to me, as I whine every year about the sunny sham season here in California. (You'd think I'd be used to it after growing up in Menlo Park, but some people never learn.)

Give me Iowa, where resident Rita Shepard is from. She tells a sweet story about taking a sleigh ride to midnight Mass in 1925 with her family. "Dad drove the horses through the stretches where the snow was not so deep. I remember the crisp night air on my face, the warmth of the blankets, and my father's loving care," she writes. Nice.

Give me Edmonton, where retired scientist Galina Kniajerd used to live. The woman is from Moscow, and even she groused. "It was like Siberia," she writes. "The cars had to be plugged into special electrical cords outside in order to keep batteries from freezing." She then tells the story of getting lost and nearly freezing to death in her car.

Now that's weather you can respect.

The exhibit, "I remember it well," is up through Feb. 28 at Stevenson House, 455 E. Charleston Road. Call (650) 493-1478.

Pictured: Four Stevenson House residents who are telling their tales in the exhibit. Photos by Vlasta Diamant.

It's all about you

Did today's preview story in the Weekly for the Palo Alto Players' production of "Our Country's Good" make you dream of being on stage? Come on -- you know you want to. Think of the lights. The drama. The mascara. The feather boas. (Um, how did a drama about Australian convicts suddenly turn into "La Cage"?)

Anyway. The players are planning auditions for their next show, "Urinetown," on Jan. 30 and 31. Really, who doesn't love a musical about pay toilets that has characters named Little Sally, Soupy Sue and Officer Lockstock?

Now go out there and break a leg, tiger.


Pictured: A photo from Palo Alto Players' production of "The Boyfriend" during the 2002-2003 season.

LEGO lingo

You love LEGOs. Everybody loves LEGOs. C'mon. But I'll be really impressed if you know what a BFC is. (No, you in the back, it's not the Burly Fish Circus. And take that gum out of your mouth.)

As all AFOLs know, a BFC is a Big Freakin' Castle. A BURP is a Big Ugly Rock Piece. And an AFOL? An Adult Fan of LEGO. Ooh, I love LEGO slang.

I learned the lingo while researching the current Weekly cover story
on a gigantic LEGO exhibit at the Museum of American Heritage, when I got lost in the Internet for hours through no fault of my own. How can you resist sites devoted to LEGO castles and geometric murals and roadside diners with plastic Spam? I had no idea the plastic brick had so many grown-up fans.

I also had no idea that someone would recreate a scene from a White Stripes video in LEGO. I did not make this up.

Here are some other linguistic treasures I dug up:

• RAFOL: Repressed Adult Fan of LEGO (a big kid secretly pining over the plastic bricks of his or her childhood)
• Greebles: Tiny decorative LEGO pieces that make a creation more eye-catching
• MIB: Mint in box (what condition your collectible piece is in)
• MOC: My Own Creation
• SNOT: Studs Not On Top (a smooth brick with no studs on the outside)

Anyone have other favorites?

Pictured: A LEGO couple enjoys a refreshing beverage at the Museum of American Heritage. Photo by Nicholas Wright.

Orchestra unplugged

When I imagine an orchestra, I think of a concert I once went to at the Franz Liszt music academy in Budapest. Pomp and precision, tux and tails, the whole nine yards (or whatever yards are in metric).

In marched the conductor in black; everyone please rise. And the Russian soprano, all huge bosom and spangly dress. Afterwards she got a bouquet the size of a house and took approximately 17 bows. I counted. Not really.

So there I was last night, getting dolled up for the Peninsula Pops holiday concert. Not quite what I expected.

We were sitting in the gorgeous, renovated Heritage Theatre in Campbell, when out came conductor Kim Venaas. The man could not have been peppier. He wore funny hats. He invited children onto the stage. And he warmed up the crowd with jokes ("That's no lady -- that's my fife!"). The punch lines were clean, the harps wore Santa hats, and the evening was ridiculously, old-fashionedly family-friendly. Fitting for a theater built in 1938.

My companion and I were new to the Pops, but we ended up blending in with the regulars. And even though there were lots of favorite tunes -- "White Christmas," "Sleigh Ride," etc. -- they didn't drag like chestnuts, thanks to the orchestra's spunk.

The best part was the spectacle of the Bay Bells joining the Pops for a few numbers. I sat forward in my seat when they started playing the English handbells, wearing black gloves and swinging the bells so they gleamed in the stage lights. Somehow the men managed to lift the heftiest bells, and harmonies wove together seamlessly. The tones were clear and bright as a winter night.

Media referenced in this post

Listen to a sample from the concert (.mp3 file, 30 sec.)

Pictured: Trumpet player Noel Weidkamp (such a festive name) at the holiday concert. Photo courtesy of the Peninsula Pops.