Category: Passion Blog

Whenever I need a hat for blocking out the sun or my bad hair days, I can always rely on my Prep Crew baseball hat. Not only is it one of the few hats that can comfortably stretch over my enormous head, but it also serves as a lesson for me to keep my mind open. That hat reminds me of my initial path through high school

I could have been winning Stotesbury on the Schuylkill instead of building sets. As a high school freshman, I was fully invested in my school’s renown rowing program. We practiced every day after school, and most days were either spent on the river or running sprints up and down the Philadelphia Art Museum Steps for hours.

I can’t watch Rocky movies anymore because of the exhaustion those steps brought me, but even with this overworking, I was still fueled by one promising end product of the program. Prep Crew Seniors always won their regattas and got recruited by the Ivy Leagues.

I wished so much for this to be my destiny, but after winter workouts, I realized that I would never find fulfillment in endlessly grinding on ergs and doing solely rowing related activities to get into an elite university. I dropped from the roster and I worked to create a new path for myself.

I would not have imagined myself being in my current position four years ago, but was the path to the present worth it?

Even though all of my friends from crew went to Yale, Penn, and Princeton, I never looked back. I made sure to fully reap the benefits of my new path, and I can now say that I achieved this goal. If you learned anything from this blog, it is that I have built things and pushed through ordeals that seemed impossible. The demands were as high or even more than those rowing presented, but I had more fun than I ever would have being yelled at by my coxswain on a fifteen-mile run during practice.

I made more friends and built more relationships than I could have ever imagined. We all worked as a fine-oiled machine and we had a genuinely fun time with each other.

Looking at these memories of stage crew and light managing now makes them seem like they were all part of a dream. They are so far, yet so close to my heart. I miss the program tremendously, and I have no regrets.

I could have been typing this blog from a dorm in Harvard Yard if my situation played out differently, but I cannot imagine the person I would be if that were the case. Sometimes the most rewarding experiences reveal themselves in the most surprising ways.

With these thoughts, it is time to close the curtain on this passion blog series. I hope you have had as much fun reading them as I had writing them.

Sometimes the hardest of times bring about the best of memories. This was especially true for the tech and production weeks during show productions. After the set was completed, the cast was moved onto stage, and the main planning of the show began.

I took up my position at the light board on the director’s table, and the grind started.

Tech for a show is one of the most tedious processes I have ever experienced. The directors, tech crew, and cast start the show from page one and move through the entirety of the run over a week, as each scene change, prop transfer, lighting and sound cue, and line is crafted and optimized.  It is a slow, yet efficient method, as each component of the show is thoroughly tested to create the best results. Some parts of the show are ruthlessly slimmed down, while supplements are added to other portions. It is important to remain concentrated, as you never know what can be changed.

As boring as tech may be at some points, it is still one of my favorite parts of show production. At my position in the rear of the theater with the director’s, comic relief and junk food remains a high priority through the daily four-hour-long rehearsals. Swedish Fish and Twizzlers became an integral part of my diet during those rehearsals, and the excess sugar led to animated conversations between the tech crews and the directors. Points of interest included perfectly-timed one-liners about screw ups during tech, gossip about the school administration, and  the 1980s. It was a time of good feelings before hell week.

The Sunday before opening night, I would move the board back up to the light booth and entrench with the crew for the long days ahead. The five days before opening night on Friday would consist of seven-hour-long rehearsals every day, where full dress rehearsals of the show were tested under authentic conditions.

Our vigilance during tech was put to the test, as each scene was run at a normal pace without stops. The heaviest burden was placed on the actors, but the lighting and run crews needed to ensure that they were provided with the best conditions to become comfortable for the run.

Rehearsals would end at 11 pm and everyone rushed to get home as soon as possible for some precious sleep. It usually took me an average of forty to fifty minutes to drive from my school to my home. My record at this late hour was a breathtaking 19 minutes. I may have gone slightly over the speed limit, but I needed to get rest before showtime.

Tech and production weeks are important aspects of a show for two reasons: the physical and mental preparation. The show is carefully orchestrated at this point, and the entire team takes up the demanding showtime mindset. They may have been ridiculous to live through, but the strengthened focus and perseverance that I gained from them are invaluable qualities.

Stage crew may have been a very demanding job during shows builds and during productions, but there were also long periods of time were little to now work was required. During the winter and summer months, no sets are requested by the program, so stage crew members go into the offseason, grinding through resources kept from the previous show.

The amount of lumber our program purchases for shows is astounding, and even though we reuse most of our supplies, the remainder of the stockpile is left with an uncertain fate. The climate control in our antiquated theater is effectively nonexistent. This means that most wood products will severely warp due to temperature changes, if they are stored backstage for long periods of time. Why waste a forest when you can give it to a group of teenagers to use?

I realized the full potential of this surplus during my senior year, and I ended up using it for several projects for school and personal use.

I was enrolled in AP Physics C my senior year, which had a project-based lab component. Each academic quarter had a new build, ranging from bridges to a radio. Using my construction savvy and excess materials, I was able to craft some memorable products.

The bridge

Saw work on a small scale is incredibly difficult, and the bridge project only reinforced this point. Our first lab was the iconic bridge breaking scenario, where our groups needed to achieve the highest payload to bridge weight ratio as possible. This required me to cut a span with several jigsaw cutters, while ensuring that the powerful tool did not shred my thin span to splinters. Thankfully, I had been working with the jigsaw for several years, so I was able to safely cut a span that satisfied the weight limit.

The Guitar:

This one was my favorite project

Our second lab assignment required the class to form bands with fully-functional instruments. I have played the guitar for over a decade, so I felt that it would be fun for me to make my own guitar.

I immediately raided the stage crew surplus and put together the basic structure using 1x4s and lauan plywood. I sanded the neck from a regular 2×4 and then used wood stain to give the instrument a traditional livery.

This strings were incredibly difficult to mount and properly tune, but I eventually had a working instrument in the workshop. It may not stay in tune for extended periods of time, but there is no doubt that it can still play lovely music.

It is wonderful that our wood, which was slated for the dumpster, could be repurposed into our side projects. It made stage crew into a year-long hobby.

How memorable were the technical aspects of show tech production? So much so that I can create a blog solely based on replacing lightbulbs.

Changing lightbulbs as a lighting manager is not as simple as finding a chair and screwing out blown lights. It is not a job for those with fears of height. To change the majority of the bulbs in the theater, you need to climb a dinky ladder 20 feet into the air and maintain balance while you take off the whole light housing to replace bulbs. Additionally, this process is complicated by the fact that you cannot touch the glass housings of the new bulbs while you are installing them. The lights used in the theater are high-power halogen bulbs, and the oils present on your hands cause the glass to warp and the bulbs to fail prematurely. The best way to ensure that your hands do not damage the glass is to use bulky work gloves while replacing bulbs. Also remember to unplug the lights from the power coupling before replacement, or you will risk the chance of electrocution. No pressure.

Climbing up a ladder to the stratosphere in bulky work gloves seems like a stressful job already. What could possibly make it worse?

During my school’s production of The Murder at Ramsbottom Manor, the theater had a major light outage. Considering that the lighting system is over twenty years old, mass bulb blowouts are bound to happen, so we keep a lot of replacement parts on standby. We faced the possibility of putting on as show with little to no lights on the stage, so we needed to replace the bulbs before the theater opened to general audience members.

However, there was an issue. The ladder that we usually used to change bulbs was at the boathouse (revenge against me for dropping crew, I presume), and we needed to tear apart the school to find a suitable replacement.

This is the replacement system we developed: (Don’t  try  this  at  home)

The only ladder tall enough to reach the faulty bulbs was too wide to fit in the gap present between the light boom and the brick wall. So we got Members of the usher staff to hold the ladder steady for the person brave enough to climb and switch out bulbs. Additionally, I was not able to reach the light housings in this setup, so I quickly trained the tallest member of the usher staff on how to change bulbs and sent him up instead.

I’ll say that no Prep students were harmed in the production of these images. The usher changed all of the bulbs without injury, and we got the ladder out of the theater twenty minutes before it was scheduled to open. In retrospect, this seems a little bit dangerous, but the story has made a good blog post. Mission accomplished!

What are the benefits of being appointed Light Manager during Sophomore Year and Tech Director Senior Year? You get access to the keys. These are not keys to the high school Ferrari or food storage. No, they access something much better.

Throughout the entirety of my senior year, I had a private penthouse located within the busy corridors of my school. I used the theater’s light booth on the second floor as my study space, locker, and bedroom during school and before show productions (I never skipped class).

   The booth is a beloved landmark in the theater program, and I had the privilege of occupying it longer than any light manager in the program’s history. It is a hallowed space, yet it is still shrouded in mystery. Very few photos of the cavernous interior exist, so the few circulated in this blog are a rare sight. This is due to the strict code that the light manager and his fellow lighting operatives uphold in regards to the booth.
The first rule of light booth is: You do not talk about light booth

The booth is a peaceful place isolated from the chaos of high school life, and its environment should be preserved.

Besides this, the place is pretty much a free for all.

The events I lived through in the booth probably deserve a blog series of their own, but this will be a quick look into the aspects of the chamber that made it such a wonderful home during shows and classes.

1. The views:

This is the only photo of the booth in operation during an actual production run (It was a dress rehearsal hence the mostly empty seats). The view was captured by an actor through a small screw hole in the rear wall of the All the Answers set. The booth’s two spotlights and the sound manager’s window are clearly present, and I am probably blocking light out from the light manager’s window on the left side. As you can imagine, the booth is positioned in an excellent location to watch shows and observe the reactions of audience members.

One of the best parts of being in the booth during a production is that you are basically a member of the audience, and you don’t need to pay for the best seats in the house.

2. The amenities:

For downtime, the booth came equipped with a comfortable sofa and two lounge chairs, several frisbees for outdoor play, a jacuzzi, and sleeping bags for rests. (The jacuzzi is a well hidden gem. Even I don’t know where it is in there.) Either crash on the sofa or crawl into a sleeping bag in the booth’s secret second room, and I guarantee that you will get some of the best sleep of your lifetime.

3. The Boyz n the Booth: (They’re quite the comedians)

Whenever you ask students about their favorite part of their school, they are bound to default to “the people”. This stereotypical response is also my favorite aspect of the booth. During every production, there are five Prep students assigned to the booth, and every group I have been with has been memorable. Not only are they competent during shows, but they also love to fool around during downtime. They make the booth the legendary shrine it has become.

My time as King of the Booth was a wonderful, simpler age, and hopefully the dynasty of the boys in the booth will last much longer than me. My name is preserved on the wall of the booth, and its annex upstairs, so I will be a ever present part of its history.

Yes, the booth has an annex, The Catwalk, on the third floor that is even more mysterious. It is the Holy of Holies for the lighting crew, and I am forever bound to preserving its secrets. Enjoy dreaming about what you think it holds.

I will now share one of my many interesting, but useless skills with you: I am a master bricklayer. This may seem like an applicable trait, but I could not tell you a thing about laying actual bricks. No, my expertise comes with a trade that is even harder to master and more torturous than placing individual bricks by hand. The title of this post, taken from 1984 and a famous English nursery rhyme, only captures some of the misery associated with my work.

I could build a skyscraper entirely out of fake plastic bricks using my experience from high school. These convincing plastic sheets formed the backbone of many of my stage crew program’s sets, and my work experiences with them would be some of the most painful, yet memorable times I had as a stage crew builder.

The easiest way to think of the brick is from the perspective of a puzzle. Each rectangular sheet has indents that the next identical piece can slide into,  and sheets can easily be stacked on top of one another to build fake walls.

The problems with bricks begin when these sheets either need to be reshaped or mounted to surfaces.

This is how you reshape plastic brick sheets. The brick men use the program’s beloved table saw to cut down portions of the sheets for specific mounting points. This may seem like an uneventful process, but to increase your understanding of construction tools, I will now give a tutorial on one of the most dangerous saws in the shop.

Rules of the table saw:

1. Don’t wear ties or lanyard while operating the table saw. The contraption can easily turn into a guillotine if the neckwear becomes trapped in the spinning blade.
2. Wear eye protection: when a rogue piece of wood or plastic brick is blasted at your goggles like a bullet and blocked from your eyes by this thin sheet of defense, you will thank me.
3. Wear ear protection: I am surprised that I was not deaf after using that thing without earplugs.

As romantic as the brick may seem from the audience, shaping it with a medieval torture device is far from this feeling. After long cut sessions, I would be covered in molten plastic shards that were thrown all over my face and clothes by the saw.

As I stated before, this was a sign of things to come.

Once each brick sheet was properly sized, they needed to be leveled with extreme precision while they were screwed into the frame. If the angle was slightly off, the wall would look crooked and the crew would have issues mounting additional sheets to the wall. I was a tedious process that I always happened to be assigned after cut duty.

I cannot put into words how much I hate working with fake brick. However, through these painful moments, I learned many lessons that would assist me throughout my time in stage crew and life as a whole.

1. Precision and Patience are strong virtues in any form of work.
2. Nothing is as bad as moving your hands inches away from a spinning blade and facing the possibility of becoming an amputee or headless.

It was the final week of our Fall build and only a few projects were left to complete for our All the Answers set. As I stated in a previous show, this was a production that was plagued by issues, and this story will be no exception. This is the story of how a simple task exploded into an overtime endeavor. How hard can it be to paint a series of squares on the ground?

I felt the need to go above and beyond on this set, as it was my first one as tech director. Unfortunately, we got the plans for the set later than expected, so we had to modify some designs. However, to compensate for these changes, the crew and I decided to paint the front of the stage and the floor in a tile motif similar to the plans, which was never officially designated as a set requirement.

We made sure that the main walls were in place before we started the floor, so we didn’t scratch up our paint job. Once the walls were anchored, we got out the painters tape and began working.

The entire floor and front of the stage was covered in a grid of painters tape, where each tape line was measured to ensure that each tile was a square. The hardest part was ensuring the orientation of each tape line would for tiles that were aligned at the proper angle. It would look awkward if the tiles were slanted at an angle compared to the rest of the set.

This process took us up to the last days before the set deadline. All of the squares were painted in the alternating grey and black scheme, but we had run out of painters tape to properly prepare for the white lines that would run between the tiles. As the deadline was hours away, I made a big mistake as the head of stage crew: I told my painters to eye the paint lines. Once the lines dried, we would go over the tiles with clear coat spray paint to ensure that the tiles would not show scuffs.

The day of the deadline, the line painters were working like madmen and the clearcoat painters were following close behind them.

If you haven’t worked with spray-paint before, I must tell you that they eject a copious amount of fumes as they are used. We had six different men spray painting clear coat onto the entire stage, so I should have expected the next nightmare to follow.

The air in the theater became saturated with a flammable, psychedelic fog. It grew at least five times more dense than the photo above, and after members of my crew got high on the clearcoat fumes, even when they were wearing masks, I decided to call it a day (I kid you not).

The main victims of the psychedelic fog were the line painters, who became a little bit sloppy and crooked with their work. This rush job had actually forced us to start over the entire process.

We needed to purchase the entire painter’s tape inventory in Philadelphia to redo this project. I had the crew working overtime and even brought in family members and friends to get this floor done right.

After a week’s work, it was done. We had learned our lesson: we took our time on the second approach and did not use clear coat to cover the tiles. The biggest nightmare of this set became its biggest strength, and the tiles were the subject of many compliments from the audience during the shows.

Moral of the story:

When the chips are down, make sure that you prioritize quality over quantity. Also make sure that your painters don’t go on a drug trip while they are on the job. There will be no more clear coat spray paint for the stage crew.

During my time in stage crew, I built sets for seven shows, but I only actively moved around set pieces once during a production. This position is called run crew, and it is one of the most difficult jobs in a show. A small group of seasoned stage crew members coordinates the movement of set pieces onto and off of the stage during a show and ensures that everything is set up properly before a scene starts. A lot is demanded of this elite group, as the majority of scenes depends on their skill at set placement.

It was fall of my sophomore year, and the program was bracing for something huge.

Our school had been selected as one of the three nationwide to pilot Disney’s Newsies! on the high school stage. Rehearsals were attended by representatives from Disney and the set movement needed to be as developed as the choreography, which was insane. In retrospective, I can say that the stakes were incredibly high.

I think that the set build for this show deserves its own piece, but I will establish context by stating that this show had the largest amount of moving set pieces I have seen in any of the shows I participated in. Whether it be an office desk to a bar, every single piece needed to be neatly organized in the backstage and brought out to the same place on stage every time. We ensured this precision was held through marking off the corner placement positions of each set piece on and off of stage using glow in the dark tape. The run crew could see where to place large items on and off of stage, even in darkness.

Tech for this production was very tedious, but we felt that we had mastered our technique by the beginning of the production run. We were all up to the challenge. What could possibly go wrong?

One scene transition that had been repeatedly rehearsed and modified during tech was between the chorus’ opening number and the antagonist Mr. Pulitzer’s introductory scene. With the lights at full blast, and twenty dancers inches in front of us, we needed to set up an entire office scene behind the choreography in under fifteen seconds.

I was in charge of bringing out the desk in the photo above during that small time window. I was positioned on the left side, and another one of the run crew members assisted me in taking out the desk to its proper spot. There was always a risk that the dancers in front of us could back into the desk and hit off items on top, but this had not occurred during the past few rehearsals, so we felt fine about the transition.

It was opening night, and the show had already sold out its twelve-show run in record time. The theater was packed, and the atmosphere was electric. However, shocking performances call for shocking cliff hangers.

As I was bringing the desk out during the transition, one of the dancers accidentally backed into my side of the desk and sent it straight into the stage floor. The dancer was not thrown off by this collision, but the desk managed to throw one of its legs entirely on my side…

What do you do with a broken table leg and a broken set piece that is about to be the centerpiece of a scene? I quickly prayed and jammed that leg back into the corner of the desk as hard as I could. I ran off the stage, and the scene began normally like nothing had happened.

To the audience, everything seemed normal, but every run crew member was hustled in a backstage blind spot gazing out at the scene. No one in the audience could see us from this position, but we were helplessly stranded, awaiting a certain part of the scene.

During this scene, an enraged Pulitzer slams down on the desk with all of his might. Our actor for Pulitzer did not know that the desk had shed a leg. We anxiously awaited a disaster.

Pulitzer slammed that desk harder than ever, and it stood resolute. There was a collective sigh backstage, and as soon as we removed the desk from the stage at the end of the scene, we used staples and super glue to anchor the leg. These temporary repairs held for the first act and during intermission we drilled the leg back into place.

There is a reason why run crew is so complicated. It requires complete concentration, and if things go wrong, you must act on instinct.

The production finished without any other major issues and I was appointed as light manager for the next show, a position that I would retain until I graduated. Never again would I have to deal with the chaos of breaking set pieces.

One of my favorite shows that I built the set and lighting schemes for was the program’s production of Spamalot, I already covered the climax of the set building experience during my first blog (The Trojan Rabbit), but I would like to share more stories from this process. One of the best parts of being a lighting manager is that the majority of your work is done by the actual production of the show. All the lighting cues are automatically recorded, and issues rarely come up during an actual run of the show.

This was definitely the case during Spamalot. My spotlight crew was excellent, and we had a perfect lighting scheme opening night, and for the remainder of the show production. I specifically mentioned opening night, because the show after opening night is always a memorable one. The entire cast and crew is called in four to five hours before the top of the show to go over notes from the previous night. My crew and I had no critical notes from the previous night, so we were dismissed until the beginning of the show.

This was a routine occurrence, and the booth crew and I would usually go outside and throw a football or frisbee for four hours.  However, this Saturday afternoon break was about to get very interesting.

As my two spotlight operators and I walked outside to the front green, we were greeted by the monumental façade of our school’s “chapel”, The Church of the Gesu, which was a former neighborhood church built in the late 1800s. Alumni of my high school are allowed to have weddings in the church, and a ceremony was concluding as we walked outside.

The Church’s historical artifacts are maintained by several teachers in the school, and one of them was about to turn our free four hours into an unforgettable experience. As we approached the front doors, the teacher said that all of the doors in the church were unlocked, which is a rare occurrence, and that we were allowed to explore the church if we wanted to.

Cue the photo montage:

It is an impressive structure. During our exploration, we found hidden corridors, antique pieces of artwork and decorative pieces, a bird skeleton, and  century-old initials drawn in the choir loft of the church by our student predecessors.

The organ and choir lofts are strictly off limits to students under normal circumstances, so we savored this opportunity. The organ in the loft used to be the second largest in the City of Philadelphia, until its operational equipment was unceremoniously stripped to be replaced by an electronic organ.

The most memorable experience of this expedition was the bell tower. The church is over ten stories tall, and this scale is present when you make your way to the bell tower access room. It is a poorly lit, dusty room with a single, dinky ladder ascending over seventy-five feet to a trapdoor in the ceiling above. This is the only way to access the bell tower, and we felt that we had the guts the climb it.

I am not one to be terrified by heights, but climbing that ladder felt like a near-death experience.

My only protection from certain death was a rattling ladder cage, which only protected me if I fell outwards. My legs had turned to jelly by the time I reached the top, and I felt that I could run through the bell tower on another occasion. I slowly worked my way back down the ladder and sat down on the dusty floor to catch my breath, while my two spotlight operators tried the ladder for themselves. They had similar reactions.

Free time during productions was always fun, but nothing brought joy and fear to our break like running through our school’s church.

One day, I’ll become a Sir Edmund Hillary and overcome the insanity of the bell tower ladder.

This blog page is primarily focused on my memorable experiences as a stage crew member and lighting manager for shows at my high school, but I would like to diverge from this topic for one post. As our section concludes our “This I Believe” statements, I realized that my topic could be crafted into an excellent passion blog post. No worries. Entertaining Stage Crew stories will return soon.

My statement revolved around the belief of, “looking out the window,” which I explained as immersion in the natural and spiritual world. I obviously won’t go over the entirety of my piece, but I will display photographs in this post that brought me to my belief and support them with their respective stories.

THE NATURAL CONNECTION

I have travelled a lot in my life. That may be simplifying it, but this is ultimately not a travel blog. I am going to display amazing photos that I have taken from plane windows on my adventures and give an anecdote about each of them. The quality of these photos may be compromised on this site compared to my originals, but hopefully you’ll still be able to understand the scenery.

Takeoff

 

To start off the series, I bring you a photo of my family’s long-time hometown of Philadelphia. This shot was captured soon after takeoff from the local airport on our way to visit my grandfather in Singapore via Doha, Qatar. I will be covering Philly more in a later section.

Guess where? Thirty minutes after takeoff, we flew over the Big Apple! You can see all of Lower Manhattan’s and Midtown’s iconic buildings. When I gaze out the window on my long flights and see signs of civilization, it is amazing to see how small these places are from my point of view. It is humbling to see a bustling metropolis like New York from the perspective of the heavens. It reminds me that the smallest actions in life can sometimes have the biggest impact on your character and the world around you.

There is snow in Arizona?! The last time I was on an airplane, I captured this photo of the peaks surrounding Phoenix Arizona during Christmas time.

The Best Photos

On my trips to Singapore via Europe or Qatar, I would see two sunsets and a sunrise during my flights. This is a photo of the dawn, with the crescent moon setting into the clouds 36,000 feet over Mosul, Iraq. I consider it to be the best and most poignant photo I have ever taken. It showed me that beauty can be found even in the most troubled places and times.

If you squint, you may be able to find Santa. I have flown over the Artic Ice Caps, and they are a sight to behold. They continue to the horizon and seem like they are feet below you, even though you are seven miles in the air.

This is Siberia. Fortunately, I was not a criminal in the Soviet Union, so I could take in this scenery from a warm airplane cabin.

The Spiritual Connection

I had a unique high school experience. I took the train into school everyday and was presented amazing views of city my mom’s family has lived in for nearly two centuries. The skyline has changed since my first train rides, but the feeling that I get when I look out at the endless blocks of row homes will never change.

I discovered these deep connections to my hometown through a treasure that I spotted during one of my trips through the city in high school.

I was driving through Society Hill and spotted the large townhouse that my ancestors resided in across the span of three generations and nearly a century. It lies a block away from my ancestors’ home parish of Old Saint Joseph’s, which was the first Catholic church established in the city in 1733. Half of my great-grandmothers twelve siblings and her father died in this house during the Spanish Flu outbreak from 1917 to 1919. My grandfather and his brother used to scrub the front marble steps, which have been worn down by the shoes of visitors since the 1840s. The history buff in me wishes for this house to be brought back into the family.

One time I was visiting Old Saint Joe’s for an AP Gov trip, and I became lost in Society Hill trying to find the hidden church. I tried my best to navigate without a phone, but I soon realized that it would be impossible to find. As soon as I realized this, I looked up and was greeted by this home again. I took this as a sign and directed myself to the church the same way my ancestors had gone. It was at this point that I realized I would never be lost in my city, and it would always welcome me. Sometimes the deepest connections formed through scenery are made with the invisible.

I could write a book on all of the scenery I have experienced in my life, but I hope that you enjoyed this brief look into my belief and its foundation. If I run out of stage crew stories, they may make a promising passion blog alternative.

UPDATE: Just as I finished typing this blog, I checked the house on a realtor site, and it is currently listed!

What a coincidence!