One of the delightfully characteristic things about working at Origin has been the building. Our halls have long been festooned with wonderfully imaginative airbrushed artwork that reflected Origin’s mission and motto (“We build worlds”) in various ways.

Across the hall from my current office stretching around the corner of the hallway is a street scene with office buildings, cars, and traffic lights. From far above the scene descend two giant legs, presumably connected to some fearsome beast in the process of pillaging the city street. The lobby on fourth floor features a green and blue globe resembling earth, with a rectangular plate of surface area being fitted into it. Mechanical fish adorn other walls.

Or they did. I came in this morning to find that most of the artwork had a coat of primer over it, and painters were busy in the hallways. I chatted with the facilities manager, and he said the word had come down from on high Monday that he was to repaint everything as quickly as possible. It’s disappointing to me to be losing this unique bit of Origin’s history and character, doubly so that none of the people working on this floor were evidently included in the decision, and trebly so that I didn’t have a chance to get my camera up here before the painters did their dastardly work.

Harumph.

Last night I took Mom McMains to a concert that featured Ken Ishii, the cello teacher of my youth, and Daniel Smith, a guitarist with whom Ken has been recently collaborating. They performed the entirety of their CD, Catch Phrases, a collection of progressive Jazz pieces composed by Smith.

I’ve been enjoying the CD since March, so it was great fun to see them performing it live. Smith has a wonderfully deft technique on the guitar that’s a pleasure to watch, and Ken’s adventuring in the outer limits of cello technique was delightful. We stayed around for a while chatting with the musicians and their families afterward, thoroughly enjoying their company. Thanks for the fine music, gentlemen!

From 1988 to 1992, I attended The King’s College, a small, private college in Briarcliff Manor, New York. Though the school was afflicted with dire financial circumstances, it afforded me a good college experience, and I haven’t ever regretted the decision to attend. Among the chief charms of my college experience was the site of the campus; perched on the rim of the Hudson River Valley, the beautiful site afforded students a combination of beauty and access to culture that’s matched in few places. In 1994, two years after I left, the school’s financial difficulties caught up with it, and it closed. It has subsequently been purchased by Campus Crusade for Christ, and reopened as a non-residential school in the Empire State Building in New York City.

The fate of the old campus has been in question for many years, and this morning by friend Bob Albright sent me a link to this website, which details more of the history of the site than I ever knew as well as the current state of the campus. Curiosity quickly turned to sadness as I saw the state to which the once-beautiful property had been reduced. A magnificent fireplace in front of which I spent many hours has been ripped out. The grand staircase is sorely damaged. The gym floor is warped from water damage. Most unsettling of all was the fact that the music building, where I spent much of my life for those four years, has now been demolished altogether. (In this photo you can see the 2nd story windows I’d climb out of and wait outside for my music theory class to start, when I’d startle Bill Clemmons, my professor, by entering that way instead of through the door.) Amazing and sad to think how quickly such a place can be reduced to ruins.

Thanks to Rob Yasinsac for his documentary efforts, and for the rather lamentable trip down memory lane.

Isadora is my new favorite piece of software. It’s a realtime electronic performance processor that is developed by the co-head of a dance company in California. It’s also loads and loads of fun if your comfortable with computers and dig creating wacky stuff. (Bonus points if you have a video camera and MIDI gear.)

I’m planning on doing something interesting with it for halloween. Heh heh heh.

Lots going on in our recently unchronicled world: Margaret celebrated her second birthday yesterday. (Just think — she’s 1,892,842 in mayfly years.) I played another gig with The Grant Mazak band this past weekend, which was well-attended and hopefully as much fun for the audience as it was for me. Kathy and I attended the Women’s Pregnancy Center banquet last night, which featured good fajitas, keynote by Mike Wilson (author of “Turkey Soup for the Sarcastic Soul,” a title that does my sarcastic soul good), and music by Clifton Jansky, the Christian Country Music Association’s New Artist of the Year for 2001. (Doesn’t that seem a bit like damning with faint praise, by the way? “And in the best artist who has released more than 2 albums, but less than 7, who stands between 5′ 8″ and 5′ 10″, and who has red hair and has never worn a button down shirt category…”)

Anyway, to sum up, we’re still here, busy, hale, and happy. Thanks for asking.

Those good McIllhennys have added another item to the Tabasco lineup: Chipotle Pepper Sauce. Kathy picked up a bottle, and predictably, it’s great. (For those of you not up on pepper lore, chipotle peppers are simply red jalepeños that have been smoked, giving them a wonderful flavor.)

Blue Man Group is one of my favorite theater troupes. Among their shenanigans is the occassional run of fake advertisements, many of which are documented on their website. This morning, I noticed a new set of fake ads running on The Onion. I gathered them up, and present them here for your amusement and edification:

Texas has been temporarily transformed into heaven, as Autumn sweeps in and we’re enjoying some of the most glorious weather I can remember. We celebrated by buzzing down to New Braunfels for some delightful outdoor BBQ at the New Braunfels Smokehouse with Dad McMains and Lana, and then having Mom McMains and a couple of other friends from San Antonio up for a swim and feed.

I took a stab at a new variety of salsa (a sort of stewed vegetable affair, served hot) which was well-received. Kathy also has been installing a new dishwasher, since our old one was eaten by rodents. (Really!) Emily is readying her bid for Student Council Representative. Her strategy thus far seems to be using permanent markers to make her posters, thus ensuring that anyone who passes nearby will be rendered woozy from fume inhalation and will therefore be open to whatever suggestions she sees fit to implant in their heads.

Thanks to Kathy’s tireless efforts, Maggie is nearly toilet trained. She’s gotten through whole days without accidents, and has received effusive praise from the rest of the family whenever she makes a deposit in her little child potty. This has, however, had the unfortunate side effect that guests to our home have unexpectedly found themselves presented with a bowl full of urine by a grinning naked toddler.

I’m faced by a dilemma with Changing Lanes. I thought it was an excellent movie, but it doesn’t sound right to say I liked it. It focuses on two men, played by Ben Affleck and Samuel Jackson, who have a minor auto accident, and the escalation of animosity that occurs between them over the course of a very busy day. As they get progressively angrier at each other, they become willing to abandon their professed morality to get revenge for the wrongs they’ve suffered.

It’s a vivid portrait of the eyeless, toothless world that results from those choices, and a critical examination of what one bases one’s personal moral code on. Surprisingly, the end of the film is quite satisfying emotionally, not leaving us in the mire we’ve had to go through, but showing the men finally taking responsibility for themselves and their choices, though not in the facile way one generally expects from Hollywood melodrama.

Altogether, not a particularly easy movie to watch at times, but quite good. The discomfort it produces is not there, as sometimes seems to be the case, for its own sake, but is instead designed to make the results of a mentality of revenge painfully clear — a task at which it succeeds admirably.

Storms and the vigorously windy weather that often precede them are my favorite times to enjoy the outdoors. I’ve recently moved into my new office at home, which while snug, includes double french doors that open directly to the outside. As thunder and lightning descended on San Marcos this afternoon, I’ve been able to throw the doors wide open and enjoy the rain belting down five feet beyond my computer. If one has to work, this is the way to do it!

Thanks to Origin for allowing me the flexibility to work from home a couple days a week.