something new

The thing my husband and I argue about the most is time.
I don't have it.
Neither does he.
Mostly we argue about who has it the least or who needs it the most. So I totally understand when people say they don't have time to take a chance on something new. I'm guilty of that these days, too.

When we had more time, we used to complain about people like me. My husband was booking shows then, bands he loved and believed in, for some clubs back in Blacksburg, Va. Some of the bands were admittedly obscure. Some were local, just trying to get heard. Sometimes there was a good buzz and people showed up, but I can't tell you the number of shows I saw in which I was one of seven people in the audience. Still, the bands played on. On the way home (after a trip to the bank machine in which my husband had withdrawn his meagre savings to pay the band's $200 guarantee) my husband would rant: "Jesus, the shows are only $5! Why can't people take a chance for $5?"
"Maybe they only do that in Austin, Texas," I said. It was not a comfort.

Fast forward to today, when I went to a book reading by two friends. There was a decent enough crowd -- well over seven people. Still, I'd be willing to bet the authors knew everyone in the audience. Where were the new people? The reading was free. Plus, there were cookies.

In an effort to go somewhere with this spiel, to give myself a hook, I'll tie it loosely to TV Turnoff Week, which is approaching April 20th. But the time limit for this exercise extends far beyond next week.

What I'm asking is this: Promise yourself that this year, just once, you'll check out somebody new. For an hour. Drop in on a reading just because the writer sounds interesting in the paragraph you see in the paper. Go out and listen to a band, just because they're playing down the street at the Iota and the lead singer could channel Johnny Cash if Johnny Cash were a Japanese woman who played keyboard. Stop in a gallery because you see a splash of color that reminds you of the Virginia mountains during a winter sunset. I'll promise to do the same. And I'll also promise that even if the band sucks, if the writer reads in a monotone, if the artist makes you think of compost, your time won't be completely wasted. You'll get some karma points out of the deal, for one thing. And it might even inspire you to go write or paint or play (or read or look or listen more) yourself.