I’m sure I’ll keep poking and prodding it for a while, but I’m trying out a new look for the blog starting today.
And yes, if you’re viewing this in anything approaching a decent browser, those are real, non-standard fonts. Hallelujah!
Presented in real time.
Edited March 6, 2010, to fix the embedded movie so it’d play on older browsers.
Or: “Holy Frijoles. Five years?”
Or: “So THAT just happened.”
Or: “In a few hours the circle closes and I am going to yell about it from my little rooftop because although it ain’t really all that huge — wow it sure feels huge to me.”
Warning: personal story ahead. And yeah, it’s kind of long. Skip it if you want. I don’t care. I’ll yell this to empty streets and feel damn fine about it.
Everyone gone? Cool. Alright empty streets! Just you and me now!
[Deep breath in.] Aaaaaannnd…..
In August 2004, I join my Actor’s Theatre Apprentice buddies John Catron, Jenna Close, and Bradley Wayne Smith as they take their newly-formed theatre company to the Edinburough Fringe.
We pass customs!
We roam the streets!
We hawk our wares! (Seen here: John Catron as the Smallest Full Grown Man Alive!)
We even put on a show!
I serve as light op, sound op, stage manager, and house manager. From inside a coat closet. A very, very small coat closet.
Audio runs from iTunes, on that laptop balanced precariously on a stool there in the middle. To the left: light board and audio mixer! To the right: script and wall switches! Not pictured: the furious concentration needed to run this (uncomplicated) show!
Later that year, John writes me an email. Says they’re doing a new show in January. Says a CD player won’t cut it. Asks if I know of a Mac-based application for running sound effects. I think to myself, “sure, I’ll Google one for you”.
Huh. Doesn’t seem to be a lot out there for Mac. Wasn’t expecting that.
I write an email to my buddies Jesse Kriss and Jen Wang:
Editor’s note: you should check out Cricket. It’s cool, and it does stuff QLab doesn’t.
Jesse writes back:
And, in perhaps the most loaded one-line email afterthought I’ve ever received:
And so it begins.
And when I say “it begins”, I mean “it begins from scratch”. To wit:
Remember above how I said they needed something in January? And how it is currently late October?
Jesse lobs the first sketch at me (click for larger version):
In an email entitled “i heart obj-c”, Jesse writes:
So I’m doing my reading and playing around a bit. Obj-C is pretty damned cool. And the Apple frameworks are pretty nice, too.
I write:
I actually managed to get a little bit of other work done today (although I haven’t even STARTED the ten page paper technically due tomorrow! Wheee!!), but I couldn’t resist putting in a little time on this as well. I am now able to read, write, and play the following file types:
AIFC AIFF MPEG Layer 3 NeXT/Sun Sound Designer II WAVE AC3 AAC ADTSI’ve also been thinking about design choices and I hope to send along some sketches of possible design patterns and object models we could use in the next couple of days.
This is all just to say…ummm…”Cool. We’re making progress.”
Cheers,
Christopher
First test version sent to John! Sweet!
John tries it. And…it doesn’t work! Suck!
A few hours later, we figure out the problem. (Hi ZeroLink! A note from future me: you suck, and Apple later kills you because you suck. Just FYI.)
And finally: Off and running!
Bug report, fix, add, bug report, fix, add, scramble.
3AM iChat sessions with Jesse.
Homework be damned.
First show. IT LIVES! And it looks like this!
Exhaustion.
Oh, yeah, and school. Probably should work on that.
Man, school sucks.
I want something fun to work on. Hey, that sound cue project was pretty fun. Maybe I’ll dust that code off and take another look.
Write write write rip out write write delete write rewrite write rewrite sleep write sketch write.
Hey Jesse! Look at this cool widget I just made!
First public beta release. Hey, theatre-sound@listserv.aol.com! Um, anyone here want to take a look at this thing I’ve been fiddling with?
Hi all,
My name’s Chris; I’m a new member of the list.
I’ve been working on a new sound design/playback application for Mac OS X, and I am looking for folks who can help me improve it.
[...snip...]
Theatre making is damn well hard enough, in my opinion, so I set out to build a new tool: QLab. After over a year of work, the first beta versions are ready for public testing. Here’s the address:
http://figure53.com
QLab is free, and will remain so. [Editor's note: yup, we've still got a really nice free version.] My background in theatre makes me hungry to improve it, and my background in computers gives me the tools to do so, but I look to you–those with a strong background in sound design–to help me know how it should evolve to serve you best.
Remember, this is beta software; I need your help to push it and poke it and learn how to make it better.
I hope to hear back from any of you who can spare a moment to give me some feedback.
best to all,
and (early) happy new year,
Christopher
Wow! People are trying it out! And emailing me! This is so much fun!
Wow! People are using it! People are using it!
Wow…people are…really using it?
Ohshitohshitohshitohshit.
Okay, okay, calm down. There are just a few people playing around with it for some high school plays and some community theater productions. It’s cool, it’s cool.
Huh, what’s this email in my inbox?
My name is [REDACTED] and [REDACTED] referred me to your software recently. After lengthy discussions and a good bit of testing I decided I could try using QLab instead of our tried and true Instant Replay Systems. While it might have been better to try it out on a smaller, less significant show; timing worked out that my rig was ready for operation just in time for a huge show, produced by one of our most important clients.
Although I was somewhat nervous to try the new technology on such a high profile event, the potential upside overshadowed my concerns. My ambition was quickly rewarded.
[...] QLab has changed everything. [...]
Thank you for such a valuable product. I would be glad to help in anyway you need to further develop this tool. Feel free to quote me on any of this and if you need any specific quotes or anything I’d be happy to help. I have also included a couple of pictures from the [REDACTED] Show.
Also, can I get a copy of the pro version?
Ohshitohshitohshitohshit.
Okay, fine. Let’s do this thing.
Version 1.0.0. Base version still free. Pro features available for a small fee. Let’s see what happens.
And man, this is fun.
And it now looks, more or less, like this:
(Click for larger version)
Things start to pick up steam. More and more folks start using it. More and more folks tell their friends.
Last release of version 1. I duck into my mental bunker, and begin work on version 2.
I officially quit my day job. I start working for Figure 53 full time.
High schools. Community theaters. Regional theaters. Then Broadway. Then the West End. Shows winning Tony awards.
My wife will tell you: I was literally shaking when I pressed the “Send” button on that email. Shay. King.
And as a present to myself, I bought a Wii. Thought I’d finally take a day off, play some video games for the first time in, well, years.
Silly Christopher. You really thought you could tear yourself away from your computer on release day? Really? Silly, silly man.
More colleges. More national theaters of foreign countries. More shows winning Tony awards. Then shows that are too big for me to be allowed to mention them. (Hint: do you watch TV? You’ve probably recently heard QLab.)
And using the momentum produced by version 2, Figure 53 launches into a new era: I get to invite my dear friend and code ninja Sean Dougall on board.
Closely followed by, yes, you guessed it, the guy who was there at the beginning: Jesse Kriss.
Wow, empty streets, didn’t know you could vocalize.
Okay, fine, here’s the point.
Yes, I’m proud of this stuff, and yes the experience has repeatedly sent shocks of adrenaline through my system, and, god, it’s incredible to serve professionals of such deep intelligence and skill.
But right now all that stuff is just the context for my point. Which is a very personal one, and which is this:
A lot of milestones have come and gone. Except one. I’ve never been part of a show that actually used the damn thing.
Until tonight. Which, dear empty streets, is why I’m up here embarrassing myself with all this carrying on. Taking out the baby pictures. Talking at you until your eyes glaze over. Because tonight at Single Carrot Theatre the circle closes, and I’ll participate in a show run on QLab, and this has been five years in the making, and frankly I’m feeling a little emotional about it.
…
So, um…thanks.
….that’s pretty much it.
Thanks for indulging me, empty streets.
…which way down from this roof again?
Oh, and, Baltimore: maybe come see the show? It’d sure be an honor to have you there. Click below for tickets:
There’s interesting stuff brewing in Baltimore right now. I’d like to commend to your attention two things in particular:
The Baltimore Symphony Orchestra, a world-class symphony with a world-class conductor, is taking a sledgehammer to their own pedestal.
Filed under:
Man, it’s just so hard to get people to come to see live theater anymore isn’t it? It’s so hard to get people excited about getting out of their houses to go see some real live people tell stories abo–
Hey-oh! Hi! Shut up a second and meet Baltimore’s Stoop Storytelling Series:
Each Stoop show features seven storytellers who get seven minutes each to tell a true, personal story about a specific theme. No notes, no scripts, no actors–just true stories, artfully told.
In other words, the conversation went a little something like this:
The Stoop: “Hey Baltimore, got any good stories?”
Baltimore: “Jesus Christ, I thought you would NEVER FREAKING ASK.”
Result: Well, they’re looking for a bigger space, because their current host, Maryland’s largest regional theater can’t fit all the people that want to come to the shows.
Yeah. Just saying.
Oh, and I’ve heard rumors on the street that some of the theatrical establishment in town is tilting their head ever so slightly upward when looking at The Stoop. Those rumors may not be true. But if they’re true? Hey guys? For your sake: knock that shit off.
Filed under:
Brian Howard.
Some folks affect you disproportionately. Brian has been one of those. I’m not sure exactly how to describe it. It’s probably silly for me to pull the word “hero” into the description, but I’m not sure I can really avoid the word either. Little things can confer that status on a young mind, and once conferred, it has a funny way of sticking.
My parents used to live in California. My dad’s a musician, and music was what brought them into a friendship with Brian and his wife Lynne. Music and, I suspect, a shared appreciation for goofiness.
Later on, my mom and dad moved to Kentucky, where dad started teaching at the university. Pretty soon they had their first kid, Cricket. (Actually, Chris, but until about 9th grade there was not a soul in this world who called me anything but “Cricket”. My oldest friends often still do.)
Anyway, Brian and Lynne stayed in touch, and visited a few times. I was five or six. Old enough to draw Lynne a picture of a rainbow, but too young to remember I’d done it. Then a few more years went by and we visited them. I don’t know exactly how old I was then, but it was old enough to remember. And remember I do. Because I was awestruck.
Brian worked at Apple Computer. And despite my infamously porous memory, the day he drove us over to see his office is not something I ever expect to forget.
The walls. The walls were made of white boards. All of them! Every hallway! I mean, you could just reach out and draw on the freaking walls! And you could see where engineers had stopped and talked and caught an idea right there without having to run back to their desks for paper.
I’m sure that many companies were doing something similar at the time, but I’m also quite sure I’d never seen anything like it and the idea of just walking over and writing on a wall was just mind-blowing to me.
Then there was…the hardware room. I have no idea what it really was, but I remember Brian leading us in. It was long, and it was not terribly wide, and on every surface lay a computer. Dozens of machines, with their skins off and their guts sticking out, and instruments for computer surgery sitting next to them. The room smelled of electronics and plastic. And everywhere, everywhere there were screens. Black and white screens, painted with the curious imagery of a dozen different screen savers. One in particular was burned1 into my memory: animal eyes. Blinking, blinking animal eyes, staring out into the darkness of the machine room when Brian flicked off the lights and closed the door to leave.
When I trace back the thread of my interest in computers, that visit with Brian lies somewhere near the very beginning. And if you dig through my hard drive you’ll find an old text file where I managed to save a few emails between us. Not a lot, but over the years, you could see his generosity and kindness shining through. I once wrote him an earnest, almost feverish letter describing a vision I’d had for Apple’s business plan. Or I’d talk about my science fair project, and then he’d describe what hardware problem he was working on, which I eagerly read, and then responded with naive but well-intentioned ideas about things he might try.
They were messages full of youthful, impractical energy. A less generous soul might have labeled them stupid.
But Brian was a sweet and generous soul. And he never, ever made me feel stupid.
Brian passed away yesterday at 6:45 pm. Cancer. A mysterious cancer that the world’s best doctors could not understand or, ultimately, treat. He fought it for years. He fought it with incredible humor and good will. I’ve been told that a couple of days ago, when he came home from the hospital, his daughter Mika asked him if he needed anything. His reply? “I could use some hair.”
A few years ago my parents and I met up with Brian and Lynne in Tennessee. He was there to see a doctor. My dad was nominally there for a music workshop, but more importantly we were there to see Brian and Lynne. We took a hike down some gorgeous trails, and we found a rock formation that we thought looked like a throne. Brian hopped up and gave us a regal pose:
Brian’s Apple employee number was 32. 2 He was one of four people on the original Macintosh team. He once mentioned that, as far as he knew, he was the oldest continuous employee of Apple. Not Steve Jobs. Not Steve Woz. Brian.
The world is down a creative and generous soul today. A gentle soul with no time for self-pity but all the time in the world for a geeky kid with big, silly ideas. And maybe it’s impossible to trace the causes of a life, but I suspect I might not be doing what I’m doing if not for Brian.
So here’s to you, man. Here’s to your kindness. And here’s to Lynne, too. And here’s to high tea at Tea on the Mountain. Here’s to all those discounts on new Macs you got us when I was growing up. Here’s to listening to kids and treating them with respect.
Thank you.
Edited to add: The Mercury News did a really nice story on Brian. It’s the only place I’ve seen that did.
1- I suppose that’s ironic.
2- “When I forgot my badge just last week, the Building 5 receptionist did the time-honored wait-for-rest-of-the-digits pause.” – Commenting on his ID number in an email from January 16, 2008