The Dallas/Fort Worth area has a new publicly-funded radio station, KXT 91.7, that plays indie, alternative and world music. I didn't listen to the radio much before my arrest because my favorite bands were almost never there - and I hate commercials. This new station is almost as if I were hand-picking the play list, full of variety and always bringing something new to the listener.
Several nationally broadcast radio shows also show up on KXT 91.7, one of which is World Cafe. The host has an interview and live performance with an artist in the first hour and introduces a new band or project in the second hour with a good mix of other stuff in between.
Today the guests were the husband and wife guitar duo, Rodrigo y Gabriela. I had heard a couple of their songs, which are fast-paced finger-pickin virtuosities. I knew my dad would like their music as a guy who enjoys great guitar works. I've thought about passing along my recommendation until I heard their live performance today. The two musicians picked up the pace, and their experience as street performers shone as they got the audience involved. The emotion pouring out of the music intensified and the second song extended to an encore-length performance.
This is when I realized I couldn't just recommend listening to these this stuff. My dad has to see these two play for himself, and my concert-going brothers need to see them, too. I don't know what I've had a reaction this strong - with tears of joy and a chuckle at each false ending of a song - to anything I've heard on the radio. I really hope Rodrigo y Gabriela are still around when I get out so I can catch a show.
This morning I woke up very early. My clock said 6:30 but, with the time change and an accidental bump in the night, it was actually 4:30. Since it was so close to breakfast time, I rolled out of bed instead of rolling over. After returning from a less-than-filling pancake meal, I fixed the time on the clock, set my alarm for 7:15 church, and slipped back into dreamland.
"Go, if you're wondering if I want you to, I want you to. So make your move..."
Click. My hand slid over to turn off the 7 AM playing of Weezer's new single on the radio. Ugh. I was so tired and comfortable. I really didn't want to roll out of bed again this early. I lay there with the Weezer song stuck in my head, the chorus on repeat.
Wait a second. Those lyrics were a strange coincidence on a Sunday morning when I didn't want to get out of bed, but I could hear God saying those same words to me this morning and over years past. Weezer has been my favorite band for years, yet I never expected River Cuomo's voice to tell me to decide for Christ.
I oozed out of my sluggishness and got dressed for church (nothing special; just my prison whites. It's especially hard to go to church so early here because I'm so accustomed to not doing much during the day anyway. The service this morning was rich though, and worth getting out of bed for. Isn't it usually that way, when we listen to God calling, even from a rock song?
There I was, lying in my bed, listening to the radio and reading my book. My window was open with a nice, cool breeze coming through. The sun had gone down and I was relaxing before my shift started at midnight. this was what I had been looking forward to. It's still prison, but better than San Saba.Then it was all interrupted.
"Cellie, you're on the chain", called my Mexican cellmate.
"No, not me. You sure?" I responded.
"Yeah, they called your bunk for chain."
This is nuts. I just go here a month ago and only saw parole two weeks ago. The phrase "on chain" means that a person is being transferred and probably comes from the shackles that links inmates to each other on the bus. This is far too soon to be transferred, but sure enough, when I asked the guard on duty, she said it was me that was leaving so I should pack up.
After packing everything and taking it to the administration building to be inventoried, I found out that I was going to Huntsville to be transferred to a pre-release unit. Just because they say pre-release doesn't mean I'm getting out soon. It just means that I'm going to a nicer faciilty, one to ease the transition to the free world. Some people stay at one for more than two years. This was pretty good news, but I still don't my final destination, which I had assumed was my current unit.
I'm leaving all my food behind because I can't fit it into the one onion bag I keep with me on transfer and don't want it to show up in a month if I put it in property. My property from San Saba still has not caught up with me. Now I'm taking my last nap before breakfast here in Dayton. I'll probably leave around 7 AM.
Because I am housed in a two-man cell I can separate myself form everyone else when I want to read or study. But that means I have a lot of interaction with my cellmate. Luckily, I have a great cellie from what I can tell so far.Rivas is a Mexican national who doesn't speak much English. When I arrived he was on his hands and knees sweeping and mopping the cell with a towel. (We've made an agreement that we clean the cell every other day.) He greeted me right away and told me I could use his hotpot and radio whenever he wasn't using them.This was great because it will probably take me a while to get my own. That first night he gave me some food because I didn't come with any. I didn't even ask for anything.
I can tell I've been blessed with a good cellie. I hope I can be a blessing to him, too.
Yesterday I arrived at my permanent unit in Dayton outside Houston. I left the red-brick unit faster than I thought I would have. My poor cellie had been there over fifty days waiting to be moved while I left after four. On the way over here I was handcuffed to a guy who will be going home on parole soon after being in prison since 1984 - 25 years! Whew! I think any amount of time being incarcerated feels like it will last forever, but I'm glad I only have to do five at most instead of twenty-five.
After arriving at this 1100-man unit in the middle of nowhere, I sat in a cage outside for two hours while waiting to see the unit classification committee to get housing and job assignment. The housing here is also two-man cells, but they are bigger then those in the red-brick unit - about 9' X 12". Each bunk has its own window that opens to allow air through.
We have a desk with a shelf above it for storing our hygiene stuff. This is the first place I've been to where you can control the lighting in your own housing.
The cell opens into a dayroom lined with two floors of twenty cells and two shower areas with individual showers. There are eight tables on one side of the dayroom and two TV's facing each other with benches between.
The best thing so far is the presence of radios, hotpots, and fans. I haven't been able to get my own yet, but my cellie lets me use his hotpot and radio if he's not using them. I haven't been able to sit and listen to music in so long that it's worth all the commercials of stupid Clear Channel stations. For a few hours last night I lay in my bunk listening to classical music on public radio - not something I usually do but it was great!
I saw a few familiar faces when I showed up. There are a few guys from my first unit in Jasper and even more that I saw from my previous unit in San Saba. When I went to dinner last night, the guy filling the drink pitchers saw me and came over to say hello. He's a guy I played soccer with in San Saba and a strong Christian guy. It was really cool to see an old friend. I can already tell that God brought me to a good spot.
