Some weeks go by with such intense focus on one subject that I am oblivious to other happenings around the world. Aside from knowing that Barry Bonds continues to hit home runs at an alarming rate, this week has been all about sound.

A while back, I agreed to help create the sound package for a theatrical play called "The House of Procrustes." The play involves the events that led up to the 1980 Santa Fe prison riot, but set in ancient Greece. The combination of old and modern elements gives the two and half hour play many unique moments, including an extensive sound package. Music had to be created; sound effects sampled, combined and mixed; levels set to complete the package of over 60 cues.

Some of the sounds in the show include a preshow of crooner songs from the 50s, a funeral oration, prison yard ambient sounds, a dinner bell, theme music for Hermes, a building ominous tone, 11 types of wind (each building in intensity and location specific), car sounds, metal doors opening and closing, glass shattering, and of course, a full blown riot.

Sound is only one element in theatre and films, but a necessary one. All those cars screeching and explosions in the movies are created, and somebody has to create them.

As supportive as the director was through much the two-month process, Tech Week brought out the worst aspects in everyone. For the director, his main problem was with control. I mistakenly offered to help set levels for the cues (not in the original job description), not knowing how deliberate and anal the director would be about each setting. For those who don't know, cues have to have the volume set, so they won't be too loud or soft during performances. What I wasn't counting on was the director taking up to ten minutes for each cue.

"Can I hear this wind at -10? (30 second pause as he listens) How about -5? (30 second pause) 0? (a minute pause) I'm sorry, Chris. There's some noise on stage. Give me a minute. (a minute pause) Can I hear this back at -5? (20 second pause) Wait, the air conditioner just came on. Let me see if I can find someone to turn it off. (two minute pause) There we go. Can you split the difference between -5 and -10? (30 second pause) I'm sorry, Chris. I have a phone call. Hang on. (3 minute pause) Okay, run it again at -10. (30 second pause). Okay, let's write it at -10. Next cue."

While the director pushed on with packs of cigarettes, my drugs of choice are more for relaxation and not conducive to getting things done. I stayed clean and naturally focused throughout the week, and I must say the sober life has as many problems as a life of oblivion. Life, in essence, stopped for me. There was sound, and nothing else. I have a high tolerance for the annoyances that occur, but even I reach a point to where can not be focus on menial details anymore.

My official title was sound designer, but in actuality, I was a sound bitch. This week, I spent at least ten hours a day working on sound in some capacity. I had to rebuild cues the director didn't like, reset levels that didn't work, help burn new CDs (we went through more than 50 in two months), pick up the sound op who didn't have a car, write up a detailed cue sheet for him, and wait patiently as the director talked incessantly to other people because he still wanted "to go over a few things." By midweek, I was reeling. Wednesday began at 9 a.m. and ended at 2 a.m. By 1 a.m. Friday morning, I was convinced the director was trying to kill me. I couldn't look at him anymore. I couldn't listen to him anymore, and he talked non-stop to everyone about everything. He was running this prison, and I was only a resident. Rioting began to make perfect sense.

Opening night came, and all the cues came together. The sound op pulled off the massive program with minimal mistakes. When the riot sounds blasted through the speakers at the end of the play, I knew my job was done. As I walked down from the booth afterwards, I looked around. The audience had disappeared, the actors had retreated to the backstage, and the door was unlocked. No one was looking. I didn't have to wait for any comments about sound. I didn't have to do anything anymore. My sentence was served. I walked out the prison door silently, free at last.

Chris Jungle is always listening.