Retrospective documentation, actually, of a comparatively spur-of-the-moment guerrilla action.
On Thursday noon, I set up on a third-floor balcony overlooking a central atrium in our Center for the Arts, so that the dulcet tones of theremin and backing tracks (mostly cheesy Switched-On-Yuletide fare, thrown together the night before) could waft through most of the building, including a cafe area on the ground floor, filled with unsuspecting innocent bystanders at lunch.
A good time was had by all. Or at least, no one filed a formal complaint. Highly recommended for seasonal world-thereminization.
On Thursday noon, I set up on a third-floor balcony overlooking a central atrium in our Center for the Arts, so that the dulcet tones of theremin and backing tracks (mostly cheesy Switched-On-Yuletide fare, thrown together the night before) could waft through most of the building, including a cafe area on the ground floor, filled with unsuspecting innocent bystanders at lunch.
A good time was had by all. Or at least, no one filed a formal complaint. Highly recommended for seasonal world-thereminization.
