I notice that the new issue of Wired magazine comes bagged with collectors' edition of the new Adrian Tomine novel, in sizes ranging from two inches to fourteen inches across, with cover price varying accordingly; a brilliant fundraiser. Later, we are seated directly to the side of the stage where we can see nothing. Waiting for the curtain to rise, I conceive a new instrument: half autoharp, half accordion. Its chord buttons mute some strings and also push air from bellows through metal reeds. The result is a bright sweeping plucking, or a sonorous wheezing, or both at the same time.