Did You Think I'd Crumble?

I spent the bulk of this weekend, which turned out to be gorgeous, locked away in a small theater. It’s all fine and well, but not terribly interesting to anyone not there. And honestly, it’s not that interesting to people who were in fact there. So I shall dust through the debris for interesting nuggets, shining pieces to toss out like pennies from the Empire State building and imbed into your skull.

First off, let me state that this theater is small and cheap and not well set up. There are cats who may wander onto the stage at any moment, a light board that will turn the lights off without any provocation, and a dressing room that is no bigger than a prison cell. When you lock 6 actors, and set furniture, into this room things are likely to get a little touchy – in more than one way. In conditions such as this, it would be the perfect time for a diva trip. Oh, actually no it wouldn’t.

I hate diva bullshit anyway, but when I’m already tired and hot, it becomes more and more difficult for me to just put my attention elsewhere. The group diva had her fit and as a way of explanation stated that she had only had one diva fit that day. “One is way too many,” I said dryly from my seat in the dressing room, what used to be a bench in a van. Seriously, this is fringe theater, which means if you cannot deal with uncomfortable quarters and mini catastrophes around every bend, then you should probably go find yourself another effing gig. And find it far from me.

Okay Billy, take a deep ol’ pull on that recirculated air while you stare out at the clear and sunny morning (with probably just the right amount of chilly bite to it), take a sip of you coffee and think about the happy times. Here goes:

I walked out of the theater during a too quick lunch break with the stage manager. He told me that this section of the neighborhood could use a little rezoning, nice it up a little, what with the warehouses and garages. I told him that I really enjoyed coming out of the door and feeling like I had stumbled on some lost industrial wasteland corner of Los Angeles. He gave me sort of an odd look. I tried to explain that a little bit of urban in the landscape thrilled me in a way that is odd, that I loved the parks and the trees and the nice brick buildings, but the fact that there’s a couple blocks of low slung warehouses with ill hidden power lines jumbling the air in the middle of it… Well it’s like a chocolate chip in a piece of banana bread. I could tell I wasn’t winning him over, nor was I explaining it any better than I have here, so I let it drop.

While waiting on a burrito (fish, not so great – not bad, but…) I heard a mariachi version of Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive.” I said to the stage manager, “Hey, it’s a mariachi version of “I Will Survive”, how about that?” And he then informed me of what type of music it actually was, which I promptly forgot. He was more interested in the technicalities than the magic of hearing this song in Spanish, and with horns. And magic it was my good people. The sound waves manifested themselves into a winged dolphin who did rain down little mini churros on us; little mini churros that promptly disappeared, but left the smell of cinnamon and sugar and a general feeling of a pleasant and dry handshake.

There was a moment Sunday morning, a good 7 and a half seconds, where Kickers put up with laying still. I was about to get him dressed, but lay down instead with him on my chest. He was okay with this, as I said for just a moment, looking at me serenely, his constantly flailing hands resting near my shoulders. As quickly as it had begun, it was over. He shrieked with the anticipation of getting into something else, so I quickly got him dressed and let him run with it. But I’m saving it up, those rare little moments of quiet togetherness. I’m keeping ‘em in a jar decorated with Modge Podged pictures of guitars and various tree leaves.

I got home last night and opened a strategically purchased beer. Black Butte Porter, thank you for asking. I sat and let myself unwind while I listened to Bif’s rundown on her day with Kickers and I felt content; tired and a little itchy from the dried sweat and theater dust, but content and at home.

Show opens on Thursday, it’s a mad rush to race, but I think it’s gonna be a good one