Indeed.
Annual masquerade ball. Fundraiser, attended by about a thousand people. As of this morning, i am acutely aware of my own mortality, as i woke up feeling like death.
Sort of out of words at the moment. And ibuprofen.
The roller derby training was a bit too little, too late to keep me on the roller skates for very long. But i danced. Ouch.
and the confetti cannons launch at midnight…
and the crazy old broad dances with the pretty nearly nekkid boys at 12:01…
dia de los muertos indeed….
Leaving a weekly staph staff meeting, i stood up with a slight flinch, as my vertebrae grudgingly gave in to verticality. Shuffling out the conference room door, a colleague asked “What is it now? Bicycles? Horses? Mountain climbing?”
“Well, a bit of this and a bit of that… Rode the motorcycle 60 miles Saturday, and then did a trek on the back of the tandem Sunday. Still sore from roller skating last week, too. But i’ve got to get my body loosened up for horseback riding lessons tonight…”
A much younger colleague laughed and said “Oh, you cute, crazy old folks! Sitting around at the rest home, playing euchre and watching TV!”
Listening to the snap, crackle and pop of my knees as i started up the stairs, i continued “And then next weekend? Off to Miami for some diving with my sister, and….”
i stopped cold. Turned and looked at the two of them.
“Oh, shit! i know what’s wrong! i’m a tampon commercial!”
A bit reminiscent of the old joke:
Two little boys go into the grocery store. One is eight years old and the other one is five years old. The eight year old grabs a box of tampons from the shelf and carries it to the register for checkout.
The cashier asks, “Oh, these must be for your mom, huh?”
The eight-year-old replies “Nope, not for my mom.”
Without thinking, the cashier responded “Well, they must be for your sister then?”
The eight year old quickly responded, “Nope, not for my sister either.”
The cashier had now become curious “Oh. Not for your mom and not for your sister? Who are they for?”
The eight year old says, “They’re for my five-year old little brother.”
The cashier is surprised “Your five-year old little brother?”
The eight year old explains: “Well yeah, they say on TV if you wear one of these, you can swim or ride a bike and my little brother can’t do either of them!”
Things are slow at work this time of year, which is why i choose not to burn my vacation time. Always best to use your discretionary leave when things are busy*. i’m putting in a solid 5-6 hours a day. It’s quiet. i read online newspapers and catch up on e-mail. People bring in cookies. i get paid. Life is good.
Today on my lunch hours hour, i was getting a manicure at Big Gay Chuck’s Big Gay Hair Salon, where Tonya, my tattooed, biker nail tech, does her business. The salon was hopping with women getting gussied up for the holidays. Chuck was playing a holiday music mix, and none other than James Brown was gettin’ his holiday mojo on when i came in for my appointment.
Tonya and i chatted a bit, and then she was exchanging holiday “I’ve still gotta’s” with one of the other clients. Talking about a roomful of presents to wrap, stocking stuffers yet to be purchased, and meals to be planned and prepared… No longer my world, so i sort of zoned out…
And then i heard this…
Go ahead and hit the play button – you’ll likely have to go to YouTube to see it… i’ll wait…
i am, at my foundation, a hillbilly. Although i’ve had some musical training, and have exposed myself** to the fine arts on numerous occasions, i’m generally not a huge fan of classical music. i can listen to it, appreciate it – certainly a live performance can inspire me. But when it comes to classical music appreciation, i’m a noob…
But there is this piece – the love theme from Cinema Paradiso. My father’s favorite film – we watched it together, and cried together. It reminded him of his family. Of the village in Sicily where his parents were born. The place he was never able to visit.
When he died in 2002, i had to have it played for his visitation. My daughter taught me about Limewire, and i stayed up all night downloading the music i needed.
And i stumbled upon this version. Itzhak Perlman makes that fiddle wail in agony. This piece overwhelms me. It never fails to make me weep…
Tonya started laughing when she noticed the chicken skin on my arms as she buffed my nails. Asked me if i was cold. As the song finished, she looked up and saw me crying…
“What’s the matter, hon?”
“Nothing. i still miss my Dad… and sometimes it just sneaks up on me.”
By the time i got around to planning our trip to Sicily? He was too sick to go…
~~~~~~~~~~~~
* Yet another reason i am astonished that my organization continues to have me serve as a mentor for the young scientists and engineers. Do they really want me to train the next generation?
** No. Not at the philharmonic. But i have gotten partially nekkid on stage in the name of the arts…
Although i’ve abandoned my personal theatrical pursuits, i still try to support friends active on the stage. Chasing this show or that, i have generally been delightfully surprised with high quality performances in our local community theater community.
Today? i knew it would be challenging… Not a show of great interest*, i had a couple friends on the stage – including one friend who had one of his first leading roles. Word on the street was that “there are issues”…
Snagging two of my Tuesday night drinking buddies, i booked three seats. RJak and BS are relative newcomers to the local theater community, but have been enthusiastic supporters. Over the past year, they’ve had the opportunity to see many fine shows, and were looking forward to yet another theater outing.
i e-mailed them yesterday, strongly suggesting that we “pre-game” with a few drinks at my place before the 3:00 pm matinee. RJak phoned to say she was running late – i told her i’d prepare her a flask with gin and tonic. BS arrived in time to have a beer, and i was slamming bourbon when he got here…
As we were leaving, i offered to smuggle in an extra beer for BS – he declined. Silly, silly BS.
When the curtain closed after an hour an 20 minute long Act I, we grabbed cookies from the lobby and escaped to the parking lot for fresh air and cigarettes**. We worked hard at finding the bright spots – and there were a few. A few “Family Groups” were performing together – on-stage and behind the scenes. That always makes me happy. Our friend was doing a nice job with his performance.
BS: That was pretty painful. Would it be rude to leave? (as we watched one minivan full of patrons skulk from the parking lot)
RJak (draining flask): We could come back in an hour and just greet the cast in the lobby. Maybe they wouldn’t notice? Nice bar across the street…
daisyfae: Ugh. No. We have to suck it up.
BS: Really wish I’d taken you up on that smuggled beer.
We scarfed a couple more cookies as we made the death march back into the theater for Act II. The performers were giving it their best. The show had moments of “cute”. Sets were fine, band was ok, some nice harmonies in a few songs. Act II was mercifully short – well, less than an hour.
i’ve been in shows like that. i know how it feels to be there – trying your damndest to make it work and knowing it’s hopeless. You still try. Weeks of rehearsals, set construction, practice. These folks worked hard – and seemed to be having fun. And i guess that’s the point…
Sadly, it takes just as much effort to put on a bad show as it does to put on a good one… The next time you are staring down the barrel of two-hours of “Ouch”? Don’t forget to pack the anesthesia.
“You tried your best and failed miserably. The lesson is: never try.”
* i tried to sink this one when i was on the play reading committee. i failed…
** BS pointed out the ‘logic failure’ in this, as he sneered at the home made clove cigarettes proferred by RJak.
Masks are required. The cool kids know to paint them on, because attempting to throw down for five hours with a plastic mask on your face just sucks. The venue is typically an abandoned warehouse or loft space, done up with lights and theatrical props.
Live entertainment includes fire-throwers, acrobats and the nationally recognized drag troupe… Servers and hired dancers are wearing nearly nothing but body paint. Never mind the entertainment of the crowd – these are people who take their costuming very seriously.
There are still over 55,000 new HIV infections in the US every year. It’s not a problem that has been solved. The fact that this is a highly successful fundraising event for something that matters? Extra damn cool… One of my friends, DK, has become a ticket ambassador, and her enthusiasm for this event is truly contagious.
This years theme? 1930’s circus sideshow. There were seven of us attending as our own ‘troupe’. Pre-party and masque painting at my place before gametime. After spending most of today recovering from tearin’ it up last night, some random thoughts…
– Mask painting, costuming pre-party at my place from 6-8pm. The dog was covered in glitter. i was so fragged from trying to get everything done in the afternoon, i’d missed his walk – so he added to the artistic decor by painting a lovely wet sketch on my carpet. Swirling and twirling around as the poor mutt attempted to hold it… i couldn’t be mad. My fault for not taking him out…
– DK had ‘hired’ a designated driver. A young friend from the theater who is temporarily unemployed was hired to drive us there in her minivan. So naturally, we are on our way to the party, in a family minivan. And what’s the soundtrack? Why “Dr. Horrible’s Sing-a-long Blog“, that’s what… Nowhere on earth could i have been in such a situation – costumed gaggle of festive humans, in a minivan, singing silly songs while stashing glow sticks in their undergarments.
– My ‘statistically significant other’ and i went as the Liontamer and his Lioness. My children pointed out there wasn’t much sparkly gold clothing in the 1930’s, i was covered from head to toe in gold. The costume was home made, and it was my intention to make the drag queens weep with envy. i think i succeeded. Until i dropped my 4″ sandals at the “coat check” at 11:00pm. No way i was going to last another 3 or more hours…
– When my daughter came upstairs to assist with the group photoshoot, her words were “Holy shit, my mother looks like a hooker”. i have achieved…. something…. not entirely sure what….
– Naturally, i was on a leash. It was nearly impossible to find a gold dog collar and leash. We tried every pet store in the area. Until it hit me – “Where do you get such gear for your dog? WalMart!” Success. Oh, and it couldn’t be a retractable leash. That would have been degrading… and no “monkey backpack” toddler leash… Geez… i have standards…
– The leash proved challenging. If my friend was off to the men’s room, he’d hand the leash off to someone else. There was another ‘cat woman’ character there, and she felt compelled to ‘release’ me when she saw me. A few years ago, if anyone had told me that i’d be perfectly happy being walked on a leash, while wearing 4″ gold stiletto ‘fuck me’ shoes and a gold afro in public at 47 years of age? Ok… i might have believed them. i’ve always had a flair for drag-queen dramatics.
– Highlight of the evening, without question, was being invited onto a dance podium with a gorgeous young ‘tiger boy’. Oh, shit. We had fun. Not that i’m an exhibitionist, mind you…. At one point, i told him, “Baby, i’m old enough to be your mother”. Not missing a beat he said “Honey, you’re waaaaaay hotter than my mom” and proceeded to dry hump me. There might be video. It won’t be posted on facebook.
For your amusement, a few pics….
he invited me up. i have witnesses.
i was wrong. there IS a heaven...
oh, to have been born of different genetics....
Being a Trailer Park Superhero is risky business.
BJ – married to my niece, and certified construction working-man hero – broke his back on the job Thursday. Working at a job site with his dad, a catwalk collapsed, and he fell 14′, and crushed a vertebrae. Seeing a large hunk of grillwork headed for him, he managed to roll out of the way, preventing further injury from the falling metal.
As of yesterday? He had been fitted with a back brace, given an assload of morphine, and sent home. No signs of paralysis, neurological damage or other injuries. He’ll be off work for about 3 monhts, and eligible for extended medical benefits.
Whew…
Plans for the construction of the new “double wide” home in the country – with an attached apartment for Mom – are temporarily on hold. Plans for the “negligence” lawsuit against the owner of the jobsite with the inadequately secured catwalk? Well underway…
Trailer Park Refugee 