far too much writing, far too many photos

runswithscissors


Thursday, August 08, 2002

[continued from previous entry]

We opened our lawn chairs, settled down to eat. People of all ages streamed in, mostly families, the elders looking like folks who might have attended a happening like this in the late 60s. Blankets were spread out on grassy ground, lawn chairs set up, coolers and picnic hampers opened. Sounds of conversation all around.

The performance began when monster loudspeakers lurking in the woods behind us commenced blasting music, blasting which continued for the next 90 or so minutes. The play, it developed, had no dialogue. The company acted out archetypical scenes having to do with immigration to this continent -– the thrust of the piece was what the program called 'the immigration crisis' –- the music provided the backdrop for it all.

What I'll say about the piece is this: a) the performers worked hard, exerting themselves physically in one way or another just about the entire time; b) the cast included a number of kids, one of whom looked to be about three years old -– they did a great job, maintaining focus and working hard through some complicated staging (the three-year-old was adorable); c) great soundtrack –- with the exception of one or two numbers, I'd love to have it on CD.

At the end, the entire audience got politely herded through the woods behind us to a small lake where a shell of a boat, containing a few candles, drifted slowly across the water. It slowed, drifted to a halt about halfway across. A bullfrog somewhere along the shore broke the silence with a loud, impolite sound or two. The cast, a quarter of the way around the lake from the audience, bowed. End of show.

Hmmm.

There were no lights set up around the clearing where the performance took place, so it had to be finished before darkness fell. Between the clouds, the remaining sunlight and the blue, blue heavens, the sky remained a spectacular distraction during the entire show, to the point where I often found myself with my head back, staring at it. Sizeable dragonflies put on a display throughout the proceedings, flying back and forth above the crowd, occasionally descending to make a leisurely, nonthreatening pass several feet above our heads. Nature, at times, upstaged the performance pretty effectively.

So there you have it. Vermonters carrying on in the name of art.

***********************

I subjected myself to a haircut today. Given the mass of hair that had collected on my head, the time for shearing had clearly arrived. My 'cutter is the woman who owns Acme Hair in Montpelier. As genuine and irreverent a character as you will ever stumble across. In her late 50s, sections of her hair dyed pink and orange, with a loud voice that frequently breaks into laughter. Her shop can be found on the second floor of a building on State Street, a mere two blocks from the State House -- in a bowl hanging outside her door she keeps candy and prophylactics, both male and female, free for the taking. Inside the door, more prophylactics, along with leaflets about AIDS. Around the shop: a few hand-drawn signs ("SORRY ABOUT THE PRICE INCREASE -- PLEASE DON'T GUILT ME! IT'S THE COST OF DOING BUSINESS!"), a few shelves of hair products (heavy on the hair dye), loads of tchotchkes and photos, including a signed Bill Clinton photo and a bunch of Marilyn Monroe pix clustered together in one corner. And her big cuddly black doggie.

She says she's been dealing with physical problems, has decided to sell the business, and is actively looking for a buyer. Next March, she heads across the country to her town of origin, a small burg in the San Joaquin Valley in California, to take care of her 91-year-old mother in the family house. The house is paid for, she'll have disability income and won't have to work. This, she said, will leave her plenty of time to (a) take care of her mother and (b) give away prophylactics and clean needles.

Montpelier is going to lose some serious local color when this woman takes off.

And the haircut? Turned out pretty well. Short. Real short. That'll change -- my hair grows like a house afire. (Now there's a saying that make no sense at all.)

*********************

A bumper sticker seen in Montpelier:
THE BEST THINGS IN LIFE AREN'T THINGS

Hmmmm.

rws 5:26 PM [+]

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BLATHERINGS

August 2001
September 2001
October 2001
November 2001
December 2001
January 2002
February 2002
March 2002
April 2002
May 2002
June 2002
July 2002
August 2002
September 2002
October 2002
November 2002
December 2002
January 2003
February 2003
March 2003
April 2003
May 2003
June 2003
July 2003
August 2003
September 2003
October 2003
November 2003
December 2003
January 2004
February 2004
March 2004
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June 2004
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August 2004
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December 2004
January 2005
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January 2007
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June 2007
July 2007
August 2007
September 2007
October 2007
November 2007
December 2007
January 2008
February 2008
March 2008
April 2008
May 2008
June 2008
July 2008
August 2008
September 2008
October 2008
November 2008
December 2008
January 2009
February 2009
March 2009
April 2009
June 2009
July 2009

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .


MORE FOCUSED BLATHERINGS


Travels:
London '01
Pamplona
Italy '03
U.K. '03
Sevilla
Casablanca
Stoke-on-Trent
Barcelona
Québec/Ottawa
Boston/Lisbon/Madrid
Italy '04
Montréal
La Sierra

Events:
Madrid -- arrival
9/11
Emergency Room I
Holidays 2001
Holidays 2002
Holidays 2003
Holidays 2004
Holidays 2005
A neighbor's passing
Madrid -- March 11 bombings
  and aftermath
Emergency Room II
Israeli friend/Madrid Marathon
Madrid -- Royal Wedding
The DELE exam

GONE, a novel:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10

THE BASTARD CHILDREN OF
JOE ROCCO, a novella:
-- Part 1
-- Part 2
-- Part 3

BURBANK SHRUGGED,
a screenplay:
-- Part 1
-- Part 2
-- Part 3
-- Part 4

Short stories:
Murphy's Wife
Another Autumn
La Queja de Una
  Hermanastra Muy Conocida

Autobiography
-- Personal History
-- Hormones On Parade
-- Accidents, Random Mishaps,
    Personal Problems

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .


OTHER SOURCES OF WHOLESOME ENTERTAINMENT

People/Weblogs:
dooce
foxvox
fudge it
fear not
rebekka
bookslut
802online
idle words
madhaiku
wockerjabby
grow-a-brain
rebel market
letting me be
out and about
kung fu grippe
fanatical apathy
baghdad burning
wfuv's music blog
kexp's music blog
mimi smartypants
between the miles
just a hippie gypsy
the impossible cool
tomato can brushes
vermont homestead
sugar mountain farm

Good Clean Fun:
gizmodo
futurismic
postsecret
dave barry
human clock
mcsweeney's
spaceweather
book-a-minute
internet archive
self-portrait day
my cat hates you
out of context quotes
surrealist compliment
  generator
strindberg and helium

Makin' Musical Whoopee:
last fm
stereo8
pandora
soma fm

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .


ABOUT RWS/CONTACT





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runswithscissors would like to thank everyone who's ever lived for everything they've ever done.



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