Within Me, Without Me

As I write my "memoirs" of my life in show business, I feel as if it is actually over now. If I were already employed by a production company, I'm sure I'd have at least intermittent gigs, because I've been doing it since the eighties and know my stuff really well. Moving to Albuquerque in the depths of the worst economic crash in history was not a good career move unless the move was out of the career. I was the old man in the biz ten years ago. I'm still in Facebook contact with dozens of my coworkers in Massachusetts, and they have been working alternating weeks for a long time.

When I began to volunteer building scenery at Albuquerque Little Theatre, I saw my future in a man named Matthew. He's in his seventies, and volunteers one day a week when he's in town. At this moment he's in Sarasota, Florida being a snowbird. I expect him to return any week now, because it's getting ready to get unbearably hot down there. Anyway, he's a pretty good carpenter, but he's past the point where he could be a professional at it. Maybe it's not my future. Maybe I'm there.

I'm hoping to get started soon on the set for The Best Little Whorehouse In Texas, and I'm hoping Colby has money in his budget to pay me for it. With a week-long trip to Meadville, PA coming up in April and a move to Meadville coming up in June / July, job hunting here has become little more than a habit. I'm spending more psychic energy wondering what life will be like in northwestern Pennsylvania. I'm certainly not considering jobs that specify the use of my reliable vehicle; I skip over jobs requiring certifications, extensive training or union membership; college degrees are out of the question; and salesmanship is just out of my range of abilities. I still scour the advertisements, and even occasionally find something to apply for. But those eighty guys that also apply for everything I apply for are still there, most still much younger, most in much more need than I am. Truth be told, although our resources are dwindling, we do still have resources. I know that many of those eighty guys are in much worse straits than we are.

Meanwhile, I have my blogs to keep my mind busy. I've long wanted to write these stories of my fascinating life, but never had the time. More importantly, Carmen has long wanted me to write them. The fact that nobody else cares about them is an unpleasant truth, but onward I plunge. Life flows on within me and without me.

NEXT!

Transition time again. I was just next door at "The Business Of Show," writing about the end of the Vero Beach era, cross-fading into the beginning of the St. Cloud era. I was recalling the last show we worked on for the Vero Beach Theatre Guild, and how little I cared about it. We were in motion to move, and this show, Once More With Feeling, was just an obligation to check off the list before we left to begin our new lives together. Since then we've moved into three places in St. Cloud over nine years, one house in Orlando for another nine years, two places in Middlesex County, Massachusetts for four years and now in Albuquerque for nearly a year.

The beginning of this week was momentous. On Monday, the search committees for the three congregations with whom Carmen has been in pre-candidate status lo these many weeks all made their announcements that Carmen was their first choice. So she had to officially accept one and officially turn down two before she would clear me to make it public knowledge. Before she gave me the okay, she posted on Facebook that we are going to Meadville, in western Pennsylvania in April to meet the congregation and almost certainly get voted in as newly called minister and her wife. At last we have a destination.

Anyway, as I was writing about not really caring about the show in '87, I was not really caring about what I was writing. I wonder if it's the "short timer" mode kicking in, or whether I don't believe anybody gives a flying fig about "The Business of Show." As much as I've enjoyed writing it, I've been writing it primarily because my fan club said YES to another Jim Emerson series of ramblings. If nobody is reading it, I'm not writing it. I've got at least another thirteen years, most of it working as a professional set builder, to add to the seven years already posted. I may get fired up over it again, but right at this moment, I'm not that interested.

So I'm happy about Meadville. The salary is good and the cost of living is the lowest of the three. I don't know what the employment picture looks like there, but it can't be a whole lot worse than here. We will be there for a good long while, so maybe I'll have a place to set up a home shop - maybe get that sliding compound mitre saw I've been dreaming of... start designing, building and marketing some games and other wacky stuff.

Meanwhile, I might have some local employment at Albuquerque Little Theatre for as long as it takes to build a two-story set with a balcony and a curved grand staircase for The Best Little Whorehouse In Texas. I'm going down there tomorrow to clean the shop after the Plaza Suite strike, and to ascertain how things are going in the design and budgeting realms of the scene shop. I think I'll be in a good place emotionally for it. It's a short term gig, and I'm a short term guy.

The Conquering Geezer Returns

I went back to the hearing aid place this morning and got my aids adjusted. They're programmable, and, as a former sound technician (before the band blasted away my hearing) I knew the frequencies I was missing. I asked my hearing professional if she could bump up the upper mid range. She did, and it's a miracle! I can hear again! I'm heeeeeeeeeal-da! From there I went down to the medical supply place to get my three-month-old prescription filled for compression stockings for my deep vein thrombosis.

I went there yesterday, and they told me that they couldn't fill it because the scrip didn't include a diagnosis - they could fax it to the doctor, and maybe I'd be good to go in a couple of days. I looked at the paper, and the issuing entity was the UNM Anti-Coagulation Clinic, written by Ahn, my finger poker. I crossed the street and took the next number 11 west to UNM Hospital. I went to the clinic, gave the scrip to the guy at the desk, and within two minutes it had a diagnosis on it and I was on my way back. I gave it to a different person this time. She looked at my leg and said it was too swollen to measure, could I come back first thing in the morning? Well, first thing in the morning for them is 8:30 - I've been up and doing things for four hours by then. So she told me what to measure, and this morning, after feeding the ravenous beasts, I measured my damn self.

Wonder of wonders, this morning I handed them my prescription with diagnosis included, and my piece of paper with measurements on it, and within five minutes I was trying one on. It was great. It's still on.

Busing back toward home, I found myself at Montgomery and Eubank at 11:00, with fifty five minutes before the next bus to my neck of the desert. It just so happens that there's a Wendy's there, so I stepped inside. Evidently, 11:00 is Geezer Time at Wendy's. There was white hair and no hair scattered throughout the place, and canes and walkers everywhere. So I pulled up my support stocking, adjusted my trifocal glasses, turned up my hearing aids and walked my arthritis legs up to the counter on my orthotic arch supports.

11:00 at Wendy's: the Geezer Lunch. I'll have to remember that.

Snap, Crackle, Hiss

The Beatles are playing from my Media Player program. I've listened to pretty much everything in my Media Player music library, and until Thursday afternoon, thought that the sound coming from my speakers was clipped off at the upper frequencies. Thursday afternoon, new hearing aids installed, I was delighted to find that those upper frequencies had been magically restored. I did a Steely Dan festival that day.

Everything sounds weird after twenty five years of diminishing hearing is suddenly restored. Things have that top end hiss, that hard-edged crackle that I remember but haven't heard in many years. My shoes on the road, the traffic, the microwave, the cats' meow, the keyboard I'm typing on, my own voice - every sound is a little startling, but I'm getting used to it.

There have been a few times since we moved to Albuquerque that I have wished that our real stereo was unpacked and set up. Thursday through today, during the four hours a day I'm wearing my aids (a break-in period for my ears and brain) I've wondered how much better it will sound with my ears on. I guess I'll find out this summer in our new location.

Book 'Em!

Being a rolling stone and practically moss-free, it has been difficult to keep up with friends I've left behind - until Facebook. I now have Facebook friends I haven't seen in thirty years, twenty years, ten years, five years and one year. They are in Odenton and Baltimore, Maryland; Vero Beach, Orlando, St. Augustine, Jacksonville, and now Deland, Florida; Greater Boston, Warren and Lowell, Massachusetts; and Albuquerque, New Mexico. I even have a friend I've never met in New Jersey, a friend of a friend, who likes my blogs.

This rose to the surface of my consciousness because I recently got to thinking about my best buddy for nine years at F/X Scenery and Display. I looked him up on FB, but he wasn't there. No surprise. Then I got to comparing this situation with my best buddy from Mystic Scenic Studios for three years. A few months ago I friended his wife to stay in touch with him. And Colby Landers of Abq Little Theatre - I am FB friends with his wife. So I looked up Keith's wife, and sure enough found her. We messaged, and I sent her a friend request this morning. They're curious about how my life is going, and what more comprehensive way to tell them than to refer them to these blogs and update them along with everybody else on Facebook.

It's a pain in the ass and they make Scrabble more and more inconvenient every day, but I still love my Facebook. Over 500 million people do.