(written en route to ) Des Moines, IA
Our last on-the-Road show was this morning in North Platte, NE. It was one of those old theatres, Paul remarked, where you can actually imagine Gypsy Rose Lee making her way down the narrow, steep stairs leading from the dressing room onto the stage. Built in the 20's, it really did feel like there were ghosts in the rafters.
The staff at this theatre were all very... hm... how do I say this? Very Nebraskan. "Bob", the tech director, looked to be about 60, and probably German-American. With his midwestern twang, blond hair and honest, good-natured face, you wondered if he'd ever even stepped foot out of Nebraska. There was also an elderly fellow who programed the lights for us. Good thing we only have two light cues in the show, as he looked as though he might teeter over from exhaustion if he took one too many trips to the light booth.
The women who worked there (house manager, program manager ushers, etc) were of similar stock; honest and round faces, equally round and arthritic hips, eager to chat, and curious about our tour and the outside world. They seemed a bit out of place, in a theatre.. but perhaps the job has it's perks. It probably certainly entails a few more pot-lucks and cookie-swaps than, say, working at Wal-Mart.
Then there was Luis, our mostly-Spanish-speaking stage hand. He was so eager to get the job done, that he often cut in front of one of us to pull something out of the van. Sometimes, he'd flat-out take something out of your hands, if you were taking more than 20 seconds in hoisting it. All the while, working with a fervent energy that bordered on mania. It took us a little while to get used to him, his style of working was so opposite to your run-of-the-mill stage hand, but I swear, he cut our load-out time by at least 15 minutes, today. Usually, there's a great deal of talking, coffee-drinking, donut-eating that goes on with venue-employed stage hands... IATSE obviously hasn't gotten to him, yet. "Pace yourself, Luis", they tell him, one day. "Have some coffee, relax, read the paper..."
By the by, totally off the subject, North Platte is one of those towns that Wal-Mart killed. The downtown, which once was probably filled with little mom-and-pop shops, was nearly desolate. Four square blocks, lots of storefronts empty, and from the looks of it, no "downtown renewal" plans in the works. It seems to me that the people really got a bum deal when Wal-Mart moved in. Man, I'd rather walk a quaint street and know the local business owners by name, or at least by sight, (and yes, have to visit two or three stores to get my shopping done!) ...than have one-stop shopping in a soul-less, florecent-lit, warehouse-style superchain, even if the stuff is "so much cheaper". But, hey -- I'm a Brooklyn-ite. That's how we roll. And none of this is news to anyone...
And now... we are driving through Nebraska. It's the plan to make it to Des Moines by 8:00, as LOST is new tonight. It'll put us ahead of schedule, which ROCKS because we are all eager to get home. HOME! What a word that is. Anglo-Saxon, I imagine. It sounds like what it is... like a reassuring, warm embrace.
Briana is currently driving, and we're listening to Pink Floyd's THE WALL. Gee, I wonder why people don't play this more often at parties? I mean, kid's birthdays, 60th anniversaries, or retirement banquets... or weddings! I mean, because it's so ... uplifting. No, in all seriousness, this is some of the best driving music ever written (and, frankly, writing-music). If you're heading out into the midwest, on I-80, best to have something musically complex and profound to feast your ears on; cause you can bet your ass, your eyes are gonna starve.
We just passed a sign that read, "Beaver Crossing, 1 mile".
Hey, don't forget us, Beaver Crossing, Nebraska. We're the ones who thought you were full of furry cuteness.
