STRANGE EXPECTATIONS

Doing a little gardening today. We have a community plot, and today we get compost from the people who run the garden and spread it around. Thanks to social distancing, there is a schedule of who does it and when, and since I have online classes all day, the only time I can do it is at 8 in the morning. So yay. I think getting up early to do stuff is both awesome and awful. Awesome once your done, and feel your blood flowing and have that sense of accomplishment. Awful right now, tired, coffee just made but not getting me over the hump yet. Usually on Saturdays, I can sleep a little longer, but not today. And I could have used it. Had lots of weird dreams, woke up several times, and of course Padfoot was ready to go at six even though I was sleeping away. Sadly, all the dreams were pulled away like a tablecloth, leaving the table bare. I woke up after of them, lay in bed thinking "this will be a great dream in the blog", and then it vanished. I felt it leave my brain for parts unknown. Maybe Morpheus felt it was too much information, too revealing of secrets that we are not ready for just yet. I always hate it when I forget something. Especially dreams. So here I sit, bleary eyed, wondering what to write about.

We watched the film Mother last night. It was insane. Had the look and feel of a 1970s thriller, somewhere between Let's Scare Jessica to Death and Rosemary's Baby. The palette, the pace, the feel. Movies back then were almost always fatalistic, bleak, and disturbing. At least, they were to me as a kid. You could count on the good guys dying by the end of most movies, and the world being cruel and unfair. Which seemed to mirror the times pretty well. Then along came Star Wars multi-plexes, and a new phase began. But I digress. Mother is really trippy, creepy, funny, over the top nuts. In the best possible sense. I reminded me of this French film by Jacques Tati called Playtime, which goes to places unexpected, bizarre, and glorious. I love seeing movies that surprise me, shock me, don't do the expected formulaic thing but still mange to entertain. Yes, there is something to be said for seeing films where you know what's going to happen. Meet the hero, meet the villain, get the set up, see it play out, dark night of the soul, good guy figures something out, climatic event, end of story. Cool. Great, love it. But sometimes, it is nice to have your expectations challenged, to have the story lead you down a rabbit hole to a place where things happen that don't usually happen. As Mother spiralled from off kilter to down right nuts, I started to laugh in joy, even though the story is gruesome beyond belief. Maybe it's just a reflection of the times. I feel connected to stories that have people experience the bizarre. Don't we all these days?

So, since I must go spread compost soon, today's entry will be brief. I will say I think it's pathetic that the White House won't let Fauci testify at the House, but will let him testify at the Senate. Not that it matters. Things are insane, lots of people are dead, lots of people are angry, the economy is screwed, and the current administration has to go. End of story.

Here's a song. It's All the Time in the World, off the new album by X, which is amazing.

THE SHOW MUST GO ON

Another dream with Trump in it. Aside from the obvious reason that he is the so-called leader of the quarantined world, I think he was in my dream because in some ways he reminds me of my stepfather. In the dream, I was working at a summer theatre school, a place that did both full shows, but also taught classes to young people. It was all at a campus of some junior college, and we were getting ready for our first show. I was directing, and Trump was in the show. And he was not doing a good job. He kept showing up late, forgetting lines, and harassing the other actors, telling them they weren't any good, giving them notes on their performances, and so on. This kind of thing can happen at a theatre camp, so it wasn't too surprising. What was a drag was that I was told that I couldn't replace him, which is the normal thing to do once you have tried all other options with an actor. In the dream, if he left the show, something terrible would happen. It wasn't said what that would be, but we all knew it would be horrific and a large scale. So we were all at the mercy of this bad actor with an attitude problem. We were rehearsing a scene, and Trump kept breaking character to complain about things: the script; the other actors; the set. Blame was something he handed out like candy to everyone but himself. Over a three hour rehearsal, we didn't get further than two pages of script because of him. And the worst part was that, when he would yell out "cut" or "hold", we would all have to sit there and act like what he was doing and saying was perfectly appropriate and helpful, as opposed to a waste of time that was hurting the show. This is where he reminded me of life with my stepfather, who had a big drinking problem. When you are the child of an alcoholic, you learn quickly how to read a persons mood, to watch every facial expression, hang on every word. I have heard many times that people who grew up in alcoholic households, as well as theatre people, are the best natural lie detectors, because in both instances you are a keen observer of human behavior. So I'm a double threat in that department. Anyway, Trump was going on about how he was a great actor but the script was making him look bad, how the other actors were terrible, and how he refused to wear his costume because it made him look fat. And then rehearsal was over. A lot of the cast went to get a bite to eat and talk about the show. I joined them. And that's when one of the young ladies on the stage crew told me that Trump had tried to force himself on her. And I realized that I was working with not just an egotist man-child, but a socio-path. There was no way to continue, and we would all have to suffer some terrible fate because of this guy.

What are we going to do now? We are all doing the best we can to create happy lives, meaningful experiences to fill our hearts and souls with joy, and along comes this gigantic, planet sized threat, and we are stuck with a weak-willed bad actor who can't memorize his lines, blames everyone else for his short comings, and insults the people who are trying to make things work, making their jobs more difficult. And it feels like we are only at the start of rehearsals, that point where nobody is quite sure if this was the right show to do, if the casting makes any sense, or if the director is sane. But we have all signed our contracts, and all the other shows in town have been cast and crewed, so we are stuck and will have to muddle through somehow.

The good thing about being in a show that is rough, is that it can make for some of the strongest friendships you will ever have. When you are in a show, you depend one hundred percent on every person you are working with, from front of house to make up to lights to costumes to props to stage crew to creative team to playwright to actor. Even if you can't stand a person, when you are on stage, you have to work together, or go down in flames. And I think we are going through something akin to that now. We are all trying to work together while facing the impossible. And this time will bond us as we move forward. I can see a time when those of us alive now will sit around family meals and start to talk about the days of the Corona Virus, and the young will roll their eyes and think "here they go again".

Well, time to lower the curtain on today's entry, as I have classes to teach, a long walk to take, and a script to work on.

Here's a song. It is, of course, Saturday Night by the Bay City Rollers.

FLAT TIRE RANT

Dreamt I had a flat tire, and couldn't fix it. I was driving in one of those many places at once cities that happen in dreamworld, mainly a mix of Denver and San Jose, the place where I live and the place where I grew up, respectively. I was driving the car we have now, and the tire pressure light went on. I was on Highway 36, listening to the radio, and talking to Lisa on the phone. Now, this happens from time to time in real life, usually when the weather changes from cold to hot and vice verse. I thought to myself, "better put a little air in the tire next time I fill up". Then, the engine started to act weird. Sluggish. Not all there. Sort of like our current president. The car began to slow down, barely able to move at more than 20 mph. So I pull over to the exit, which is now an exit off of Lawrence Expressway in San Jose, the one that I would get off to go to Futurama Bowling way back when. I stop on the shoulder of the road, not sure what to do, and spy a tire shop right off the road, some sort of Jiffy-Lube kind of place. So I head for it. But I'm starting to feel strange, like I've been drugged and not in the good way. By the time I manage to get the car to the tire place, which is only about a quarter mile away but takes me what seems like hours, I am lost. I drive through their car wash area, going the wrong way. The workers stare at me like I'm crazy. Finally, I 'm able to park, and I stumble into the store. By this point, for some reason, getting the car fixed is life or death to me. I am in a panic. I must do this. But the store is confusing, a maze of promotional stand up signs and aisles. I don't know where to go. Somehow, I find a man behind a counter. He asks me what I want, and I try to speak. But I can't. My body is underwater, and my brain in outer space. I mumble, and sound like Trog from that old Joan Crawford movie. The man looks confused, so I try again, louder. Now I sound like angry Trog. The man asks me if I'm high or something. I try to explain, mumbling even louder, and lose muscle control and fall to the ground. Then I woke up.

Can't imagine where that came from.

What is going on in the world? Are we taking care of ourselves? Is the vehicle that is supposed to get us where we need to go working? Can we articulate our needs and feelings? I think yes and no. In some ways, I feel as in touch with myself as I have ever been. I see things clearly, but in the physical and metaphorical sense. I am in touch with more friends and family. I walk every day. I'm reading, writing, cleaning the house. I howl out my feelings, along with a lot of folks, every night at 8 pm (which you should try if you haven't already). But at the same time, I feel powerless whenever I watch the news, or see the numbers of dead and diagnosed. Or see yet another conspiracy theory about how it was Bill Gates or China or Pelosi who made this all happen. Or anytime I see or read anything the current president says or does. Let's face it. We botched the response. The first case came to the USA in late January. Some of us took it seriously. Some made jokes about toilet paper, said it was like the flu, not so bad, certainly not something to stop going out and about over. And we were too polite. Maybe we were too used to political arguments to think this was any different than arguing about impeachment or "grab them by the pussy" or making fun of the disabled. But it was and is different. And now we are paying the price. If you don't think the response to this makes a difference, look at the death rate in Germany, then look at it here. And we're still messing it up. We still haven't federalized our response, so states are bidding against each other for medical supplies, driving up prices in some areas, leaving others waiting. For some reason, we've decided now would be a good time to get rid of clean air restrictions from the EPA, because what we breathe at this particular moment isn't really important or something. Our Supreme Court overrules postponing a primary election last night in Wisconsin, so if people want to vote they have to go outside.  And John Prine died last night. That sucks. Here is a bonus song, that is kind and hopeful in spite of the subject matter. For those of you who don't have good links through this blog to YouTube, it's John Prine singing When I Get to Heaven.

What will we do when this is all done, or partially done, or whatever it will be by let's say the end of Summer? Will we treat those who price gouged like Vichy collaborators in post-war France? Will we take all those who down played the virus and should have know better and throw them off of cliffs, like they did in that one chapter of For Whom the Bell Tolls? Will we all look at each other, with a new found connection to the world, each other, and our inner selves, and say enough of this bullshit, and change things for the better, with universal healthcare and an economic system that takes care of everyone? I've said it before, and I'm sure I'll say it again- probably within a few hours- but we must and will change how we do things. We have been given a planet sized wake up call. No more time for politely looking the other way when we see or hear things that just aren't right. No more pretending we'll all live forever. No more.

I love this world. I love all of you. I even love our horrible president and wish he wasn't so very deeply disturbed. I can't imagine how lonely, lost, and unsettling it must be to be him. But as Spock taught us years ago, the needs of the many out weigh the needs of the few, or the one, and if he has to lose his job or even go to jail to assure the world and each other that crimes don't pay and that with great power comes great responsibility, so be it.

Ok. Sorry to rant today, but I'm tired and cranky this Wednesday morning.

Here's a song. It's Simon & Garfunkel's Wednesday Morning, 3 AM.