Few experiences are as bonding as seasonal jobs and theatre. When by design or br nature, one is forced to operate at 150% with little-to-no saftey net, a unique cameraderie develops. When I was doing theatre at the Barn Theatre in 1990, we had 16 hour ish days sometimes--building sets, rehearsing, crashing vans(my unique job duty), dry cleaning costumes with Lysol, rehearsing the after show cabaret, picking up cigarette butts in the lawn parking, performing, then doing the ateshow cabaret while stealing as mant Snak-Ens as one could cram in one's mouth--THEN--finding the time for after responsibilities for drinking, skinny dipping and imagining and creating crushy drama of one's own... Well, you survive that, and you have bonded along the lines of those who've done the Sioux sundance.
We weren't so often twisting in the sights of the Great Spirit as we were twisting in the tornado lousy winds of Michigan. Plunked down halfway between Battle Creek and Kalamazoo, it was beautiful, rural territory. The community LOVED us, though I was kind of dubious the first time we went to a local tavern,
"Great. The fags and whores are back..."
That was not so much a hate slur as it was a Lower Michigan bear hug, an earthy "Welcome home!"
I look back at this exhausting, magickal time through Golden Glasses of Nostalgia and am struck by how many folks I am still in touch with. I remember Will, one of our set design and constrction geniuses say, "Two most bonding human experiences are war and theatre..."
I think it's true! I might add large scale multiday event production and building a brand nationally. Most of my not genetic family comes from these worlds and I am most grateful.
I had a friend say to me, "Can't you just let Virgin go?" It made me pause. Then it struck me.
Virgin, like theatre before, and then events, served as more than a temporary means to an end of income. My coworkers, through shared blood, sweat and tears, had become a huge part of the family that I had lost in the wham bam 6 year period of losing a Mom, Dad, Great Aunt, Grandmother and Father, and dog who'd been my best friend for 13 years of awkward adolesence.
What made these jobs so profound was the very nature of their being temporary. The brilliance comes, and ithe brilliance goes, and the flash of magick fades to gray. Like the Tibetan butter sculptures and sand mandalas, they are most excellent teachers of beautiful impermanence.
I, for better or worse, tend to develop heart conection with folks, so the pull away post sparkle is another little death. Some things I play Frankenstein with, and I constantly revive. My choice and no one, no thing is required to ressurect if it is not an organic choice for them.
Here is a piece I wrote for my fellow cast members in "All's Well That Ends Well" at Hartford Stage. It could have as easily been written for my AIDSRide, Virgin, Sports Basement cohorts.
Theatre wears different masks for each of its players
It may be a friend, a ife, a way to knowledge-
a job, a release, a means of explortion.
Theatre, for me, is all of these
most importantly, it is family
it is intense, it is laughter, it is fear
both excitement and patience--
I thank each of you
from the core of my being
for being my family, for helping me learn
for letting me know you and letting me know myself-
I will not forget this moment of brilliance
this sparkle and flash in the dark
that is the magick that we've made.
I love YOU with a big , gay, gratitude- filled heart.
Namaste..
