Stupid should be painful

And I deserve a migraine.  Happy full moon everybody.

Thanks google images for the image.

Ya know its going to be bad when...

So this morning (noon) I got a panicked sounding email from Production Manager saying to email him ASAP and then a text from Stage Manager asking if I wanted to ASM for a show this weekend. I called SM and began with 'This is a funny text to get on a Thursday afternoon.'
I agreed (of course. Ego absolutely forbid me to do otherwise), but I would have loved at least one day of tech.
And there went my weekend.

I've worked this show the last couple of years and it is a showcase of different performances, mostly dances. I ASM*-ed for this last year** too. There were sixteen different acts and it took me every minute of tech to organize it.

Yay.  [phubbbtttttt]

Which reminds me that I need a new pair of black pants soon. I definitely won't be able to wear robes for this.


Random fact of no importance: I found glow-in-the-dark ducktape online. So I had to order some. I'm not sure quite what I'm going to use it for, but I needed wanted it. It should arrive in the next couple days. Whoot!


Someday I'm going to write a short glow-tape poem/prayer to end entries with. Like Red Green's man prayer.  "I am a man. / And I can change. / If I have to. / I guess."
Someday.


*The official title is ASM - assistant stage manager. Which generally means taking direction from the SM (stage manager), and relaying cues. I prefer the more unofficial title BSM - (backstage manager,) since we don't often use headsets and I have no contact with the SM during the run. (and when we do actually set up the headsets, I pretty much ignore it anyways). Also, BSM (Bullsh** manager), which, depending on the cast and/or the crew I'm attempting to train, pretty much sums it up. [My 'ordained voice' says that's a mean thing to say, and my 'techie voice' is giving me a high-five and passing an energy drink]

**To clarify, the performers of this show last year were awesome and really easy to work with.

Friday.

It's Friday. Its a three day weekend. The best email to hit my work inbox this week was a reminder from the head of security that the campus would be closed on Monday.

Back when I was in AmeriCorps I would be doing service projects on Monday, or sitting through lectures. And if I still resided in Minnesota, I'd probably be doing the same. But I don't.

So I'm sleeping in.

And then making tormas for Rigdzin Dupa tsog.

Three days to meditate, work on pechas, and increase the dragon herd.   (I might go hide in a tree)

crazy cat lady list

To do: crochet dragon herd to compensate for lack of cats.


And I got sound tech for the Meridith Monk gig. One night anyways. Whoot! The event scheduled "Lama Sarah Harding interviews Meredith Monk on Buddhism in America" (which I'm not teching) sounds epic. I'm totally skipping the other job to go. Stupid full time with benefits other job. (It interferes with my theater ninja opportunities).

Typical Monday

Today I got out of bed and almost immediately jammed my little toe into a door. It didn't help the headache.

  

I'm thinking that today is one of those days that are safer hiding in bed. 

On the up side, the theater crew meeting is today. We get our schedules for the semester. *Crosses fingers for sound tech for Meredith Monk.*

Retreat hangover.

It seems that retreat hangover (a term I heard from my boss/vajra brother) falls under mental health which is grounds for a sick day.  For such a short retreat, I'm having a heck of a time getting back into the swing of life. 

Yesterday at work I discovered Rochelle Kraut. We wear similar makeup.  I also listened to Diane di Prima talk about living at Millbook estate. That was a trip. (No pun intended.) 

I've been missing the night lately, and the ocean. Where the stars are so bright it almost seems you can pick them from the sky and bottle them like the fireflies I see in NY. In daylight fireflies are merely red little bugs that move like Muppets but at night, glowtape lighting the path to the temple.

Disappear into space

Yesterday my teacher gave me the biggest compliment a theater techie could get (in my opinion) after I chopponed for a tsog.  He said that I 'disappeared into space.'  Ego appreciated the boost very much thank you. The downside is that he will probably expect me to choppon more. 

Today, instead of working maintenance at the theater and practicing my (non-existent) soldering skills I was working in the library listening to admittedly really interesting lectures by Amiri Baraka from the summer of 1978.  The topic was American history and how it shaped American literature.  Some parts were extremely hard to listen to - the painful truths that aren't taught in schools.  Some parts were interesting because although the lectures were given almost 35 years ago the politics are still very much the same.  I felt really bad when students would force Amiri to speak for the entire black america.  There were some pretty good arguments going.

May the rest of the lectures/classes/poetry readings/random archive materials I will be listening to be as interesting.

It still boggles me sometimes, when I'm listening to these, that some of these lectures were given before I was born.  A lot of the people I'm listening to at this point are well into their 70's or dead. People long gone with only echoes on tapes left of them. 

I also brought cake for my co-workers today. Because I could.


The Goofy Little Brother that I Don't Have is back at the theater after a three year hiatus in the midwest. I'm ecstatic. He'll grow up to be a good man. 
Eventually.

[May we all keep a good dose of goofy to temper the blargh that is being an adult]


I am still mentally returning, kicking and screaming, from a short retreat. Time and space still don't line up well.
But my shamthab is still tied around my waist, not my ankles, without the use of gaff tape, so I guess I will continue in the world. 
And now I have this huge urge to see if I can actually gaff tape up my shamthab while keeping all the folds correct...hmmmm.