A LITTLE BIT OF THIS, A LITTLE BIT OF THAT . . . .

A little idle talk of this and that, as Sancho sings in ‘Man of La Mancha’. Sancho, faithful servant as Don Quixote rides forth to tilt at windmills; faithful and caring to the end, as the musical depicts him. Wouldn’t that be nice, to have someone to follow us, to pick up the pieces when the windmill wins. Lynne keeps saying that she needs a slave and Monica and I keep telling her she’s already got us. I’d have a servant clean this disgusting house – after, of course, I got things put where I want them. And got rid of a lot of stuff that doesn’t need to be here. Maybe I’ll get to it someday, but for now, sorry, Sara, that’s still up to you after I’m gone, as of now anyway.
For now – that’s what I’ve been saying about where to put things in the new costume storage space. Yes, I know it means moving boxes twice or maybe even more times, but for now I need them out of the way so I can see where things might end up going. That’s going real well, I can see the light at the end of the tunnel, almost without my binoculars.
Speaking of cleaning out, I have managed to weed out some things from the costumes that we don’t need that many of. Furs. Bridal gowns. Fabric. We get donations of things that other people are cleaning out. We use a wedding dress maybe once a season, and then it’s usually something we build to get the designer’s right look, but still get donations or offers several times a year. Furs –same thing, maybe once or twice a season, but people want to give them to us. I pulled a lot out over the past few days, and put them on Freecycle. One response said ‘just a suggestion...................if no one responds you might try contacting the MacHaydn Theater in Chatham to see if they would be interested in any of this stuff for their costume department’. Um, maybe not. . . . . . .
I had a lot of people come to get fabric, again from donations, of things we won’t use. And a desk there won’t be space for at the new storage. I love Freecycle – I’m happy that others will get use out of what we don’t need any more.
Ever notice that when you put a cup of something in the microwave to warm it up, when the turntable stops the handle will always be on the side away from the door?
My friend Noreen is getting better, at last report. I am so glad of that. I don’t know what her husband, Michael, would have done. She still has a ways to go, and still needs heart surgery, but as of a few days ago was doing better. Hopefully she gets to sit by her little backyard pond and watch the fish again this summer. Hopefully I get to go down there and sit with her.
There are not enough radio stations that play good jazz music.
We’re almost done with auditions – the local kid’s one is today, then we will have callbacks for the kid’s roles this summer, and then done, except of course for ones during the season. Almost two months of auditions. Sigh.
It is hard to type when you are holding a cat on one arm.
If you do a lot of shopping on line, check our Mr. Rebates. You get rebates by going through that site to the places you shop. Now if I can just figure out how to go through that to get books for my nook; it probably can be done, but the nook wants you to use it to get to the books you want.
There have been several ads on the radio urging people to fill out and send in their census form. There were three mailings for that, a card saying it was coming, the form itself, and then a mailing saying it had been sent. And they claim these are still cheaper than sending people around to do it in person. I guess. But three? Wouldn’t people catch on when the form came that it had been mailed to them – do they really need to be alerted to the fact that it will be and has been? OK, yeah, some people would.
Think I’ll treat myself to breakfast out today. Since I don’t have a servant to make it.
Ah, shoot, I promised gossip and I don’t have any – let’s see - - - nope, you’ll have to look elsewhere for that. Maybe I’ll get some when I go to breakfast, I’ll pass it on if I do. But I hope I gave enough chat for a while. As Amos says in ‘Chicago’: ‘hope I didn’t take up too much of your time.’

For a friend

My dear friend Noreen is gravely ill. Each time the phone rings I fear it is her husband, Michael, calling to tell me she is gone. She’s had health problems for many years, and this seems to be the culmination of them all: heart, asthma, I don’t know what-all else.
Noreen and Michael are friends left over from a failed ‘relationship’ of years ago. Noreen and Jerry were cousins; they had not been in touch for years and reconnected during Jerry’s and my time together. When Jerry and I separated, I ‘kept’ Noreen’s friendship for which I will always be grateful and pleased. Jerry gained another lady friend after our split, and those two couples did not get along; this caused a rift between Jerry and Noreen that she and I often discussed; after his death she despaired over it, that they had missed times together.
She’s opinionated, outspoken and fun. She had some hard times, but kept on past them. She loves her animals, and friends, fiercely. She has a special love for wolves, and has an online ‘pack’ of friends that share interests and thinking.
We talk online, and I called her a couple of months ago, maybe more than a couple now. I visited several years ago, travel has been hard for her. We planned to go to a town in southern New Jersey called Shellpile, and to meet at a wolf sanctuary, but those were scrapped by one of her health issues. I keep saying I’d try to get down (Jersey Shore) to see them again, but as we all know how those things go, hadn’t made it. Or called again.
Now I hope I get another chance to.
Here’s what I think: that we should make the call, make the trip, when we can. Don’t put it off, because the chance might be taken away. Tell people now, when they can hear you. Because feeling like ‘I should have’ when it’s too late sucks.

Fly, fly, wolf-spirit friend
Through the forest
Over the fields
Stop, stop and stare
At what is ahead
Do you race on alone
Or stay with your pack
For more time
Only a greater spirit than ours knows
We pray he lets us have you longer
And hope to understand if he does not
Fly, fly, wolf-spirit friend
To the destiny best for you

The Crandall Theatre

Speaking of movies, in our little village there’s been a movie tragedy. Not a tragedy movie. The Crandall Theatre is closed. The Crandall started life as a vaudeville house, back in those days. When vaudeville lagged, it converted to a movie theatre. I’ve been going there since I was a little kid. I remember seeing “War of the Worlds’ there, my grandmother took us, and in my memory, on the way home there was a full moon and we looked out the windows to see if we could spot any alien space ships. I remember going there on dates in high school, and after the movie going to the Boston Candy Kitchen for ice cream. I took the kids there – we went to a Disney movie and I was laughing so much they were embarrassed and went to sit somewhere else, not with me.
The tragedy is a true one, the owner, Tony Quirino, unexpectedly passed away in January. The theatre is closed while the family recovers.
As one merchant put it ‘We look like a ghost town at night now’ – there were always cars parked on Main Street, every night of the week, while people went to the Crandall.
Tony had been in negotiation to sell the theatre. The Chatham Film Club, an active group that the Crandall helped by giving space for an annual film festival and an ‘art’ film every month, had been trying to raise the money needed to buy it. I heard last night that they are still trying and might be able to close the deal. I hope so, as they have pledged to keep the Crandall – ‘the Crandall’. I hope it happens.
I’m not anti-movie, despite being anti-excess for some things connected with movies. I like movies, I just don’t go often, especially now with the Crandall closed. It’s handy, 2 minutes away, as opposed to half an hour for other theatres. And, the best part, it was only $5.00 for admission and $1.50 for popcorn – not the $10.00 and $5.00 the big chains rip you off for. So I am hoping that the film club can complete their deal, and keep the Crandall in Chatham. It’s a needed part of the community.
Anybody around here reads this, give a donation! Please.

The Oscar's and Excess

I didn’t watch the Oscars. I admit it. It may be un-American, but there it is. I know, especially since I’m in the ‘entertainment business’, I should. But, there’s just too much hype and folderol with them, and too much talk for too little action. Plus, I haven’t seen and probably won’t see most of the movies; or know most of the people nominated. Just doesn’t make any difference to me.
I understand it was a pretty good show this year, according to the people who did watch. That the thanks given by the winners was limited – that’s another reason I don’t watch, I mean, it’s nice that they want to thank everyone from Mom and Dad to their hairdresser’s neighbor’s cat groomer, but that doesn’t interest me a bit. I understand that one winner thanked the men and women in the armed forces and I think that’s great. Otherwise, blah-de-blah, de-blah, de-blah. Should have thanked those people in person when they did the job for you.
And this year, maybe subconsciously it was my own private protest. Look at the Oscars. First there’s the movies themselves, costing how many millions of dollars to make. The stars making how many millions of dollars. The ‘goody bags’, the gowns, the speakers and presenters, the security, the press – the excess of it all. It’s a show that many enjoy, but it’s all about excess. The winners sell more tickets so the movies can make more money, that goes where? Now that’s a good question-gotta go into somebody’s pockets and I wonder whose-no doubt someone who already has quite enough there. All about excess.
Meanwhile, all over the country, live theatres are closing because they don’t have enough money to keep running. Not to say that the Tony Awards aren’t their own little exercise in excess, but not to the extent of the Oscars. But those theatres provided entertainment to thousands of people too, enriched the lives of thousands, provided employment, enhanced the quality of life in their area, contributed to the overall economy. They don’t deserve to close. How about sending some of that excess their way, our way?
Yeah, right, like that’s gonna happen. There’ll be another Oscars extravaganza next year and the year after and so on. And more theatres will close.
Here’s what I think – the Oscar for helping cause that goes to, in part to – the award excess. Is there a way to even the playing field? Nope, not that I can see happening. Sad, but true.

Whose Rights Are Right?

Last night I went to the Zoning Board of Appeals meeting. A performance space on the other side of the village had applied to continue the variance granted 5 years ago for them to put up a tent to have shows in, while they raised funds to put up the building they hope to have. This summer will be the last of the 5 years, and they wanted to continue the variance as they are not even close to getting the building built. Yup, we know how that goes, we’ve been talking about a new building for about 40 years that I remember.
I put on my Chatham Business Alliance hat and went to read a letter of support for the place, PS21. Yeah, individually they might be considered competition, but they do different kinds of things than we do, and it’s a fact that arts bring arts audiences to an area, so we get some run-off from them.
What a process the whole hearing was, and this was part 2, there was another last month. Some of the neighbors didn’t want the variance continued, because they hear noise from the tent when performances are going on. A decibel level was set when the first variance was granted and numerous tests have been done to show that the noise is below that, but these people can still hear it. Which brought up the question “What is considered objectionable?” The town lawyer said they had to go with the dictionary definition: ob•jec•tion•a•ble: –adjective 1. causing or tending to cause an objection, disapproval, or protest. 2. offending good taste, manners, etiquette, propriety, etc.; offensive: objectionable behavior.
Without going into details on who said what at the meeting, this brought up the old: ‘beauty in the eye – or ear in this case – of the beholder’. ‘one man’s pleasure ---‘ and so on debates.
Which makes me wonder, again, where do one person’s rights begin and another’s end? Does the Zoning Board deny the variance, and close down PS21 after this summer because of two people (well, three, one was a couple) objecting? They claimed there were many more but those others were ‘afraid to come and say anything because they might have a request of the board at some point and it would be used against them’. There were many more there in support, and the owner claims an audience of thousands over a season. So if the space is closed, what happens to their rights?
The objectors said they wouldn’t mind the noise from the 20 houses that could be built on the acreage that PS21 occupies. It’s zoned residential/rural. I wonder what they’d say to a tractor running from 6 a.m. to 10 p.m., if it was turned into some type of farm?
Noise is a fact of life, unless you’re camping at The Goosenecks on the San Juan River in Utah. I can hear people in the trailer park next to me, the loudspeaker and cheers from the football field at the school, and in Chatham of course there are always the trains. But these neighbors didn’t mind any of that sort of thing, what they mind is the music from The Tent.
Seems to me, as I said in the letter I read, that all should try working together to find a solution. There could be one. There should be ways to baffle more of the noise, I would think, and I think it is PS21’s responsibility to look into this.
The wife of the couple objecting asked what the Zoning Board was going to do for HER, because in effect her life is ruined by this noise. A reasonable question. Is there a way to mollify, to throw a bone to the losers in this case? Where do their rights start and PS21’s stop?
And this whole discussion could continue into so many other things that there’s not space to list – and I got work to do. But think about it. Where do your rights end and someone else’s begin? And who decides?
Asides: When we went to the town board (different town) for the variance to operate our theatre, the owner of the trailer park next door said he didn’t think we should be there because, among other things, our audience might come down into the park and steal people’s lawn furniture.
The Board voted to allow the variance, with one nay vote. I want to know why there are no women on the Board.

The Naming Of Cars Is A Curious Thing

As well as the naming of cats (with apologies to T.S. Eliot and Andrew Lloyd Webber), but that’s another story.
Car’s names. Who names a car, anyway? Lots of us do.
This is brought to mind after reading one of the blogs I follow, wherein the writer was mourning the loss of his pickup truck, Frankenhoopety. He has a 7 y.o. daughter so you can pretty well guess where the name came from. Missed a curve in the rain. That’ll do it.
The first named car I remember – in fact the first csr I remember, was a Model A Ford that got named Singy. I cannot help but boast that I named it - I was maybe 3 or 4 when we got the car, and were all in it for the first family drive. In those days it was customary to warm the car up before moving off, and while this was happening I asked what the nose of the motor was. ‘The car is singing to us’ my father said, and I said ‘then it’s name should be Singy’. And so it was. Singy was around for quite a while. I think it was Singy that suffered the results of my terrible carsickness all the way to Wilkes Barre, PA, when we drove there for my uncle’s wedding. Suffice to say it had to be washed before my parents would drive it to the church. We may have still had it when we moved to the farm, and then had to get a truck to bring in hay and take milk to the dairy in Hudson. One day my mother had Singy loaded with aunts and cousins, going somewhere; we got about a quarter mile down the road and suddenly smoke started pouring out of the space where the shifting lever came up through the floor (ah, yes, my younger friends, in those days all cars were standard shift and Singy predated shifters on the steering column). My mother stopped and we all piled out; my mother ran back towards the house shouting ‘Honey, the cars on fire!’ my sister and I were as close behind as we could be, crying ‘Daddy , Singy’s on fire’, and the aunts and cousins were either circling the car or somewhere in between, all yelling ‘Ed the car’s on fire’. It didn’t spread and was put out with little damage. I can’t remember if we continued our trip, but I suppose we did.
I don’t remember any other cars being named for many years after that, although I remember several of the cars. And trucks. But those are other stories.
I got back into naming cars through Linda and Lynne. They had a cute little Dodge they named Samantha – nope, don’t know where that came from and neither did they but they said it just seemed like a Samanatha. After they got a newer car they stopped naming them, because if the car had a name, they couldn’t get rid of it. They sold Samanatha to my ex, just to ‘keep it in the family.
We named the theatre cars for a while, the theory being that the un-car-savvy people could identify a named thing better than ‘the green Pontiac’. Each name was carefully chosen, debated and re-debated, sometimes hotly, before one was settled on. Most of these escape me, except for Miss Mona. Miss Mona was a full size, back when they made them FULL size Ford station wagon. She was give to us by Dee’s ex (what is it about the ex’s and cars?). There were a lot of miles on her but the motor had been run on lp gas, not gasoline, so it was clean as a whistle. So, she was ours, free, and all we had to do was drive it up from Georgia. Guess who got elected to do that. Linda took me to the airport on Tuesday morning, and I said ‘I’ll see you tomorrow’. ‘Oh, no, you won’t be back until Thursday or Friday’. ‘No I’ll see you tomorrow for the matinee. Maybe not the start but before it’s over,’ At that time, I’d been doing the coat sales and been to Georgia a few times so had a good idea about how long it would take me to drive back from Savannah. After dillying around a good share of the day with waiting for something to be done to the car, and getting paperwork done, I left Savannah about 5. Got to north of DC and stopped to sleep for a few hours, and came on home. Got to Chatham about 3 or so, it was intermission of the matinee. I went in to the office and said ‘the new car has a name, and there is no debate about it. Her name is Miss Mona (after the Madam in Best Little Whorehouse in Texas).’ Linda said ‘Miss Mona? Why? ‘Because she might be a tired ol’ ‘ho, but if you talk to her right she’ll go all night and all day for you’.
Miss Mona was around for many years, and starred in many theatre stories. When we finally had to give her up, we sold her to a guy to put into the demo derby at the fair – but we insisted that he paint Miss Mona, in pink, on her.
I think I started naming cars with The Arab’s Delight – a v-8 Chevy that would pass anything on the road but a gas station. I think that’s the car I ended up with when David and I split up, he got the red convertible to use in parades. I drove the Delight for several years, took it on the road to some of the coat sales, and finally gave it to Sara, I think that was when I bought the grey Citation, which I named Silver, and I think the second grey Citation was Silver Jr. Then the blue wagon was Colonel (after the blue roan horse I had), can't recall what the white station wagon was. Now the Vue is named Big Girl – from the guy at a delivery in Michigan who asked did I drive that great big truck all the way from Massachusetts and when I said ‘well, somebody had to’, he said ‘My - you a Big Girl’.
Is it weird to name a car? Is it weird to love a car? And be sad when you miss a curve and hit a tree? Or just have to finally admit that it’s useful days are done? Define weird – those of us who do it don’t think so.
PS, AD, I’m waiting for the photos of Frankenhoopety II.

ADD TO THE LIST OF THINGS I JUST DON’T GET….

Why people who have had your email address for years, now that you are ‘Friends’ on Facebook can’t just email, they have to open Facebook, find your Wall, post a message on it and send it to you that way. Then when you open your email you see that you have a message from them but instead of just answering like you used to do when they used email, you have to go to Facebook to answer it – and then they in turn have to open their Facebook to respond to you.
??
And while we’re at it – and don’t get me wrong, Facebook is fun and even useful as we found when trying to locate a person and an address last year – but what’s with all the games and putting things on your status and all that?
Not to be rude, but I got too much to do to get involved in all that. Plus, if I started any of those games I know I’d get hooked and spend more time on those than doing what I don’t get done already.
Ah, modern technology – it’s a wonderful thing – more and more ways to spend more and more time doing – sometimes, who knows what?
Gotta go write on somebody’s wall…………………..