Simple Story

In many ways I grew up on the stage. Starting back in 7th grade I was on both sides of the curtains.

I liked the privilege afforded to me as a stage kid. In High School this was a fantastic deal because I could sneak onto the stage.

We were lucky. Our auditorium sat over 1400 hundred and was acoustically acceptable. The stage was old, though we had just had a new deck (floor) put in the summer before my Freshman year. It was a beautiful wooden floor, buffed and polished. Completely impractical for theatre productions and work -- you couldn't get paint on it and it was too easily scratched by big sets and equipment -- but it was beautiful.

One of my favorite past times was sneaking onto the stage after school when our grand piano was out. It was perfect. The large open auditorium with the rows of wooden backed but mercifully cushioned for our young asses, folding chairs bolted to the ground.

I could stand there, broom-as-mic (on rare occasions our mics were unlocked I'd use them) and belt out to that auditorium.

I developed multiple ways of sneaking into the auditorium. Sneaking something into the lock (or just plain taping it over) on a side door (this was by far the easiest method). You could also sometimes climb in via an access door 90 feet up on our fly-rail system. I didn't like this method but others were adept. Sometimes I'd wedge open one of the exit-only doors and re-enter that way.

I understand why it was locked up but something as wonderful as a stage an auditorium, such a treasure, a jewel and instead of using it as much as humanly possible our administrators and teachers locked it away, denying it the freedom to be used and adored, to be the stage for so much great art, for so much horrible art... and a chance to learn the difference, to really truly feel the difference in the steps we took.


After sneaking in it'd be pitch-black, of course. Unlike tradition (and procedure) in other theatres, we had no ghost light to keep it safe and always welcoming. I'd carefully make my way to the dimmer rack, a tall black box with vents covering two sides facing downward. I'd tap on the blue and white LCD and all at once the theatre would become alive. The house lights, the front of stage, the on stage electrics, and the rows of strip lighting.

Splashes of color and hot spots dotted the floor, it was all mine. Sometimes the curtains would be down or just the legs. Either way it was ready made for my drama. Those first years the fly-system scared the hell out of me -- raising and lowering hundreds of pounds of bar and curtains. Still, I'd sometimes lower the vibrant, hideous gold curtain to set the stage.

The best had to be prior to concerts when the grand piano had been pulled out of it's storage and it would sit there on the empty stage. I'd set the strip-lights to all blue, maybe a white special but usually not and just sit at the piano plunking out to my heart's content.

Here I was a kid of 16, just plunking out random melodies on this huge instrument. It was fun, even though I can't actually play the piano, I was limited to repeating lines or random wandering melodies. I would sit in there for hours, had to leave before it got too late to escape safely. Once it was dark outside the little bit of light from outside that snuck down the aisles of the auditorium from the lobby would disappear and it became much more difficult to navigate the stage and the stairs. (The lighting panel being far from the exterior exits).

So I'd sit and enjoy my private stage with an audience of empty chairs and hot stage lights. I'd sing, maybe attempt to dance or play the piano, or just sit and contemplate the world. It's probably the most magical place I can imagine being, similar to the feeling I get when I stand on the pier and peer out into the ocean. What hidden stories, what passion lay out there, undiscovered or untold?

I wish I could say I was there every day but that would have been too dangerous but anytime that stage door was open, I was looking into it or passing through it. Perhaps I didn't know that stage better than anyone but it was close. I would play and toy with everything I could get my hands on and it.

Alas... real life calls so this must wait.


But I do miss that... that stage and others. I have no stage now to continue that affair with and it's disappointing.

Yum

A fascinating account of the Citizens' United 'Corporations are People with an inalienable right to spend money on politics'.

I confess, I am a profound proponent of the First Amendment right-to-free-speech but I tend to believe corporations are not people and that their direct political expenditures in support of or against candidates is closer to yelling fire in a theatre than it is the pamphlets of the American Revolution.

That is to say when we allow entities which cannot die or go to prison to provide direct financial support to the politician of their choice we've moved beyond grand ideas and issues and onto politician purchasing.

I understand the concern -- that a corporation, even a non-profit, could find its speech restricted as a collective of individuals -- where is that line? I'm not sure but there must be a line because corporations can't die, can't go to prison or suffer from humiliation. Corporations can't outright lie about products they sell, they can't deceive people, and they can't engage in anti-trust practices.

But buying politicians into their office? That's okay?


On a moral level, what disgusts me more than the idea of buying a politician is how much money is spent. Billions? Not to feed the poor, not to save people from diseases, cancer or help educate the masses... but just for the pursuit of power. Disappointing.

Yum