Technical Rehearsal

Way over the top kind of day. Portsmouth City Riverdays, 4 day thing ending tomorrow, but today was the parade and it was just a half-a-block away from the museum. I was Saturday staff and good that I was because the Brit had a kind of final rehearsal / technical rehearsal, today. A Dress rehearsal Thursday, shows Friday and two on Saturday. Work out the kinks. Desk person was in the parade, so two of Pegi's Cirque girls ran reception, and I played tech theater guy, then Sara called, not getting her e-mails, and Lily comes in to resend and fax. Overtime, to get the show on the ways, but everything is good to go. Get home a little late and eating a cold supper when there is a knock on the door. This doesn't happen at my house. It's the new family that moved into a rental house further up Bloody Twin and her cell phone doesn't get good reception down in the hollow, and they've got two flat tires. He's on Workmen's Comp, the three kids (7,5,4) can't believe someone lives up here, this way. They have to come in to make a call to the mother-in-law for transport to get the flats fixed and buy some groceries. I fed the kids some of those baby peeled carrots I'd gotten on sale, set them down in the middle of the floor, with that horrid ranch dip I brought home from the museum, and they crunched away, while the parents digested what they could see and imagine of my life-style. It was a little strange, really, and I felt sorry for them, trying to understand why someone would choose to live this way. They were perplexed, but I wanted shed of them, because I was ready to write. The guy knew B, but I never got the connection, had worked with Bear, god, it's a small world in the boondocks. They wanted me to 'stop down' and share some time, so I had to explain that I was a hermit, and didn't do that. The woman, I can't remember their names, this is awful, I was so not listening, wondering if I should get the rifle before answering the door, expressed an interest in writing, as a thing one would do, and I told her it was a lot like prison, -take it up the ass and line-dance for the guards- not to stereotype but one thing about nice, gentle, rednecks, is that 'crude' doesn't exist, you can say anything. I wanted to imply that social gatherings weren't my thing, please, leave me alone. She got it, I think: he (I) was a possible pervert, maybe a terrorist. Almost stopped at the pub for a beer but I'd missed Happy Hour and I ain't going to pay four bucks for a Bass, I'd rather go home and deal with a classic Redneck Family, drink a whiskey, roll a couple of smokes. What is clear to me is how much I love this life, I'm right here, in this spot, doing these things, not off somewhere else. Doesn't matter much what it is, as long as it engages. There was a vault door in Philly, we drilled and used those delicate charges. Everything I know, I learned somewhere. I don't think I understand anything, consider my track record, not good, -whatever I touch turns to ...-, I rest my case. You could follow that.