Monday, August 3, 2009

The Event

Went in at ten to tech the movie, everyone else left, after, but I stayed all day, letting people in and out. The circus moms arrived with appetizers, they were also to act as servers. Then the food arrived, full dinner, salad and dessert for 140, then the guests and patrons, then the Cirque talent, in a limo, decked out to the nines. Awards, then viewed the movie, excellent creative non-fiction. We see Portsmouth, in its gritty actual self, the surrounds, the families and trailers, the dysfunction born of dead-ends; then we see what the Cirque does for these kids, the promise of other, and people that care about them, then the final production number, a stylized dance-gymnastic piece that is wonderful. Open bar, the food is decent, by catering standards, the service is good. I make the rounds, once, saying goodnight, glancing at more cleavage than I'm seen in several years. A major success, but, also, I know, a major mess, so I went in today to deal with garbage and spillage. Appalling but not unimagined. Always the same mistake: the people that scrape the plates and stack the dishes never consider the weight and wetness of what they're scraping. You end up with 150 pounds of kitchen waste in a plastic bag, in a plastic container, and this is a disaster waiting to happen. Having fucked up several times, I test the weight by rocking the trash can, lift the bags slowly and with great deliberation, some I just double bag, others I must scoop out part of the contents, salad is the worst, so wet, so heavy. There was a course at Janitor College, "Public Events", a visiting professor from Spain taught the course, Jesus Frank, a totally weird person, capes and large flat hats, he kept ducks and I was always curious, but to his credit, he understood public space, recognized the common dangers. What you learn is a helixed thing, a curve of DNA, a spiral that opens new. Listen, I've thought about this. Potentially something could happen. You might or I could. What about would? That plays close to home. My play, always, in a new city, is to watch the shortstop; leave it to you to find the connection.

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