Thursday, September 25, 2008

Community Arts Center

My Dream Community Arts Center...

*a theater (of course) that produces plays based on local stories. all performances followed by talk backs, panel discussions, and interesting ways of communicating.
*a radio station
*galleries filled with artwork from local artists
*classes - public speaking, how to write a memoir, scrapbooking, guitar, tap dancing.
*a movie theater with special matinees for moms with loud babies
*pottery wheels
*book clubs
*free access internet stations
*a library of donated books
*meeting rooms for anyone who needs them
*a haunted house at halloween
*tutors
*Saturday night cabaret acts
*street musicians in the parking lot
*summer camp
*ridiculous, over the top holiday decorations
*rehearsal rooms for high school garage bands
*fair trade coffee house
*lots of bulletin boards
*venues for touring theatre groups
*tons of patio furniture
*barbeques
*weekly open mic nights
*therapeutic movement classes
*a giant easter egg hunt
*organized town wide scavenger hunts
*a community garden where everyone can have a plot
*a publishing system - so that anyone can make their writing into a bound book
Reasons to be a Stereotypical Hobo at the Turn of the Century if it were Then, I was a Guy, and if they were actually as Rad as I imagine...


Beans. Whiskey. Sky. Spontaneity. Being an amazing storyteller. Being mysteriously sad and lost in thought. Sleeping to the rhythm of trains. Open air. Open roads. Jobs you leave in six months and don't care about. Not having a cell phone. Wearing overalls. Stroking my beard when I'm thinking. Knowing how to play the harmonica. Smelling like campfire smoke. Traveling light. Running from the law. The music. The parties. New people. That totally amazing feeling you get when hopping aboard a moving train. Banjos. Rabbits on sticks. Being paid in cash. The ability to use my pocketknife to do anything in any situation. Finding myself in situations. Doing anything.
Things I often forget...

All anniversaries, most birthdays, and where Easter and Thanksgiving are supposed to fall. The number of days in each month. Most of the names of kids who were younger than me. But none of the names of the kids who were older. I forget which people are from Danville and which are from Drew. Which are from Philly and which from New Jersey. Middle names of everyone. Most of the nice things people have said, none of the mean things. I forget all the small lies I've told, so I am always getting caught. Phone extensions. Cross-streets. That I'm lucky. Or loved. Anything that has an 8 or a 6 in it. Where the subway goes and if I fed the cat. My parents' ages. My parents' friends. To charge my phone. The names of the shows my friends are working on. What time I'm supposed to be somewhere. And where it is. Never who I'm meeting, but sometimes why. And definitely how to get there.

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