A Reminiscence.
Just got off work, and don't have anywhere I need to run off to and be. Same story tomorrow, and the next. What a fucking relief!
What a void.
So I write....
In fall of '03 I was working in Pennsylvania, when the realization struck that my contract expired in less than two weeks. What next? Where to begin this new chapter? A friend dangled her keys before me and said "These are to my apartment in Cincinnati. You should check it out. You can have my place for a month."
Three days after my arrival I end up at the CEA awards, where I first heard Bruffy make mention of the Fringe. The whole night seemed cast in magic and my new city seemed to pulse with the promise of dreams.
The first Fringe was a whirlwind, a blur, and a tornado took me away to other cities halfway through its run. Each town I visited tried to suck me in, new friends inviting me to stay, but nowhere did I feel serotonin rushing to the cranium quite like it did during my experience of Fringe.
And then I was in Hawaii. Very little can make me higher than backpacking through the solitude of paradise, with only my two best friends and the wind (and a pack of wild boars) on a black sand beach in a valley full of mysticism.
Given my history, friends and family all expected me to plant roots there. My ticket was for three months. I left after one. I wanted a home. I wanted community. I wanted the stress-induced adrenaline rush inherit in organizing something HUGE. I wanted to be a part of something that could touch people and change lives.
So I left paradise for this Midwest ghetto.
At this point, y’all must think I’m crazy.
I am.
But fortunately, so are many of the folks involved in this beautiful thing.
This is only my story. Though I know I am far from the only one whose direction, path and place have been altered by this thing called Fringe.
Congrats to everyone involved for a being a part of something bigger and inadvertently sending a big "fuck you" to apathy.
Highlights from day 12: a friends’ tears after “Slow Children Playing”; the statement from a staffer “Sooo glad I finally got to see some shows and remember why it is we do this stuff.” (In other words, the shows fucking rocked.)
And lastly, the chance to see a performance in the sadly under-used, absolutely gorgeous space that is Memorial Hall. Yummy.
Thanks to all.
What a void.
So I write....
In fall of '03 I was working in Pennsylvania, when the realization struck that my contract expired in less than two weeks. What next? Where to begin this new chapter? A friend dangled her keys before me and said "These are to my apartment in Cincinnati. You should check it out. You can have my place for a month."
Three days after my arrival I end up at the CEA awards, where I first heard Bruffy make mention of the Fringe. The whole night seemed cast in magic and my new city seemed to pulse with the promise of dreams.
The first Fringe was a whirlwind, a blur, and a tornado took me away to other cities halfway through its run. Each town I visited tried to suck me in, new friends inviting me to stay, but nowhere did I feel serotonin rushing to the cranium quite like it did during my experience of Fringe.
And then I was in Hawaii. Very little can make me higher than backpacking through the solitude of paradise, with only my two best friends and the wind (and a pack of wild boars) on a black sand beach in a valley full of mysticism.
Given my history, friends and family all expected me to plant roots there. My ticket was for three months. I left after one. I wanted a home. I wanted community. I wanted the stress-induced adrenaline rush inherit in organizing something HUGE. I wanted to be a part of something that could touch people and change lives.
So I left paradise for this Midwest ghetto.
At this point, y’all must think I’m crazy.
I am.
But fortunately, so are many of the folks involved in this beautiful thing.
This is only my story. Though I know I am far from the only one whose direction, path and place have been altered by this thing called Fringe.
Congrats to everyone involved for a being a part of something bigger and inadvertently sending a big "fuck you" to apathy.
Highlights from day 12: a friends’ tears after “Slow Children Playing”; the statement from a staffer “Sooo glad I finally got to see some shows and remember why it is we do this stuff.” (In other words, the shows fucking rocked.)
And lastly, the chance to see a performance in the sadly under-used, absolutely gorgeous space that is Memorial Hall. Yummy.
Thanks to all.
posted by Lindsay at 4:06 PM
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