60 Years Are Too Many: Dream Interp

     11 July

        It isn't that you don't dream, you don't remember.

       It isn't that the pieces don't mean anything, you are just uninterested.    

       And that OK. It's not for everyone.

       My pony camp co teacher was talking about her astrological sign, and asked if I was "Into that sort of thing". I explained briefly yes, but it's all derivitive.

        She enjoyed that explanation a lot, as it explained much to her. I was happy to be of service.

        I'm 60, I've always been able to talk to dead people  and I'm in theatre. Remember I was also a church kid for all of my youth. So yes, I've been "into" that sort of thing. I still occasionally dabble in tarot. Back in the day I had my  astrological cards "done" with my birth sign and which sign was in each house. I've had psychic friends--my real friends, not a 1-900 phone number--give me past life flashes, which at times has explained a peculiar avoidance or fear of mine that otherwise had no root. I love graveyards.I learned palmistry. I trucked with crystals and I still believe in the value of smudging and incense. 

        I'm not a witch or a psychic. I'm just a person with a unique sensitivity who was interested in learning the symbols while also believing in God.

        The one aspect that has stuck with me is dream interpretation. Largely because it's science, and everything in your dream is symbolic of something in your waking life. Also, it's Biblical so that makes my mom happy. Our brains are fascinating, and I grew up with the myth "We only use 10%" which may not be a myth so much as shifting scientific research. I do not believe we use our whole brain. If we did, we wouldn't need dreams. 

        Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

        I'm not a professional neuroscientist or astrologer, I'm just a person who learned some stuff and uses it to explain my mental state and help in moments of deep despair.

        We all know we're in something big right now. A massive shift. Some use the word "apocolypse" some do not. It's not just the united states, it's the planet.

        As such, people who aren't generally sensitive are experiencing vivid dreams, anxiety attacks, and such. People who are sensitive are experiencing vivid dreams, anxiety attacks and such.

        There's nothing we can do about it. It's universal. It's out of our control. Which is driving the Red Hats straight into anger apoplexic implosions, but it's accurate. "Apocolyptic energy" does not mean "apocolypse", but you go right ahead and scream "rapture". 

        I know I can't control it. But as a control freak, I wish to understand it.

        I have had a few massive deep, wonderful dreams the last few weeks. The kind that make you wish you lived in the dream on not on this dumpster planet. The issue is, even if they are wonderful and not terrors, I still struggle the next day because I am Not Rested. I was too busy galavanting in my mind all night, enjoying myself. Because face it, if you have a good dream in 2026 you have no desire to wake up.

        So I thought I'd give y'all a bit of help. You can look up dream symbols in Dream Moods oline-they're pretty accurate--but a baseline is always nice. We'll do pieces of my dream last night, which was magnificent but I only remember flashes. I had one a few weeks ago that made me wake up with thorough epiphanies, I was actually energized, but the actual plot/colors/symbols of the dream itself melted off.

        If I was an artist my life would be so much easier, I could draw this dream location. It's new, we all have set locales we use over and over---it was the basis for that movie Inception-but this place was entirely new.

        It was a college campus connected by a "lagoon" to another college campus. My brain told me it was the University of Utah and the University of Washington. I know georgraphy and I know that's impossible: dream. Both campus' looked like mountain tourist towns-dark wood store fronts and restaurants, people everywhere. Both sides had big wood stairs you had to ascend to the main campus, and descend to the beautiful green water.

        I had impressions of whales and dolphins, but do not remember seeing any. There was a chimpanzee who crossed my path and I scratched his head, and a massive black prehistoric pteradactyl at one end of the pool, guarding it. His skin was like a seal's, it was thick and shiny. He didn't move or make any noise. Just watched. He fascinated me.

        I was wearing red pants and some sort of red/grey 1980's jacket. Possibly a Michael Jackson jacket, possibly a letter jacket. I took a picture of myself with my red flip phone and my hair was shoulder length and I was skinny. I was deliriously happy even though I knew I had crossed from Utah to Washington and I needed to get back. Usually these dreams are anxiety filled and horrible, but I just wandered around watching people talk and eat and looking at the pool. Several people called out "I like your jacket", and each time I looked down it was somewhat different---MJ or letterman.

        I made my way past the pteradactyl--which I know we're supposed to call pterandons now but that's not who he was--and climbed the stairs. I walked close enough to him to see water on his skin, which is how I knew it was like a seal, not a bird. He'd emerged from the pool as I passed by. I was not threatened by him at all, I thought he was beautiful. He just quietly watched me.

         I arrived at the top of the stairs and looked at the names of the storefronts on the dark wood buildings, and thought I must have walked the wrong way and I'd have to go back. I guess the names were unfaimilair. Then I woke up.

        Cool, huh?

        Nope. Only cool to me. That's the thing with dreams----Nobody Else Cares.

        But I can use this to help you unpack yours if you're interested.

        Upper levels ---upstairs, mountain tops, towns at the top of the stairs--are your  spirital conscious. Stuff you are still trying to obtain or settle, but on a spiritual level.

        Mid levels- Stuff you know you are dealing with in your waking life.  I didn't have a mid level, but I suspect that was the university mountain town, since it wasn't really an upstairs level.

        Lover levels--basements, cellars, lagoons--are your unconscious. The stuff you are not consciously dealing with. Everything in the lagoon is waiting for me to deal with it.

        Water is life. I have water in dreams constantly, at least it's not flooding or threatening me in this dream. It's beautiful and calm. A truly nice change.

        Colors usually are whatever that color means to you. Blue is generally calming. Green in generally growth. Red is intense feelings. Black is usually transformative---at least for me, it's a change that is occuring. Unless it is a black shape in a cellar, that's a different issue.

        Pteradactyl- a need to confront a wild side, or a deeper instinct.

        See? If you know the symbols, you don't have to drive yourself crazy figuring out the meaning. You're a smart person who can put puzzle pieces together.

        This was helpful to me when I had a dream about a blue gorilla trying to force feed from my porch, and I had to slam the door on him.

        If you do this and it clicks, text me. I'd love to know.

        Scene.

        

60 Years Are Too Many: Monsters and Buffy

 9 July 2026

        Last weekend we binged My Cat From Hell. Here is Jackson Galaxy's thesis as I understand it: "I can't do everything. I'm here to show you how to do it too, so we can all work together."

        Buffy to a child "There are real monsters, and we can't all fight real monsters, but some people can. And that's me. (and I am not an island, I need my friends)." That last part was her subtext, as Buffy was a hero, but was nothing without her ocmmunity.

        If we combine these themes, we arrive in a place that does not even remotely resemble America today.

        So. I'm saying. Combine those themes. We are in charge yet we refuse to stand up and be in charge. We watch the bullies, waiting for the hero to arrive.

        There is nobody coming to save us.

        We are the only ones who can save us, and we're choosing not to.

        We've been given all the tools. We know how to rescue animals, yet we choose not to. We know how to support science and believe in their conclusions, yet we choose not to. We fought for gun rights and then let bullies take over the country.    

        And so on and so on and so on ad infinium.

        That's all I have to say about current events. Th stupid are leading the stupid and the smart and getting the shaft.

        And lucky for us, both types have corrupt rich butt wads who are selfishly concerned about their own portfolios, and fuck the people. We are chastied by other countries more than our own representatives. 

        And they're keeping Mitch "alive" to avoid consequeces. And he's on their side.

        Monsters.

    

60 Years Are Too Many: And The Band Played On

 

    8 July 2026

        It is a struggle to write and force myself into something "positive" while listening to NPR and functioning as a thinking, compassionate human.

        But screaming into the void isn't going to help. Heather Delaney Reese/Cox Richardson, Aaron Parnas, and Rachel Maddow are covering every aspect of the USA Demise thoroughly. I also like Ooooh That's Rich, Pissed Magistus, Meidas Touch and Monte Mader.

        And NPR.

        So...maybe I should step away for a minute.

        5555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555= 

        Houston just took a stroll across the keyboard. She needs to stick her nose in my ice tea.

        At the same time, I'm doing walking Tai Chi and going back to the gym. Which is not helping but at least I'm doing something while watching Monte and Pissed, OOOH, or the Britsh guy who says "But you don't want to look like a thickie thickie dumb dumb in front of your mates." 

        I can no longer take solace in animal videos because AI has corrupted that. AI ruins everything.

        Forcing myself to write stupid little tidbits is very much like the band playing while the Titanic sank. They made a difference to nobody. Nobody was distracted by the music while freezing to death.

        But I think I understand them now. They did it for themselves. They were doomed, so they chose to go out doing what they loved.

        They did it for themselves.

        So here I am.

        July pony school today was M/W kids' water day. I hate water day, I know it's great for the kids, but the schedule is disrupted and no matter how well you think you're managing towels and shoes and crafts---I won't change anybody into their street clothes, they arrive wearing their swim suit and leave wet---I still can't get the timing right. We're always done a little early or-as we were today- late. 

        We were already running behind when L -with all of this tiny three year old voice -decided He Is The Boss Of Everybody while standing in line, only to be shouted down by a five year old with more experience. Her voice wasn't much bigger, but those two years of experience have given her practice toward a shrill tone that cuts through the air. She also knew he was full of shit and was mostly just holding space until an adult could arrive and stabelize the region. That's what we do. Proud of her.

        But that took an additional five minutes when we were already five minutes behind. Not just because M chose to wear a one piece dance dress over her swimsuit that she could not pull back on without adult help, but that didn't boost the time. Gratefully, parents were very gracious about our late pick up. 

        In addition, it was 95 freaking degrees and I've never seen preschoolers eat popcicles more slowly than they did today. It was hot, don't you want to gobble your popcicle?  

        C, the kid who caused his own injury by keeping other children out of the playhouse, did not return today. We are quietly hoping his FAFO moment resonated, and if he does return, he will be more amenable to sharing.

        This week has been very fighty. I think 90% of the kids are repeats from June, and they are either over it or more comfortable. Even the littles are grumpy. Greedy. Not in a space where sharing sounds like the right thing to do. They are, in fact, marching up to other children holding a pink hula hoop or a minion and wrestling it from them.

        Is it the heat?

        Is it because they're more comfortable?

        Is it because three weeks in June was fun, but now they want to stay home?

        I dunno, but I'm stuck for two and a half more weeks with this group, and today I used my "mom voice",which is more dangerous than my teacher voice. The kid stopped the behavior and looked at me. I said "That's right, buddy, you do not want to hear that tone again. Cease and desist." Because my vocabulary doesn't change at preschool, either. It's part of my charm.

        We don't have camp on Fridays, so tomorrow is my Friday.

        God Bless Us Every One.

        Scene.

60 Years Are Too Many: Pony School Day 1 July 2026

     6 July 12026

        First of all, a clerical error enrolled me in the Pony School 401k... for a summer job. I never received a warning email or word from the director--this didn't happen last year. So.

        I had to unearth the notice that they're processing in my trash email, but their help line and dashboard and AI Bot do not acknowledge the existence of my email address.

        Neat. So I've been on hold to talk to a person for ten minutes, which puts me in hold music and a friendly bot voice telling me I can access help much easier by going to their website, which also does not acknowledge my email address. Neat.

        In the meantime, I'm writing and waiting.

        Rough first day back. I'd say 90% of the kids are repeats from the June session, which in theory is great: they know the drill. The flipside is now they're comfortable, and are revealing themselves for Who They Are.

        Right out of the cannon, C revealed a hidden bossy bully we didn't see in June. He forcibly held the doors to the playhouse closed, refusing entry to other kids. He was asked three times to stop the behavior. The third time I stood a foot away from him and said "No. Stop. Leave the door open for friends."

        Two minutes later, he's screaming and crying in pain.        

        Because another kid who wanted in forced the pinned door open and smashed his finger. I just looked at him and said "Consequences are real, Buddy." I also got him a bandaid, I'm not cruel, just realistic.

        Also M, who turned five in June, is now too old and too cool for pony camp and is practicing her adult RBF. She's not acting out, or refusing to participate, she's just making sure we all know she's bored and soooooooo over this baby stuff.

        In addition, one kid apparently got a bladder infection after June camp because she won't use the kids' bathroom. I don't police who does and does not actually go, I just walk them through and make sure they wash their hands. Apparently she won't use it because there is no privacy. Good luck in school, kid. 

    So. Today grandma let us know, and now she will be allowed to use the adult restroom when she needs to go. Which is a single seater with a door, the size of a closet. It's separate and clearly "special for grown ups". Which is not going to cause any issues at all with the other girls.

       I'm not saying I have a better solution; I do not. I am saying that special treatment for any reason causes social issues. Everyone will want to use the adult bathroom, and all I have to argue with is "She's shy". At least when a kid has their special snack it's due to an allergy, and I can say "That's his snack from home, he can't have what we're having" and there's a tangible reason a four year old can grasp. "She's shy" is not going to work, friends. I can name three kids right now who will pipe up and say "I'm shy", and two others who will volunteer to go to the kid bathroom with her and guard the stall. Which warms my heart, actually.

        Ok, got a human after locating a phone number. Turns out I was unknowingly enrolled last summer,and disenrolling means being returned the money I put in last year as well as this pay period. There is no penalty for action on this 401k because I'm 60 which they consider "retirement age".

        Yet I was enrolled as an employee...so I'm working, but cool. I'll take the money back. It's an unexpected bonus, I just wanted to disenroll and get my money back from this paycheck. It's not a life changing amount, but July historically sucks for us financially and it will be a welcome perk. Or gratuity. I like that. I'm being tipped as a teacher.

        Because I want every penny, especially if the June repeat kiddos in July prove to be as challenging as they were today. Oof.

        Ok. Now I have to scrub the carpet downstairs where the dog pooped. My life is just one glamorous moment after another.

        Scene.

 

        

60 Years Are Too Many: Next Door Is Worse Than Facebook

 5 July 2026

        His Nextdoor post read "Nobody here gives a damn, but we're moving back to Tennessee. Colorado is boring. We were out yesterday hiking and biking and there was nobody around. I don't get this isolationism..." 

        I do not respond to people like this directly. "Nobody here gives a damn, we're moving" is an unnecessary post unless you're looking for a fight. I have no interest in fighting. He's leaving, why does it have to be A Whole Thing?

    Just move. Literally--nobody cares dude. Buh bye. Also, Dear, many of us are watching the fires burning around our state and are actively figuring out how we can help. Sorry you're bored.

        Now that I have that out of way, let me tell you a story about my neighbor-years ago- from Louisiana, and a current colleague who is also from Louisiana. I had the same conversation with each of them about fifteen years apart.

        They both struggled with the culture here. My neighbor chose to relentlessly charge up the street with food or a random gift, inviting herself in and talking nonstop. I felt invaded. I am socially ackward on a good day, and alarmingly passive when faced with this kind of behavior, which to me reads as bullying and to her read as friendly. 

    My colleague is laid back, and clearly lives and works in a completely different time zone than I do. His pacing would doom him in theatre, but he teaches film so it doesn't matter to me how fast he moves. He thinks the Louisiana school system is better at discipline than ours, and I have no choice but to nod because I've never worked there, only here. He also feels the same lack of what he believes is "community" and what I believe is "smothering" that he had back home.

        After a year of choosing which invitations to accept and understanding her mindset, and a year of listening to his tales of How Great Is Louisiana, I found myself having the same conversation with my colleage that I had with my neighbor fifteen years ago. I asked both first what it was about the south that was so different.

        "It's a southern thing" was essentially the answer both times. They want to talk to one another. They need to force other people to listen to their inner thoughts.There is a relentless expectation of engagement no matter what a person is talking about. They like to cook gumbo, gather for picnics and graduations and promotions and stop light installations, share their concerns, their racist pontifications (on both sides, as my colleague is Creole) and trauma. Mostly trauma. Largely trauma dumping. 

        I enjoyed my conversations with my colleague, and felt that it was definitely more two sided than those with my neighbor. He is, however, unequivocally home sick and I hope he returns to New Orleans so he can live his best life because he really hates it here.

        Their descriptions of their beloved "southern life" were both dripping with trauma. I argue that is not community, that's trauma bonding. Potato---potAHtoe. 

        It was then my turn. I am an OC-Original Coloradan. With the exception of a brief stint at the University of Houston, I've been here my whole life. I explained to them the Jeremiah Johnson philosophy, of which all OC are keenly acquainted.

        First, I had to explain to them who Jeremiah Johnson was. Apparently nobody south of us has seen the film, but they do know who Robert Redford was. So that's a start.

        I assumed that once the plot was explained, I would be able to just wait while the pieces clicked. Alas, they did not. Either time. 

        So all in all in conclusion to sum up: y'all screwed things up pretty nastily down there during the Civil War, and folks came out here so they could live their lives in peace.

        We don't need relentless carport gatherings and beauty parlor gossip sessions. We like to be alone. We are comfortable in our own company.  We don't want neighbors constantly in our yards yakking at us. Occasionally is perfect, but constant is too much. We like being alone.

        That's why we moved out here.

        We have a different community. We schlep horse trailers to help relocate livestock during fires. We offer spare rooms and couches to those displaced by fires, or stranded by snow storms. We shovel each other's driveways and rock one another's stuck cars out of snow banks. We bitch about drought regulations while following them.

        And then we go home and read a book and have a beer. We have community--it's just different than yours. We are also "isolationists" outside --as in outdoors-- enjoying the spectacular scenery. Two things can be true.

        There is no humidity here. There is fresh air, educated people, hikers, snowboarders, runners, skiers---notice how these are individual activites? We're progammed for "isolation" and we like it that way. It's what we signed up for. We're very happy.

        It's fair that you don't like it. Cool; don't move here. But to move here and then be a dick because you moved here and we aren't the south is a jerky thing to do. That's a you problem, friend, keep my state out of it.

        I know I won't like it there, so I don't move there. I stay here. 

        See how it works?

        I don't move there, attack the residents for Not Beiing Like I Am and then gather my Scattegories and stomp home. 

        That's the difference. That's it. Simple.

        I did not respond to your post with anger or even at all. I made a few statements and conclusions based on my own experiences in my own little blog that you would not like,and that's OK because it's not a public thread. That isn't an attack. "You're boring, we're moving" is an attack.

        That is another big difference friend. Instead of yelling back at you behind a keyboard,  I synthesized your post into my own experiences and drew a reasonable and personal conclusion.

        Bye Felicia.

        Safe Travels.

250 Years Are Too Many

     4 July 2026

        I see that last night at Mt. Rushmore Trump said communists will take over the country.

       How retro of him, and thanks for starting the next Red Scare.

       Yet Momdani spoke from Washington's desk at City Hall in NYC, and knocked an authentic patriot's speech out of the ballpark.

        Trump's MO has always been "blame someone else". He shifts--remember during Covid it was the Chinese. He hated/loved/hated/loved Putin. Their relationship is "complicated" according to Truth Social. So I'm not surprised it's "communists" this time, because he's an idiot and cannot differentiate between democratic socialists and progressives, let alone communism and socialism.

        He attacks anyone who disagrees with him. A four year old can recognize the pattern.

        I'd say "We're doomed" but honestly, where Americans have failed, other countries and Mother Nature have stepped up.

        We watched a few My Cat From Hell's yesterday while Jim made chicken rice soup for Genoa, who has strep. Yes I threw that in there. He was dealing with a cat bully, and was focused on the victim--a beautiful black cat named Scout. I took umbrage with that, I thought he should have focused on the fluffy villian of the story. He said "A bully will back off when the victim stands up to them". Ok, he said it more cat friendly, but he said it. I still don't agree with his focus, but when he spent time with Scout...well, he uncovers other issues. Not unlike Bar Rescue, when Tanner diagnoses spousal issues, or management bullying, or incompetence that are the cause of the faillure. Jackson called out the mom for allowing her kids to not contribute in any way to feeding/ cleaning/helping with the cats. 

        So mom was actually being "bullied" by her three kids' apathy, and she was allowing it.

        Hmmmm.

        I only have six people who read this, I don't need to connect the dots on these stories any further, do I? Y'all are smarter than I am.

        The Irish Dance Festival in Florida was having none of the right wing flag waving --he wasn't even a politician, he was some Hoo Ha with an adjacent company---who decided that Ireland's one transgender dancer be disallowed to perform. Because transgender.

        You don't get to boss an Irish dance company around, Florida Dick.

        And the dance company quietly batted him on the nose. They wrote a few words about inclusion and the history of dance and how nobody in Ireland gives any shits about gender, and the festival continued as planned.

        It's always other countries. They will not allow themselves to be bullied. That's it. That's the bottom line. 

        For all the protests at Delany and elsewhere, there have been no prison breaks. Nobody's been busted out. Nobody stormed the Bastille. 

        But Mother Nature saw to the coldest day of the year for his inaugeration and is burning DC for his "America 250" nonsense. Hail at Mt. Rushmore. DC will be one of the hottest places on earth today for his "speech". So ya.

        Everyone is stepping up except our own congress.

        I came across a nasty repost---Heather Delaney Reese/ Cox Richardson or The Other 98% or some such commie liberal site I follow---that said:

     "So a cockroach can enter this country and have a baby and in 18 years that cockroach's vote will cancel out mine."

        I'd like to take a moment to unpack this. 

        Firstly--cockroaches cannot vote. Your posit is dismissed because you don't understand that you just used a metaphor, you were just being a dick.          

        Secondly--you are racist. You just referred to a human being as a cockroach. You should be censured or deprogrammed or something. You Need Help.

        Third--you assume this "cockroach" will have different views than yours. What if they believe in racism and exlusion and cruelty the same way that you do? Then their vote does not cancel out yours. They could be on your side for all you know.

        Fourth--cockroaches have up to 50 babies. You will have more than one who votes against you--or with you--or split.

        Birthright citizenship has been the law of the nation since 1868. 

        It's why you, "Bridget" (I avoid Karen-calling, other names are fun), are an American Citizen. I have no idea what your cockroach origins are, but unless they are indiginous or you are a descendent from slaves (which I can assume you are not because you sound Really White) your great great X(how many generations back) grandparents were considered cockroaches from Ireland, or Poland, or Yugoslovia, or Germany or even Russia.

        It's also why I am an American Citizen.

        We were all --OK, not all ---wound up excited about 23 and Me to discover our roots and celebrated learning Where We Were From. Did you do that too?

        I did. I am a meatloaf cockroach hailing from Ireland, Wales, Poland and Germany. Sadly I do not have any Chinese which I understand most of us do thanks to Atilla The Hun, or any Neanderthal thanks to the fact that they were kinda dicks, if I remember? They were warlike...or the others were warlike...shoot. I have to do research. Anyway, I had 1% "other" which I like to believe is Neanderthal. I have zero indiginous, which I already knew. Someday I'll tell you the story of how my family was misled somewhere along the line, and my mom believed we were Cherokee.

        We are not. Not even remotely. But definitely Irish. 

        All Americans are immigrants, you stupid woman. Your ancestors benefitted from birthright citizenship so your vote could cancel out mine.

        In response to all of this, I chose to post three favorite poems on Facebook:

        "I Am Waiting" by Lawrence Ferlinghetti

        "I Hear America Singing" by Walt Whitman

        "I Too Sing America" by Langston Hughes

        Look 'em up. It's clear why they are a fabulous trio of American Voices.

        Enjoy your day. Turn your flag upside down, eat a bagel, do a dance, sleep in, start your house on fire by exploding your grill---live your life. We're all Americans.

60 Years Are Too Many: When The Old Ways Are Actually Cooler But My Brain Still Skips Around.

 3 July 2026

        While I wonder at congress' inability to physically move and form a human chain in front of 100 year old cherry trees, and can't understand how being against Israel's bullying make someone an anti semite, and listen to CPR and mourn so much fire in my state, I am heartened by a small blip.

        Ya gotta take the delights even when they're small.

        I hear Gen Z is dialing it back-pun intended;ditching iPhones and social media for flip phones. I wish I could take credit for this, as a person who has taught high schoolers how to dial old rotary phones for many years. The trend includes many who are getting "into" old school photography---buying Canons and sending film off for developing. I actually know of one 18 year old doing this, and a kid on the musical had an old polaroid. Deeeeelightful.

        As someone who was dragged kicking and screaming into the digital age; someone who sitll refuses to put apps on her phone. I refuse to attach my school's email to my phone. Someone who does not use instant messenger on facebook any more because they want a PIN and I don't think I should have to do that. I am someone who will go to the bank to make deposits and use the ATM to deliberately use cash. Someone who has analog clocks and my dad's analog watch. 

        Someone who is addicted to facebook.

        Which I am not going to get on at all today. I've done it for 24 hours before, I can do it again. I can find my news--Meidas Touch and Aaron Parnas---on my computer, and I'm currently listening to morning addition on NPR. I long for a newspaper dropped on my driveway.

        I doubt this little spark of interest in old school photography and phones will translate into a beautiful wave of anti tech sentiment. But if it did, I would be delighted. I would not be one of the New Leaders, there are others more staunch than I about turntables and radios with batteries and VCR's. Yet I would definitely rejoice, as I would take their interest as younger people as a positive sign that All Is Not Lost. I would celebrate by waving my old red slider phone that I was forced to give up when the slider broke, and they stopped making them!

        I still need to follow through and figure out how to get a land line again.

        I have some great old typewriters in the props closet, I just need to clean one up and buy a ribbon. Doesn't Jeff Goldblum restore old typewriters? What a cool hobby.

        I'd love a real homecoming parade with actual floats.

        I am dreading the new tech they're installing in the theatre. Apparently we're getting a tablet to control the fly system. That'll go well. It works in professional theatre because they get superior equipment with appropriate support. We get whatever they have the most of, or misordered and have an overstock. That is how every theatre in Aurora got the same light board that was intended to be for DJ's. To be fair, once I learned the thing it was fabulous-really user friendly and easy peasy to set cues.

        When we did Earnest at Littleton, the light designer found an old fixture with gel rotators and worked tirelessly to make it work. It added to the steampunk vibe on the show. We were both pretty jazzed about it.

         There are a stack of old instruments on the second floor of the Kennedy cat, but I am not qualified to sort through it and figure out how to use it. Especially if we're going to all LED color changers now. No room for anything cool old school. 

            I've done my share of creative lighting. Borrowing light trees for side light. Building footlights-which I do not take credit for I supplied the materials and said "I want footlights" and the kid made it happen. I lit NYC behind the window of Odd Couple this fall with two floor lamps with blue bulbs and one sourcie par with a blue gel. Kennedy has zero trees. I had trees at Hinkley and Littleton and used the heck of out of them, because schools don't have side light fixtures. They like to claim that they do because they mount trees in the house on both sides of the house, but those only throw the the apron and people are stupid.

            I know just enough about lighting to sound like I know about lighting.

            I am the kid that would hold a clear jug of colored water in front of a spot light for effect. I like old school. 

            I am heartened by the news that others younger than myself feel as I do about old stuff. I switched from NPR to 93.3, and I am loving having a radio in my house. I love local.

            Sometimes writing is truly just a journal. But I'll hit "publish" anyway, because that's part of the ritual.