And There’s Not Even a Full Moon

And There’s Not Even a Full Moon

 Square Dancing

From morning to evening, today was full of randomness and oddity. It made for a slightly scary, funny, thoughtful, creepy, strangely sad 24 hours.  In order:

8 a.m.–I notice slightly homeless-looking lady looking at me and yelling while seemingly looking for local church’s food bank.  8:01.20 a.m.–Realize lady is not homeless-looking, she is homeless.  8:01.30–Realize homeless lady is not speaking into a bluetooth headset, but is instead approaching and yelling at me as I pump gas into my car, “You bitch, thinking you’re all that standing there next to your red car . . . .”  8:01.40–Position myself to spray her with gas just in case she acts on her distaste for me and my car.

9:40 a.m.–Hear Farrah Fawcett died.  Sadder than I expected to be.

3:45 p.m.–Hear Michael Jackson died. 

5:00 p.m.–Arrive at Long Beach’s International City Theater to see “Facing East” about a devout Mormon couple’s struggle to understand their gay son’s suicide.  5:10 p.m.–See “Square Dancing Straight” street sign, wonder if square dancing is straight, what is line dancing? 5:15 p.m.–Notice dozens of couples in very country looking outfits.  6:30 p.m.–Figure out that the National Square Dancing Competition is taking place next door to the play we’re seeing.

7:25 p.m.–Take Long Beach’s free shuttle from Shoreline Village to theater. Asked by woman on the bus to watch over her six-year-old son who has been separated from the family on the bus and who has been befriended by an older man who “was adamant about having the boy sit with him.” Creepy.

10:20 p.m.–On drive home from play, see 75 people with veladoras camped out outside Jack in the Box.  They are there with 11 television vans and an army of sheriffs to mourn Michael Jackson, whose body has been transferred to the coroner’s office across the street.

Days where there are too many strange goings on make me nervous.