many berries of malta
My stomach hurts. It's making it hard to fall asleep and I need the sleep. I've been laying here for a close to an hour without being able to find a wink and it's beginning to annoy me. I've turned over the pillow twice seeking cooler conditions. I have also shuffled my body so that one leg is under the blanket and the other is left hanging out in the open so that I might be able to regulate my body temperature. It's a creative theory, but it's not much help and I'm suffering. I'm half tempted to turn the air conditioner on, but it's unplugged and it looks like it needs servicing before being plugged back in. There is only one tiny window in this room and I have it open. It's letting in cool air, but it's also letting in a lot of noise. It's raining outside and I can hear the heavy rains assaulting the pavement outside. Only a few yards from the motel is a train track and twice an hour, a train roars through town without slowing below 80 MPH. Not being able to find a comfortable peace, I have tried to bore myself by trying to figure out which way the trains are heading without seeming them pass.
I can't sleep and my stomach hurts.
Early in the evening, I was sitting at the bar waiting for the last show of the tour. The show was supposed to start at 8 but there was a NASCAR race that was running late due to some accidents and the owners of the bar were not going to start the show until after the race ended. There was a real fear that the locals would riot if their beloved racing was turned off. I have had shows where the tv WAS turned off and it's brutal. I still feel the pain.
At the other end of the bar, the opener was going through the motions of preparing for his portion of the show. I can see that he's tense and upset because with every lap of the race has come a new accident and time seems to be getting away from us. Each time the race stops he has to turn off his preparation and then turn it back on when things get rolling again. When 9:30 rolled around it was decided that we should just go for it even though the race hadn't ended yet. I thought that the longer we delayed and the closer the race came to completion the harder it was going to be get the audience to watch the show without harming us. The decision was made to go for it and we did. The TV's were turned off and the room full into a rage. I still wanted to go for it.
The MC walked on stage and turned on a jukebox which was connected to the buildings sound system. In all my days of performing, I have never seen this. The MC then turned on the wireless mic and as soon as he flipped the switch, a huge squeal of feedback tore through the room. This caused the already enraged drunks to riot. The mic was fried. The MC motioned to some people in the audience and people rushed to his aide. There was some head scratching and some debate.
My stomach hurt.
The owner called the guy that owned the Radio Shack that was next door to the bar. That guy came, opened up his shop, picked up a new mic and brought it down to the show. The feedback problem was figured it and the show was started again, for the second time. The miracle here was that from the mic blowing up to the restart of the show, only fifteen minutes had past. An amazing feat for the entertainment industry or in any industry.
The TV had been turned on during our intermission and the race was still on, when the show restarted the crowd again felt that they were being punished with a comedy show. The opener was introduced to a restless crowd and the mic started to argue with him. His entire set was beset with cut-outs and static that chewed up most of his punchlines. He did his 35 minutes and walked off without incident, however there was a moment in his show where I thought the end was near. He said something to the affect that NASCAR fans were all hillbillies and losers and were costing him money at the pump. I thought that he was either looking for a fight and wanted a beating or really brave and staying the true course of artistic expression, OR he was just terribly stupid. One thing was for sure. He wasn't getting laid in this town.
I took the stage, did my show and was surprised when it went well. However, when I said goodbye it was well after midnight - some 2 and a half hours later than I should have. The crowd was so drunk that I don't think they clapped when I got off stage, they just all piled out the door as fast as they could.
Two guys from the front row decided that they would ride their motorcycle in to and then out of, the bar. Everyone thought that was extremely funny.
My stomach hurt.
I walked back to my room with some good memories of the show, the tour and the colorful people of Malta. For some reason, I really liked this place and I didn't like the fact that I turning in so early.
It's a small community that struggles to stay viable in a big busy world. The people here have ever reason to leave this town but instead stay. And they stay for the same reason that we all share about our towns - They love their home and aren't going to leave just because things are getting tough. Even with the world crashing down around them, they stay. There are no real jobs here and there is no real hope of any coming any time soon. And yet, they stay. There is no Wal-mart here and there never will be. There is only a dollar store and a few pharmacies. But that's enough. In fact, the only reminder that the rest of the world still exists outside of the confines of these four small streets, is the loud rumbling train that tears through town twice an hour. It doesn't slow down at all because it doesn't acknowledge that the town is there either.
The streets were quiet without a soul in sight. I was walking briskly toward my room, but slowed down because I felt that I needed to soak up the town for a few more minutes. It was raining lightly and it felt like the rain falling on my head was trying to wash away something. I stood in the rain for quite a while, but I knew that I couldn't stay out here forever and I headed off to my room.
I was in my room and my stomach hurt.
I've been lying in bed for two hours and I can't sleep. The pillow trick has worn out it's novelty and having one leg out of the blankets feels indecent and unsafe(monsters!!!) At some point, the opening act pulled in and he we went to his room next door.. WITH A GIRL!!! From the sound of it, they have a pretty good time over there. In fact, their good time encourages me to have a good time, all by myself.
And miraculously, that puts me to sleep.
I drift off to sleep thinking about, of all things, the Forgotten Mountains. I'm thinking about the small town that I embraced and embraced me for the past three years. I think about how much I miss them. I drift off with an understanding that I am not designed for city life at all and that what has been bothering me was that I belonged in a community just like Malta. Even with all the modern conveniences of a city and the endless options that are available to you there, a small town is where my heart fills the largest. The few moments I have spent in this forgotten town on the Montana prairie have reminded me of what is really important to me. What I really need. I guess what we expect life to be is never what we really need from it. I see now that I need the comfort of the Forgottens. I will stick out this year at the Perch before I return to the Forgottens, but I have been handed a gift of clarity. It's this difficult realization that has been turning my stomach. The more time I spend around the people of Malta, the more I miss the denizens of the Forgottens. It was their willingness to assist each other in a time of need that stuck with me. It was the first name basis that each person in the bar had with each other. It was the all-for-one/one-for-all-ness that endeared these people to me. It was a painful realization and it turned my stomach.
I can't sleep in Malta, Montana because if I fall asleep that means that the end is near. However, with my departure from this catharsis comes the knowledge that my return to the Forgottens is near.
I can't sleep and my stomach hurts.
Early in the evening, I was sitting at the bar waiting for the last show of the tour. The show was supposed to start at 8 but there was a NASCAR race that was running late due to some accidents and the owners of the bar were not going to start the show until after the race ended. There was a real fear that the locals would riot if their beloved racing was turned off. I have had shows where the tv WAS turned off and it's brutal. I still feel the pain.
At the other end of the bar, the opener was going through the motions of preparing for his portion of the show. I can see that he's tense and upset because with every lap of the race has come a new accident and time seems to be getting away from us. Each time the race stops he has to turn off his preparation and then turn it back on when things get rolling again. When 9:30 rolled around it was decided that we should just go for it even though the race hadn't ended yet. I thought that the longer we delayed and the closer the race came to completion the harder it was going to be get the audience to watch the show without harming us. The decision was made to go for it and we did. The TV's were turned off and the room full into a rage. I still wanted to go for it.
The MC walked on stage and turned on a jukebox which was connected to the buildings sound system. In all my days of performing, I have never seen this. The MC then turned on the wireless mic and as soon as he flipped the switch, a huge squeal of feedback tore through the room. This caused the already enraged drunks to riot. The mic was fried. The MC motioned to some people in the audience and people rushed to his aide. There was some head scratching and some debate.
My stomach hurt.
The owner called the guy that owned the Radio Shack that was next door to the bar. That guy came, opened up his shop, picked up a new mic and brought it down to the show. The feedback problem was figured it and the show was started again, for the second time. The miracle here was that from the mic blowing up to the restart of the show, only fifteen minutes had past. An amazing feat for the entertainment industry or in any industry.
The TV had been turned on during our intermission and the race was still on, when the show restarted the crowd again felt that they were being punished with a comedy show. The opener was introduced to a restless crowd and the mic started to argue with him. His entire set was beset with cut-outs and static that chewed up most of his punchlines. He did his 35 minutes and walked off without incident, however there was a moment in his show where I thought the end was near. He said something to the affect that NASCAR fans were all hillbillies and losers and were costing him money at the pump. I thought that he was either looking for a fight and wanted a beating or really brave and staying the true course of artistic expression, OR he was just terribly stupid. One thing was for sure. He wasn't getting laid in this town.
I took the stage, did my show and was surprised when it went well. However, when I said goodbye it was well after midnight - some 2 and a half hours later than I should have. The crowd was so drunk that I don't think they clapped when I got off stage, they just all piled out the door as fast as they could.
Two guys from the front row decided that they would ride their motorcycle in to and then out of, the bar. Everyone thought that was extremely funny.
My stomach hurt.
I walked back to my room with some good memories of the show, the tour and the colorful people of Malta. For some reason, I really liked this place and I didn't like the fact that I turning in so early.
It's a small community that struggles to stay viable in a big busy world. The people here have ever reason to leave this town but instead stay. And they stay for the same reason that we all share about our towns - They love their home and aren't going to leave just because things are getting tough. Even with the world crashing down around them, they stay. There are no real jobs here and there is no real hope of any coming any time soon. And yet, they stay. There is no Wal-mart here and there never will be. There is only a dollar store and a few pharmacies. But that's enough. In fact, the only reminder that the rest of the world still exists outside of the confines of these four small streets, is the loud rumbling train that tears through town twice an hour. It doesn't slow down at all because it doesn't acknowledge that the town is there either.
The streets were quiet without a soul in sight. I was walking briskly toward my room, but slowed down because I felt that I needed to soak up the town for a few more minutes. It was raining lightly and it felt like the rain falling on my head was trying to wash away something. I stood in the rain for quite a while, but I knew that I couldn't stay out here forever and I headed off to my room.
I was in my room and my stomach hurt.
I've been lying in bed for two hours and I can't sleep. The pillow trick has worn out it's novelty and having one leg out of the blankets feels indecent and unsafe(monsters!!!) At some point, the opening act pulled in and he we went to his room next door.. WITH A GIRL!!! From the sound of it, they have a pretty good time over there. In fact, their good time encourages me to have a good time, all by myself.
And miraculously, that puts me to sleep.
I drift off to sleep thinking about, of all things, the Forgotten Mountains. I'm thinking about the small town that I embraced and embraced me for the past three years. I think about how much I miss them. I drift off with an understanding that I am not designed for city life at all and that what has been bothering me was that I belonged in a community just like Malta. Even with all the modern conveniences of a city and the endless options that are available to you there, a small town is where my heart fills the largest. The few moments I have spent in this forgotten town on the Montana prairie have reminded me of what is really important to me. What I really need. I guess what we expect life to be is never what we really need from it. I see now that I need the comfort of the Forgottens. I will stick out this year at the Perch before I return to the Forgottens, but I have been handed a gift of clarity. It's this difficult realization that has been turning my stomach. The more time I spend around the people of Malta, the more I miss the denizens of the Forgottens. It was their willingness to assist each other in a time of need that stuck with me. It was the first name basis that each person in the bar had with each other. It was the all-for-one/one-for-all-ness that endeared these people to me. It was a painful realization and it turned my stomach.
I can't sleep in Malta, Montana because if I fall asleep that means that the end is near. However, with my departure from this catharsis comes the knowledge that my return to the Forgottens is near.
posted by Daniel Loomis | 7:13 AM
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