Another work post

If I really wanted to, I could go plunk down the cash for this guy. Yes, he is life-sized. That’s over $100 per foot of pirate, you know. I’m not exactly sure what makes him a pirate…unlike his paisano, “funny looking pirate.” Funny pirate is a whole different breed from serious pirate. Serious’ll put you back about $200 extra. Thanks to Rina for knowing I’d waste twenty minutes of my life on that shit.

We all knew week three (of four) would be the bitch. I had a harmonic sickness/grief convergence that laid me low for four solid days, the boss got stoled from by my replacement, and weak sales are driving the ladies to bad theories (alcoholic boss? who else binges on circus peanut fluff candy?) and worse pop-song singing (“That’s not my name!” Anybody?).

Also, I’m still waiting for my High Weirdness. I’m talking to you, OC Fair. The weirdest show in the fair seems to be under our tent, and that can’t be right. Today had two highlights. A tall nordic artist-dude who casts skulls with holes so you can blow through the skull’s mouth and play it like a recorder, beautiful sound — this dude comes by and falls in love with Rosemary and trades her two skulls for a huge flaming paisely skull henna. Fucking badical, I’m telling you. His fourteen year old son was the most hyperactive creature I’ve ever witnessed, running back and forth to tell him which ride he’s on. “Adrenaline rush,” he moans, tearing out his hair, his eyes rolling back in their sockets. While Dad was in the back having me hairdryer his henna we were chatting, and then Son whirled in for a while as we’re talking about making art, and the line between producing and obsessing. He goes, “Yeah, it’s called obsession, Dad. You’ve got it.” I laughed and looked at the two of them and said, “Honey, just you wait.” Dad laughed and bemoaned the fact that Rosemary’s got a boyfriend. Dude made the boss all jealous and territorial of his henna harem, which was hilariously frustrating. Suddenly Mr. Bohemian is lecturing me that if this was Corporate Culture I’d be sacked. Um, you too, boss. Then flaming-paisely-skull man had to go build a huge clay mask over his head as performance art. “It really surprised me how much people identify with that,” he says. “Yeah, it’s always surprising what people identify with,” I say, which is something I love about people. You fucking never know what’s gonna do it. He cruised back by later and his face and shoulder and golden mane were covered in fine dry dust and specks of hardened clay. I’ve been thinking all this time that he let the mask dry around his head and then smashed it off in a glorious feat, but that doesn’t make much sense, does it?

The second highlight was actually a total downer, and I don’t want to write about it. Drunk parents and sweet smart children with babies on their hip. Boo.

Yay Monday.

I didn’t remember a dream between starting this job and getting sick. Since getting sick, I’m dreaming big crazy every night. Love it.


~ by Arrrow Marie on August 2, 2009.

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