Tag Archives: Michigan

Box Office

Box office: (n) a place at a theater or other arts establishment where tickets are bought or reserved.

In the midst of my human journey, which I’m sure some people would consider a cavalcade of bizarre experiments and perpetual oddities, I, for a season, wrote screenplays, which were produced into low-budget, independent films, and showcased at festivals.Dictionary B

On top of that, we had a premiere of each film, which could be viewed by all of the participants, actors and family members, so they could “ooh and aah” over their participation (and also confirm that the camera really does put ten pounds on you).

I was in Michigan and they were shooting my script entitled “Wonderful,” which was a tipping of the hat to the Capra film, “It’s a Wonderful Life,” when it was determined that we would rent a big metroplex theater for our premiere.

It was a bold move.

The place seated about 300 people, and we had no reason to believe that such a multitude would be willing to come and see our little endeavor.

I vividly recall sitting in the parking lot, staring at the road leading to the theater and watching as the cars–one by one, then three by three, and finally ten by ten–began arriving for our debut.

It was thrilling.

By the time everybody gathered, the place was full, the movie was screened, the energy was supreme and the human interaction of joy and fellowship that followed was the definition of what our lives should truly be.

I will never forget that box-office moment, when the people poured out of the theater, some in tears, some laughing, some grumpy (maintaining their nature) but all aware that they had broken down their barriers, and allowed themselves, for a brief moment, to truly be brothers and sisters.

 

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April

dictionary with letter A

April: (n): the fourth month of the year, in the northern hemisphere, usually considered the second month of spring.

“I just love the seasons,” she proclaimed to me in explaining why she lived in a tiny town in Michigan.

I assume she was talking about spring, summer, autumn and winter. But since I have lived in a collision of communities all over the country, I will tell you flat-out that no one gets four seasons.

When I lived in Ohio, the situation basically was that somewhere along the line in the month of May, it went from winter to summer. I was aware that April was supposed to be springlike, with temperatures in the fifties and sixties to prepare us for the Vernal Equinox. But there were Easters when I had to slide on my snowboots.

Living in Nashville, Tennessee for a while, I was also promised by the Chamber of Commerce that there would be four seasons, only to discover that spring was often swallowed by winter and fall would be consumed by a lingering heat wave from the summer.

The only two seasons which actually seem to have dibs in the pecking order are summer and winter.

Even in our climates which purport to be “tropical,” you get “summer” and “wet.” And I suppose “wet” can be spring, fall or winter.

So April, to me, is always a month filled with the celebration of Easter (except when the calendar screws us up and puts it in March).

Somebody jokingly told me that April is unique because it has the dubious distinction of containing the birthday of Adolph Hitler. (I don’t know why I included that.)

So although I believe that April really wants to bring the showers to provide the impetus for May flowers, it is just as likely to provide the “building fluff” for Frosty the Snowman.

 

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Ann Arbor

dictionary with letter A

Ann Arbor: a city in southeastern Michigan; home of the University of Michigan.

It was a gray, overcast day–a bit of chill in the air, threatening some sort of storm, whether the precipitation would be merely wet or partially frozen.

But I was sweating.

I had literally broken a surface sweat around my temples and under my armpits. I was nineteen years old, and for the first time in my life, I was about to cross the border into Michigan.

I know it sounds ridiculous, but being from Central Ohio and a fan of the Buckeyes since birth, I had not only been infused with a competitive spirit toward the University of Michigan, but had basically been convinced that north of Toledo lay the barbarian horde.

So intense was this training that upon entering the state, a mere forty miles from the seat of hell in Ann Arbor, I not only found fault with the scenery, but in my mind, generated sinister proportions to every ditch and tree.

There were things I knew about Michigan just from the passing conversations of my friends and family:

  1. They were all mean and hated their children.
  2. They wanted to do harm to all Ohio women.
  3. They weren’t really Americans.
  4. They despised God.
  5. And of course, they cheated at football.

My problem was that I was on my way to Ann Arbor to do a gig, and somehow or another, I would have to muster the courage and professionalism to treat them as humans instead of creatures from the Black Lagoon, the source of their power.

What was particularly annoying was that the concert where I performed was very enjoyable, the audience generous, and I walked out with more money than I had made in weeks.

Damn those tricky Wolverines–trying to seduce me with filthy lucre.

But I maintained my loyalty to the great Ohio, and as I retreated back to the safe haven of my home, on those forty miles to the border, I held my breath half the time … so as to make sure that I didn’t inhale the Michigan spirit.

 

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