Welcome to The Republic of Bowlia; Population: 18,000

Tonight was my final last night at the Hellywood Bowl. I know I post an end-of-season blog every summer, but this year, I'm through. I believe every experience in life teaches us something. And I've learned everything this place will ever teach me, so I'm off to bigger and better things.

However, I did make one interesting observation tonight. Let me begin with some background information. Tonight was reggae night. This show is one of the few that gets sold out. All 18,000 seats get purchased... And this makes strange thoughts go through my head. It makes me wonder how 40 ushers, 10 supervisors, and 2 managers can keep the peace in a place that seats 18,000 utter fools. And as soon as I start getting bored, I start pretending I'm some kind of government appointed police officer in a small country under dictatorial rule. I look people up and down and I say who stays, I say who goes. I say cigarettes must be put out and where and when. I send people to the dungeon and they will not see daylight for 15 years.

But during a show like reggae night, you need to be on your guard. The People are unhappy with the way things are; they don't like being told what to do. The People are oppressed. And the government pays no attention. There are uprisings, revolution lurks around the corner... until... INTERMISSION, when all hell breaks loose and anarchy is prevalent. People everywhere, no order, no lawfulness. People from section U think they belong in the Garden box seats and they protest when they are told that they do not belong there. They say that we need to "chill" and it doesn't matter that they've paid 15 dollars for their tickets. They should be able to sit in the 200 dollar boxes. And you can't exactly win an agrument with these people when lyrics like "get up, stand up, stand up for your rights" are blaring in the background. This is the anthem of the oppressed. It is the anthem of the People.

I feel like I have finally discovered the truth. I've followed this road for a long time now. It's been bumpy and winding, but I kept going. And I've finally reached a state of enlightenment. The Hollywood Bowl has never been a silly seasonal job, as I am just now discovering. It's been an alternate reality where I enforced the rules of a small nation somewhere in the Twilight Zone. For a short period of time, people from all over southern California, and even the world, came together and settled in The Republic of Bowlia. Welcome, weary traveler...

Summertime

Another summer, another Bowl season. You guessed it, you little cockroaches... I'm going back. Yes, I know it's hell to the power of the DMV, but I don't know... It's become a sort of tradition. I can't picture summer nights without the sweet smell of cheap beer and the sour notes of the atrocious Hollywood Bowl Orchestra. Plus its John Mauceri's final season. I need to be there!

And, so, you all will hear about it. Time for reflection: Working a seasonal job where the employees are regulars is kind of awkward. The word awkward is kind of awkward. It's kind of funny returning in the summer and thinking "Damn, you're not dead yet? I thought for sure you'd be in hell by now..." It's sort of like coming back to school in the fall after a relaxing summer break where you've managed to forget everyone. Yes, it's a lot like that, except without the new shoe frenzy, where you look all around you to see who has the nicest pair of new school shoes. No, at the Bowl, we don't even have that small joy. We are stripped of all worldly pleasures. We wear our same shit black sneakers that are covered in vomit and urine from seasons and seasons ago. Why? Because a new pair will be covered in vomit and urine, too. Why? Because Bowl patrons are made of vomit and urine. No, that's partially untrue, because they are only partially made up of vomit and urine.

Anyway. I'm looking for another job in addition to this little piece of heaven I'm working right now. So, loyal fans, do send something my way. I will dedicate a blog to you.

Pull up, then down:

provided by the management for your convenience.

I bought a part of my work uniform today. The ensemble consists of a white dress shirt, black pants, black shoes, and a maroon sweater. Where do I work, you ask? The Hollywood Bowl--which I will oh-so-fashionably refer to as The Bowl. So I wasted part of my day at the mall looking for the pants. Luckily, there were a few things here and there which amused me--so it wasn't a total waste. For one thing, I saw a very large girl completely fall over in a pair of heels. It was one of those things that is so grotesquely funny that you can't even laugh at. You're just frozen with a smile on your face. Your mind says "laugh, you unsocial entity."

In other news, it seems that I will be working this weekend. And missing numerous graduation parties. The Bowl is a heartless tyrant. But the event sounds kind of cool. I will be working at the Playboy Jazz Festival. Hmmm... I'll get back to you on that one.