There comes a time when every man must clean up his own backyard

I did a strange thing last night. Really strange, even for me.

I went on a "date" with my Mr. Sunshine's sponsor.

I got offered free tickets to "Hotel California" (Eagles tribute show) by my bossman, who is a corporate sponsor of the local historic theatre. The tickets were a corporate sponsor perk, and I was grateful for the opportunity to go to one of my favorite places on the face of the earth. So I called my Sunshine, who was not interested in seeing the show. He was determined to go hunting for wild boar.

Mr. Sunshine's sponsor, who has recently separated from his wife and has been kind of in a funk as a result, was all "I'll go, that sounds interesting." (It probably sounded like a distraction, but whatever.)

So bossman tells me that two tickets will be waiting for us at the will-call box.

Stay with me, people, I promise this is going somewhere.

So my sponsor-in-law and I arrive at the theatre to find that there were not two, but four, tickets in my name at will-call. At which time, my sponsor-in-law decides to go by the local meeting hall to see if any newcomer girls wanted to go to the show. I know, sick sick sick.

Let me sum up the reactions of the local addicts like this:
We gave the local fellowship's members a reason to not work steps or look at themselves for a good six months.

I'm going to digress for a moment. The theatre. The show.

I had forgotten how good music can sound. That room. Bossman's bad ass sound system. A good audio engineer. Leaving the quality of the talent out of it, the sound was so damned sweet. The room was overflowing with a full range of crystal-clear sound.

The executive director saw me headed out to smoke during intermission and waved me into Russian Air Space at the front of house mix location. This gave me the chance to tell the touring engineer it sounded nice.

It also gave me the chance to compliment the executive director on the fabulous job he and his staff did getting our theatre ready for the season opener. If you will think back, I wrote a post about the audio bomb explosion, complete with pictures of the audio detritus and the scaffolding that filled the room to repair the plaster ceiling. It was a hot damned mess in that theatre, and they pulled it off in a few short weeks.

Of course, they do that a lot at our theatre. Crackhead hits a lighting pole, blows a transformer, fries the ENTIRE LIGHTING SYSTEM of the theatre. Director goes grant-writing, comes up with a cool half mil, theatre closes for the summer, season opens to a new lighting system.
Air handlers go out, director goes grant writing, theatre closes for the summer, season opens to new and improved air conditioning.

This summer, sound system took a shit. Director shut her down, found the money for a new sound system, and while he was at it found the money to repair the plaster ceilings.

Bottom line, our theatre is constantly looking inward, finding what's wrong, and improving upon it. At our theatre, they're constantly cleaning up their own backyard.

Now, back to last night. And all those fuckers who will be so busy trying to figure out what kind of sick ass shit is going on with me, my Sunshine, and Sunshine's sponsor. They will surely talk. And it will give them a reason to not have to look at the Jerry Springer episodes they themselves are actually living.

There comes a time when every man must clean up his own backyard. Our theatre does it. I do it. My Mr. Sunshine does it. When we do, the rot, the decay, the disease--that shit doesn't progress.

When every man cleans his own back yard, we are much like our local theatre. The lights are bright. There is a roof over our heads and the ceiling doesn't crumble. The air is cool. The sound is sweet. And we concern ourselves with the one thing that our theatre concerns itself with: are we gracious hosts and have we entertained our guests, giving them a night to remember?

There comes a time when every man must clean up his own backyard. I am so grateful that I have learned from the example of our local theatre, from the example of N.A. members who work a program, and from the band. I look inward. I find what is wrong. And I improve upon it.