It's really interesting how the building itself can ruin a day.
We're at the Dallas Convention Center. This place is a huge, cold, exhibition facility. The room that we're playing in isn't really an arena or theater. It is arena sized, but round, with the stage tucked into the curve on one side of the room. The rigging is silly: nothing is symmetrical. Every point is custom made, and you don't get to learn from one side and apply the lesson to the opposite side.
Nobody had a good time today.
Bill Reeves banged his head while crawling around under the stage.
I took an initiative on the floor I-Beam set which was radically different from anything we've done so far...and it did not meet with Bill's approval. Nuff said. We're over it.
Duck had a digital control signal goof in his color changers which would not go away all night.
Bernie had an un-Christly time while hanging this show, and Popcorn stood around, glancing at his watch and shaking his head: it was 2:00 pm before the set even approached the stage.
Spyder had an ongoing argument with the caterer that lasted all day.
The sound guys were able to maintain hysterical smiles all day. We, however, fought a rear-guard action against time and idiots in golf carts determined to run over all of our most delicate cables.
The motto of the day went something like: "No matter what happens, tomorrow will find us in another, hopefully better, place."
October 2, 1992
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