Northline

and the close of my carny days

Northline was a big shopping mall in North Houston -- still is (and, going by the reviews on Yelp, it’s a pretty sad, nasty place). In November of each year, back in the my carny days of the late ‘70s, 5 or 6 different shows ended the season by coming together, melding into one giant carnival in the mall’s parking lot. A collection of small to mid size carnivals became one oceanically colossal midway.

After 3 seasons on the road, this would be my last spot. Afterward, I’d turn in my bushel baskets, my balloons, my dice table and move on to the next grand adventure.

I was psyched to finish at a big spot -- one I'd heard was a ten day solid party. Then I heard the news:

a) no water hook ups at the lot -- performing my daily toilette would involve gas station and McDonald-land bathrooms. **cringe!**
b) all the carny families were staying at a campground far away from all the excitement. They’d have running water and peace and quiet.

I wanted, hell I needed to splurge. These were my last ten days as a carny, for christ's sake -- SCREW the peace and quiet and to hell with bathing in gas station bathrooms.

I’d done pretty well that last season  -- there was enough dough saved to move to Boston and start painting. I felt sorta, kinda, in a very cautious Donna way, exuberantly flush. I got a hotel room (a bed! indoor plumbing!!!), booked a few nights and walked back to the lot (with the family types staying off in the boondocks, I was carless).

Now, to further preface what happened next -- leading up to Northline, we’d played a month and a half solid of circus jumps. These were back to back 3 day spots. We played one spot, worked 12-14 hour days, sloughed (tore down) at midnight on the third night, drove to the next spot, immediately set up (took all the lumber and cotter pins off the truck and transformed it into a carnival) and opened for a full day/night of business. Basically, we only got to sleep every other night. We did this for a solid month and a half. Sleep was a stranger, a myth, a fairy tale.

Even I, who’d previously been all “speed? oh no, chemicals freak me out,” was singing the praises of the always plentiful Black Beauties.

So, I’m standing in my joint, blowing up the 450 balloons I needed big and buoyant to start my night, thinking “you know, I can feel my hair growing -- WOW, these Beauties are fabulous!” when, who do I see strolling toward me? David Cassidy. OK, it wasn’t really him but the dude looked JUST like him....except all muscled and studly. Yeah, I hit on him. I mean hell, I was aiming to end my carnival career with a bang (so to speak) and he looked like just the thing.

Beware of beautiful, studly Tiger Beatesque heartthrob lookalikes.

The story continues here tomorrow.