The Subject was Names…, By Whitney Farmer – Un Pop Culture | @MDWorld

May 10, 2012 Whitney Farmer 2 Comments

Whitney runs a rock music venue on the beach in L.A.. She has an MBA, and got her maiden name back.

Soon after I arrived, Big John asked me, “Did you see the Dead Seals?”

I hadn’t, and scanned my memory about all the advancing on the bands that had been done in preparation for the night. Sometimes there was an unexpected addition, especially on punk shows. Punk rockers tend to be low maintenance and spontaneous, even the national acts. But I was concerned about how it would complicate the sound check for the production crew. I asked Big John if they had loaded in already.

“No, I mean the two dead seals that washed up on the beach,” he said. He had already told the police who come through regularly on their rounds. They also told him that they had found the body of a guy who had jumped off the pier a couple of weeks earlier for a fatal late-night swim with his girlfriend.

Driving to work, as usual I was faced at the same points on the freeway that exhibit the complications of bad math on the human condition as onramps and off-ramps converged. A line from a forgotten comedian came back to me again, that everyone going slower than you is an Idiot and everyone going faster than you is Crazy. Each time and again, I fought against my still base nature and tried not to speak cursing names at strangers as I barely made it through the gauntlet of converging cars on the 405.

I introduced myself to the headliner and watched their expressions change when they heard that my title was Manager instead of Band Aide. My title meant that I was responsible for getting them money, food, and drinks. It makes me popular, and I accepted the conditional love from them that helps make the nights go smoothly. As I worked with them to get them settled in the green room and they began to check their gear, the lead guitarist asked, “Can I have a screwdriver?”

“Absolutely. Phillips head or regular?” I offered.

“Um…well…I meant the drink,” he clarified.

I laughed and left the band alone to talk about me while I got the drink. It doesn’t matter that I don’t drink and sometimes get stumped during liquor conversations. My title lets people know that I am there for different reasons and am good at math. We used to have a guy here who the bands used to call a Junior Booker but who used to call himself a Partner. He used to enjoy calling me the night manager, no caps, when he would introduce me to people. I would be tempted to act as a night manager in revenge – not answer his calls or respond to emails during daylight hours, make him try to stop fistfights ‘cuz he was a GUY and I’m not, let him review and execute his own blasted contracts…but you can’t ultimately require someone to Say My Name. The best titles are granted, not grasped. And now I am still here, and the Junior Booker is gone.

Sometime during the night, the word spread that one of the New Ownership was with us that night. The staff watched as the familiar blood frenzy began to swirl around him. The Quiet Guy became Royalty. Females who claimed to be musicians flipped their hair and arched their backs as they told him that their band is on Facebook and waited for his enthusiastic response to their marketing brilliance.

I wasn’t able to see the exchange because I was escorting a Drunk Guy out of the venue who was faced with the prospect of becoming a Married Man next weekend. It always is perplexing to see people cram debauchery into the time immediately before giving a sacred oath. It makes you wonder if the heart is in it or not. But maybe there is a transformation that occurs when the words are said and the name is granted? Maybe that shifts the soul? I pondered that a bit as he gripped my neck in the crook of his arm so tightly that I could hear my own pulse and he uttered thankfully indecipherable growls in my other ear. I was grateful for the near-stranger named Scott who was twice his size who helped me get him upstairs without a fight. The prospective groom’s Friends were nowhere to be found and left the work of friendship to Strangers.

In a few weeks, our whole family is converging for a wedding. My sister will become a Bride, and the awkward question of ‘What do I call this guy since I’m not in high school anymore?’ will be solved as her boyfriend will become her Groom. People who say that titles don’t matter are wrong. My parents told me that love doesn’t hold marriage together: It is Marriage that holds Love together. It’s as if the titles conveyed with the oaths become a prophesy. Each becomes transformed by the honor of being named the One. All kinds of characters rise to the challenge of the occasion and can become transformed into the promise of the new names that have been given.

Once upon a time, it was said that humans could not break the four minute mile. Roger Bannister was the first to achieve this in 1954. Now, it considered the standard. When the Impossible becomes the Expected, miracles happen.

Quote of the Blog, from God, Isaiah 62:4 – “No longer will you be called ‘Forsaken’ but you will be called ‘My delight is in her’…”.

Photo courtesy of my cell phone.