A year ago, I moved to Knoxville Tennessee. Having grown up in Michigan, I loved the winter here. It was temperate and consistent. I suppose Michigan winters are consistent in that they are consistently awful. The only real issue with the Knoxville weather is rain. So much rain. And when it finished raining it rained some more. Then the summer came with heat and humidity. If the sun was not blazing and the temperature not rising, it was because it was raining. It rains here all the time, but it is better than the snow I suppose. But the focus of this piece is about the summer here. More people are out and about than in the winter.
Knoxville is not exactly “the south” as it lies in a northerner’s imagination. Make what you will of that. Knoxville is a decent-sized city with live music constantly playing, food seemingly everywhere, and random live-events. Where did all of these random high-schoolers with a Zoolander aesthetic come from? How is this viewed as a reasonable use of time? Why?
My main experience of Knoxville came during Shakespeare on the Square. I must admit placing Shakespeare in the center of the sensory center of Knoxville was an odd experience. With all the things going on around the performances, I would not blame the audience for not paying any attention to it. There were restaurants, bars, and the accompanying drunk, hungry, and drunk and hungry people moving about.
Some nights, there were random guitar players doing their best Beatles cover while some group tossed hula hoops in the air and caught them as a part of some event. Some nights, someone played the National Anthem on some random instrument. Some nights, while I was walking home, I would whistle and clap as he finished his performance. Those cheers are less than he deserved but are what I had to give. Some nights, I would pass a man playing a musical saw. I finally understood what J.K. Rowling was talking about. The musical saw is a cacophony of sound, but it has this eerie and alluring quality.
It took a lot of focus to give one of these sounds my sole attention. Then four nights a week, I would attempt to grab the audience’s attention through Shakespeare’s words and stagecraft. Some nights, we broke through the noise. I believe we broke through because the audience’s laughter overpowered the drunken laughter emanating out of the bars.
These audiences further surprised me with the discipline they had over their noses. Some nights, the smell of cheeseburgers and fries would waft its way over to the stage. The smell often overwhelmed me as this musical symphony of true delight awoke my desire to binge eat. Now, my love for food is a tad over the top, but so is Comedy of Errors.
Perhaps this comical desire for a cheeseburger added something to my performance. Dromio is always asking for food. Maybe my real desire made my fictional requests more intense, sincere, or dare I say, authentic. Eventually, I got one of those burgers. I abstained for four whole weeks before I gave in to the tempting smell. In spite of my best efforts to avoid these burgers, I lost. The whole saga, and it was a saga, was like that cartoon where the guy floats to the pie sitting in the window. Some nights, we desire hamburgers.
I admire all of the people that would go down to Market Square to do a single thing and then would do that thing. I had a sensory overload of food, broad movements, and the thousands of sounds coming from every direction. Shakespeare on the Square’s appeal was the structure we brought to the sensory overload. Our chaos was brought to the onlookers in a formal way. As we all should know by now, we love our chaos in a formal way. Why else would Twitter be so popular? Twitter brought the globe’s dumbest thoughts formality and format while Shakespeare brought formality and format to Market Square. Some nights it did anyhow.
After the show, on the way to the parking garage, I would pass panhandlers. I wish I had money to give to one man specifically. He had a harmonica and was playing his blues. Buh neh nu neh nu. “Help an old man out.” Buh neh nu neh nu. “Just a small donation.” The written form does this man no justice. He mustered up his best Elvis and put it all out there. If you ever hear this man play his song, do me a favor and give him some money.
Then I would take the elevator in the parking garage. During these elevator rides, audience members frequently accompanied me. Then I would enter the elevator with audience members. The first few seconds were entirely quiet. Then someone would say, “I really liked the show.” “Thank you! I’m glad you enjoyed it!” -----------------------“This is my floor. Have a good night.” Repeat.
Then I would take the elevator in the parking garage. During these elevator rides, audience members frequently accompanied me. Then I would enter the elevator with audience members. The first few seconds were entirely quiet. Then someone would say, “I really liked the show.” “Thank you! I’m glad you enjoyed it!” -----------------------“This is my floor. Have a good night.” Repeat.
You get the point.
As I think back over the summer, I should have more thoroughly appreciated the alternation between the musical saws and Shakespeare. As the students return for classes, those sounds have been replaced with drunken renditions of “Rocky Top” and some song I have never heard but all the youths seem to know as they sing along. Hopefully, the sound of binge drinking, the smell of vomit, and the crunchy broken glass accompanying these students mark the end of this oppressive heat and the end of summer.