October 17th, 2005


It's A Fact!

It's A Fact! Abbie the Cat enjoyed Shaun of the Dead. When asked what he thought of the film, he replied "IF there were Zombis attacking i would run away and hide behind the COuch."
So, then, there were three events this weekend: The radio drama performance, the party afterwards, and Sunday, Crummy Sunday. The radio drama went much better than anybody could have forecast. In fact, short of someone stepping up at the end and saying "I'm a talent scout from NBC Blue from far, far away in New York City, and we want to put you kids on a weekly contract" (which wasn't very likely1, and we didn't expect it) or all of us getting medals for being so brave and honest over the telephone (which wasn't very likely, either, and we didn't expect it) I'd say I couldn't see how it could've gone better. Besides Renee getting to do her piece, I mean.

We ran out of chairs for people, which is something I don't remember personally witnessing since I think the 2004 summer one-acts. Chelsea made a profit, which means the fundraiser was successful in raising funds. The Chicken Heart act went relatively hitch-free, and we quite effortlessly steamrolled over any minor upsets. Neil's overnite work on the military sfx was great and I murmurmed appreciatively to Michael in the crowd murmuring bits. We worked pretty well together and I think if Neil could have heard the murmuring we were doing, he'd have rolled his eyes. Or laughed. Or pointed sternly. I had a lot of fun milking the campy parts as much as possible, too -- when in doubt, just raise your head, widen your eyes, and put a little Shatner into your pauses. Perfect! Instant audience response.
It's A Bully Fact! Theodore Roosevelt gave Maxwell House coffee its "Good to the last drop" slogan. Then he buried several more yellow fever victims in the Panama Canal.
There were way too many imploding connections at the party. A coworker's boyfriend knew Sully. Wesleyan connections were pointed out and reinforced. One guy in Scottish finery (not the shirtless fellow who ended up sans kilt on the front porch) said he'd been reading my Usenet stuff for years and was glad to finally meet me. Oh dear! And then there was this exchange:
LAUREN: This is Spatch, the Cat Town guy.
STRANGER: You're the Cat Town Guy?
ME: Yep.
ME (to LAUREN): It's an odd measure of fame. I don't get that often enough. Usually it's "You're the Pick Up The Phone Booth and Die Guy?"
STRANGER: You're the Pick Up The Phone Booth and Die Guy?!
Well, it'll make for an extra-large tombstone when the time comes. Perhaps I can convince people that it's actually Quebecois, and pronounced "Gi."

I'll remember other things about the party, of course, from the Russian-speaking pirate girl who had previously tried to crash the radio drama by yanking open the backstage door to the aforementioned naked kilt guy (Laura deserves commendation for her erstwhile reporting) and Jude's impromptu Batgirl fashion show near the end of it all. I was surprised to feel so goddamn social through it all, and was also pleased to see Lauren being proactively assertive (you go!) And then, after collapsing into bed far earlier than expected, we heard Derek bellowing a snippet of some aria or another from below, and agreed it was a most delightful time.
It's A Sad Fact! The "It's A Fact Girl" probably has It's A Fact Kids of her own by now.
The less said about Sunday the better. Suffice to say that my five-day vacation in November will not be a vacation. It'll be paid time off, but I won't get to relax as I miscalculated performance dates. I don't think I'm ever going to get to relax again. I overextended myself something fierce these past few months, signing up for more projects than I should have, and the net result was that I'd planned a big cathartic trip at the end of it all. Thanksgiving was scheduled early this year so that we all could show up. It was a finishing touch, really, the ability to sit back in a big plushy chair with a G&T in hand and chat idly with Keri and Jeremy and Chuk and Beth. This is the pinnacle of relaxation to me, since it went so well last year, and now I can't do it. It sucks, Beavis, but it was my planning mistake to begin with, so I can't really get mad about it. Just another example of overextension. The five days I'll have off won't be spent in any particular exotic locale, but I'll be damned if I do anything new for anybody other than that which has already been promised. Hell, I'd be up for a five-day bender, but I'm not a Barrymore.

Rehearsal also ran long, which meant I completely missed out on a Redbones dinner with ifMUDders of various stripes. Grumping about it in a decidedly grumpy fashion, I took off after rehearsal and headed down to Charlie's Kitchen for to partake of cheap food and several drafts of that tasty Sam Adams 375th ale. But no -- the keg was kicked, and they had no replacement. I never thought I'd write the words "I had to settle for Guinness," but ... well, I had to settle for Guinness.

Abbie also wants everybody to know that his sofa hiding strategy also works against ghosts, Nazis and monsters, but not the vacuum cleaner.

1. NBC Blue doesn't exist anymore. That's why it wasn't very likely, and why we didn't expect it.