Off to Milwaukee
May. 7th, 2010 12:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
acmespaceshipDS is safely home from his first year at NIU. Skye Victoria Weezlgrrl ferret is, despite all reasonable prediction, still alive to greet him. What was the name of Odysseus' dog? Argos, says Google (which I just used to get the correct spelling of Odysseus ... if the Internet is destroyed when civilization collapses, I will be rendered incapable of anything).
Tomorrow at the crack of dawn we're off for CostumeCon, where Moebius is performing during the judging break at the SF/Fantasy Masquerade. Once again as usual, we are doing a prop-light show. That's why my pool table is covered with ... PROPS ... and a two-page props checklist and I am trying to find one container large enough to hold them all but small enough to fit into a Saturn Ion.
I have the address of Leon's Frozen Custard in my Palm TX. It used to be in my U.S. Robotics Pilot 1000 which tells you how long I have been carrying the Leon's address around in my purse, always at the ready lest I should suddenly find myself in Milwaukee unplanned. It's been known to happen. Dear god I hope cinnamon is the flavor of the day on Saturday. Or raspberry. The raspberry with hot fudge ... oh man.
Thinking about Leon's is preventing me from ranting about all the usual show annoyances that, after 30 freaking years, we still have not solved. And never will. Because, as I have explained to DS many times, show business is hell, my boy, show business is hell. And, contrary to what you may have learned from your parents and their friends, the world is full of people who never step onstage and yet they lead full and rewarding lives. Wish I knew how they do it.
Now I gotta go finish the laundry, feed the ferret, dye my hair, magically lose 30 pounds in 24 hours, and run lines again. And again. And again. Please God, if happy little bluebirds can remember the words to the Gilligan's Island theme song, why oh why can't I remember the lines of this new sketch about middle-aged brains being too decrepit to do things like memorize lines?
Tomorrow at the crack of dawn we're off for CostumeCon, where Moebius is performing during the judging break at the SF/Fantasy Masquerade. Once again as usual, we are doing a prop-light show. That's why my pool table is covered with ... PROPS ... and a two-page props checklist and I am trying to find one container large enough to hold them all but small enough to fit into a Saturn Ion.
I have the address of Leon's Frozen Custard in my Palm TX. It used to be in my U.S. Robotics Pilot 1000 which tells you how long I have been carrying the Leon's address around in my purse, always at the ready lest I should suddenly find myself in Milwaukee unplanned. It's been known to happen. Dear god I hope cinnamon is the flavor of the day on Saturday. Or raspberry. The raspberry with hot fudge ... oh man.
Thinking about Leon's is preventing me from ranting about all the usual show annoyances that, after 30 freaking years, we still have not solved. And never will. Because, as I have explained to DS many times, show business is hell, my boy, show business is hell. And, contrary to what you may have learned from your parents and their friends, the world is full of people who never step onstage and yet they lead full and rewarding lives. Wish I knew how they do it.
Now I gotta go finish the laundry, feed the ferret, dye my hair, magically lose 30 pounds in 24 hours, and run lines again. And again. And again. Please God, if happy little bluebirds can remember the words to the Gilligan's Island theme song, why oh why can't I remember the lines of this new sketch about middle-aged brains being too decrepit to do things like memorize lines?
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Date: 2010-05-07 10:41 pm (UTC)As for remembering lines-- how about, next time, an all-mime revue?