Noise in the Shape of Writing

Once a year for some reason the spirit takes me and I must change clothes in front of friends. I must do this and then I must strut out in front of several hundred people wearing nothing but fur.

Don't you? Isn't this primal urge universal?

Of course it helps if those people are paying audience members and it's good if you're part of the cast putting on a show. I mean -- duh! -- any other reason to be playing dress-up outside of the home would be practically scandalous!

And I seriously don't get to do this enough. There's something in me that just LOVES putting on a show. And yes, I am talking about the whole production. Writing.. planning (though I didn't do any of the planning this year)... rehearsing... and the best part of all... performing!

GOD I love it! It's that thin, filmy curtain that us performers hide behind -- awaiting our turn on stage -- it's somehow magical. There's expectation on the other side of it. There's craning of necks... "what will come out next?" If you've done your job... the audience is dying to find out if the next scene will top the last.

Again, it helps if the audience is firmly in your pocket. If they're there cause they know it's a guaranteed good time, you've already won. Science Fiction and Fantasy fans seem to really like theatricality. And conventions like the one I performed at (LosCon) are the perfect place to feel relaxed doing one's performance thang.

But on the night of, it's the little things that REALLY psyche me. The coordination... people helping each other. I love it when we remind each other... "that chair gets struck when you leave the stage, right? If you don't get it, I will". The improv of actors using mistakes in a live show to keep the audience lapping it up. I love the fact that there are people willing to JUST HELP. They dont get on stage... they just offer their hand to make sure the show goes off as planned (the Kims and Judys out there ROCK!)

Every week I write for a live show that goes up on THursdays... but I only write. It's my friends who are on stage who have the fun of being back there in the green (blue) room every week. I don't mind. I dont think I'd want to do that every week. But certainly more than once a year!

Man... I can still remember that feeling of JUST coming out of my act and knowing that I killed and all I have left to do is help out in other scenes and behind the scenes. It's a great feeling. It's like... well something else. And also something else.

It's a shame that it only happens for me once a year, but I truly appreciate all the work that goes into it all. I hate the fact that we all go back to day jobs for a year starting the next week and I wish we could perform for days on end and kill every night. I wish that we could buy each other beers every evening after each performance. I hate that it all leads up to one night. Real theater actors have all the fun. And they get paid.

Sometimes I go to these conventions and I think "these aren't my people... who are these people? aaargh! fandom!!!!" I felt that way this time too. But by show's end I was so feeling the love (and not just from friends who attended, but from everyone at the con).

I need to get behind that thin curtain again soon.
Thanks to everyone (especially Michael, Colleen, Shawn... John, Tanya... Gary, Jim... and everyone else) who made it a great experience for me.

That applause was great, but I fear it just won't last me the whole year.

Welcome back, Pat, to your own blog.

As I begin re-exercsing my brain on blog entries again, I also find myself beginning an exrecise routine the rest of this rusting hunk of a 38 year old body (yay, Scorpios!). Recently, I stole my sister's Nautilus machine. Well, actually, it's not a Nautilus..it's an Avita. Yes, well known in the world of cheap, cut-rate home gyms, I know. Nonetheless, it offers numerous (5) ways to work out the pecs, ceps, quads and miscellaneous roids and troids.

Beginning in the morning before breakfast and before leaving for work, I first attacked the thing haphazardly, like a pit bull on a rotting zebra. I knew not where to begin my journey towards rippedness. But I *did* know that I wanted to do it Hollywood style! That's right.... I am on the Brad Pitt body Fight Club-era sculpting exercise routine!

I found it on the internet along with a followup on how to get hunked out like Matthew McCaunaghey. I gave the wife the choice of which sexy stud she wanted to wake up next to in three weeks. Given that it is quite impossible to get me (in my current state) to look like them (in any state) in three months, the choice became obvious... laugh laugh laugh... laugh like the little big nose guys on the "You want it... when?" posters.

I, however, did not laugh. I went right out and did 11 push ups.

Oh -- the -- pain.
Not after the 10. Those felt GREAT! It was after the short break, followed by "If I can do 10, I can certainly do 10 more!"

Nope. Funny thing about the body. You can fool it once, but not twice.

At least not before breakfast.