well i guess you scared me too

I had an incredible weekend. Now, of course, I need another weekend to recover from my weekend, and I am not going to get one. (That makes the baby jesus cry.)

Friday Night

Karaoke at the Empty Space. I knew it was going to be crazy, but I’m not quite expecting the level of insanity that I discover once I arrive. First, Ida and I go out for the ritual fish and chips (which I can’t actually have, due to the cleanse that I am still clinging to.) While there, we run into a Comte and a Jerry Lloyd, and then head over. Josef sings “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” which, after he gives in and takes it up the octave, is really lovely. (It’s fine low, but we can’t hear him very well.) HSM sings “Que Sera, Sera” while your favorite pickle (and mine!) does sign language for it. Alyssa Ford does White Rabbit. Some girl I’d never seen before does a lot of drunken screaming. The Safety Cowboy sings Elton John’s “Daniel” - and just let me say right now that he rocks it pretty hard. When he finishes, his lovely girlfriend “Rackmaster-J” hops right up on stage and plants a big one on him. This merits a partial standing ovation. At the very end of the evening, Tristam and I escape the debauchery to go smoke on the balcony, where we discuss the difference between being an actor and a technical theatre person. Not the difference in job per se, but the difference in essential personality makeup. PWe and Ida and HSM go out to La Casa Internationale de Pancakes, but I wuss out and go home. I had spent the entire night before talking to Kris, and I haven’t quite recovered. Plus, I know I have a big day coming.

Saturday Morning

I drag myself out of bed. I feel like crap on a cracker. I practically crawl to TPS, where I manage to be awake and lively and exciting for an hour and a half while teaching acting to 4-6th graders. We’re about to start a choral poem unit, using my favorite poem from when I was a child. It’s the first poem I ever memorized. It goes like this. *ahem*

Eletelephony
by Laura Richards

Once there was an elephant
Who tried to use the telephant.
No, no! I mean an elephone
Who tried to use the telephone.

(Dear me, I am not certain quite
That even now I’ve got it right!)

Howe’er it was, he got his trunk
Entangled in the telephunk.
The more he tried to get it free,
The louder buzzed the telephee!

I fear I’d better drop this song
Of Elephop
And Telephong.

Saturday Afternoon

I am doing laundry and drinking coffee and throwing clothes around my room. You know the concert quandry - you’re going to a concert, so you want to dress up. Kind of. But if you’re going to be dancing and drinking and crashing into people and standing on a concrete floor all night, you want to be comfy too. This dilemma always kills me - I have the same problem with parties. At one point, Daniel calls and says “I don’t know if this matters, but I’m going to be pretty casual.” Secretly, I am infinitely glad of this information. Primping continues.

Saturday Night

I arrive at Daniel’s place just as the EXITheatre company meeting is over. I get to see Dina and Ray and Mike and Jessica and Meg and Frankie, which is a total bonus to my already nutso weekend. D gives me a copy of a picture of our sexy hats at the EXIT holiday party. D and I have the “Bring stuff with us and be annoyed by it, or leave stuff at home and wish we had it?” debate. Eventually, we end up at the Alibi Room - I’ve never been here before, and it’s lovely. We have drinks with D’s friends Jim, Jeremy, and Jeremy (one less name for me to remember. Phew.) While here, I have two rather large shots of scotch, neat. After about 1 2/3 shots, I realize that all I’ve had to eat all day is half a bag of raw spinach that I ate for breakfast on my way to class. My stomach is not pleased. So, I order “the fastest food you have”, which ends up being crostini. D and I try to explain to his friends why “toilets” and “lame excuses” are funny. (I start to suspect that explaining inside jokes to outside people is a waste of time.) We finish our drinks and head over to the Showbox at about ten after eight. (Already, I am confused, since I’d somehow convinced myself the show started at eight. Oops.)

Once at the Showbox, we run into D’s friends Brady and Gillian. (They are newly dating, and disgustingly cute.) D and I cut in line and send the other boys to the back. I walk through the door, get my stamp - and before my very eyes, I watch as what was once a handful of playing cards turns into a large black smear on my wrist.

The cutters snag a table and wait for the rest of our entourage to arrive. (Okay, okay. They are really D’s entourage, and I have no claim to them. However, they were all damn fun people, and I like to delude myself that they were my entourage as well.) We drink whiskey sours. We watch a certain someone tie double-knots in the cherry stems with their tongue at break-neck speed. We make up disgusting pick-up lines that are appropriate to everyone’s line of work. My favorite of the night - Jim is a plumber. Daniel decides that the plumber’s pickup line is “Can I fill your crack with my spackle?” (Sorry, Z. I think this one has the getting sticky line beat - but only by a little.) We don’t know who the opening bands are. Jim and I decide that the first band might as well have been playing rockabye baby, for all the good it’s doing us. We order more whiskey sours. The second opening band comes on. We order more whiskey sours.

Finally, at ten thirty-something, Concrete Blonde comes onstage. They are incredible. Johnette Napolitano is definitely a force to be reckoned with onstage, and once she steps into the blue light, we are hers. D and I weave our way into the crowd to get closer to the stage. They play a lot of songs that I don’t know, and I don’t care. (They do a great version of “As Tears Go By”.) At this point, I start to not feel so well. I tap D’s shoulder and tell him that I’m heading back to the table. While wiggling through the crowd, I catch someone’s foot and pitch over - sort of sideways - and I wind up landing flat on my back - kind of head-first - on the concrete. (My neck and the back of my head are still really sore. It’s not a good idea. I do not recommend it.) I look up and see D’s hand stretched out to help me up - and I still can not decide if the expression on his face is one of concern or one of amusement. I take some “quality downtime” to recover from what I’m guessing simply amounted to too much alcohol and too many cigarettes in too short a period of time. (Smashing my head into the ground didn’t help matters any.) When I come back, I am totally rejuvenated and feeling fantastic, and I am ready for more. I get back on the dance floor in time to see - among other things - a Leonard Cohen song, a Bessie Smith Interlude, and “Joey” (not necessarily in that order.)

We luck out and find a cab right outside the Showbox. On the way back to D’s place (where I have left my car) I try to scavenge up enough energy to go over to the Dance Party at Benlau’s … and I fail. It’s nearly 2:00 in the morning and I’m still feeling too shaky to drive, much less dancedancedance. Plus, the evening has already been full and wonderful enough.

To be continued…

(Confidential to the owner of the L.E… sorry about the snow. It wasn’t intentional. Neither was punching you in the nose. I just thought you should know.)