Farewell Little Play, We'll Miss You.

Wow, I'm having difficulty getting back into this work thing after a couple of days off. I'm having difficulty believing that the folks I'm talking to on the phone cannot hear the utter disdain I have for them coming over the phone like little, silver needles flung with force.

We closed a show Saturday night. It was episode 4 of a serialized soap opera satire that seemed to go over fairly well with audiences (the ones that were under 50 anyway. The older theater set, apparently not into 90 minutes of dick jokes) and was a blast to put on. The cast for the show were an amazing group of people. I would walk to the theater beforehand and begin to get excited about spending the evening with these people.

I heard from almost every one of them that they were sad the show was ending. That's fairly rare given the amount of time a number of people are forced to spend together during rehearsals and performances - a lot of this time in a small, back room. Oh but this cast, just great, hilarious energy. I will miss them somethin' awful.

Maybe it was because if the unwillingness to let everyone go, maybe that mixed with a fairly successful run of a show, but the closing night party got quickly out of hand. It feels as though it's one of those that will go down as legend.

While there was drinking, copious amounts of drinking, I don't think anyone was particularly drunk. Well one of them was - this time not me. What evolved was some sort of pagan dance festivity, a sacrifice to the gods of dignity.

I've said it before, I'll say it again: Dignity is way overrated.

We danced hard and steady for hours, to classic tunes the likes of Living On A Prayer, Welcome To The Jungle, Blitzkrieg Bop, and Don't Stop Believin' (and yes, I still fucking hate Journey). There was lots of beer swigging, lots of whisky sipping, lots of throat shredding scream/singing, lots of sweating. Lots of sweating. I honestly don't know when I have sweat that much.

Things remembered in a haze the next day:
I escaped for minute to put on the dress that I wore as one character and returned to the dance floor with a fury. This then caused a flurry of costume and wig changes throughout the party by the rest of the cast.

Rainier beer being poured into, and then drunk out of, the plastic vagina and anus of a blow up doll.

Lap dances given to damn near everyone in the cast and crew by yours truly.

Above mentioned blow up doll being fake abused in ways that de Sade would feel the need to look away from.

We left the theater, barely able to talk and shaking with exhaustion. A bunch of us smuggled beers into the bar up the street to finish things off, but honestly, after fifteen minutes I was beat and wandered home. I knew we had seen it off with style, we'd seen it off with love and passion. And I know personally that I was sore for three days afterwards, feet swollen and neck throbbing from headbanger whiplash.