Sunday, February 04, 2001

Four Things

1. Never underestimate the power of cigarettes and coffee as dieting aids.

2. After a month-and-a-half hiatus, Jason and Gladys are back. We'll see how long they hold out this time.

3. Everyone probably already knows, but I just discovered it yesterday: they've opened up the Stortroopers goth wardrobe. Therefore, three new and improved avatars (Jonno didn't care much for my version of Fat Tuesday boyfriend, so he created his own):

mardi gras me

my mardi gras jonno

jonno's mardi gras jonno

I still can't seem to get Jonno right, but the eerie likeness to me is, well...eerie.

4. Last night I had the strangest dream. I sailed away to China...in a little rowboat to find ya'.... No seriously. It was odd.

My friends Jim, Kim, and I were extras in a movie about the Israeli army. Wait, let me clarify that: we were extras in a movie musical about the Israeli army. And all the dialogue was in Hebrew. Go figure.

Next thing I know, we've been asked to help coordinate a shoot for a horror flick. They want us to pull in an audience full of people for a free screening of some Christopher Durang movies (which strikes me as odd, because as far as I know he's only made Beyond Therapy, and he hated it) so they can get some good crowd shots for the film. So we're standing outside a movie theatre, herding people in from off the sidewalk. There must have been a masquerade party nearby, because an unusually large number of folks were wearing costumes--especially chicken costumes. Like the kind schmucks have to wear when they're handing out flyers in front of Chick-fil-a. (Again, go figure.)

Anyway, we do a pretty good job of rustling up a crowd, and when we finally go in, the theatre's packed. The only place I can find to sit is next to Mary Garlington (Lu-Lu "For a Quarter I Will" Fishpaw in Polyester). Actually, it's so crowded, Mary and I have to share a seat. And we do. With room to spare (see #1 above).

So we're watching these Durang films, and they all look vaguely like low-rent versions of The Year of Living Dangerously, complete with cheesebag Maurice Jarre-esque soundtracks. After a bit, I decide I'm tired and wanna go home. Timo razzes me as I get up to leave, jeering that I'm always prone to flake out early. (And I am. You gotta problem with that?)

I leave the cinema and head off to retrieve my car from a valet parking lot. And as I'm waiting for the guy to bring 'round my vehicle, I'm set upon by some theatre queen who's telling me all about his latest production (One Flew Over the Cukoo's Nest, I think) and his night out at the Roxy in New York, and I fall asleep in the middle of his story. (You would have done the same.)

Then I woke up.

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