Neverwhere. It was recommended to me (Does it count as an recommendation if they pick the book off the library shelf and shove it into your arms before directing you to the checkout?) as one of Neil Gaiman’s non-mindscarring books.
Wow. The show is over. And although I’m sure I say this at the end of every show it’s only because it’s true; I feel like a large part of my life has suddenly been removed.
Our last showing, this afternoon, was (I thought) our best. I find it kinda ironic though, that you spend all this time perfecting a show until it’s just right, then you preform it a couple of times, and then…bang. It’s over.
In the other I-act shows I’ve done we had our cast party right a week or so after our show, but this time we had it the evening after our final show, which was a matinee. It was nice to know that you were going to see everyone again in just a few hours, but at the same time I feel that if you have the cast party a week or so later it helps to drag out the ‘play mood’ just a little bit longer. Does that make any sense whatsoever?
Anywho, I spent the time in-between the ending of our show and the beginning of the cast party with my wonderful partner in crime, Julia. We got some present shopping done (‘subtly’ buying our christmas presents for each other in front of each other.), and just generally hung out until we finally walked to I-act only twenty minutes earlier than everybody else. (I’m usually in the group that goes to I-act an hour earlier than we need to, since the I-act building is warm, and they don’t mind if you randomly burst out into Shakespearean monologues there.)
As we were standing by the poster so I could dig my Ipod out of my bag of never-terminating-depths a random woman and her kid walked up to us, and said, “Hey, good job on the show last night.”
An extremely simple thing to say, but it made Julia and I feel like rockstar celebrities. (How did she know who we were? Stage Makeup.)
Also up there with the random encounters, was the old guy who walked up to me as I was eating a bagel, and started talking to me in french.
Him: “something really cool and french sounding which means is your bagel yummy, and also why am I randomly talking to you, I don’t really know, don’t question it, I’m french, our logic is beyond your brain cell’s capacity.”
Me: “uh…….I don’t speak french.”
Him: “You don’t speak french? Frowny face.”
Me: “Uh…..um….Je parle anglais, j’étudie francais sur ma ordinateur.” (note: really have no clue if this makes any sense or not. Google translate seems to like it, and it made the old dude happy.)
After a minute or two of this he seemed satisfied, and walked happily off.
Dear Random Old French Man: you made me feel slightly bemused, in a good way.
Alrighty then, I’m going to go drown my end of show sorrows with Neil Gaiman and copious amounts of the Indelicates.