It's 4:23pm...
...and I'm wedged between printers in the Graphics Lab, with too much whirring for my machinery to work, and I'm trying to decide whether it's Sophocles or Euripedes what knows his stuff more.
We need 250 more programs just to cover tonight's audience. Tomorrow, well, we don't know.
Meanwhile, reservations for Zombie Prom don't stop. We just got a call from a townie lady named Edna Miles Rutherford or some crazy smack like that, who haggled over how many she wanted and had to yell at "Dexter" (her husband, hopefully) about whether he wanted to come to "the zombie show."
The "zombie show," also known in town as "the killer prom," sold out last night and tonight. Plus half a house promised for tomorrow.
We also received a standing ovation last night. We had only choreographed a single group bow, but as we pranced behind the red curtain we got the sense that we could have taken more if we'd wanted to.
I can't remember the last time a Tower Players show got a standing O. It certainly wasn't in 2007.
We enfunkified ourselves last night, too, celebrating like madmen who still had two more performances...so we were very tame madmen. I ate from McDonald's twice. Almost all the alcohol is gone. My laundry's done, too.
It's like the last night in the bar. The world ends soon, but we'll cry in May; in the meanwho, how's about a tink and a tank, a coup d'etat of Russian stank, freaking fronking frinking franks, dilly-dally dosie-do, hey nonny-nonny and a ho-ho-ho--hey a hey-hey-hey, poems of prose and posies for pills, cures for all the nation's ills, soon to be going slightly batty in the downtown of Cincinnati: Gahoonka B. Downey said to the little man on the horse, "Of course you say you ride like the wind, but your ride is made of hay," to which the little man on the horse replied, "Hay? Nay, hey, hi-ho and away!" and he flew in his mind to a sky like the sea, where he ruled his fair kingdom with Annabell Lee, a humphada-hee barumph dinky-dee.
What I mean is, "Here's to us."
We need 250 more programs just to cover tonight's audience. Tomorrow, well, we don't know.
Meanwhile, reservations for Zombie Prom don't stop. We just got a call from a townie lady named Edna Miles Rutherford or some crazy smack like that, who haggled over how many she wanted and had to yell at "Dexter" (her husband, hopefully) about whether he wanted to come to "the zombie show."
The "zombie show," also known in town as "the killer prom," sold out last night and tonight. Plus half a house promised for tomorrow.
We also received a standing ovation last night. We had only choreographed a single group bow, but as we pranced behind the red curtain we got the sense that we could have taken more if we'd wanted to.
I can't remember the last time a Tower Players show got a standing O. It certainly wasn't in 2007.
We enfunkified ourselves last night, too, celebrating like madmen who still had two more performances...so we were very tame madmen. I ate from McDonald's twice. Almost all the alcohol is gone. My laundry's done, too.
It's like the last night in the bar. The world ends soon, but we'll cry in May; in the meanwho, how's about a tink and a tank, a coup d'etat of Russian stank, freaking fronking frinking franks, dilly-dally dosie-do, hey nonny-nonny and a ho-ho-ho--hey a hey-hey-hey, poems of prose and posies for pills, cures for all the nation's ills, soon to be going slightly batty in the downtown of Cincinnati: Gahoonka B. Downey said to the little man on the horse, "Of course you say you ride like the wind, but your ride is made of hay," to which the little man on the horse replied, "Hay? Nay, hey, hi-ho and away!" and he flew in his mind to a sky like the sea, where he ruled his fair kingdom with Annabell Lee, a humphada-hee barumph dinky-dee.
What I mean is, "Here's to us."