Technical Theater
Before I wrap up the RT Experience, I wanted to quickly note that Publisher's Weekly reviewed Street Magic in today's issue:
Kittredge (the Nocturne City series) knows how to create a believable world, and her fans will enjoy the mix of magic and city grit. (Scroll down to the Mass Market section to read the whole thing.)
You know, I'll take it. This is the first time PW picked up a series I've written so there was a lot of excited! gesturing! going on in the hotel room when the email popped up.
And speaking of gestures...
That right there is the Mr. Romance pageant. Cover models prance around with Franklin Mint props, and romance readers cheer them on with a fervor usually found only among senior citizens ordering a free Grand Slam at Denny's. About the time somebody (female, defying the odds) got up and broke out the show tunes, I escaped.
Oh, and one of the contestants worked in "technical theater" (you know, like Liz Lemon.) How I wish I knew how much those words would define the rest of the trip...
This pirate show was, indeed, technically theater. But only in the way that Velveeta is technically cheese.
I think my Twitter from that night is full of tidbits like "I'm fairly sure real pirates sang fewer show tunes" and "I didn't know they had trampolines on the high seas", but I can't be sure. Having endured dinner theater before, I made sure I was good and pissed before we had our seating.
And of course, we got the section with the French pirate, who's crowning moment in the show came when he ripped his shirt off and demanded to be "Feeeeerst mahte of zees sheeeip."
You think that'd be enough punishment for both my liver and my higher cognitive functions, but no.
Richelle and I moved to a hotel near The Happiest Evil Empire on Earth for a couple days of working vacation after the manic hug-fest that was the RT con. Since the Empire is the only place that has any remotely edible food nearby, I ended up in this:
A grotto at the Rainforest Cafe that looks supiciously like Candy Mountain.
Not to mention I ordered the most PC drink ever placed on a menu, "Jungle Fever". A standard (and weak) bloody Mary redeemed by one factor: there were potato chips on top.
They were delicious.
Originally published at Caitlin Kittredge.
Kittredge (the Nocturne City series) knows how to create a believable world, and her fans will enjoy the mix of magic and city grit. (Scroll down to the Mass Market section to read the whole thing.)
You know, I'll take it. This is the first time PW picked up a series I've written so there was a lot of excited! gesturing! going on in the hotel room when the email popped up.
And speaking of gestures...
That right there is the Mr. Romance pageant. Cover models prance around with Franklin Mint props, and romance readers cheer them on with a fervor usually found only among senior citizens ordering a free Grand Slam at Denny's. About the time somebody (female, defying the odds) got up and broke out the show tunes, I escaped.
Oh, and one of the contestants worked in "technical theater" (you know, like Liz Lemon.) How I wish I knew how much those words would define the rest of the trip...
This pirate show was, indeed, technically theater. But only in the way that Velveeta is technically cheese.
I think my Twitter from that night is full of tidbits like "I'm fairly sure real pirates sang fewer show tunes" and "I didn't know they had trampolines on the high seas", but I can't be sure. Having endured dinner theater before, I made sure I was good and pissed before we had our seating.
And of course, we got the section with the French pirate, who's crowning moment in the show came when he ripped his shirt off and demanded to be "Feeeeerst mahte of zees sheeeip."
You think that'd be enough punishment for both my liver and my higher cognitive functions, but no.
Richelle and I moved to a hotel near The Happiest Evil Empire on Earth for a couple days of working vacation after the manic hug-fest that was the RT con. Since the Empire is the only place that has any remotely edible food nearby, I ended up in this:
A grotto at the Rainforest Cafe that looks supiciously like Candy Mountain.
Not to mention I ordered the most PC drink ever placed on a menu, "Jungle Fever". A standard (and weak) bloody Mary redeemed by one factor: there were potato chips on top.
They were delicious.
Originally published at Caitlin Kittredge.