Fine. You handle it. I'll just watch the show.
This is what I said to the LD/ME of NOTE last night in my crazy dream.
After sitting through approximately twenty-eight hours of Ridley Scott's Robin Hood, and tossing and turning to half of Treasure Island before drifting to sleep, I figured I'd have some swashbuckling, violent, somewhat-sexy dreams involving Bale or (please, no) Crowe. Totes did not expect to dream about 'running' a fringe-style production of Hamlet, only to get frustrated at the last second because out lighting tech never programmed the cues for the show... which I didn't find out until I went to give the cast their 'two minutes.' I chatted with the Hamlet and Ophelia for a moment, then before I could call 'places,' the first actor on stage just decided he'd start the show. So I tromped back to the booth already annoyed, only to see the lighting designer/tech there fading up individual lights and frantically flipping through a script. When I asked him, not surprisingly, what the fuck had happened (as he was running lights live while programming upcoming cues on the fly), he replied he'd set up a time for them to come in and program the show, it just didn't happen. He then started throwing a hissy about me not helping in the booth -- as though I could call a show completely blind because he didn't have the foresight to, at the very least, make something up in advance. Hence my reply. And I did it. I actually walked out of the booth in my dream and alternated between standing in the back during the performance and going backstage to hang with the cast.
Oh yeah, the cast... see, I probably would have seen this dream as much more of a bad omen of some kind (and did it ever make me thankful I'm NOT doing any tech for the Fringe Festival), were it not for the Hamlet of this piece. Ten-inch was my Hamlet. And he wasn't the Doctor, or DI Carlisle, or Barty Crouch, Jr. He was just simply David.
Yeah.
Good dream.
And all that (mostly) happened was him being a very nice guy and us engaging in very affectionate theatre shenanigans. Mostly ;)
After sitting through approximately twenty-eight hours of Ridley Scott's Robin Hood, and tossing and turning to half of Treasure Island before drifting to sleep, I figured I'd have some swashbuckling, violent, somewhat-sexy dreams involving Bale or (please, no) Crowe. Totes did not expect to dream about 'running' a fringe-style production of Hamlet, only to get frustrated at the last second because out lighting tech never programmed the cues for the show... which I didn't find out until I went to give the cast their 'two minutes.' I chatted with the Hamlet and Ophelia for a moment, then before I could call 'places,' the first actor on stage just decided he'd start the show. So I tromped back to the booth already annoyed, only to see the lighting designer/tech there fading up individual lights and frantically flipping through a script. When I asked him, not surprisingly, what the fuck had happened (as he was running lights live while programming upcoming cues on the fly), he replied he'd set up a time for them to come in and program the show, it just didn't happen. He then started throwing a hissy about me not helping in the booth -- as though I could call a show completely blind because he didn't have the foresight to, at the very least, make something up in advance. Hence my reply. And I did it. I actually walked out of the booth in my dream and alternated between standing in the back during the performance and going backstage to hang with the cast.
Oh yeah, the cast... see, I probably would have seen this dream as much more of a bad omen of some kind (and did it ever make me thankful I'm NOT doing any tech for the Fringe Festival), were it not for the Hamlet of this piece. Ten-inch was my Hamlet. And he wasn't the Doctor, or DI Carlisle, or Barty Crouch, Jr. He was just simply David.
Yeah.
Good dream.
And all that (mostly) happened was him being a very nice guy and us engaging in very affectionate theatre shenanigans. Mostly ;)