comedy; dreams; hemlock not included
May. 22nd, 2003 11:05 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
quislibetI stayed at work later than usual yesterday to finish an editing project, hoping I could be done by 7:30 in order to get to Inman Square to see ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ta_chuang's improv troupe perform. The boss, also headed to Cambridge at about that time, offered to pay for a cab for both of us, but he was headed to Widener Library and it wasn't so very convenient for me. I printed out my project at about twenty 'til and took my very own cab.
The small theater was, as you might expect, full of Canadian middle school students, making it difficult but not, in the end, impossible forfrederic and dirtyknees, who arrived after me, to find a seat (let alone two).
The first troupe was all right, although I didn't fully follow the rules of their format, and some of their improvised sketches suffered from excessive length (to the point that one of the Canadian 14-year-olds behind me would exclaim "thank you" whenever other cast members interrupted the sketch with a new one).
Klae's troupe came next with more familiar short-form improv, and they were quite good, dealing pretty well with the Canadian kids'
strange fixation on "pizza" as an all-purpose suggestion.
Afterwards, Frederic and Dirtyknees and I grabbed dinner (by which I mean ice cream) next door. They were kind enough to drive me to Lechmere Station, where, with a naive optimism that really should have been eliminated by eleven years of dealing with the MBTA, I thought that 25 minutes would be plenty of time to go the two stops to North Station in time for my train to Salem. I did catch my train, but only with a minute to spare, after one trolley had departed Lechmere devoid of passengers, and the next sat idle for ten minutes while three different drivers wandered around the station (one with his fly open) in a listless zombie-like state.
---
In one dream, I was in some sort of John-Hughes-high-school-movie environment. Doug W., a friend from elementary school I have not seen since 1985 or so, and I were done up like gothic versions of Ducky from "Pretty in Pink." Cat B., certainly not someone I knew in high school, was there as well in a red corset, along with some girl apparently invented for the dream whose name I never caught, although of course she was a close friend. We would all hang out at the yuppie organic supermarket, and hilarity ensued.
In the other dream I can almost remember (I *think* it was supposed to be a different one) there was a sinister poultry farmer who, relying on his vast chicken-based wealth, ruled the county extra-legally with a figurative iron hand and with quite literal doomsday devices. Even a tomcat who had assaulted one of his chickens was strapped into some sort of mind-control chair (little cat-sized colander helmet and all) as punishment. I am not sure quite how I figured into all of this, but I'd like to think I was there to bring an end to his reign of terror.
The other night I had a particularly strange dream, but now all I can remember is that I knew I was dreaming and kept taking notes for a livejournal entry about it. Sadly, the notes do not exist on this side of the Wall of Sleep.
---
I think we will need to review this book for the journal. The author apparently also frequently appears, at planned events or at random, dressed as Socrates, to talk about virtue and patriotism and honesty and stuff with interested parties or just passersby.
ta_chuang's improv troupe perform. The boss, also headed to Cambridge at about that time, offered to pay for a cab for both of us, but he was headed to Widener Library and it wasn't so very convenient for me. I printed out my project at about twenty 'til and took my very own cab. The small theater was, as you might expect, full of Canadian middle school students, making it difficult but not, in the end, impossible for
frederic and dirtyknees, who arrived after me, to find a seat (let alone two).The first troupe was all right, although I didn't fully follow the rules of their format, and some of their improvised sketches suffered from excessive length (to the point that one of the Canadian 14-year-olds behind me would exclaim "thank you" whenever other cast members interrupted the sketch with a new one).
Klae's troupe came next with more familiar short-form improv, and they were quite good, dealing pretty well with the Canadian kids'
strange fixation on "pizza" as an all-purpose suggestion.
Afterwards, Frederic and Dirtyknees and I grabbed dinner (by which I mean ice cream) next door. They were kind enough to drive me to Lechmere Station, where, with a naive optimism that really should have been eliminated by eleven years of dealing with the MBTA, I thought that 25 minutes would be plenty of time to go the two stops to North Station in time for my train to Salem. I did catch my train, but only with a minute to spare, after one trolley had departed Lechmere devoid of passengers, and the next sat idle for ten minutes while three different drivers wandered around the station (one with his fly open) in a listless zombie-like state.
---
In one dream, I was in some sort of John-Hughes-high-school-movie environment. Doug W., a friend from elementary school I have not seen since 1985 or so, and I were done up like gothic versions of Ducky from "Pretty in Pink." Cat B., certainly not someone I knew in high school, was there as well in a red corset, along with some girl apparently invented for the dream whose name I never caught, although of course she was a close friend. We would all hang out at the yuppie organic supermarket, and hilarity ensued.
In the other dream I can almost remember (I *think* it was supposed to be a different one) there was a sinister poultry farmer who, relying on his vast chicken-based wealth, ruled the county extra-legally with a figurative iron hand and with quite literal doomsday devices. Even a tomcat who had assaulted one of his chickens was strapped into some sort of mind-control chair (little cat-sized colander helmet and all) as punishment. I am not sure quite how I figured into all of this, but I'd like to think I was there to bring an end to his reign of terror.
The other night I had a particularly strange dream, but now all I can remember is that I knew I was dreaming and kept taking notes for a livejournal entry about it. Sadly, the notes do not exist on this side of the Wall of Sleep.
---
I think we will need to review this book for the journal. The author apparently also frequently appears, at planned events or at random, dressed as Socrates, to talk about virtue and patriotism and honesty and stuff with interested parties or just passersby.
