The Week of Opening


March 5, 2006

In LA for the last week of rehearsals, planning to stay with my cousin the first few days, then move to Culver City until the gala. Velina, Zachary, and I land at Burbank, my cousin, Harold, picks us up, and we go off to his house in Northridge. I call Tim to see if rehearsal is still going on, and he says they called it off for the rest of the day because of the Super Bowl, and did I want to come down and watch with them? Lotsa stuff I figured I would never do in life, and watching the Super Bowl with Tim Robbins was right up on that list. Velina and Zachary are pretty out, so I get in the car Harold is lending us - a Ford Explorer - and hit the highway. Now I'm driving an SUV to watch the Super Bowl with Tim Robbins. At this point I wouldn't be surprised if a leprechuan in a bikini started stuffing capers into a purple chicken in the seat next to me. Anything is possible.

I get to the place, Brian Finney's, and there they all are. I haven't seen them in a week, all I've thought about is the show, what they're doing, and they're eating grilled stake and watching the Seahawks get robbed by the officials! Tim comes over, and of course all I can think is "How's the show going?" but I don't want to seem obsessive, so I wait a full twenty seconds before I ask. "Oh, fine. We really found alot of things this past Saturday. Hey, everyone look who's here!" Somebody says "It's the writer!" which is cool to hear, and a backyard full of white people I don't know very well turn and look at me, in my Mime Troupe sweatshirt. At this point everybody's name thankfully floods back into my mind. Yes! V.J.! Brian! Steve! Kylee! Brent! And Keythe, whose names is pronounced "Keith", but who's parents were from Berkeley. Whew! I suck at names, so this is a big deal for me. I mean, these people are very nice - at least no one has pulled me aside to whisper how much they's like to take my internal organs for a trip to the beach - so the least I can do is remember their names! Though sometimes I do feel that V.J. would like to remove my fingers, shuffle them, and put them back in different sockets.

Anyway, the Seahawks lost, I ate some grilled stake, generally had a good time trying to relax and not seem like the the "Who's that guy, really?" guy at the party.


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