to say nothing of the dog

Friday, October 01, 2004


I've been smacked in the face by the Boogerman this past week (thanks to Adam and his indefatigable, incessant, to the point of despair, neglecting his health--AND MINE--studying) . The Boogerman brings with him tidings of wheezing nights and slow, dragging days, of inspection of kleenex to see if the booger is the welcome clear of infection's end, or the orange of brain explosion. Also known as sinus infection.

Mostly, it's been green.

This came at a most unwelcome time--though I honestly don't know when a welcome time would be. This week, I interviewed someone for the stage manager position. I have to fill this job. HAVE TO. I suck at scheduling shows. Oddly, scheduling is not a problem for any day jobs, but scheduling rehearsals fills me with panic and fear. Just ask the Coyote, who's been on the receiving end of some last minute "Okay, we're meeting here. Give me a call. No, wait, here. Give Adam a call, you know I don't have a cell-phone. And by the way, if you don't show up, I will think that your mothers raped the earth by sowing it with salt, and I will never never never come to your bar and get blindingly drunk again. So there. Yeah. Bye." Maybe that's why he didn't show up that time.


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