The wonder of the theatre

Hello again, my little pyjamas, ohhh ho ho ho have I got a yarn to spin for you this evening. Climb up on daddy's knee and lets have some fun (you are all sick).

Tonight, I went to the theatre (actually I went to the 'theater', but in many ways they are very similar.) I, for 10 of my sweet American shiny-well, papery, at least- dollars, got to see two hours of literally the most bizarre, face scrunching, armpit moistening spectacles I have ever seen in my life. I know you all watched eurovision, so I may have somethingto compete with on the madness front, but really, I'm looking at my hand here, and I'm feelin so damn good I'm reaching for the gold chips. (If by the end of the metaphor you thought I was talking about food, i have, yet again, failed.)

So, to brief you on the venue, it was like quite a scummy- but not impressively scummy- C venue, for those who are noble of the Ed Fringe walk of life. For those who are not, tough. Its late, and I can't be bothered to come up with another comparison. Whatever the words 'C Venue' mean to you now, just picture that in your mind as we do this. If you have dolphins involved, take them out. There are none.

Bearing in mind, as we now all are, the physical limits of the humble lower class C venue, I was alarmed, but rather intriuged, to see a trapeze slowly lower itself down into the tiny black space. Ahh, I thought fondly, the trapeze. At its most impressive when freed of that horribly distracting swinging business.

I was interrupted in my smuggy smug smug train of thought by the sudden appearance of a girl dressed as a garden gnome, with full silvery beard. She climbed onto the trapeze. And then began 'Slowish Vertical Dance of the Incongruent Gnome' (ok fine it was actually called 'Eye of the Tiger', but that makes SO little sense it almost makes me angry, so I'm pretending that the title at least offered me a consoling hand of reason as I slid into a ever deepening pit of baffling.)

The gnome sort of stood on the ropes a bit, stroked her beard quite a lot, and then skipped away, leaving me wondering if she had ever actually been there. Maybe that was the point. (That wasn't the point). As I was trying to process that, a hopelessly eager stagehand (I BET she had a saftey gnome costume and all the moves practised ready to go should gnome 1 sprain her beard.) moved across a projector screen, and a short film, poignantly entitled "bricks" began. The programme had stated proudly that this film had been entirely filmed 'using the Sony Ericsson 810i cell phone'. I quickly realised that I had misread the intention, and what I thought was pride was actually apologetic. I'm pretty sure someone working in a building site had accidently left his phone on film mode, recorded about 8 minutes of mainly wall but with some flashes of sawdust being dropped onto the floor, and had then pressed the 'send to brooklyn theatre festival' button than characterises the 810i. Truly, that is the only logical explanation.

-You see, at this point I was very happy, as I could find perfectly good reasons for how any madness had occurred. But soon, there was no consolation to be found.

I could talk about this event all night, I could tell you tales of fruit basket guarding lizards, of kitchen sink lesbi-dramas that erupt alarmingly into french song, of significantly emotional 'Football' players and their slow motion smoking habits. But I'd feel like I'd be fighting a losing battle. It'd be that bit in tetris where you do the one massive fuck up with the long one, and after that, no matter how you try and keep up, you know in your heart its just not the same. You know when you try to explain to your loved one just WHY the dream with the single potato and the Dove shower gel was so damn frightening, but it just doesn't translate? Yeah. Like that.

So, I will only talk about one more 'piece', though I could go on, I won't, because you're all heartless bastards and don't care that much. But I just want to grant you a small peek into 'Submitted to Pfizer for approval: Dilation #26', a 20 minute exploration of the 'terrifying possibilities' that xray vision could bring for the subject granted it (by eyedrops, somehow. It's theatre! Science has no business here!). I can't really go into the details (no really, I just don't think I have the word skill for it), but safe to say, it turns out that xray vision exploration ends with a half naked woman wrestling a sinister giant eyeball on the floor, while a man in a coat slowly and carefully shreds line drawings of small girls riding horses. I think we all could have come to that conlusion ourselves. Oh God. The massive eyeball. You don't understand. the woman was WRESTLING A MASSIVE EYEBALL. To the soundtrack of Warwick University's production of Macbeth-which I will not go into now. My mind is disturbed enough. I need to go to sleep. Maybe when I wake up it will all have been a dream, and my not being able to explain it properly will seem correct and just.

On another note, I sat next to a chatty-ish man in the theatre, which is fine by me, but I am beginning to get bored. bored of my story. 'oh I'm here doing from england..6 weeks blah blah blah', if ONE more person utters the words 'oh really, what kind of internship?' I think I'm going to eat their hands. This boredom came to a head this evening, when this man asked the question that immediately puts anyone out of the conversation game with me. The question 'So, like, which part of London are you from?' ARGH. I think something went, some fuse, and before I knew what happened, I found myself saying 'Essex, actually. But I live in New York now, been living here for six months'. That's fine, thats ok, I can blag that. He nods. 'oh ok cool. So what do you do?'
Now come on brain, just say you're doing an internship, its ok, just get it over with
'I write for a magazine.'
Thats not really true is it Tash?
'Oh yeah? whats the magazine?'
Whats the magazine, tash?
'Its a theatre magazine..
ok... ok we can handle that-
'theatre.. and cheese'
WHY DID I ADD CHEESE? WHY COULDN'T I BE CONTENT? I am such a twat sometimes I swear to god, i'm so glad I don't know me. You people are idiots.
'Really? Theatre and cheese? Thats AWESOME!'
'Yeah, thanks.'
'So, whats it called?'
Ah. Now. Luckily for me I thrive under pressure, and I have to admit, I was pretty proud of what came out next,
'Its called Ham..let. And cheese- er Sandwich. Hamlet and Cheese Sandwich.'
'Thats AWESOME'
'yes. yes it is.'

Now the sad thing about having a conversation in a theater is that its not like having a conversation in a bar. You can't really subtley glide away in a theatre seat. You can't really go to the toilet and never come back. I've paid my ticket. I'm staying. And now, I'm stuck making small cheese talk to a man I don't know. I was VERY LUCKY in that he obviously knew nothing about either topics, as my theatre knowledge might just have kept me afloat, my cheese knowledge doesn't go beyond 'cheddar is good on crackers' and 'philapdelphia is dead soft'. Sigh. He promised to check out our online publication when he got back. http://www.hamletandcheesesandwich.org/ Maybe it does exist. If not, I hope someday it will.

Thankfully though, there was a conveniently placed eye-wrestling nakeder to attract his attention, and to focus all the possible questions of the universe upon.
And so at the end of the show I managed to slip away,back into my shameful and shadowy non-magaziney darkness, back to my tired old internship, leaving him in suspence, as suspended as a grome-ridden trapeze. Oh lord. I have insane enough dreams when I've been sat at a computer all day long. God only knows whats going to happen tonight.