You weren't there? Well, you didn't get to see David Schmader's stunningly spot on ode to bad theater experiences, for one thing. You also didn't get to see that entire cast nail it, every single one of them, with all due kudos for the direction. The next thing you missed was Keira MacDonald in Marcy Rodenborn's* Birds Fly. Then Scotto Moore's scifi hilarity. Then a double date with your subconscious.
And that's just the first act. Then there's the second act.
After all of that has taken place, there's the massive hanging out of everyone involved, past and present. The history in the room. The new connections made. The people who worked vigorously for well over 48 hours, dealing with all of the stresses and pressures; they finally get to release. What they all have in common is the shared experience with everyone else in the room.
Veteran and Mazen Award Winner Charles Smith looks at the scene around him and remembers when it was being done at Seattle Mime on the top floor at Oddfellows Hall.
Paul Mullin congratulates Jonah Von Spreecken on his virgin weekend, Schmader gets talked into one last shot of Jose Cuervo, and Tim Moore rounds up the band so that cigarettes can be had. And there are the Sanders, and Fullerton, and Davidson, and Toms, and Moon, Wooster-Brown, Viertel, Tagavilla, Middleton, Poole, MacDonald, Jordan, Janusz, Keene, Walsh, Hyland, James, Lass, O'Connor, Belyea, Witmer, Gonzales, Butler, Van Heel, Harris, Ahiers, Bell, Schwartz, Jensen, Rodenborn, Lloyd, Kuhlman, La Plant and on and on and on and on.
It's a blast, and telling you all about it now serves no one.
It happens and then it's gone. Until July.
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