T.E.C.H.

[Last night was our tech rehearsal.  Enjoy the following account from Mr. Mark "Marquis de Sade" Peters.]

John was too busy doing awesome things like BEING IN THE FREAKING SECOND CITY CONSERVATORY LIKE A GODDAMN ROCK STAR to attend our rehearsal Sunday night. [Not quite, but fuck it.] Thus, I am filling in for him this week, as a blogger, a historian, and a husband. [Wait?! What?!]

For myself—and Ben and Shane—the night began at the Old Town Ale House, where bourbon was sipped and tales were told of the days of old or whatever.

We then moved on to class for the final full rehearsal before the show, followed by the tech rehearsal. Unfortunately, one of our actors was sick. The actor in question was a lady, which led to much hilarity and horror as I subbed for her during the first run-through. For me, the highlights included being in a succubus sandwich with the lovely Brigid and Michelle, and then having my delicate hand licked by the piercing tongue of Sam. What the rehearsal lacked in progress, it made up for in ridiculousness, which was kinda beneficial to a somewhat stressed-out  group. For me, the pre-rehearsal bourbon proved to be a very good choice.

For tech, we got into the actual theater, and I passed the fill-in actor baton to Brian—a time traveler from the fifties, if you didn’t know—and sat in the booth with the techmeister (I forgot his name) and Laura (the soundmeister). The booth smelled like a combination of Jim Belushi’s ass and Tina Fey’s used tampons.

I’ve read Lorne Michaels likes to say, of Saturday Night Live, something like “The show doesn’t go on because it’s ready. It’s goes on because it’s 11:30.” We probably need to embrace that philosophy with this show. It ain’t gonna be perfect, but it should be good. At this point, we are so sick of the sketches that they seem as funny as a kitten raping a puppy. It will be good for these sketches to be heard by fresh ears.

Or as John’s sister likes to say, “You’re not a cop, are you?” [Damn you, Mark. I'm not even going to remark that either of my sisters could kick your ass, because you'd just beg me to make it happen.]

[Read more of Mark's sweet nothings at http://wordlust.blogspot.com/. If you're a woman (or reasonably passable she-male), please knock his boots.  He needs it.]