For the first time in the history of Gorefest, we're creating a music video.
The video features the opening number1 from this year's Gorefest, Cirque De Slaughté. It was filmed this past weekend under the direction of Matt McLaughlin.
Here's a sneak peek:
>Featuring: (front row) Jenna O'Brien, Jenny Foster (rear row) Natalie Cowell and Deana Tolliver
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1: The Show Must Go On, music and lyrics by Steve Gilbane
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Monday, September 27, 2010
Scientific Method
Johnny Blazes describes hirself as a bricoleur, an artist who uses materials on hand to create new works. And ze has done it again. Blazes has collaborated with local artist/performer Madge of Honor to put together a new monthly show in Boston, the likes of which you will have never seen, and won't be able to see twice.
The show, which is aptly named Hypothesis, is a showcase of all kinds of performers (poets, songwriters, jugglers, burlesque dancers, etc). Here's the catch, each performer is challenged by Blazes and Madge to create a brand new performance piece that is both entertaining and intellectually engaging. The challenge to the artists changes each month.
Last Tuesday, 9/21, the theme was "Reinvention." Performers were asked to perform a classic piece in the first half of the show, a piece they had performed before and that they knew was successful. In the second half, the performers presented a re-invented version of the same work, changing mood, perspective or media in order to bring new meaning to the art.
The night featured performances from Kirby Bits (drag/burlesque), Ben Reynolds (object manipulation), Alicia Greene (poetry and dance), and Simon Rios (singer/songwriter/guitarplayer), and of course from Johnny Blazes and Madge of Honor. After the show the Audio Chemists rocked a dance party until wee hours while guests sipped on fluorescent elixirs.
The show was amazing and I am so glad I went. Each artist's attempt at subverting themselves in their re-invention of their "classic" piece, was met with laughter, gasps, tears, murmured affirmations, and sometimes even outright shouts of delight from the crowd.
Others acts, such as Reynold's unbelievably fluid object manipulation and Johnny's character piece were filtered through a change in mood.
Johnny performed hir classic piece in which ze enthusiastically puts clothes ON to the song "I'm Bringing Sexy Back." In the second act Johnny re-entered in a fit of emotional agony, having been rejected by an unseen partner. Ze followed all of hir original choreography, only this time hir movements were set to "Cry Me a River," and included clown-sized displays of sorrow and despair, which brought both loud "awws," and laughter from the audience.
Other artists took the idea of self subversion to a very personal level. Simon Rios presented a song in the first act that was an open letter to a friend of his who is suffering from alcoholism. And in the second act, Simon sang a song from his friend's point of view. In this imaginary response, Rios took on his friend's voice and accused himself of a laundry list of faults. As he sang the audience listened thoughtfully, and I believe, listened without judging him. I looked around and saw people nodding their heads, wiping tears from their eyes. And when he was finished the cheering shook the Midway.
One of the highlights of the night for me was watching Madge of Honor's re-invented version of a piece I'll call "Bounce." In the original burlesque piece Madge's* tassel-twirling skills are comically rendered in a dance that never gets to progress past the first few measures of the song as the soundtrack continues to reset itself. In the second half Madge performed the same piece, but with an easel holding up a giant pad of paper. On the sheets Madge carefully had prepared an "Inner Monologue" in thick black marker. As the dance progressed, Madge removed sheet by sheet to reveal Madge's thought process. Some of the thoughts were comical, and others were self -disparaging. The crowd got into it, yelling responses to the revelations, and the piece quickly became interactive in a way that challenged the audience to look at their own perspectives on the art of burlesque.
I think this project is a wonderful idea, and I'm not just saying it because Blazes is an old and dear friend of mine. Asking creators to think about what message they are sending in their art produces bold and inspiring new works, that might otherwise not have come into being.
There's no other show in Boston where you will cry as a songwriter bemoans himself for his hypocrisy, and moments later laugh out loud as a drag queen grandiosely gestures towards her tiny, sparkled, limp member.
I can't wait to see what's cooked up in the lab next month.
The next Hypothesis will be tested in October with the theme of "Matter/AntiMatter."
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
* Because I do not know which pronouns Madge prefers I am going to refer to Madge as Madge throughout this section so please bear with me.
The show, which is aptly named Hypothesis, is a showcase of all kinds of performers (poets, songwriters, jugglers, burlesque dancers, etc). Here's the catch, each performer is challenged by Blazes and Madge to create a brand new performance piece that is both entertaining and intellectually engaging. The challenge to the artists changes each month.
Last Tuesday, 9/21, the theme was "Reinvention." Performers were asked to perform a classic piece in the first half of the show, a piece they had performed before and that they knew was successful. In the second half, the performers presented a re-invented version of the same work, changing mood, perspective or media in order to bring new meaning to the art.
The night featured performances from Kirby Bits (drag/burlesque), Ben Reynolds (object manipulation), Alicia Greene (poetry and dance), and Simon Rios (singer/songwriter/guitarplayer), and of course from Johnny Blazes and Madge of Honor. After the show the Audio Chemists rocked a dance party until wee hours while guests sipped on fluorescent elixirs.
The show was amazing and I am so glad I went. Each artist's attempt at subverting themselves in their re-invention of their "classic" piece, was met with laughter, gasps, tears, murmured affirmations, and sometimes even outright shouts of delight from the crowd.
Others acts, such as Reynold's unbelievably fluid object manipulation and Johnny's character piece were filtered through a change in mood.
Johnny performed hir classic piece in which ze enthusiastically puts clothes ON to the song "I'm Bringing Sexy Back." In the second act Johnny re-entered in a fit of emotional agony, having been rejected by an unseen partner. Ze followed all of hir original choreography, only this time hir movements were set to "Cry Me a River," and included clown-sized displays of sorrow and despair, which brought both loud "awws," and laughter from the audience.
Other artists took the idea of self subversion to a very personal level. Simon Rios presented a song in the first act that was an open letter to a friend of his who is suffering from alcoholism. And in the second act, Simon sang a song from his friend's point of view. In this imaginary response, Rios took on his friend's voice and accused himself of a laundry list of faults. As he sang the audience listened thoughtfully, and I believe, listened without judging him. I looked around and saw people nodding their heads, wiping tears from their eyes. And when he was finished the cheering shook the Midway.
One of the highlights of the night for me was watching Madge of Honor's re-invented version of a piece I'll call "Bounce." In the original burlesque piece Madge's* tassel-twirling skills are comically rendered in a dance that never gets to progress past the first few measures of the song as the soundtrack continues to reset itself. In the second half Madge performed the same piece, but with an easel holding up a giant pad of paper. On the sheets Madge carefully had prepared an "Inner Monologue" in thick black marker. As the dance progressed, Madge removed sheet by sheet to reveal Madge's thought process. Some of the thoughts were comical, and others were self -disparaging. The crowd got into it, yelling responses to the revelations, and the piece quickly became interactive in a way that challenged the audience to look at their own perspectives on the art of burlesque.
I think this project is a wonderful idea, and I'm not just saying it because Blazes is an old and dear friend of mine. Asking creators to think about what message they are sending in their art produces bold and inspiring new works, that might otherwise not have come into being.
There's no other show in Boston where you will cry as a songwriter bemoans himself for his hypocrisy, and moments later laugh out loud as a drag queen grandiosely gestures towards her tiny, sparkled, limp member.
I can't wait to see what's cooked up in the lab next month.
The next Hypothesis will be tested in October with the theme of "Matter/AntiMatter."
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
* Because I do not know which pronouns Madge prefers I am going to refer to Madge as Madge throughout this section so please bear with me.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Canine Connections
Speaking of Connectors, last Saturday, the 18th, I had the pleasure of attending a show at The Green Briar in Brighton. My friend Cage was opening for Lulu's In Crisis. Cage invited our friend Conor Shanhan to play for part of his set. After Cage played for a few minutes he called Conor up on stage and I watched the two of them raise their pint glasses and smile as they traded places at the microphone.
Cage is a major Connector. He has worked a wide variety of jobs, and lived in, and traveled to many places. He makes friends (and acquaintances) quickly and easily, and keeps contact with them. He's been doing it since before online social networking was a thing, and the existence of MySpace, and now Facebook has only made it easier for him to create fabulous new connections. Cage can sometimes make me look like a hermit by comparison,* but I'm still pretty good.
When I was in The Diary of Anne Frank in 2001 at Riverside Theater in Boston, Cage played Mr. Frank to my Anne. We became very close that year, and he became like a father to me after my own father passed away in 2003. Meanwhile, I had met Conor S. when I was a freshman in college. He was in the sketch troupe, and I was in the improv troupe. By 2005 we would be roommates in a 3-apartment farm house with seven other friends. Now Conor and Cage are friends through me, and this is the second performance gig Cage has arranged for Conor.
Just as I was patting myself on the back for making this obviously perfect introduction, Conor took the microphone in hand between songs and offered an explanation for how he'd come here.
And I started to laugh.
He recalled how a really special spirit had aligned him and Cage. He had lived with me, and I lived with... a beagle. Lucy was actually one of Cage's two beagles. After Christmas that year Cage gave me the beautiful gift of sending her to live with me, to chase away the Pioneer Valley Winter Blues.
Lucy quickly became the Queen of the house and of our circle of friends. She had many fans who would stop by the house just to say hi, or to ask if they could take her out for a walk. Conor started a facebook group called I Love Lucy, and many of our friends joined in order to upload photos of videos of her. Cage joined the group as well, and identified himself as Lucy's dad. Conor sent a message to him right away, thanking him for allowing Lucy into our lives.
That message was the beginning of many messages back and forth between Conor and Cage. They met in person one time after that, and have been friends ever since.
"Lucy is no longer with us," Conor informed the crowd somberly. "But her amazing spirit lives on. This is for Lucy," and he bowed his head and began a heartbreaking rendition of Tom Wait's "Picture in a Frame."
Later on Cage mentioned to me not for the first time, how talented Conor is. He plans to get Conor a spot playing in Boston more often. Later I saw him introducing Conor to the owner of the bar, and I felt a surge of happiness, and some pride at having a hand in this chain of events.
Then I realized that in this case the Connector was actually a small and gregarious beagle named Lucy.
-------------------------------------
* Although his secret seems to be that on Sundays he sometimes refuses to pick up the phone or allow any visitors, preferring to sit alone in his house watching football with his dogs.
** You may have read or heard me refer to Cage as Pim, which is what Anne Frank called her father. This way Dad and Pim each get a name.
Friday, September 24, 2010
Connecting
Lois Weisburg ran a drama troupe in Chicago in the 1950s. From there, her love of George Bernard Shaw led her to start publishing a newspaper devoted his work, which became an underground weekly. When that paper went under she got a job doing PR for a rehab program. From there she got work at a public interest law firm and then became so aware of some of the issues facing the community that she began lobbying for Chicago's Parks first, and then for the South Shore Railroad. She worked for the government for a while, then quit and ran a flea market stand. She later went on to become the Commissioner of Cultural Affairs for the city of Chicago.
Lois Weisburg is one of my new personal heroes. That synopsis of her life is wildly abbreviated. When I am in my 80s, I want the list of things I've done to look like that. I want to start now.
In The Tipping Point, Malcolm Gladwell discusses the way social epidemics (trends in consumerism, fashion, and other aspects of pop culture) come into existence. Along the way he touches upon the critical involvement of three categories of people: Mavens, Salesmen and Connectors.
Connectors know a lot of people. They have "an extraordinary knack of making friends and acquaintances." *
But, Malcolm points out, Connectors are important because of the may different types of people they know. They do not , for example, just know hundreds of people who do what they do, but they have contacts in many different areas of specialty and niche, and can connect them with great results. As he puts it "by having a foot in so many different worlds, they have the effect of bringing them all together."**
He goes on to point out that "weak ties," or acquaintances, (as opposed to close friends), are more important when it comes to networking and connecting. This was shown in a study by sociologist Mark Granovetter in 1974 called Getting a Job. The reason is, as Gladwell explains, your acquaintances are likely to know people that you don't know, whereas your close friends occupy the same world that you do.
Connectors are important in the spread of social epidemics, professional networking, and - as seen in Weisburg's work - community change.
He goes on to point out that "weak ties," or acquaintances, (as opposed to close friends), are more important when it comes to networking and connecting. This was shown in a study by sociologist Mark Granovetter in 1974 called Getting a Job. The reason is, as Gladwell explains, your acquaintances are likely to know people that you don't know, whereas your close friends occupy the same world that you do.
Connectors are important in the spread of social epidemics, professional networking, and - as seen in Weisburg's work - community change.
The Tipping Point was published in 2002, which predates online social networking sites such as Twitter and Facebook. These sites are in and of themselves a social epidemic (why not orkut?). But, besides that, with the ease of "friending" and "following" so many different people, I suspect that many people may find themselves in the position of being a Connector who otherwise wouldn't have been.***
Regardless, I do believe there are many Connectors out there who would be doing their thing with or without social media technology.
Regardless, I do believe there are many Connectors out there who would be doing their thing with or without social media technology.
I consider myself a Connector. I have many friends whom I recognize as Connectors. The whole "extraordinary knack of making friends..." thing comes easily to most performers. Plus most performers who also have a day job have the advantage of a foot in at least two different worlds right there. The more odd jobs we do to pay rent, and more strange gigs we take on in the name of love of our craft, the more worlds we can be a bridge to.
Lois Weisburg, Gladwell says, is a "classic connector," because she lived in so many worlds and brought them together. That was the key not only to her success, but to the success of every program and project she launched.
I wonder if, when The Paper went under, did Weisburg stress and angst over whether to start another newspaper or whether to just go for the PR job? Or did the decision come easily to her, the obvious next step?
I have a lot of trouble sometimes deciding whether to identify as a performer or a healthcare worker. But my strength comes from involvement in both these two worlds, as well as the many others I dabble in and visit.
My ability to make and keep connections, and to share connections with others has yielded some wonderful collaborations in my life so far. Modest collaborations, for sure, but the patterns are heartening nonetheless.
I hope to create positive social change by utilizing the energy and power of the multiple worlds I live in, instead of feeling pressured to fit myself into one career path at the moment. With the right forces behind me, maybe I can follow in the meandering footsteps of Lois Weisburg.
And in the meantime, you and I should get a cup of coffee. Text me later.
Lois Weisburg, Gladwell says, is a "classic connector," because she lived in so many worlds and brought them together. That was the key not only to her success, but to the success of every program and project she launched.
I wonder if, when The Paper went under, did Weisburg stress and angst over whether to start another newspaper or whether to just go for the PR job? Or did the decision come easily to her, the obvious next step?
I have a lot of trouble sometimes deciding whether to identify as a performer or a healthcare worker. But my strength comes from involvement in both these two worlds, as well as the many others I dabble in and visit.
My ability to make and keep connections, and to share connections with others has yielded some wonderful collaborations in my life so far. Modest collaborations, for sure, but the patterns are heartening nonetheless.
I hope to create positive social change by utilizing the energy and power of the multiple worlds I live in, instead of feeling pressured to fit myself into one career path at the moment. With the right forces behind me, maybe I can follow in the meandering footsteps of Lois Weisburg.
And in the meantime, you and I should get a cup of coffee. Text me later.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
*The Tipping Point, page 40** The Tipping Point page 51; also... you have to have a LOT of feet to be an awesome Connector.
*** Likewise websites like Yelp.com give a voice to people who otherwise would not have become Salesmen. And shouldn't have.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Where is MischMash?
Honestly, everyone, the real reason I haven't been updating is because this game of Assassins just got so intense for the past week that I have been too busy to write.
How am I supposed to write when I need to be hiding in the backseat of old cars in the North End wearing a Boy George wig?
Last night in an epic show of brute strength my assassin assassinated me, in front of a crowd of seriously useless bystanders.
Some of my friends thanked my assassin because now they can go places with me this weekend without me acting delusional - pointing my water gun at bushes when exiting or entering a building, wearing disguises, obsessively checking over my shoulder at all time et cetera et cetera.
The minute I locked eyes with my assassin was one of the strangest moments of my life. And I do realize I am still talking about a made up game here. Still, for a week straight I had been imagining this person everywhere, and then THERE THEY WERE. I was expecting the moment to come, and it did and it felt like the moment when you're in a nightmare and you realize you're in the nightmare and you know what comes next and you can't stop it. I slapped this person after I got sprayed, that's how shocked I was.
Anyway. Back to my real grown up life now. Have I mentioned yet that I am the wound care nurse at work now? Just while our real wound care nurse is on leave. But still. Wound Care. It's one of my favorite things to do, and I get to dedicate eight hours of my time to it every Tuesday.
Time to put away my water gun and pick up my 35 cc syringe with 18 g needle attached.*
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
* I'm a better aim with the syringe anyway. Wound care jokes!
How am I supposed to write when I need to be hiding in the backseat of old cars in the North End wearing a Boy George wig?
Last night in an epic show of brute strength my assassin assassinated me, in front of a crowd of seriously useless bystanders.
Some of my friends thanked my assassin because now they can go places with me this weekend without me acting delusional - pointing my water gun at bushes when exiting or entering a building, wearing disguises, obsessively checking over my shoulder at all time et cetera et cetera.
The minute I locked eyes with my assassin was one of the strangest moments of my life. And I do realize I am still talking about a made up game here. Still, for a week straight I had been imagining this person everywhere, and then THERE THEY WERE. I was expecting the moment to come, and it did and it felt like the moment when you're in a nightmare and you realize you're in the nightmare and you know what comes next and you can't stop it. I slapped this person after I got sprayed, that's how shocked I was.
Anyway. Back to my real grown up life now. Have I mentioned yet that I am the wound care nurse at work now? Just while our real wound care nurse is on leave. But still. Wound Care. It's one of my favorite things to do, and I get to dedicate eight hours of my time to it every Tuesday.
Time to put away my water gun and pick up my 35 cc syringe with 18 g needle attached.*
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
* I'm a better aim with the syringe anyway. Wound care jokes!
Monday, September 6, 2010
Classic Water
In honor of Labor Day, my favorite poem by David Berman:"Classic Water"
I remember Kitty saying we shared a deep longing for
the consolation prize, laughing as we rinsed the stagecoach.
I remember the night we camped out
and I heard her whisper
"think of me as a place" from her sleeping bag
with the centaur print.
I remember being in her father's basement workshop
when we picked up an unknown man sobbing
over the shortwave radio
and the night we got so high we convinced ourselves
that the road was a hologram projected by the headlight beams.
I remember how she would always get everyone to vote
on what we should do next and the time she said
"all water is classic water" and shyly turned her face away.
At volleyball games her parents sat in the bleachers
like ambassadors from Indiana in all their midwestern schmaltz.
She was destroyed when they were busted for operating
a private judicial system within U.S. borders.
Sometimes I'm awakened in the middle of the night
by the clatter of a room service cart and I think back on Kitty.
Those summer evenings by the government lake,
talking about the paradox of multiple Santas
or how it felt to have your heart broken.
I still get a hollow feeling on Labor Day when the summer ends
and I remember how I would always refer to her boyfriends
as what's-his-face, which was wrong of me and I'd like
to apologize to those guys right now, wherever they are:
No one deserves to be called what's-his-face.
Friday, September 3, 2010
Append: Assassins
The gun I took from the Bucket of Fun had a hole in it and leaked everywhere when I brought it home and filled it up.
After stomping around my damp kitchen, I sucked it up and I drove to Family Dollar outside of Inman Square. I forked over a dollar for three new guns. (And bought some TP on the cheap while I was at it).
Two out of the three new pistols had obvious leaks. I filled up the remaining gun, which I cleverly nicknamed "The Good One," and left it overnight on a table in the living room.
In the morning I shoved The Good One in my "nice" purse. It wasn't expensive and it isn't fancy to look at, but it qualifies as my "nice purse" because every other bag I carry is either a tote bag, or made of hemp, or has fake blood stains on it.
I tucked The Good One in with my wallet, cell phone and keys, feeling like a real dangerous woman. A woman on the edge. A woman ready for action. I was headed to the Watertown RMV to renew my license, a plan I was 100% sure no one else could know about, but in case I was being followed I pretended to get lost*.
After 30 minutes of sitting at the RMV I checked my phone. It was wet. My wallet was wet. My ipod was wet. The inside of my nice purse was wet. The gun... was still full.
I took the gun out of my purse to examine it, ignoring the stares from my bench-mates. I held the gun this way and that. I shook it, alarming the studious man to my right. I rubbed it across my palm from several angles. Streaks of water appeared. The gun has a tiny fault in the seam on the handle. A real slow leak when held the wrong way.
I tried to reposition the gun in my purse. It fell over. I tried to put it in a separate pocket, but that just got my lighter and all my change wet.
Guys, I really might lose this game.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
* By this I obviously mean I got lost on the way to the Arsenal Mall which is INCREDIBLE and I wish I were pretending.
After stomping around my damp kitchen, I sucked it up and I drove to Family Dollar outside of Inman Square. I forked over a dollar for three new guns. (And bought some TP on the cheap while I was at it).
Two out of the three new pistols had obvious leaks. I filled up the remaining gun, which I cleverly nicknamed "The Good One," and left it overnight on a table in the living room.
In the morning I shoved The Good One in my "nice" purse. It wasn't expensive and it isn't fancy to look at, but it qualifies as my "nice purse" because every other bag I carry is either a tote bag, or made of hemp, or has fake blood stains on it.
I tucked The Good One in with my wallet, cell phone and keys, feeling like a real dangerous woman. A woman on the edge. A woman ready for action. I was headed to the Watertown RMV to renew my license, a plan I was 100% sure no one else could know about, but in case I was being followed I pretended to get lost*.
After 30 minutes of sitting at the RMV I checked my phone. It was wet. My wallet was wet. My ipod was wet. The inside of my nice purse was wet. The gun... was still full.
I took the gun out of my purse to examine it, ignoring the stares from my bench-mates. I held the gun this way and that. I shook it, alarming the studious man to my right. I rubbed it across my palm from several angles. Streaks of water appeared. The gun has a tiny fault in the seam on the handle. A real slow leak when held the wrong way.
I tried to reposition the gun in my purse. It fell over. I tried to put it in a separate pocket, but that just got my lighter and all my change wet.
Guys, I really might lose this game.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
* By this I obviously mean I got lost on the way to the Arsenal Mall which is INCREDIBLE and I wish I were pretending.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Assassins
I did some last minute shopping today for a game of Assassins
I want to take a minute and admit that a game involving stalking and being stalked doesn't seem like my "type of thing."
"I don't know," said Jeremy backstage the other day, "it just seems like not your type of thing."
Whether or not it has been, it is now.
Today I was searching for a few last things to complete my arsenal. The item I needed was unavailable at any of the other stores I went to this week, and so on the way home from work today I stopped into the huge CVS a block away from Pizza Stop. I poured over the shelves, frustrated by the surplus of foam and bubble guns and lack of water shooters.
Finally I saw my only option - a bucket of summer themed toys. "15 pieces!" The cardboard insert boasted. "$20 value for only $9.99!"
I carried the bucket around with me as I shopped for other things. I put it back twice. I didn't really want to pay so much for one little piece of equipment. I also didn't want to carry a giant orange bucket of toys home on the bus. I looked at the clock and groaned. Without access to email I had no idea if the game had started. Someone could already be waiting for me at a bus stop or street corner. I needed to finish assembling my offensive and defensive plan. I needed to buy the stupid bucket.
I dumped my mouthwash and hairspray on the counter with the bucket. Two teen aged girls entered the store with a toddler and began comparing candy. Then I grinned.
"Hey. I'm going to buy this bucket of toys. I just want the water gun. Do you think he'd want the rest?" I pointed at the toddler.
They stared at me. I tried to see myself through their eyes, a tiny white lady wearing scrub pants rolled up to the knees and a tank top with a stethoscope hanging out of her shoulder bag, gesturing with a big orange bucket, grinning like an idiot to convey good intentions.
"Uh, sure," the older girl said, shrugging at the younger. They resumed their candy consultation.
I paid for the goods, unwrapped the bucket, removed my prize and turned around. The girls looked confused.
"I literally only wanted this," I said, showing them. The rest is yours."
"Oh!," the younger girl said, understanding for the first time. "Thanks so much!" The two girls bent down and offered first pick of the toys to the toddler.
I pocketed my new hand pistol and caught the bus, jogging.
I want to take a minute and admit that a game involving stalking and being stalked doesn't seem like my "type of thing."
"I don't know," said Jeremy backstage the other day, "it just seems like not your type of thing."
Whether or not it has been, it is now.
Today I was searching for a few last things to complete my arsenal. The item I needed was unavailable at any of the other stores I went to this week, and so on the way home from work today I stopped into the huge CVS a block away from Pizza Stop. I poured over the shelves, frustrated by the surplus of foam and bubble guns and lack of water shooters.
Finally I saw my only option - a bucket of summer themed toys. "15 pieces!" The cardboard insert boasted. "$20 value for only $9.99!"
I carried the bucket around with me as I shopped for other things. I put it back twice. I didn't really want to pay so much for one little piece of equipment. I also didn't want to carry a giant orange bucket of toys home on the bus. I looked at the clock and groaned. Without access to email I had no idea if the game had started. Someone could already be waiting for me at a bus stop or street corner. I needed to finish assembling my offensive and defensive plan. I needed to buy the stupid bucket.
I dumped my mouthwash and hairspray on the counter with the bucket. Two teen aged girls entered the store with a toddler and began comparing candy. Then I grinned.
"Hey. I'm going to buy this bucket of toys. I just want the water gun. Do you think he'd want the rest?" I pointed at the toddler.
They stared at me. I tried to see myself through their eyes, a tiny white lady wearing scrub pants rolled up to the knees and a tank top with a stethoscope hanging out of her shoulder bag, gesturing with a big orange bucket, grinning like an idiot to convey good intentions.
"Uh, sure," the older girl said, shrugging at the younger. They resumed their candy consultation.
I paid for the goods, unwrapped the bucket, removed my prize and turned around. The girls looked confused.
"I literally only wanted this," I said, showing them. The rest is yours."
"Oh!," the younger girl said, understanding for the first time. "Thanks so much!" The two girls bent down and offered first pick of the toys to the toddler.
I pocketed my new hand pistol and caught the bus, jogging.
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