Friday, October 01, 2004
We Have Good News, And We Have Bad News
The good news is that I finally talked my lazy-assed self into taking photographs of the rest of the goodies I bought at The Puyallup Fair.
Observez-vous:
natural fleece
I have about 1-3/4 lbs of this and it will eventually look like:
natural roving
Of which I have somewhere around a pound.
Then we have this:
coral fleece
which they tell me is wool from a Lincoln sheep. There is 1 lb. 2 oz. of this. It's a beautiful colour, however it fades into insignificance next to:
berry mohair
My dog, is this stuff SOFT! I think the photo has managed to catch some of the silkiness and the utterly gorgeous colour variations. What it doesn't manage to catch is how amazing this stuff feels. I've always loved goats and now I'm thinking of marrying one. Don't tell Ben.
That's the end of the wool pictures until I manage to learn how to card and dye and spin and all that sort of artistic stuff. This all feels so good that I'm thinking maybe it shouldn't have been sold to an amateur. Oh well.
And I can't end this portion of the post without yet another picture of Her Surreal Highness.
Behold, my daughter, getting in touch with her Native American heritage at the fair. In a plastic canoe.
And now for the bad news. No, it isn't as devastating as the passing of our beloved Coochiefish, however it's still pretty bad.
Tonight, my husband and I were the beneficiaries of a windfall of free tickets a friend of mine had been given to a performance at a downtown theatre. Seems a group she belongs to had gone one night last week, however there weren't enough people there to put on a performance, so they cancelled it for that night and gave her four free tickets to make up for it.
To our great disappointment there were, in fact, sufficient people in the audience tonight (eight, to be precise) that they decided to mount the show after all.
Mount, according to dictionary.com is defined as "copulate with [syn: ride]". A finer example of this definition has seldom been seen. They rode that play into the sunset and I think it won't be walking again any time soon. It is to pray for, anyhow.
The set was acceptable, and there was a pretty nice blanket on the bed. I had few objections to the small pile of kindling next to the fake wood stove. That was, alas, the beginning and end of the "good" portion of the production.
This play is optimistically described on the theatre's website as "A powerful one-act play, [name of play excised to avoid litigation] is about ... us all, shadows of our former selves, broken pieces of mirror reflecting the jagged past."
None of this is true, apart from the "broken pieces", and I'm thinking that the Truth in Advertising Police had better not go see it any time soon or there's gonna be a lawsuit.
The script. Oh, the script. What to say about the script?
The tired, painful, amateur script, with all of its awkward twists, turns, and stilted dialogue was completely demolished by both actors, who seem to have missed the lesson in voice training class that covered the difference between projecting and yelling.
I'm not deaf, people. And I didn't want to hear what you had to say, anyhow.
The characters were simultaneously unbelievable and distasteful, the dialogue was embarrassing and the assumption that the audience would be gullible enough to buy into any of the story was, at a minimum, offensive.
The female's imitation of space aliens was pecular, leading me to believe that she had some sort of nervous twitch. The male's shoe fetish was just icky. And stupid.
The costumes were mediocre, the gratuitous furniture-throwing was ... well ... gratuitous and the lighting people were obviously on crack.
All in all, the only redeeming feature of this execrable production was the fact that it was only one act and ran about an hour and a quarter. I was able to restrain myself from screaming "TWATS" and running onto the stage to engage in acts of unspeakable carnage for that long, however had it run even a minute over, there is no guarantee that I wouldn't have gone completely vorpal.
Not to say that the whole experience was vile. There was very nice music playing in the lobby beforehand, the staff were all exceptionally pleasant, the bathrooms were clean and the roll of Certs I bought from the concession were crunchy and well-wrapped.
I think that this review has pretty much scotched any chance I may ever have had to be employed as a theatre reviewer, but sometimes, in the interest of public education, a girl just has to speak up.
# posted by Rabbitch @ 12:51 AM 
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I was engaged to an alpaca for awhile. Turns out we wanted very different things in life. I wanted yarn and lots of heavy petting; he wanted to roll in the dirt and spit. It was too much like my first marriage so we split up. I hear he's still living with his mother. All I'm saying is, don't marry the goat. A little mohair on the side isn't going to hurt anybody, though.
Did the Certs also have those little flavor specks?
Did the Certs also have those little flavor specks?
:DDDDD I'm sorry, I realise it was a horrible experience and I wouldn't have shown half of your restraint but this was hilarious!
Ok, so I have now read all your posts. And maybe I missed it but I couldn't find any update on that friend of yours who was being abused and considering returning to her ex. Were the kids all right?
Thank you for the kind words, Lioness. My friend did ask the furniture-throwing bastage to take her back. He refused and is now trying to get custody of the kids.
He's never hit the kids ... yet ...
I'm hoping they'll be OK.
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He's never hit the kids ... yet ...
I'm hoping they'll be OK.
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