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December
17, 2005. Rehearsal today for the radio show went well, I think. We ran through Christmas Carol twice, and the other script zero times, and I had 1.5 cups of the surprisingly delicious coffee that Dunkin Donuts makes (Pam had brought a box carafe of it, along with some donut holes and other tidbits) and I said a very giddy hello to the pianist, as he and I hadn't seen each other since two radio shows ago. I don't know him well at all, but he just seems way cool. He's awesome at improvising, and really seems to get the whole radio broadcast feel for incidental music. I think that can be a fairly rare quality - knowing when to pull back and be scenery, or to give such a fine edge to the proceedings that the music seems like another member of the cast. The gongs for the clock that tolls the hours through Ebenezer Scrooge's journey is courtesy of this hilariously defused warhead that Ben somehow procured somewhere. It makes a great clanging sound when struck with a hammer, and will only sound more gothic and full of doom once we cover the damned thing with a blanket and get ourselves a rubber mallet. We really don't need to give our audience heart attacks, anyway, letting them see us merrily smacking away at this missile propped on its original stand. I should've taken a picture of it today. It's truly disturbing, smacking that thing - which I got to do today, as the SFX in parts tend to come fast and furious. With all of us taking on speaking roles, Ben and Pam aren't always there to do footsteps and jingle bells and Marley's chains. I am more than happy to take up the hammer and smack away at ancient tools of the Apocalypse. "Bangin' on a Bomb is a curiously obvious euphemism," I opined at one point. Tyler's in town, so he came by and got me immediately after, and I got to finish his Parky's french fries, and it was good just to see him again and feel that hilarious giddy bubble in my chest that even though I've always been his older sister, I've always felt like he is the older brother. He's got all the grown-up trappings (marriage and a house and a mortage and a room set aside for a future nursery and a 3 car garage and a bank job), and I am still fumbling through the basics. I am on permanent summer vacation from the assignments everyone else gets, I guess. We helped Mom with readying the house for a family event tomorrow, and we got Lou Malnati's pizza, and Ro shared some home made split pea soup with me, and then my mom made me laugh until I almost couldn't breathe when she pushed herself in the rolling kitchen chair to the fridge to get more water, pedaling herself, still seated, back over to the table in an adorably dorky way. Sometimes she just cracks me up. I went out to my car tonight when I got home, to see if it would still start. It did. I was surprised. I'd left it there since the accident, and it's been nearly three weeks with no engine activity, whatsoever. It's been really cold here, too. I was not confident that the battery would hold a decent charge for so long, but the little car started up just fine. As it warmed up, I cleared up some trash from the back seat, and dumped cassettes into a plastic bag to bring into the apartment to thaw. I found a huge clump of cellophane wrapping and tissue paper from bouquets of flowers I had bought during October and November. Heh. Some of those flowers were laid over graves in Midlothian. Bright orange and yellow mums graced the Civil War section of a cemetery a little closer to home. All part of an Alternate Reality Game called Last Call Poker, but ultimately meaning more to me than completing a list of seemingly-arbitrary tasks. I got a bit weepy as I balled up the crinkly plastic and paper, remembering the respect paid to the dead, and the ruminations I made on my own life, all as part of some geektastic web game. Heh. The sheer tension and fear I'd assigned to my poor little smashed car seemed to lift a bit just then. I lost a car, but it was nice to be reminded of those things I've gained. go
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