I love, I love, I love performing at The Pink Door. Rarely have I had such a gracious audience; not to mention such an open license to make my act whatever I like. Maybe the missing ingredient to all those morose audiences in the past is that they weren't eating awesome Italian food. I had a beet salad after the show that almost made me see God. Really, get the beet salad. Who knew?
Life it seems will continue to spiral on at the same urgency of pre-show, post-show. Acts must continue to be created, polished, rehearsed; costumes made and all other things must give sway to this single burning focus.
Training one's back to bend; it is a humbling experience and a long road home to the one-day pretzel especially with no one to train you (suggested reading, the Ineffable Beloved herself writes a bendy blog that regularly makes me lol, rofl, and lmao). For example, the past two weeks have unearthed the regular sensation in my upper back that I have been bludgeoned with a club by an overzealous caveman.
Which is almost hot.