I feel very fortunate to have found the group of people that I was meant to be with. Many people speak of finding that one special someone - the perfect match for them. I say: why limit yourself to just one person? I want a whole bunch of the perfect people! A gang. A horde. A Crew! I want a gaggle of friends that will not only accept my depravities and idosyncracies, but will also encourage and participate in them. Not only that, they will come up with schemes of their own that i can participate in. I don't want to be a better person. I want friends that will make me feel better about being a total idiot.
And no, I'm not talking about my beloved Break A Leggers. While we did have a sword fight on government property and almost got shot as a result, they are generally too busy to participate in such shenanigans. Also, their tendency to want to curb my over-enthusiastic spasms of "creativity" isn't quite the direction I tend to want to flail in.
No, the group of people I refer to are my pirate crew. A grander flock of reprobates I can't believe exists. And what makes this group of people so fabulous? One word: Themes.
That's right. When we get together to hang out, we don't just gather at some pre-determined locale and while away the time with petty jabber of ecent activities. No! We show up in style and make everybody wish they could hang out with us. Or hang out like us. Or something. Several examples of this spring readily to mind...
The first, I was, sadly, not privy to observe/experience/participate in, but I saw some of the preliminary work and some of the results, and was, if not surprised, then seriously jealous I couldn't go. There is an annual event called "The Labrynth Ball". Remember the movie The Labrynth? Well, imagine a party where everybody is dressed up, not like characters from the movie, but like characters that might exist in that world. You can see pictures from years past here: http://www.labyrinthmasquerade.com/masquerade2007/gallery.html Lots fantasy stuff, lots of pirates, lots of other cool stuff. Well, my friends Scott and Nick MADE steampunk ghostbuster costumes and their wives MADE self-luminescent, Dickensian ball gowns, and they all paraded around that way. I don't have any pictures yet because they didn't get many pictures themselves. They were largely occupied with having their pictures taken by and with everybody else. Just imagine a 6'4" guy with long hair wearing a top hat with gears on the side that he would wind up occasionally, and a vest and bow tie. On his back is a large pack constructed mostly of brass with the stove pipe over his left shoulder flickering with internal candel light while the pipe over his right shoulder lets off the occasional puff of smoke. In his hand, connected to the pack-contraption via some rubber tubing, are some more brass pipewroks with various gauges and a lever (pronounced "LEE-ver"), which when pulled causes a blast of whitish gas to expell from the business end of the pipe.
This is all very "you had to be there", which I wasn't , but that doesn't mean it wasn't awesome.
What I WAS there for, however, was Gail's birthday (Scott's wife). One of the reasons I was there was that I didn't have rehearsal or a shoot or anything to do that night. Another reason is that I am a very good friend of Gail's and she invited me to the party, as friends often do. The other reason I was there was because the party was at my house. As I mentioned before, we, as a group, are fond of themes. And what was Gail's birthday theme? English. ANYTHING English. I.E, everybody was supposed to dress as somebody you might find in England and speak with (their best attempts at) an Englsih access. Additionally, we had cucumber sandwiches, jammie dodgers, tiny British flags, and drank from a tea cup and saucer. Granted, it was rum we we're drinking from the tea cup and saucer, but at least we held our pinkies out. I mean, there are standards.
As you may have noticed in Episode 12, I have a bit of a beard going. I've been growing it since February in preparation for Taming of the Shrew. My goal is to eventually be able to braid my beard. This makes Yuri cringe. You may ask yourself "Why the hell are you doing that?" The answer is as simple as can be, and in fact, quite similar to that age old question "Why do dogs lick their balls?" Because they can, Billy. Because they can. And because I can. Grow a beard long enough to braid, that is. Not...the other thing. That would be impressive, but...just...no.
ANYWAY...because of the awesomeness of my fantastic facial folicles, my friends have taken to calling my Lord Fancybeard on occasion and speak longingly of the day when they will be able to tie ribbons in it. This nom de guer inspired me as to the costuming choice for Gail's Britstrvaganza. I had planned to find a smoking jacket and cravat, and walk around smoking a pipe all night and talking through my teeth. However, life, as it often does, had other plans.
I had rehearsal the day of the party and had planned to go costume searching as soon I was free. As I was driving downtown in an effort to fulfill my quest, what do I see, but a golden beacon signaling me hither: a divine providence that I ws on the correct and holy path. That's right: a costume sale. I had to circle the block twice to find parking, but nothing is ever easy, even divine providence. As I perused the merchandice I quickly became disheartened, for there was no smoking jacket to be found. I scowered the tables, I ransacked the racks, I went spelunking in bargain bins...but to no avail.
Then, just when it seemed all hope was lost, something blue caught my eye. This was destined to be one of those moments when you find exactly what you needed even though it wasn't at all what you were looking for. It was perfect. It was magnificent. It was realtively affordable. And it would live up to the title of "Lord Fancybeard" better than any stupid smoking jacket. In such apparrel, I could truly be Master of the Heatherton...
I have gotten way too carried away here. This is what happens when I have nothing to do. Anyway...that's Scott on the left, with the hat I mentioned earlier, and yes: that's an inflatable moose head on the wall.
