The Fella just left from a cheese-eating, line-running, catch-upping date of yay: he over a beer, me over a whiskey.
…He brought me condiments, from the house, as he is in the final process of “move-out,” where he will be soon to join The BFF in the land of New Orleans.
Every theater (and it’s people) in town will mourn his leaving, on scales: artistic, inventive, technical and in performance.
I frankly don’t even want to think about it. So stop bringing it up.
…He helped me level out my TV sound system while here. Cuz he’s a Wizard.
The WHS Pimp had brought in a kick ass sub woofer et al for office use, to which I said, “Balls to that! I’m taking this shit HOME!” And I did. And set it on the lowest possible level. And instantly became the kind of asshole apartment neighbor we all hate, with constant booming rumbles through the entire length of a movie.
I made sure to put in a good action one to really show off. The explosions were awesome, and the helicopter sounded like it was actually landing in my own living room. I’m sure the neighbors thought so too. But then, once The Fella came over, I had him fiddle with it to get a better talking balance versus the constant sound of impending doom that a sub woofer seems able to deliver by instinct. He of course managed it beautifully, killed the added echo, upped the treble, and has it balanced like a dream.
…Only it’s too late now for ‘splosion movies, so I’ll have to play with it again tomorrow.
In the mean time: a second session of Pilates.
…And tomorrow: laundry and rehearsal, followed by post-cast-bonding…under the express encouragement of Mdm. Director.
Laundry is a total must.
Down to my default underwear again. And I’m seriously considering going “commando,” over wearing that butt-floss thong bullshit, (which I keep only for such emergency purposes.)
…Only somehow, I don’t think “commando” wears well on Gwendolen.
…Something tells me, Mamma wouldn’t approve.
(Beat.)
…Course, what she doesn’t know, couldn’t hurt her…
~D
