I appreciate your laughing at the stupid stuff.-Chris Davis, Renaissance Man
Weekend 3 is over. We now have twelve days in which to change a life, brighten a day, create a moment, offer a diversion, enhance a snapshot, lift a spirit. Twelve more days. Do you hear, everyone? You all think the run has just begun. I am here to tell you that it is already ONE THIRD OVER, and if you have wasted time or missed opportunities, you still have time to correct your ways and make amends. Go. Do. Be.
Two patrons wait outside the gate. He wears a Michigan cap and a tie; she a Roseanne-red satin corset that clashes oddly with her Annie Lennox-red hair, though both shades compliment her white, white skin.
I pass a seated patron who holds a steaming pretzel. I’ve never known Victor to sell pretzels that hot, I muse, before laughing at myself. The man is holding a burning cigarette in the same hand.
Lili joins us again for Silent Lunch and Patron Feeding. A man aims at her with an AK-47 of a camera lens. She pulls a shocked face. He shoots, thanks us, and walks off, smiling.
For the first time, I am brave enough to approach Ken’s Museum of Unnatural History. I embrace Ken’s associate, who stands in the spot he always stood when he was on duty in Ken’s place, which at this point, is always. “There’s Ken’s brother,” he nods.
Ken’s brother. His surviving brother. I’m sure he has a name, but for now, he’s Ken’s Brother. I embrace Ken’s Brother, knowing he doesn’t know what Ken meant to me, knowing I do not know for certain what Ken meant to me. I release him and turn, walking more quickly than is my habit.
I fix my smile firmly in place, worried that it will fool no one, and clamp down hard on it with my teeth. For fear of smearing my makeup, I do not dash away the tears that stand suddenly on my cheeks.
“Hello Mr. Smith. Hello, Mr. Smith.” Julius Smith III is standing with his father backstage as I am making my way somewhere. Jules Jr. offers his quiet hello with that wry half-smile that I find so appealing, and makes a remark about the white costumes. Ah! The boss notices! How lovely.
I don’t know which Smith to have a crush on these days. I nurture a pointless lust for Adam, think Marc is a sweetheart, have a soft (very) spot for Justin, but boy oh boy Jules Jr. (not III, thank you, that’s just icky) is looking very slim and hot lately.
This blogsite , currently posting a review of Comic-Con, in the 29 August archive references Mimi Flambe, with a special nod to my still-but-not-for-long-short partner. Some of Mimi's friends are mentioned and linked, as well. This page does not mention us, but has some wonderful photographs of the site.
Wyatt joins us, accepting the offer of a wooden bowl and spoon, when we head out on our ritualistic Quest For Tasty Yummies at day's end. I tell Mark so while the kids remove their makeup. Chris grins at us as he approaches the stage in preparation for the Witch Trial. It's a current meme, I suppose, creating new collective nouns. I have no objection to memes, per se; they just seem so...trendy.
"What do you call this? A herd of mimes?" Mark prefers my collective to his own- he said 'a moogle', which I love, but I went for double points with 'a mutation'. "A mutation of mimes," he repeats, smiling.
On the way home Sunday evening, top down, I look into the sketchy sky for that blazing ball of brilliant, searching...ah, there ya are.
Ken's voice? Perhaps.