Patina
// July 24th, 2007 // Blog, Kris's Soapbox
Originally posted on my CBC Winnipeg Fringe Blog:
Has anyone else noticed that the Winnipeg Fringe programs are all starting to fall apart? In some cases, the poor things are well-used. Not all of us think to store them in heat-proof, child-proof, sweat-proof plastic bags, after all, and so it’s normal for the edges to fray a bit… but more awful things are happening to people’s guides. I ran across one woman who had been keeping her program in a bag along with her super-cold bottle of water. The water bottle sweat a bit in the heat and moistened the woman’s program, causing several of the pages to stick hopelessly together. She now fears that she will be unable to see any of the plays in venues 1 or 2, and loathes having to explain that it was only water that caused the damage — not her unbridled excitement over “The Honeymoon Period Is Officially Over”.
More notably, though, I have begun to notice many people’s middle pages falling out. I have seen them strewn all over the MTC area, and have heard many people grumbling about the master schedule pages coming loose. One woman complained to me in true Canadian fashion: “This is ridiculous! I paid MONEY for this guide!” Her eyes narrowed as she continued, “I may write a letter.” The good news is that quite a few of us artist-types have leftover packing tape from our postering exploits, and we’re happy to use bits of it to help reinforce the cheap staple binding in your guide. I provided this service to a number of people this afternoon, in an homage to the scout-like Golden Age Hero character in “The Superhero Monologues” (minus the cape and tights. It’s too hot, though I’d be game to try on almost any other day). I will gladly supply tape to any of you for the purpose of protecting your precious program investment, as long as you let me pitch my show to you as I do it.
The recent heat has driven people to odd extremes. Those of you who have had the privilege of seeing “Miss April Day’s School For Burgeoning Young Strippers” may know that Miss April takes a few moments in her show to teach people how to give a lap dance. She gets an adventurous lady to come up and learn the dance, and two VERY lucky gentlemen get an extra bang (ahem) for their ticket-buying dollar. I have it on very good authority from the schoolmistress herself that a fella in her last performance — quite obviously crazed by the heat — actually BIT MISS APRIL ON THE BUTT in the middle of the dance. This, dear Fringe organizers, is what you get for not letting audience members bring food into venues.
Finally: we knew it would happen, dear readers. The eagerness with which audience members hungrily snap up flyers and handbills from ingratiating artists is slowly wearing thin. I am optimistic that this is really just another effect of the scorching sun, but you never know. I offer the following Stern Flyer Denial as evidence.
A lineup had formed outside “If Tap Shoes Could Talk”, and a handsome gentleman strode up and stood at the front of the queue with a stack of paper. The woman at the front of the line glared up from her seated position as soon as he arrived and hissed “we don’t want it, thanks” before the young man had the chance to speak. The gentleman looked slightly cowed, but decided to try again.
“So, you’re hear for ‘Tap Shoes–” he started, about to offer some paper, and the woman cut him off with a terse talk-to-the-hand-gesture. “We already know what shows we’re going to see. No handouts. Thanks.” She turned away from the man and tried to pretend he wasn’t there any more.
The young man blinked. There was an awkward pause. He repeated, “If Tap Shoes Could Talk?”
“Yeah, we KNOW,” sniped the woman, driving a railroad spike through his head with her eyes. “That’s the show we’re hear to SEE.”
The young gentleman paused again, and blinked again. He flashed his House Manager badge, smiled with supreme politeness, and quipped back, cutting through the woman’s third attempt to wave him off. “Yes, I know. Do you want the show program, or not?”
