Performance has finally re-entered my life again, and I'm afraid I may commit a number of criminal acts (worse than usual) if it doesn't stay. After seeing Eli and the Twinhead gang perform Shake 'n' Bake at Cabbagetown Park twice this year, I was a) pained with laughter upon the show's conclusion, b) amazed that there was a theatre group in Atlanta that wasn't composed of either fifty-year-olds or professional assholes, and c) pissed as hell that I couldn't be a part of what I was seeing. I only recently realized how important theatre was to my life upon its oppressive absence for the past three years, and now that I've been working with Twinhead on their most recent project, I can't let it escape my grasp again.
Julian, Jamie, Joshua, and I have all become a part of Twinhead's latest show, Christian Comic Crusaders, the premise of which is almost a strictly verbatim interpretation of the 1970s comic book work of Jack Chick, famously responsible for the horrifically fundamentalist Christian "Chick tracts" forced upon people at parades and such. After a hasty audition of sorts where we read for several parts, I was rather unexpectedly revealed upon announcement of the cast list as Tim, one of the two leads. We've been rehearsing rather steadily all month, our last rehearsal sans the Push Push Theatre venue having taken place earlier tonight, and thus far, the play has been coming along beautifully and hilariously. Although I'm a little burdened with an unimaginable chunk of the play's dialogue, I've been having such an unparalleled experience learning complicated dance moves, doing hard drugs with a varied assemblage of Twinhead members, and becoming an evangelical Christian with a subdued history of anger management and latent homosexuality issues, I can't imagine going back to being such an uncreative lichen after all this. Not sure why lichen was the first thing to come to mind there. It just seemed like lichen are particularly uncreative.
Anyway, I guess this is my way of saying that I seriously hope Twinhead is impressed or content or somewhat interested enough in me that I may be able to be a part of their group. I haven't felt this hopeful of peer acceptance since high school, though I suppose the fact that my present attitude has more to do with expression and creative generativity than dyeing my hair and wearing lots of metal means my current intentions are somewhat more admirable. And I could probably pay the dues, right? I don't know, I just don't want to be a "guest actor" for this one production and then everyone forgets about me and I never see those people again. Which, to be fair, is probably an exaggeration of any worst-case scanario, but still. You never know.
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