I heard that NYC is a hotbed of theatrical activism. Anyone know of any other organizations out there?

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Originally posted by Tommy Shanks:
God, I hate it when people refer to themselves in the third person.

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Trying to get artists to do something together is like herding cats.

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Any cats out there, or is it only dogs on Babble?

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You don't know about me without you have read a book by the name of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer; but that ain't no matter. That book was made by Mr. Mark Twain, and he told the truth, mainly. There was things which he stretched, but mainly he told the truth. That is nothing. I never seen anybody but lied one time or another, without it was Aunt Polly, or the widow, or maybe Mary. Aunt Polly -- Tom's Aunt Polly, she is -- and Mary, and the Widow Douglas is all told about in that book, which is mostly a true book, with some stretchers, as I said before.

Now the way that the book winds up is this: Tom and me found the money that the robbers hid in the cave, and it made us rich. We got six thousand dollars apiece -- all gold. It was an awful sight of money when it was piled up. Well, Judge Thatcher he took it and put it out at interest, and it fetched us a dollar a day apiece all the year round -- more than a body could tell what to do with. The Widow Douglas she took me for her son, and allowed she would sivilize me; but it was rough living in the house all the time, considering how dismal regular and decent the widow was in all her ways; and so when I couldn't stand it no longer I lit out. I got into my old rags and my sugar-hogshead again, and was free and satisfied. But Tom Sawyer he hunted me up and said he was going to start a band of robbers, and I might join if I would go back to the widow and be respectable. So I went back.

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Andy also hates that.

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she may be gone some time.

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Ah, brave skdadl of the Annex... braving ferocious May storms, sacrificing self for fellow babblers...

[ 20 May 2003: Message edited by: 'lance ]

[Edited to add:

That wasn't a very long time, skdadl!]

[ 20 May 2003: Message edited by: 'lance ]

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PA? How do you forward stuff to King? Pass it from your left hand to your right?

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No, I'm actually in Calgary, so I FWD it to him via email. There is a common misconception on this board that I AM King. King was banned here for excessive playing, and is not allowed to post by order of Audra. Until such a time as Audra let's King back on, I will act as his agent, as per our "contract."

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Buffy and her axe clomp downstairs and encounter Spike, who's coming in the front door. He notes that she's back home. Where the hell has he been since he found the note from Buffy? Maybe he decided if the world was going to end and Buffy had run off to fight Caleb, he just had to fit in a viewing of X2. Though I'm left wondering why would he come back to Casa Summers, and why oh why the front door was left unlocked and unguarded? The living room is full of sleeping girls, and vampires who were last seen in the house attacking people can just walk right in? Buffy shows him her axe, blah blah blah. She tells him they've decided to call the fire axe a "scythe," which was fine for a quick pun, but its continued use means that both Giles and Willow have forgotten whatever command of the English language they once had. Scythes have inwardly curved blades and curved handles, people! Spike admires it and says, "Can see why a girl would ditch a fella for one of these." Wait, "fella"? At what point did the writers decide that Spike talked like a minor character from The Music Man? Buffy purses her lips and manages to squeeze out a tiny apology. Then she walks right past him and heads for the kitchen. He follows after her, telling her that he's happy she's home and last night "was just a glitch." I'm sorry, Spike -- I think the words you're looking for are "you used me," not "just a glitch." I guess I'm the least girly girl who ever girled, because I know I'm supposed to eat this stuff up, but in actuality, the prospect of sitting through yet another "what does this non-relationship mean to you?" conversation between these two has me reaching for a jumbo-sized bottle of Jack Daniel's and sweet, sweet oblivion. I'm almost tempted to not even waste the time it takes to drink it all and just brain myself with the bottle right away.

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