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There's just no polite way to say "Buy me things", is there?

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I'm baded and jitter. So are these people. (And why not follow the previous, next, or random links?)

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Doug vs. Japanese Snack Foods: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3.

rant is where the heart is

diaryland: sirilyan.diaryland.com: entry for 2004-04-06 (13:44)
In which our plucky young hero is all and but little yes.

I'm playing tonight at the Bad Dog (138 Danforth, just around the corner from Broadview subway station.) The show, The Playground, starts at 8pm and is in two halves. I'm in the second half.

For once, I'm really nervous about performing. A lot more than I was about any of the other shows I've done (yeah, all six of them, tell us another war story you veteran). I haven't gone up in front of an audience in way too long, and my mind's been blunted lately. I'm going to be running entirely on instinct, which will lead to excellence, or serious injury. Only one way to know.

On the other hand, I bought a pair of Chuck Taylors that I have designated my improv shoes. They will have magic powers of spontaneity and make me ten million times funnier than I normally am.

Last night at Catch23:

Me: Yeah, you should come. The worst that could happen is that I suck.
Kurt: Now, don't do that. Don't sell yourself short.
Me: You're right. The worst that could happen is actually that there's a gas leak which causes a massive explosion, destroying the entire building and everyone inside.
Kurt: But that won't happen, right?
Me: No, they've done some renovations.

What else is going on? Everything else seems to cruise along. The Merf Herder and I are making plans for a bold and daring escape. Toronto is cloudy and chilly.

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