If you're ever going to an event where there are going to be Libertarians, when you see this woman, you're there. We always assign someone to show up in the "laffro", just in case anyone could possibly take us seriously. This was yesterday at the Federal Reserve, Campaign for Liberty's (Ron Paul followers) End the Fed meetup. I passed out about 50 show cards.

I felt bad because these things tend to be kind of depressing, and they attract a lot of crazy people, both fer us and agin us (I got a three page "The Horror of Capitalism" flier that started out with something about how 9/11 was an inside job and ended up with Hillary Clinton destroying some kind of penis documents about Bill) . And I think the Federal Reserve as a topic doesn't particularly lend itself to a march. Even the best chant, Gold is Money/Paper is Not, doesn't present a clear, compelling vision to the bystanders.

At a certain point, though, I realized that of all the earnest and crazy fliers and people there, I was the only one with an optimistic message. Come see my show. It's really good. There's nothing like it, it's entertaining. Come and enjoy yourselves.

When I worked at Bean's, I saw a marketing grid one time whose axises I think were quality and price. Bean's and its competitors were plotted out, and the marketing people decided we should be positioning ourselves further into a blanker area of the grid that was even higher perceived quality, the idea being to occupy a field no one else was in. I feel like in the section of theater universe that is libertarian playwriting, I'm seeing nothing but horizon all around me.

Overheard when I was taking my test to be a fire guard for my show (Passed! Put out that cigarette!): "It's open enrollment so the H.R. broads are all down in Washington this week."

Here's the relationship between a director and his stage manager in a nutshell: I brought Greg a pumpkin muffin to rehearsal today. He ate the top and gave the stump to John. You figure out who is who.

I was talking to my cousin, Patty, tonight, and said something off the cuff that I have to remember for my next job interview, "I'm a person who's willing to do things I don't know how to do." That's something, right?

Now for an old-lady rant on manners. I went to Kinko's Thursday to pick up a fresh printout of the script. There was a customer there before me, and as seems pretty usual at Kinko's, er, sorry, FedX Office, several people not involved with talking to customers. After a few minutes, though, one of those guys was walking by me and said, "Did you want anything?" I said yes, I was there to pick up a print job. He asked my phone number, and that was the last word he spoke to me. I get a phone survey about my "experience" at FedX Office about 50% of the time I do business there, so I hope I can rant to someone who cares.

But that wasn't even the worst customer service of the night. I went to the theater and a couple of the actors and I went into the bar in the lobby for a glass of wine. I was telling a story about the City Paper when I saw a weird look on Greg's face, then it was just like when I was hit by the bus, I knew I'd been interrupted, but couldn't figure out what had happened. Then my head hurt. Greg and Caitlyn started saying, "Are you okay, are you okay?" Then the guy who works in the bar showed me the piece of wall art that had conked me on the head. "It's a wooden shotgun," he said. Ummm, apology accepted? Literally, that's what he said to me. Just as if he were saying, "it's a Nerf shotgun, you baby!" I actually forgot the whole thing until the next time I brushed my hair--nice goose egg!

Here's a video I call "chimp with a video camera".

I returned some books at the library Saturday and it was coagulated with strollers and little kids. They were having some kind of Sesame Street 40th anniversary fest. I think I've made my position on non-self-grooming creatures clear.

Anyway, there was a sign on the counter that said, "You maybe [sic] videotaped or recorded while in the library." I pointed it out to the woman ahead of me. "That's disgusting, in a library!" "Disgusting for the library," I said, "but gold for my blog!"

The funniest line to come out of our second night of rehearsal was from Marc "Jacob Marley" Geller. Caitlin was doing a very crumpled version of Tiny Tim (she doesn't have a crutch yet) and Marc said, "So apparently, Tiny Tim had spina bifida." I'm sure it's no fun to have, but it's heaps of fun to say.

The #2 spot goes to my Scrooge, Jan. He's watching the Cratchits having dinner and we hadn't blocked the part where Mrs. C leaves to fetch the pudding, so Jan couldn't say the line as written, "Look, she brings a pudding!", and punted, "Look, she's going to go get a pudding."

I made a facebook page for the show this morning but it's too ugly to publish so far, I need to figure out how to put more stuff on it.

My mom's having prophylactic radiation right now and I asked her if she got a tattoo. "Just a little one," she said. "When you're done, are you going to have it made into a real one?" "I don't know if there will still be anything there, but sure, I'll have it made into a picture of Mark Harmon," she said. Watch your back, Mindy!

For better or worse, there's a McDonald's between me and the gym. Last night, I pulled in at 10:30 for a Mac-Snac-Wrap, and the drunk guy ahead of me was bobbing and weaving and trying to read the menu like he didn't know what type of food they sold. Finally, he said, "I'll have a McDLT". Only stares, then "what's that?" from one of the teenage cashiers. "It's a sandwich you don't make any more," I said, which inspired the drunk to renew his study of the menu, I continued for the benefit of the youn'uns, like I'm at a camp fire talking about a buffalo hunt from twenty years ago, "It was a hot-side-hot, cold-side-cold thing, and actually, I thought it was the best burger you ever made." They listened politely, and just so they could place it all in the context of their [parents'] lifespans, I added "This was in the 80s." Yes, the hot-side-hot, cold-side-cold technology was lost, just like all that stuff the ancient astronauts brought us.

That reminds me of another funny MickeyD's story. I was in Amsterdam, ordering my then favorite, 6piece/Filet o'Fish/Strawberry shake dinner, reading the items as I found them on the menu. "You're American?" the cashier said. "Ja," I said. "But you speak Dutch?" "Nee," I said. "But you said 'erdbeer'?" Yes, my powers of deduction had told me that was strawberry, given the other choices, chocolade and vanille. "Not my first McDonald's," I explained.