You have probably heard by now that our show is canceled.
If not, let me be the first to tell you: our show is canceled.
It's okay. It really is. As the long winter passed here in
Eden Prairie, and a hard one it was too, with the wolves creeping
in from suburbs even more remote and passing like shadows through our
parking lot at night, culling the weakest interns, we were all assuming
that this current crop of thirteen shows would be the last. And so it was.
So, yes, we expected it, and therefore you'd think that we would have been
planning for this eventuality. We have not.
In a few weeks, when operations are pretty much scheduled to cease, we'll still all
be here. This is what we know how to do. Sad, really. I'm not looking forward to
it - sitting forlorn, making fun of movies, absolutely no money coming in, and yet I
see no other options.
If you feel like stopping by (and if I were you I would not; it'll be too horrible),
you can watch; we'll be behind glass, with the lights turned low like a marmoset
exhibit at the zoo, one of those indoor displays meant to approximate some odd
creature's nocturnal habitat; you'll have to look hard to spot us, of course.
There will be Mike, curled up behind the big TV, barely breathing, blended in so
perfectly. If you're lucky Kevin or I will suddenly leap out into the open, only to
disappear again, chased perhaps (chased certainly, in my case) by Mary Jo.
There will be a bucket with an opening on top outside the display. Your quarters will
I'm kidding, of course. Everything's gonna be fine. It's a wild wild world of TV and
music and internet and life out there, and we're all getting tossed out into it. We'll
probably run into you.
It is true, though, that your quarters will help.