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by Paul Chaplin
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 help. 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. [Posted 3/99] |
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.