The Night-time Creeper

My car was broken into last night, here in Suisun City. I had gone for a couple of drinks with Holli Hornlien after watching the Vacaville cast of Millie perform. They were delightful in many respects; not so delightful in others. The drinks were because we both like Manhattans.

The house I'm staying in is on Bay Street, a very nice little neighborhood; there are a lot of cars parked at night on the side spaces in the backyard side of the streets and so I was lucky to find one of my usual close ones. I thought I locked the car. I was drunk, though, so I may not have. But it is my habit always to lock the car.

When I came out today, my radio was gone, both doors were unlocked and the rear hatch was ajar, the little red indicator light glowing on the dashboard. They broke the glove compartment, too. So I don't know what to do about this, do I report it? Do I tell my insurance guy, who always raises the rates on my parents when things go awry? I don't really trust him. Sorry, Tony, but if you raise the rates, why should I report ANYTHING to you? It's probably less expensive to replace the radio, you fucktoad.

It's 2:36 am. I went to Denny's tonight with a couple cast members. We left at 2:11, it's not a long drive, so I was back here by about 2:23. I'm one space closer to the house I'm staying in, and I just sat in my car for a bit, thinking about the stolen radio. It occurred to me that it's late, and the same thieves are probably out tonight. I got out of my car and closed and locked my door, then went around to check the passenger side. It was locked.

I walked around to the driver's side and just looked off down the street toward the spot where my car was burgled last night. Still and silent in the moonlit night, I watched the minivan in that spot. And then something caught my attention beyond it. It looked as though someone on their knees was just crawling forward out of sight behind a truck, and what I was seeing was their right leg as it moved out of sight. It could also have been a black cat. But cats don't move like a leg.

I walked toward the truck, pretty far down the street, and at that moment the movement-sensor lights on that house went on. I was too far away to have been the cause of the lights; something near them had moved. I kept walking closer and became sharply aware of an electrifying sensation that I was being watched.

The closer I got to the truck, the more goosebumps rose on my arms and legs. My hackles were up, the hair on the back of my head and all down my spine standing up like thorns. As I stood looking toward the back of the truck, I was certain that if I stood there long enough or if I'd had a flashlight with me, I would be able to see the culprit. I know whoever was there could see me. I could sense them watching me. I know they know which car I got out of. I know they know I'm wise to their game.

At least I think I know all that. But the longer I stood there, the less certain I was that what I had seen was a thief's leg. The more I began to wonder if something darker, more sinister was lurking there in the shadows. Isn't that how it always is? Fred Jones' car was burgled last night and tonight, by God, he's going to get the motherfuckers! But when he charges into the bushes, he's waylaid by sharp-toothed toad minions of shadow who suck his soul out through his testicles.

So I walked away. And the farther I got away from the truck, the lower my hackles lay. Finally, as I let myself into Sue's house I began to feel more normal. But I was very aware of the relative insecurity of a house or a car. It's alarming to think that someone can break in while one is in one's home. Or while one is sleeping just down the way from where one left one's car.

But it's just plain chilling to consider what might have actually been waiting for me in the leafy moonshadowed backyard access of picturesque Bay Street in Suisun City.

© 2010, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.

Cheap Tix, Popery, Circumcision

Wow, this is interesting: our Thursday show isn't selling well, so the Artistic Director, Brian Katz, is offering $10.00 tickets on Brown Paper Tickets. And, strange coincidence, Bluegrass legend Peter Rowan will be coming to the show on Thursday night. So we really really need to sell tickets. The audience feedback with a full house is amazing; it is equally dismal when there are very few people in attendance, as it's quite a small theatre and people are uncomfortable laughing or enjoying when they feel so exposed.

I'll be posting on Facebook that he is coming to the show; I wonder if this will in any way influence ticket sales? I know of at least one person who is already coming to the show because of the cheap tickets.

Here's what I tried to post as a Status Update on Facebook; I had to shorten it, perhaps that's best:

"$10.00 tickets to Cotton Patch Gospel this Thursday, and Bluegrass legend Peter Rowan will be coming to the show! This is astounding; for Musical Theatre people, this is akin to having Sondheim show up to watch your rinky-dink community theatre production. For those of you who cannot sing, it's like having the Pope at your kid's Bris. Er -- wait, no, what would the Pope be doing at a Bris? Other than watching with an alarming level of interest, perhaps offering to help ..."

Which makes me wonder about the Pontifical Foreskin: is it intact? Is it required that the Pontiff be uncut? Or is he required to be shorn in case God requires that all who honor the Covenant be so marked? Perhaps there's a special secret ceremony where uncut Popes are snipped. Do they tell them ahead of time? Or is it sprung on them when they least expect to be circumcised? Perhaps the Pope is offered a delicious caramel sundae, and then BOING here's the Moyle, time to snip! I wonder who the Rabbi is that they ferret into the Vatican ... or do they use a new one every time, knowing that if the last guy ever tells anyone, nobody will believe him.

Seems like maybe this was the subplot missing from the Cohen Brothers' latest: A Serious Man. Which, by the way, was sneak-up-on-you funny. Stupid people probably won't enjoy it, so if you're stupid, you should probably stay home and count your Bush/Cheney memorabilia. Those nasty Dems might be sneaking in to public healthcare you in your sleep, then steal your valuable keepsakes of what was, perhaps, the single greatest presidential administration in the history of the world.

I would be delighted if the Pope came to see the show. I am not a Catholic, I'm interested in ticket sales. But it would also be amusing because the theatre is in an Episcopal church. So that would be very interesting, as theatrical situations go. But I'm more excited about Peter Rowan being there.

© 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.

Creation Sticks

So as the millions of you who read my blog have no doubt noticed, Sam Craig and I have been shooting some improvised sketchy goodness and posting it on YouTube. We've had some comments, a few subscribers -- mostly friends, though I am happy to report that two complete strangers have subscribed. But aside from a billionth of a percent in Ireland about a month ago, all of our viewers have been in the United States.

Until Creation Sticks. For the first time, we have an audience in Argentina. And Australia. Mysterious, no?! Well, perhaps not so much when you consider the tags I've posted for Creation Sticks: "Darwin Intelligent Design Evolution Theory Science Hightower Craig Creationism Kansas Spaghetti Monster Panties". Argentina, of course, is explained by the close proximity of the words Monster and Panties, as any of you who have ever dated an Argentinian woman can attest.

But Australia? I wish I could figure that out. Unbelievers will tell you that Charles Darwin spent some time in and/or around that region of the globe back when he supposedly saw some special birds on a special rock, but you and I both know that neither those birds nor those "islands" as he called them actually exist. Neither, for that matter, did Charles Darwin himself. Charles Darwin was the name of a Bengal Tiger that Robert Louis Stevenson met on a lifeboat after the RMS Titanic sank near Argentina (connection?!). The tiger came from Australia, which is why there's a small town named after her (I know, why would anyone name a tigress Charles Darwin, right? It's those crazy Austalians again!). The town, coincidentally, is named Darwin.

So it's no surprise that people from Australia would agree with our Creation Sticks experiment. After all, how can you disagree with fact?

The great thing about a facts is that you can invent your own. For example, I want it to be a fact that I have a hell of a lot of subscribers to Joygoggles on YouTube. Now that I've invented that fact, you can help me make it a reality by clicking here, registering with YouTube, rating and subscribing to Joygoggles!

A couple of you have already subscribed. But just think: if you think like me, and I think you might, and you know someone who thinks like you -- which means they think a little like me -- then they might think that more people will see the Truth and Light of Creation Sticks and all of our other Scientific Endeavors! Which means you should share this blog and all of Joygoggles with every social networking site of which you are a member.

Join, rate and subscribe. That's all I ask. Plus fellatio from the non-herp hotties.

© 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.