I was asked (or rather commanded: “write blog!”) to add something here. My exploits at the condo and various custard shops have been adequately detailed by Ryan, so I will not belabor these further.
As I write this, Steve’s musical rendering of Couscous is pulsing through my headphones, blocking out the sound of my brother and mom stomping around the house. Hopefully I’ll be able to commit the notes and subtle rhythms to memory soon enough to not embarrass myself in front of the real musicians on Monday. Steve has been generous in referring to me as a “vocalist” and “actress” when introducing me to friends and collaborators on this project, even though he knows as well as I do that most of my stage experience has been through school performances and karaoke.
The first two large-scale collaborations I worked on — Tuesday Afternoon and last year’s Electro — focused a lot more on ridiculousness in other people and, ironically, I was also detatched from the performance and implementation of them. It’s therefore fitting that when I try to use my writing to take on my own ridiculousness, I get swept up in portraying it, too.