The Good Dirt

This will be a collection of links and gossip. Just what you want on a Monday semi-holiday morning, right?

I just got off the phone with Scott Thompson’s voicemail. Yeah, that’s pretty cool, huh? I left him a message. You do find this to be more endearing than pathetic, right? I know. It’s pretty sad.

Edie McClurg was a wonderful addition to our show, and our Valentine’s Day crowd was just about the most amazing audience we’ve ever had. We sold out both nights (Saturday was sold out before we even got there), and the rumor is that Saturday night’s show had Leonard Maltin in attendance. I know. What a bizarre rumor. Not since I saw Elvis Mitchell walk out of an LCP show was I so shocked. I’m guessing four out of every five critics in Los Angeles look like Leonard Maltin, but I’m still staying on the lookout for him.

Because, you see, I haven’t exactly told you everything that’s happened. It’s been crazy and hectic and strange, sure, but it was even weirder about two weeks ago.

Anne Heche’s husband came to the show. He paid money and sat in the audience and watched the entire thing, taking notes, frowning, making a general noisy spectacle. I had never seen him before, so I had no idea where he was sitting or which one he was. But other girls spotted him outside before the show. He mingled with some of our friends as he listened to them talk about how great and funny the show was. He heard people screaming with laughter about how bad the writing was. He took notes. We were sure it was all over. Cease and desist time.

But nothing happened. Monday brought the tabloid news, and Coley was soon forgotten.

Coleman Laffoon.

Yeah. I know.

Then my friend Andi flew in from New York and we saw dolphins and Ashton Kutcher and Jamie Foxx and it was all very strange and weird. My mom called as I was driving to the theater to tell me that she was in a car accident. She was okay, but she thought she might have broken her toe. After she told me to break a leg, I joked, “Nah, Mom. You know the old saying. ‘Mom breaks her toe, you have a good show.'”

And we did have a good show until just after curtain call when we were half-naked and cleaning off our makeup when the producer ran backstage and said, “She’s here.”

She. As in Celestia herself. In the building.

Apparently she busted in through the door at the end of the last monologue, right before the closing number. She was accompanied by her husband and Jeremy Sisto, who was performing a one-man show across the street. I already figured out the connection — they were doing a radio version of Proof here in LA together the same weekend we opened. Anyway, sources say she didn’t look too pleased, proving the tabliods wrong once again. She did happen to bust in on what might be the most unflattering moment of the show — fifteen women acting like complete maniacs while I shout the closing paragraph from the memoir. Some women are, in fact, eating their hair and barking.

I guess Mrs. Heche-Laffoon then stood outside the theater for a while, reading our board of press reviews, scoffing and waiting for someone to approach her. Apparently that didn’t happen, and she eventually left.

I called Mom the next day. “I guess it’s ‘Mom breaks her toe; Anne Heche comes busting in during the closing minutes of your show.'”

So. Yes. I felt really bad. Many people felt pretty bad. I certainly didn’t want her to see this show, and I’ve always considered this a vehicle to parody celebrity and fame. I joke that she came in at a bad time and took the show out of context, but there probably wasn’t a better moment for her to see. It’s not a very sympathetic show.

Nobody was more surprised than we were that we still got to do the show this past weekend, and it looks like we’ll make it to closing next weekend. I’m pretty happy about that, as people have been flying in from New York and Texas to see the thing, and I’d hate to waste their plane tickets. It’s pretty bizarre that this little show has made such a stink that Anne Heche herself feels the need to stop by and see what the fuss is all about. I don’t know whether to feel proud or not.

It’s still all just very strange.

But it’s been very nice to see so many pamie.com fans, those of you who have come up to me after the show to shake hands or take pictures. I always feel bad that I can’t spend more time with someone who drove so far to see me or meet me. There are so many things to do after a show, so many people to check with and problems to solve, or sometimes Anne Heche is outside — I always feel like a bit of an asshole when I have to excuse myself to go do something director-y. But I really appreciate all the support and it’s always nice seeing the faces of people from the site, seeing people again out of a Squishycon context or just through email. Thanks so much for coming. It’s nice having all of my worlds collide sometimes.

And then this morning I found out I’ve been nominated for a diarist award, which feels like a blast from the past. And I’m up against Wing Chun, so you know… that’s like Julianne Moore up against Meryl Streep. Except we’re much younger. And we don’t have kids. And one of us is Canadian. And… forget it.

Speaking of Canada, there’s an article about Why Girls Are Weird written by Zach, a former Squishite.

Okay, that’s it for links and gossip this week. I’ve been really trying to finish the first draft of my new novel before the reviews start to trickle in on WGAW. The manuscript goes out for review in a week, I think. I’m getting pretty damn nervous. So I have to finish the first draft so I don’t abandon it with some kind of pseudo-artistic wail.

Scott Thompson. Edie McClurg. Coley Laffoon. Jeremy Sisto. Leonard Maltin.

Y’all know you’re jealous.

Coming to see the show? Here’s a discount.

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