Press "Play."

We’ve reached that point in the run where it doesn’t matter if we’re paying attention to doing the pageant or not. We just do it.

Press “Play” and we do it.

Rain, wind, lightning, heat, humidity, insects, smoke, love, hate, sex, jealousy, indifference, PTW, path, kid’s shows, what-the-hell-am-I-going-to –do after-August 20, my-dog-died, my mom’s sick, I’m broke; the smells coming from: the giant septic gizmo behind the women’s dressing room, the women’s dressing room! Eau de colony (bug spray), the MEN’s dressing room! The smells from each other and of course ourselves.

A dancer hurts herself in the Plymouth dance and an ambulance comes to pick her up? Keep going.

Press “Play” and we do it.

It starts – goes – ends.

You’re not thinking about what you’re doing or saying? It doesn’t matter – you do it and say it without paying attention. We run on pure muscle memory.

This is my routine. This is my track. I do THIS right now, I talk with whosis for ten seconds at THIS point in the show. I catch a cig with THESE people every night at the same time. I sit on the bench and flirt with THIS person during Ralph Lane, I have a hard drink from the water fountain now, now, now and NOW. What are you doing sitting there – this is MY spot for these three minutes.

You’ve hurt your back/neck/ankle? Forget it. We do it. You’ve got a cold, a stomach virus, a broken heart? You do it. You cut the end of a finger off – OK – one night off. Bandage that sucker and do the pageant.

Rain delays? Don’t want them. At 8:30 press “Play” and move that mother through until it ends at 11.

You’re miffed with yourself because you’re having trouble focusing and are just going through the motions? Forget it, it doesn’t matter. Your motions are just as good as the real thing. OK then try to focus – yes – and suddenly you’re walking off stage and realize you were a thousand miles away. Time to cry? You cry. No real emotion or thought required, it just happens.

You have family/friends in town – great. Sorry – my routine doesn’t vary. I sleep till this hour, I do this in the afternoon, I eat supper at this time.

The crushing heat we’re experiencing? All we ask for is a breeze.

We hear the show through the monitors in the dressing rooms and backstage. It is the soundtrack of our evening. We don’t really listen to it unless something different happens. Whups! The Queen’s microphone is out. Old Tom’s mic is intermittent. Sing out, Louise! I don’t notice the dialogue unless something is askew. It is bizarre. “Hey he said ‘great’ instead of ‘mighty.’” “Why is he pausing? What’s going on?” It is so strange – I know the lines so well that I don’t hear them – I only hear mistakes!

Whoa! Something is wrong with the sound system and the pre-show announcements are speeded up almost to Alvin & The Chipmunks level? Oh well – places please and hope that the music is normal. Got that back-up CD?

We know which part of the week it is by which group of kids are in the show. It’s Ian! Must be Thursday!

There was some talk the other night about “virgins” and one of them pointed out that the whole “virgin” thing is over. They’ve been through Slaughter and that’s that. Right?

Wrong, although I didn’t bother to chime in. You ain’t really truly been slaughtered until you’ve been through the entire summer with all of the phases that come with it. And this is one of the phases. Regardless of anything we’re just Doing the Pageant.

Press “Play.”