February 1, 2004
First we saw a very silly play. Adults leaping about as “anteelopes” with tutus and helmets. Lots of fun. Singing and dancing. When I grow up I want to be like that.
Perched on my heels atop the red seats of the theater I was reminded of the community I started breaking into before joining up with Imago. Looking around, I recognized so many people, but didn’t know names. I got a slightly frantic feeling, a desire to work with every company and every person in Portland instantaneously. I wanted to be in a billion plays all at once, and write and direct them too. I wanted to know the middle name of everyone in the theater.
And then I remembered that I’m only twenty-four, and that there is time for everything. Imago is super fun and super challenging and, really, a totally awesome job. And someday, when I am ready to move on, there will be plenty of time to work with other companies.
So. Next we went to Lance’s for Scotch and Lizard night, in which we drank scotch and played with lizards. Like, a whole lot of lizards.
Lance and Kris live in the Northeast in a cluttered and lovely little house. They co-habitate with a terrier, a parrot, two frogs, and about… oh… thirty lizards. In every corner of every room sits a glass enclosure bursting with bright green plants. Stop to admire the greenery and your eyes will eventually alight on a camoflauged mini-dinosaur. Giant, teensie, scaly, smooth, green, red, yellow, blue, brown mini-dinosaurs.
Lance took us into the basement, where an eerie green light dimly illuminated a small corner. Crickets chirruped in chorus (poor crickets – they know not the fate that awaits them), and the mossy cages rustled every so slightly. I spied a red-eyed rainforest froggie and went to quietly say hello but, in response to my approach, the frog slowly closed his bright eyes and got very flat. I tried to explain that I had merely come over to say hi, and not to eat him, but he continued to perform his shiny green rock impression.
The eyes of a crested lizard are a whole universe. To look into them is to look for miles and miles. The wee little lizard held onto my finger and I brought my hand up to my nose. When she made the journey to my elbow, I delighted in her padded, velvety feet. When she jumped onto my shoe I almost had a heart attack.
Dozer, the terrier, loves the lizards with reckless abandon. Lance says Dozer would eat any lizard that got within his reach, but I don’t believe it. No one can tell me that the little dog who quivers and licks the glass with eyebrows high is actually just hungry.
Overall, it was a highly enjoyable evening. Before we left, Lance, Sam, Matt, and I shared some wonderfully silly web links. I encourage you all to check them out:
…and, for the love of all things good and wonderful, check this one out…