in General

Bring your umbrella cause young fella it gets no weirder

Backstage, in the green room. The actors are all putting on makeup, and the actresses are curling their hair. Tim shifts in the sofa. He?s the stage manager: thin, gangly, walks with a limp. “Okay, so in philosophy class I studied, hey, listen, I studied this puzzle and it?s pretty cool. So there are these two doors, right? And these two doors are guarded by these two robots.”

Cameron clicks on a laptop. She’s looking at rows and rows of her own headshot. “I have to get these done quickly,” she says. “I’m going to New York in three weeks. I?m auditioning there. New York.”

“And so these two robots, see, one of them always tells the truth. And one of the robots always lies. And one of the doors goes to heaven and the other one goes to hell. So which door do you choose?” asks Tim.

Clarissa says, “Did you guys see American Idol last night? I thought that tattooed one, Gina Glockson, she chose a bad song. It was like, if you’re going to select a song and you’re going to have punk out hair, you need to sing a punk song or an indie song. But she didn?t. With the red hair, you can’t do that eighties tune, whatever it was.”

“Wait a minute,” says AJ. “How many doors are there?”

I peer over Cameron’s shoulder and point at a headshot. “Stop it,” she says, shooing me away.

“Two,” says Tim.

“I choose the door on the left,” says AJ.

“No, see, you get to ask a question to the robots,” says Tim. “And you need to figure out which door you should choose.”

“I got it,”┬ásays Anthony, dabbing foundation on his cheeks. “Did Britney Spears shave her head?”

“No, you have to figure out what to ask the robots,” says Tim.

“I added her to the Hot Mess board on the wall,” says Anthony. A cork board is covered with cutout figures from gossip magazines, random celebrities with unflattering pictures. “Because let’s face it folks, Britney is definitely a Hot Mess.”

“No, wait wait wait, I know!” says AJ. “My question is, did Britney shave her head?”

“Are you guys hearing one another?” I ask.

“Ah, screw you all,” says Tim.

Dean plays scales on his violin. Cameron calls out, “Stop it, I?ve got a headache!” The violin halts abruptly

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