Ten hour rehearsal?

Ten.

Hour.

Rehearsal.

This, would be the payback for not having a rehearsal on Saturday, we get a super-crazy ten hour power hour of pure, unadulterated murder-mysterious action. I think I speak for the entire cast when I say: Whoop-de-doo. Nay; whoop-de-freakin'-doo.

Okay, I won't lie to you, we need a lot of rehearsal. I need some more rehearsal, as unbelievable as it may sound, I'm not quite perfect yet. Close, very, very close, but not quite there yet. This does not mean I'm anxious to spend the next half-day cooped up in Doorley Auditorium, faking an accent, talking loudly, and standing for most of it. By the end of the day my throat and feet will be places where no joy can live.

On the other hand, we are going to get pizza delivered.

Regardless of either, it is important to note that this is my father's birthday. It's like my mother's birthday, only with a beard. Happy birthday, Dad!