It's 3:39 p. m. My turquoise pleated industrial-strength polyester floor-length gown needs to be at the Iroquois Park ampitheatre at 4:30 so the costume director for Night of the Living Dead can shake, bake, scramble, tear, and bloody it. The dress can't drive, so I must accompany it, and there remain until 10:00 p. m. for play rehearsal. (Only I am attending; the dress isn't due back on stage until Wednesday evening.)
In other words, I've only got a few minutes before heading down the Watterson Expressway, but rehearsals are engaging enough that I must write now or yesterday's experience will be lost in the excitement of today's.
Our first activity was a nice up-hill walk in the woods, during which we were video-ed. I'd decided that in the 1960s grandmothers of the bride didn't wear their hair in the long curly "Ive been too long at the beach" style that I'm prone to. Consequently, I bought a pack of hair nets at the drugstore yesterday. The first test of staying in character happened about five steps up the path, when an errant branch snatched the hair net (which I'd tidily draped over one eye to accent the oddity of it all) off me.
Quick decision. Which to sacrifice, the image of a 1960s grandma zombie or the aspect of a zombie?
Answer: After the filming, I plucked the hair net off the twig and put it back on my head. Cuz after all I'm a ZOMBIE, and there might have been food up that hill.
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