I remember what the wonderful Bobby De Niro said to me. Well, not to me, I read it in an article.

When not directly involved and having in my possession an artist's pass (Which I hear is now something fascist called a "Rush Pass," and it doesn't even guarantee you admission. For a supposed festival celebrating art, they do seem to get more and more creative about shafting the actual artists) my Fringe limit seems to be about five shows as I run out of Fringe gas after that.

The fifth and ultimately final show if my work schedule speaks for anything:

Shakespeare's Land of the Dead
1/3rd Shakespeare in Love, 1/3rd Shaun of the Dead, 1/3rd The Final Project That Would Make Every English Teacher in the World Simultaneously Lose Their Shit - this is an excellent, excellent play all around. Solid acting, more-than-solid writing, sleek, professional presentation. Its only fault is that, often times, it's perhaps too clever for its own good, and a lot of jokes are aimed at the 1% of people that would get it. The trouble is, true one-percenter's don't laugh out loud, they knowingly chuckle and nod approvingly. Don't think that means they're playing to a silent crowd, because the faux one-percenters roar with laughter, maybe because they got the joke, or maybe because they want everyone to know/think they got the joke.

Here are some other Fringe experiences I've had this week:

• I feel as though these last five months haven't counted, and I've JUST moved back to Minneapolis, since I ran into numerous people that assumed I was just visiting Minneapolis to go to the Fringe. And after I told them I was back here, bar tending at a golf course in Blaine, they reacted as if I told them I had a brand new disease, so deadly and incurable and mutant-like they had to name it after me.
• Most of the shows I attended were at my old stomping grounds at Rarig Center. I even ran into several of my former theater majors, current baristas. I haven't seen a handful of them since leaving that building, so I like to imagine they all live in the basement somewhere. Many nooks and crannies for the homeless and starving (Both artist and just plain lazy) to hide in.
• I heard several rumors about myself while waiting in line at a lot of these shows. Some were spoken directly to me. A former classmate asked me how life was in Arizona. I replied, balmy I'd imagine, and then after I told them I haven't spent much time in Arizona, they asked, "Then how can you live there?" Then we just stared at each other until they let us into the show.
• My second favorite is when I was asked how my little girls were. The tone implied children, and not a harem. I laughed and said, "Oh, no, I don't have any kids.......do, I? Are they in Arizona?"
• I ran into my eleventh grade English teacher who was always one of my favorites. (Mr. Kuzma, for those of you in the know) I spoke with wife, son, and daughter-in-law, and I informed them it was the encouragement of Mr. Kuzma that led me to pursuing a life in writing, and, for that, I've hated him ever since. (And just in case you're wondering, Kuz is definitely a true one-percenter. Guess what show I ran into him at?) Also, while he did stop and say hi to me, having recognized me, he completely forgot my name. So, remember that one teacher that inspired you and you owe your life to? They've forgotten you. Accept that.

And finally, perhaps it's the mixture of nostalgia in the ol' theatre building, or the genuine happiness I had with theatre, or just being plain ol' Fringe drunk -- but this week has awakened the creative beast within. I'm crawling out of my cave and getting back in the game and many other cliches! Don't believe me? I've already got five auditions lined up, and a semi-completed outline for a brand-new, non-remount Mainly Me show.

Anybody know where a brother can get him a venue?