The Festival. Goodbye.

The next morning came too soon.

Exhausted, bedraggled, weathered, we rose. We packed our things.

Packing to leave for the festival, I managed all of my clothes, towels, laptop, adapters, and chargers into my one large yellow Yadeng backpack of much fame. It was at max capacity when we left, and now, packing to go, I found I had acquired a few more items during the course of this excursion. Namely:

• Two glasses
• The badass bathrobe
• A large checkers set, with a quilt for the playing board
• Two boxes of granola bars
• A plastic container of meat
• A plastic container of cheese
• Bread
  
• All of the Reverend's food (he departed a day early)
• and the empty bottles...

All of this did not fit. There were spare plastic grocery bags lying about, so I filled these and tied them off to my backpack long distance hiking-style, except it looked way more homeless. I carried the rest, plus an extra case of soda for Whitesnake I ended up keeping. So, fully loaded, holding everything, ready to rock, I went down to the car.

The scene was surreal as I exited the Super 8. All of the maids, chamberlains, housekeeping staff were sitting together outside clucking to each other like Spanish/American chickens and smoking cigarettes. They chuckled at me as I past.

I left before Bones and Whitesnake, since they'd piled all of their luggage on a luggage roller thing and we wouldn't have fit in the elevator together. So I had to wait by Whitesnake's car. The doors were locked. Superlame.

Joelle and Other Travis went out to their car, and began loading the trunk.

But wait! A window was cracked, so I set down my bag, bathrobe, laptop and soda box and snaked my hand through down the handle. I made a joke to myself about taking up a career in grand theft auto as I clicked the handle up and the door open.

ERR ERR ERR his horn exploded. Fuck. God fucking damn it. Car alarm.

At first the maids were worried, thinking I was trying to steal this car, but when they saw the shame on my face as I opened my cell and speed-dialed Whitesnake, they all just laughed and laughed. The alarm kept going. Faces appeared in windows, looking out at the embarassment of a human being in the parking lot. Whitesnake didn't pick up the phone. I was running out of options.

One of the pretty girls from Connecticut, who looked like Rachel Weisz but sexier, came out and went to a car nearby, she saw it was me the alarm was about and giggled at my expression. Then the alarm went off.

The surreal quiet of the Super 8 lot had been broken, but the mood was still there. All of the Connecticut folks emptied out and headed to their cars, all of us with far too little sleep. Weisz came over and showed me a banana that was completely dark brown she had taken from her car and held it before her like a little child showing his parents something interesting he'd found.

"Oh....wow." Was really all I could think to say.

"It's from last month."

"Oh. Wow." I said very differently than the first time.

But that was that, not even a parting "hey maybe add me on facebook." The rest just waved as they walked to their cars. Not even a "hey dude i would like you to have sex with all my female friends." Not even a "hey we only just met but i love you lets get married and have sex every day till we cant anymore." But you know, whatever. I'm better living single anyways. Good riddance.

We packed the car, gave the crappy motel our crappy motel key cards. Walking out the door for the last time, I shouted back in "Good-Bye, Super 8." It did not say good bye back.

And we drove away from Leominster, Massachusetts. Forever.



[on a truly personal note, the radio came up with a poignant soundtrack for the return trip, starting with "We Belong" by Pat Benatar, then stereotypically but appropriately "Good Riddance" by Green Day, and just from when we pulled off the turnpike into Portland right up until the moment we parked in front of Payson St... "Glycerine," by Bush.]

The Festival. Day One.

Day One: Prelude.

There’s a large organization for colleges around America that have Theatre programs. They divide our fine nation into Regions and once a year the schools of these regions meet. It is called a large acronym, but we, the participants, know it only as “the Festival.” These schools stay in a large Four Points Sheraton hotel and attend workshops, compete in acting for scholarships, learn new technical skills, and see many plays by day. By night, we revel with a Bacchanal nature that would make our patron deity Dionysus weep with pleasure.

Our classes are dismissed for the week. This is the vacation no other academic major gets. And I am here now.

The bathrobe I just bought from the largest Salvation Army you’ve ever seen just down the road. The Raybans came from the iParty adjacent our hotel. The Johnnie Walker Red Label from the New Hampshire State Liquor Store. It’s 1:30 pm Eastern Standard Time and I’m getting my drink on before a play I’m about to see in an hour. It’s called Columbinus, and from the description involves student perspectives on the Columbine massacre and the two crazy sons of bitches that carried it out. These could be the best actors in the world, and this play will still be horrible. I’m not going to call it “too soon” just yet, but with such heavy content it is already doomed to being over-criticized, over-dramatized, and over-done. No one is walking out of that theatre a better person. This is just my surface thoughts though, once the scotch has kicked in and I possibly further inebriate myself, I’ll get back to you on how Columbinus affected me.

This is my third year in a row coming to the Festival. Each year marked with high adventure, extreme debauchery, intimacy, and memorable times. The Festival is a mile-point in my college career, and once I’m out of this institution, my fondest memories will be of the Four Points Sheraton in Leominster, Massachusetts. You pronounce it LEMON-STER, but since we are Maine folk proper we disregard any sense of their Masshole vernacular and have resorted to calling it Leo-Men-Stah. This is deeply rooted from the Missouri Compromise.

This year is different though. They did not house our students in the Four Points. No. We are across the street. In the Super 8 Motel. So far one room has had it’s toilet overflow nonstop. The room across the hall had large insects in the beds. We called them bed-bugs, but who the hell really knows what a bed-bug is. These both happened on the second floor. I am on the fourth. I feel safe so far, but the sketch of this shady motel may soon reach our door.

Last night I cracked open the Johnnie Walker and had a few tumblers of Scotch with ice. This unfortunately wasn’t working as quick as I’d like. A fine blended Scotch Whiskey is not a party drink. It’s a "lounge in your new bathroom that makes you look like a prizefighter and discuss the finer points of plot development in playwriting with the Reverend" drink. Rayban sunglasses optional, but recommended. I had a few glasses but mixed it up with some cheap beer until the night started taking off. Hanging around this new place with my best friends, remembering the crazy times at the Festival years before.

At the right point of the night, in celebration of our first night down, I broke out some Wild Turkey Bourbon (another special thanks to the NH State Liquor Store) and with a select few took a couple swigs. If you’ve never had 101 proof Wild Turkey before, just a few swigs is all you need and I was all set for the duration of the night. People came and went from my room and I came and went to others’ rooms. Everything started getting very smooth and cool, getting to know some of the freshmen younger folks better who I had not fully aquainted myself with, a man hereby referred to as Scarborough particularly. We talked of ProTools, Audacity and other sound engineering programs we were familiar with. He has a real affinity for the stuff and hopefully has a bright future in either sound design or audio engineering.

Ended up in M&M’s room. Reminded him of how he once took advantage of how easily persuaded I am when intoxicated and made me make out with this chick who was not someone anyone wants to be seen making out with in order to sway the vote in our Student Organization in our favor. It didn’t sway the vote, he just wanted to laugh at me, but it was all in good fun and I made him feel a bit guilty. The nostalgia was hilarious. The Reverend arrived and joined us, but we soon after realized the time and severity of our drunk, so we arrived on the decision for Bedtime. Whitesnake and Bones were already passed out, and we followed suit.

And now, I head to Columbinus.