It is Monday.
To celebrate the impending arrival of my third Edinburgh Fringe, I have spent today rearranging my house while marveling at a computer that could take seven hours to perform a series of crucial, yet invisible tasks. "DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT WORKING ON THOSE SHOWS TODAY", says the computer, "WELL, YOU MAY, BUT THE JOKES WILL BE HAND- WRITTEN AND FRAGMENTED, BUT I DO NOT CARE, FOR I HAVE WHIRRING AND CLICKING TO DO". This is the price I pay for having two shows, one a stream- of- consciousness make- it- up ramble - and the other an abusive multimedia game show. Today the computer readied itself for the installation of the doo-dad to make the wuzzagig perform the Magellan whatever, so the abusive game show fell under my mother's parenting logic:
"I will look at you when you stop making that noise."
I sat with the nice man who built the videogame that will run on a projector during the show and we both agreed that his design was terrific, the realization of the game itself superb and that if we just let the computer tick over it would eventually do what we'd asked of it. Soon all the Red Bulls were drunk and lunch had been and gone and we watched my MacBook Pro chug along with the speed of sloths in glue. "I'll come back tomorrow" said my friend, carrying his projector out of the house.
So I banged on some Loudon Wainwright III and got to procrastinating in exhausting, physical style. You too will rediscover the enormous wooden crucifix your high-school sweetheart made for you if you lift and carry the entire contents of your house from one room to another.
The fact that the computer has now finished its mysterious process has allowed me to type this blog.
We are currently behind three bookshelves that shouldn't be where they are.
I'm either getting to the Fringe strong, or broken.
It is now Tuesday.
John Robertson is performing two shows at the Edinburgh Fringe.
His afternoon show is The Dark Room, the game show without a game.
His evening show is The Old Whore, which is about the Queen and death. Hurrah!