Something I didn't really plan on writing here or, indeed, anywhere
I have a little story.

Last Saturday, while making my rounds at work, I came across a group of three people I was fairly certain I had not yet slathered with fliers and false, greedy charm -- so I made my approach. Upon offering them a programme for the festival, they flashed their performers' passes and made clear that they were obviously quite familiar with a lot of the acts... especially considering they were some of them. I laughed good naturedly and made a comment about being embarrassed. They were very kind and said they were nice people and there was no need to be embarrassed. The fellow in the middle leaned forward to shake my hand and introduced himself; "I'm Rhys".

Wanting to redeem myself a little bit -- and those are my famous last words in the highest sense of climatic irony -- I jumped on the first opportunity my meagre knowledge of working comedians threw at me, and tossed back "Rhys Darby?"

You must understand that that was a very difficult and painful experience for me to recount.

Not more than two seconds after the words rolled so messily off my tongue did I recoil inwardly, mentally deliver a swift kick to the head and say no more about it. This fellow had a wild, curly 'white-man's' afro which I later discovered could double as a mullet under the right conditions. Rhys Darby is a little ginger chap. More importantly, I know this. I also know he's not doing a show at the festival.

The things the mind can make us do when it sees no other route of escape.

Anyway, out of some weird guilt mixed with a need for redemption (you'd think I would have learned to lay off the idea of bouncing back from a bad one by now), tonight I went to see his show. Not Rhys Darby. The other Rhys. Turns out he is a Rhys of the Mathewson variety. His show was brilliant. Not only hilarious and clever, but he ended with a dance. I don't think I have ever seen such an awful dance performed so spectacularly. When his show was almost over, he stripped down to a lime green leotard with fluoroescent pink flared tights (which he had been wearing under his clothes for the entire duration of the hour and twenty) and performed a dance, with what can only be descibed as unbridled enthusiasm, to Footloose by Kenny Loggins.

Indeed, it may very well turn out to be the best $18 I ever spent.


...oh, except that I didn't pay, I got in free with my crew pass. Darn, now I don't have a send-off line. Eh, screw it.



(Note: Although this sort of thing is in my job description, I am currently off the clock, and am not being paid for this.)