While all of the performers are waking up to painful hangovers, naked, beside someone that they don’t recognise, the staff and technicians of the Winnipeg Fringe Theatre Festival are destroying their venues with Walkie Talkie hammers.
Once everything is down to splinters and twigs, it’s all shovelled into the back of trucks and off to storage where it will be sorted and put away until next year when we can’t figure out how it all goes together again.
The folks over at the Kings Head are doing the same as they go through renovations to eliminate the dank. The new dankless Kings Head should open on August 8th with new bars, carpet, and hope. Don’t worry, the dank was donated to the Fringe to be used next year in the beer tent, Fringe central, or one of the venues that could use a bit of dank.
As the performers are wandering around an unfamiliar domicile searching for their underwear, phone, and dignity, we are stuffing the last of the Fringe bits into their storage spaces, collecting all of the left over bottles of mayonnaise from Venue 5 (the Warehouse theatre rehearsal hall) and preparing the room for the hazmat team to sanitize. The bleach tanker should arrive next week.
The final F word count is in, the counter has been reset for next year’s Fringe, and this blog is being mothballed for next year. I’m planning on digging out all of the Walkie Poetry from years past, that I just found on a 5 1/4″ floppy disk that was buried under some old Fringe posters. So look for those in the coming days, in one of the tabs above.
To the two readers who followed me this Fringe (my aunt Hilda, and YouBuyViagraNow136) I’d like to thank you for reading. I hope it helped you with your insomnia aunty Hilda, and I’ll be sending you that cheque we talked about Mr. 136.
And as I close the doors on Venue Two for the last time, I think ahead to the next Fringes in Saskatoon, Calgary, Edmonton, Vancouver, and Victoria, and give a gesture of respect as I raise my triple daiquiri in a toast from the bar. Good luck you guys, and do it right. The magic is in the mop bucket.