I'm not seeing enough shows. I see a couple everyday. It's not enough. So much theatre. So much talent. So much story and song and inventiveness and brilliance.
The Fest is like life that way, magnified and amplified and dramatized in every way possible.
I walk the streets and see poster after poster of something that looks cool.
I meet person after person, mostly actors and writers and directors, all interesting and funny and having some show they want me to see, and that I do indeed want to see.
But there's just not enough time.
And Time does not give any extras.
So you do what you can. Develop an appreciation for where you are, what sight you are seeing, conversation you are having, show you do manage to see.
It's thrilling and sad in equal measure.
Walked down the Royal Mile yesterday to check out the Palace. So gorgeous and full of history and Lion Rampants and Mary Queen of Scots. It's this combination of history and beauty, the Palace. Part of it is a functioning home to the Royals, part of it's the ruin of an ancient church.
And there's a wooden floor with blood stains from when Mary Stuart's husband stabbed a guy he thought she was messing around with fifty some odd times.
Very dramatic.
We spend a few hours walking the Palace, then speed walk to a performance of "I'm Almost There", which is this semi-one man show, a musical of sorts, about life and love and working through your shit after meeting someone and thinking you are falling in love. It's beautiful and hilarious and touching. The show is the main guy at a piano, plus a harpist and bassist who not only accompany but become some of the characters the main guy mentions. The whole show is like a monologue, a confessional one person show, all about a chance meeting that leads to a day spent walking and talking and connecting to a missed kiss, a cup of coffee, and how the journey to a decision, to taking a step forward, to simply accepting a cup of coffee brought unbidden, can be an odyssey of the soul.
It's brilliant.
We walk home, and happen upon this strange, wondrous tea shop, run by two young women who might be elves. They smile, talk and sing to themselves as we walk about the shop, smelling little samples of tea. It's one of those random stores you find now and then- well, you find them a lot here in Edinburgh but this place is another dimension, to be certain. We buy some tea and a brownie that one of the elves tells me is "most certainly the best brownie you will ever have".
I haven't eaten it yet, but I'm fairy certain when I do I will find I can levitate or speak with animals or something.
Then it's time for the show. And it's one of those shows where things just feel odd. First off, there's a street band playing outside the building, behind and below us on Victoria Street, which is this winding cobble stoned thoroughfare that looks like Diagon Alley, because it was the inspiration for Diagon Alley. The band has an excellent sound system, and we can hear them as the play is being performed. The audience is almost a strange mix, with some looking rather unimpressed, and one guy somehow napping. In my big fight scene, my Apple Watch, which I wear but have turned to theatre mode so it won't ring, starts beeping.
But even so, it's a solid show. Tight. The cast has this thing down and are now in control, and that feels excellent.
Afterwards, we head towards the show Dylan Mulvaney: FAGHAG. En route, we stop at this outdoor food court- there are lots of these throughout the Fringe, parks and courtyards and open spaces full of food trucks and tables and tents and people. This one looks like Pleasure Island from Pinocchio. As we walk in, a random man sees me and says quite loudly "you're from that show! Up by the castle!". He looks at my face a moment, continues. "Yeah! It's you. Great job! Great Show". And off he walks.
And I feel absurdly good.
We have Pizza and falafels and I feel just fucking great.
We head to the show, which most of the cast is there for. It's wonderful. Dylan Mulvaney is the trans woman who made headlines when Bud Light had them as a spokesperson and the right wing section of American went even more insane. She is magnetic and uber-talented and makes every single person in the theatre feel like they are a personal guest at her most fabulous and excellent party. The show is a joyous, hilarious, romping good time that is witty and tender and touching and uplifting, and we are all hooting and laughing and I'm watching my friends absolutely fill up with joy, which increases my own joy even more. It's yet another thing I love so much in this city full of things I love.
And then it's time for bed. We have to move from the flat we are staying in, which is basically a college dorm with free entertainment nightly as it is right next to an intersection where the howling banshees of the night meet, and the screaming seagulls of the morning hold court. So I'm up early, even before the coffee shops open, to write and then pack.
And tonight, we have our final performance.
It all makes me think of one of my favorite lines. "Does anyone ever realize life while they live it? Every every minute? No. Saints and Poets. They do. Some."
Here's a song. It's Dylan Mulvaney singing Girlhood.
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