Because moments iridesce then fizzle as days pass, I tend to distrust moments and wait for solid imprints to form, the ones I return to. The blue seashell, unexpected treasure, washing up at my feet when the kids and I were watching the seagulls. The sound of the waves at night when the only light silvers the crests. I look for what I will want to remember for years to come.
Seeing Marc Smith ("SO WHAT!"), slam pappy himself, perform, reaching out to audience members, reaching them with his inimitable comforting raspy voice opened the night's importance. He walked down the aisles reaching people, touching them. (It reminded me of summer nights in the revival tent in the Community Baptist Church of my Midwestern childhood.)
Steve Marsh is one of my favorites, so warm, so kind, so sharp. He tried to get the camera crew to stop filming when he was on stage. "You don't need to waste film on me." A better administrator you cannot know. The MC developed a call and response for audience members after Steve Marsh's name: "O-KAY!"
The MC for the final bout Saturday, Mike McGee made hosting seem so easy. Humorous, warm, he amped up audience members energy before performances, arranged tight sequencing of performances, and made everyone feel welcome. He engaged us, yes ,with his raucous self-deprecating humor--infamous nipple rub and bouncing belly references in a deliberate slow mo high-five fakeout hug. Political and pop culture jokes as well. ( Read more...Collapse )