We all have moments in our lives when time slows down to a crawl, when the ticks and tocks of the pendulum drag so slowly across the cogs of our existence it feels like a finger dragging down a hardwood banister. Reality splits open like a dandelion, fuzzy with possibilities so fragile even a breeze will change them. Sometimes the drama is very real... a toddler chases a ball into the middle of a street, an envelope is unsealed to "and the winner is...", or a ring box sits open-- one knee dew-wet from grass while another buckles under the weight of decision.

Of course, other times the drama is more about when the pie is going to hit the face. Like when you're standing in the dark behind the World's Ricketiest Stage, being introduced by a man in a blond wig who wears more (and better) makeup than your mom ever did, wearing pants held up by six safety pins, so high on cold medicine you're half convinced you're about to float out of them. The crowd roars, the song starts, and a spotlight swings around like the Terminator's laser sight. You say the Astronaut's Prayer* as the roaring quiet pendulum ponderously rockets to the top of its path, and take that One Last Step.

TOCK!!!

"Joshua wants you to be in a fashion show."

"Tell him only if I get to wear black pants and white socks again. It's my signature."

"No dumbass, he really needs you to go, they need another guy to even things out. It's a goth fashion show for charity. It'll be fun!"

"Me, in a fashion show? But you said goats have better fashion sense than I do."

"No, I said goats smell better than you do after a bike ride. You have the fashion sense of a color-blind golfer. Besides, the clothes are provided."

"And you'll be able to keep tabs on Olivia--"

[Lizard Blink]

"aaaand Amber with your cell phone while you help me get dressed?"

"Don't be stupid. I'll be too busy with my own dress. You retards will have to take care of yourself. I knew you'd make the right choice!"

[weakly:] "umm... yeah... right choice..."

TICK!!!

It had been, my God, nearly twenty years since I'd been on a stage, but things hadn't really changed. Silver silhouettes of hair and jackets and hands dance beneath your feet, faceless only until you concentrate to see their gloomy features, lit by the moonglow you cast from the spotlight. Which is poetic as hell and probably is what's going through the head of that vision in front of me who only seconds earlier shouted in my ear, "step on my hem and you're dead!" What's going through my head is exactly:

Watch the edge watch the edge don't step on the hem wow Ellen's hot don't step off the edge could they make this f-ing thing any narrower don't step off the edge ha-ha who says white guy's can't dance oh sh*t look out for the edge!

TOCK!!!

Instant messaging is so much fun. Never have so many people been saved from strangling by being so far away...

Scott: Ok, so when do we need to show up for this thing?

Joshua: We'll need to leave by at least two. The show will probably start around nine.

Scott: Waitaminute. Where is this thing anyway?!?

Joshua: Richmond. We'll need to make sure we get there in time to rehearse a bit.

Scott: Note to self: Never agree to anything involving Joshua while drunk.

Joshua: But you were at work when you finally said yes!

Scott: Note to self: Never agree to anything involving Joshua while wishing I was drunk.

TICK!!!

Ok. Halfway there. Managed to pass by the first two folks out, Christophe and Cathy, without tossing anyone into the bleachers. Three feet never seemed so goddamned narrow. The end is exactly twice as wide as the runway, which is nice because now we get to do a little dance thing. Remember everyone, big smiles! Oh, and concentrating on your balance while your wife gives you smoky "come hither" looks in a can-can dress? Not easy. Now, just like we rehearsed, all I have to do now is hit this corner so Joshua will have room to come by. Grab the hat, make a flourish, and introduce...

An empty stage.

TOCK!!!

Downtown Richmond, at least the four or five blocks I saw, is a lot like the downtown of any other bypassed Southern town... wide boulevards lined with parking lots and turn-of-the-century brick facades quietly mouldering into oblivion. In New York small towns seem to be defined by rickety wooden storefronts a bare few feet from the street, sometimes leaning alarmingly into their neighbors. In the South you have the shells of dozens of empty brick-and-glass shops, their contents sucked out by the Wal-Mart at the edge of town. It's a different sort of shabby, more spacious, but pretty much just as depressing.

Predictably, the club we would be premiering in was on the corner of one of the shabbier blocks. Is there some rule that says colorful nightclubs must be crammed into rickety two-level general stores that've been remodeled so many times they compare favorably to Winchester House?

"Come on", Joshua said, "let's put our stuff up so we can rehearse our act a few times."

"Act? What act? I don't remember anything about any-- OOFF!"

"Of course you do," Ellen's elbow is only slightly less sharp than her wit, "it was in the e-mails that were sent out."

Ah. E-mails. The one's I'd been missing for the past two days because I had a cold. Oh, that's right! I forgot to mention... neither rain, nor snow, nor deadly-sick husband will keep my wife from her appointed rounds. To wit, a few days earlier:

Me: "I really don't feel good. Do I have a temperature?"

Ellen: "Yup. You better stay home for awhile, because you don't want to disappoint Joshua. He'd be very disappointed if we weren't able to go because someone was a big baby and couldn't handle a little cold. And you don't want to disappoint Joshua, do you?" [Lizard Blink]

Me: "Ummm... yeah, sure... don't disappoint y-- umm... Joshua..."

So there I was, standing in the middle of a collision between the Long Branch Saloon and the bar in Blade Runner being told I was going to be doing something that sounded suspiciously like dancing. And I don't dance...

TICK!!!

Amadeus Amadeus, Amadeus AmadeusAmadeus, Oh-oh-oh Amadeus..."

Well, that went well. I had officially used up my two dancing moves getting out here, in the expectation of being rescued by a six-foot-plus guy with his hair rolled in tubes (sorta like this). Instead I'm looking at an empty stage. Surrounded by people I've never seen before. Wearing things I'm not sure are completely legal in most states. Ellen's standing next to me mouthing TIMING which, in my adrenalyn-and-benadryl-soaked psyche might as well have been Greek. Brain is on autopilot, and the autopilot knows how to do one thing... go up and down a runway. So, a full minute before we're supposed to, back up we go...

TOCK!!!

One of the nice things about being a part of something but not being in charge of it is you don't really have to pay much attention to the details... you just show up and do what people tell you. I'd been told to go into the dressing area, a weird "extra stage" upstairs and behind the main one, and try on my outfit. Oh, the outfit? Why would you want to know about... oh all right. Long blue waistcoat with heavy gold piping, a frilled shirt, gold pantaloons, and, the best part...

"Ha! Hey Ellen! Guess what? I'm supposed to pull these socks up as high as they go! See?"

Ellen, to Joshua's wife, Carrie: "Oh great. It took me four years to teach him not to pull his socks up past his knees. Now I have to start civilizing him all over again..."

"I heard that!"

Well, I only put the pants on backward once, a major accomplishment for someone who thinks high fashion is a clean T-shirt. I was talking to Joshua and Christophe about how to button the shirt when, well, a half-naked lady walked out of a dressing room and started preening in front of a mirror about ten feet from where we were standing.

Guys are funny when they try to sneak a look at something they're pretty sure they shouldn't... they get all quiet and start looking sideways and making sure nobody sees a glance in a particular direction. This appearance was so sudden and unexpected it was like someone switched all the male voices OFF. Lucky for me Ellen had gone somewhere looking for more safety pins. Carrie, however...

*Snort* "Pigs."

TICK!!!

Ok, that didn't take long, now if I can just peek around this wall... yup, there he is, grinning his damned fool head off. Yes, yes, thumbs up to you too ring-head, now get your ass out here wha-- oh ok, Ellen, let's dance around for a second because you know if you don't grab me I'll just freeze like a spotlighted deer and now lets just twirl one more time oh God where's the edge again--"

ROCKMEAMADEUS!!!

On cue he and Carrie appeared, saving me from my wretched ordeal. Down they went, much more Rico Suave than I could be with six months of rehearsal. A few twirls, toss out some of the nifty The City Morgue card-holder-thingies into the crowd, dance around a few seconds more and

AMADEUSUSUSUSUSUSUS

BONG!!!

Just like that, it was over. The chimes began to ring, the second hand resumed its speedy path across the clock face. The dandelion seeds had all been blown away, leaving only the stub of memory behind. As if the floodgates of time itself had been opened, reality sped forward and memory resorted to storing it as flashed pictures, disconnected as time wound down. Stand here for a picture, your timing was off but it was OK, stand there for another one, time for some water to renew the drugs before I turn into a coughing pumpkin, wow I only thought the costume Ellen brought looked good, watch Gwar do their thing and tear up some scenery, and then we're standing outside hugging everyone goodbye.

We got home to a sleeping, peaceful baby and a bedraggled baby-sitter (thanks Ron & Amber!), and went back to our quiet lives in our quiet house down at the end of our quiet street.

But for a brief moment, however unrehearsed, we were stars.

Now if I could just get that damned song out of my head...