I arrive in the middle of Anne's soliloquy. This unusual "Backyard Spectacular" attracts 50-plus folks surrounding a patio-cum-stage for the evening's lineup of poetry, music, and theater. The talented group of friends seeks to defeat—or at least drinks to forget—the military-industrial complex. Although rain threatens the festivities, the fire, whiskey, and home-brewed beer keep us warm. Our articulate impresario Michael becomes increasingly less coherent as the evening continues. Between acts, he tells us a story involving dynamite and a dam in Idaho; the crowd jeers, "Damn The Man!"
Each performance sparks rebellion in the crowd, which includes Teddy's 80-year-old grandmother—previously a lawyer for Paramount and MGM. While Adam sings, one shameless partyer leans on the bathroom window (mid-business) giving us the sign of the horns—clearly, alcohol has taken him to a good place. Out of the corner of my eye, I see that someone has liberated the chickens from their backyard home, prompting a host to lament, "Why are people in my coop?"
Later, a mathematical equation to disprove "The Man" is written out on pieces of old cardboard and unveiled in dramatic sequence by audience members. The show runs a little long and people get restless. In the final act, antiwar ballerinas, Roman-military-clad army deserters, and a college dropout are leveled by machine guns for their failure to conform. Music resurrects them and they infiltrate the audience, dancing. Now the real party begins. The police visit around midnight. The techno moves indoors, but most of the crowd prefers wagging their tongues outside to shaking their asses inside.
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