Ten Ways I Break New Personal Ground And Forge New Experiential Frontiers In Fuddy Meers (in no particular order):

1. I'm used to standing on a flat-fronted stage under a soaring proscenium with the safety of a vast, alarmingly deep orchestra pit separating me from the paying, judging, potentially-tomato-throwing patrons of the arts in the audience. In entirely differently alarming contrast, we're performing Fuddy Meers in a tiny black-box theater surrounded on three sides by paying, judging, potentially-tomato-throwing patrons of the arts. And I CAN SEE THEIR FACES. AND THEIR BASKETS OF TOMATOES. This is not disturbing to me. Not disturbing at all.
2. Most shows with fight scenes in them have fight calls on stage before the house opens to run through the fight choreography and make sure the blocking and swinging and ducking are fresh in the actors' muscle memory so nobody gets hurt in performance. In Fuddy Meers, I have bacon call. And puppet call. Have YOU ever had bacon call or puppet call ... or BOTH? No. No, you have not. I win.
3. Two words: Double D's.
4. Latex + spirit gum + in my hair = I SUFFER EXTREME PAIN FOR YOUR THEATERGOING ENJOYMENT.
5. I do a lot of apologizing backstage for the way I talk to and treat people onstage. I try live my life in a way that I never have to have these apologetic conversations in the real, not-paying-judging-potentially-tomato-throwing-patrons-of-the-arts world. On the plus side, these awkward apologies are almost always met with big hugs.
6. I've made dramatic stage entrances in the past being rolled in on a throne of deep-sea coral, swing-dancing with another dude, tapping in painfully-too-small heels and peeking timidly through the light of a lit candle, but my Fuddy Meers entrance forges new frontiers in the dramatic-stage-entrances experiential canon and adds a line item I didn't even know I wanted on my theatrical-experiences bucket list.
7. I tried to wear contacts for a while in college, but I absolutely couldn't work up the nerve to actually touch my eyeball without blinking and flinching like a total Blinky McEyeflincher--and on the rare occasion where I actually did manage to make contact, the damn lens would turn inside out and grip the tip of my finger like a way too small, unquestionably-destined-to-fail condom. I am bravely re-attempting to conquer this Blinky McEyeflincher Mt. Everest in Fuddy Meers, but so far I've achieved nothing but useless condom fingers so I've nightly had to rely on the kindness of experienced eye sherpas to get my blinding contact to make contact with and stay in my damn eye.
8. Yes. Blinding contact. It turns my eye milky white and is apparently quite startling to behold.
9. Not that I can see it. Because I stumble around directly in front of all our paying, judging, potentially-tomato-throwing patrons of the arts with full sight in only one eye. When it's not partially obscured by a jagged-holed stocking cap, of course.
10. I say a bad word. Many people consider it to be a VERY bad word.

YOU DON'T WANT TO MISS A SINGLE ONE OF THESE GROUNDBREAKING, TRANSFORMATIVE EXPERIENCES, PEOPLE. So click here and join the paying, judging, potentially-tomato-throwing patrons of the arts in our little three-quarter-surrounded black-box theater anytime between tonight's triumphant opening and our triumphant closing on the 17th.

P.S. Double D's!