If all the world is a stage, then it must be the abandoned studio floor of Whose Line is it Anyway. Everybody seems to be improvising and nobody can find the script. On a legitimate theatre stage, everyone knows their blocking, their cues, and their lines. At least, they’re supposed to. The trouble with brains is that there’s no USB slot to transfer data. Brain data-entry is more akin to etching words in stone. Repeatedly jabbing it slowly in there until there’s permanent scarring. Join Mat and Veronique for a backstage tour of the mesmerizing glamor of Memorization.
*Grumbles are specifically off-the-cuff, no research went into this grumble.
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