Last blog entry was over 18 months ago. At that time, I still had some energy and optimism about the world. Later, not so much, as evidenced by letting an entire calendar year (and then some) go by without so much as a peep into this blog.
Oh no. There goes Tokyo.
*sigh*
At least Trump is no longer in office. Although with the current Republican obstruction in the Senate, I’m not sure how much more good Biden can actually accomplish. It’s frustrating.
Some optimism has crept back into my psyche, regardless. Thus, the return to the blog. So, to catch up.
As with most other sane individuals, spouse and I stayed home and minded our business throughout 2020, barely venturing out except to the grocery store. Before the shutdown, we had contracted to have our master bath remodeled, so we kept that contract but avoided the construction guys and only spoke to them from across the room while masked. The bathroom was beautiful when it was done.
New shower
We voted in November 2020. We watched aghast in January 2021 as the insurrectionists stormed the Capitol.
Reminder
We got vaxxed in Spring 2021. I continued to work from home until I retired from my job in November 2021. We got boosted in December 2021. I went on a trip to Boston to see the Titian Exhibit at the Gardner in December.
Danae by Titian
My father had several serious health crises over the last two years. I lived in fear that he would (a) catch Covid, which would kill him; or (b) not be able to get a hospital bed due to Covid patients, which would kill him. Thankfully, none of that happened, and he’s finally on the mend.
Since my oldest girlfriends and I couldn’t hold our annual get-together, early last year we started to have monthly Zoom calls. I don’t participate in all of them because, frankly, Zoom exhausts me. But I’m on the call every two or three months.
Live theatre recently resumed in the Atlanta area. I did one show in October 2021, and have an audition for another coming soon. I only audition for theatres that have strict Covid protocols and require cast and crew to be vaccinated. As an audience member, I’ve been able to attend a few shows and redeem some tickets that had been held over for two years. Saw Hamilton at The Fox for the second time. Saw The Nutcracker with the Atlanta Ballet for the first time. Went to the Shakespeare Tavern for the first time to see The Comedy of Errors. Still hoping to see Alan Cumming and Ari Shapiro in March (it’s been rescheduled three times) and Santana/Earth Wind and Fire in August (it’s been rescheduled twice).
I had a major milestone birthday in the fall and celebrated that and my retirement by singing karaoke with my friends at a bar in Norcross. It was awesome. Someone has the video of my song. As soon as I get it, I’ll post it for all to see.
Spouse and I are planning a trip to Las Vegas for our anniversary in the spring. Yes, tourist Vegas is tacky as fuck, but I’ve never been, so that’s what we decided to do: stay at a gaudy casino on the Strip, eat buffet food, feed the one-armed bandits every now and then, maybe play a hand or two of blackjack (neither of us is any sort of gambler). We’re looking at shows to see — Blue Man Group is a possibility — and things to do. A helicopter ride is definitely on the agenda. Maybe the aquarium. We’ll see. It should be fun.
Yarn and book stuff occurred. I’ll address those in another post.
2019 was a good year for acting. The coolest thing was taking part in a web series called “Black on Both Sides.” You can find it here.
I’m seen briefly in Episode 2 (uncredited, but I’m the person taking notes while standing next to the CEO — played by my friend Scott Piehler — in a meeting). I’m also seen (mostly from the back) at a party in Episode 7, and I even have one line! Woo! Okay, what all that means is don’t watch this show looking for me; watch it because it’s good, and my brief appearance is a bonus. 🙂 I hope to work with Alonge again in the future.
Side note: filming that party scene was an adventure. It was done on a Saturday afternoon after I had just gotten out of the hospital, having had surgery five days earlier. Due to a reaction to the pain meds, I kept running off the set to throw up. Every twenty minutes. Between takes and trips to the loo, I laid down on the sofa and tried to nap. God bless Shani Hawes, one of the producers, who made sure I had ice water and a clear path to the bathroom.
Stagewise, I performed in four plays in 2019. I just realized that. Four plays. In one year. No wonder I’m exhausted.
First up was The Vagina Monologues with Bad Seed Theatre (partnered with Out Front Theatre) in February. This was an extremely limited run, three performances, all proceeds of which went to Camp Cadi. We did really well, raising over $7000 in support of their programs. I had the monologue “Hair.”
It was a fabulous experience, being in a show comprised entirely of a cast of women, speaking frankly about our bodies, our lives, and our experiences. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.
From TVM with its HUGE cast, I went into a play that was very nearly a one-woman show. Staged Right cast me as the lead in their production of A Round-Heeled Woman, based on the book by Jane Juska about her sexual adventures after posting an ad for, um, companionship in the New York Review of Books. This show starts out with Jane (that is, me) having phone sex and proceeds from there. I went on at the beginning of Act I and never left the set — and nearly never stopped talking — until intermission; lather, rinse, repeat for Act II. The other five actors bopped in and out of the set according to the needs of their multiple characters; and some of the scenes (and much of the dialogue) were rather explicit.
The truth is, if I hadn’t just done The Vagina Monologues and overcome some acting inhibitions that I wasn’t aware I had, I never would have had the gumption to tackle Jane. As it was, the three-page monologues nearly killed me: I was still calling for line on the Wednesday before we opened, but come opening night, we were good. Okay, truth time: I blanked briefly in the middle of Act I on opening night, but muddled through and got myself back on track; and the rest of the performances had no blanks. A few skipped lines, but no blanks! I am forever grateful to director Starshine Stanfield for trusting me with this character.
When Round-Heeled closed in late May, I decided to take the summer off (except for a dance class). Come August, I was ready to go again. Act 3 Productions cast me as Juror 9 in their production of Twelve Angry Jurors.
Let me tell you, after Jane’s line load in A Round-Heeled Woman, I was immensely grateful for the fewer than 50 lines my character required in Jurors. That’s one of the bonuses of large casts and short plays — the speeches are divided among many more characters, making it a little easier on the actors.
And this was a fun cast, too: most of the other actors were in their 20s, far younger than me, and it was sheer joy to spend so much time with people in that age group. I don’t get that opportunity very often. As a group, they had an attitude of wryly cynical hopefulness, an outlook that will likely serve them well in the future. As far as the play went, we had decent audiences and were well-received. I got paid, too. That’s always a bonus.
As soon as Jurors closed, I went right into rehearsal for my final play of the year, 20th Century Blues with Live Arts Theatre. This was my third production with Live Arts, and I’m always happy to work with Becca and the gang.
Much smaller cast, much larger line load, lots of fun. I’ll steal the synopsis from the theatre’s website: “Four women meet once a year for a ritual photo shoot, chronicling their changing (and aging) selves as they navigate love, careers, children, and the complications of history. But when these private photographs threaten to go public, relationships are tested, forcing the women to confront who they are and how they’ll deal with whatever lies ahead.”
I played Sil, a New York real estate agent who is reluctant to have photographs showing “forty years of her gradual decline” exhibited publicly. This was another show where the cast was primarily women — all of us playing someone very close to our own age, for once, and discussing issues we actually related to in our personal lives. Kind of cathartic, in a lot of ways. It was a good show that, due to its timing, didn’t get seen by too many people. Unfortunately, we were competing with all the Christmas-themed shows, like It’s A Wonderful Life and A Christmas Carol, that were being presented at many of the area theatres; 20th Century Blues was most definitely not a Christmas show. But the people who did see it really liked it. We closed the Saturday before Christmas. (And I got paid again, hurrah!)
I don’t know what show I’m doing next. I have a couple of auditions coming up this month; and expect more to be scheduled soon as theatres start casting their spring shows. I doubt I’ll do four shows this year; but I didn’t plan to do that last year: it just worked out that way. We’ll see what shows up in the audition notices. I’ll keep you posted.
One of the cool things about Atlanta is all the local playwrights, and the opportunity to perform their work with the playwright in the audience. That was the case with Evelyn In Purgatory by Topher Payne. Mr. Payne is a good friend of Becca Parker, the artistic director of the theatre, and he showed up for a matinee.
L-R: Allison Brady as Candace; Sean Turner as Toby; and Melissa Maute as Roberta
But I get ahead of myself.
Evelyn In Purgatory is the story of Evelyn Reid, a New York City school teacher who finds herself awaiting a disciplinary hearing with a bunch of other castoffs from the public school system. The play was staged by Live Arts Theatre, directed by Becca Parker and D Norris, and featuring (among others) me as Lila Wadkins, an erstwhile hippie-turned-art-teacher awaiting her own hearing for, ahem, insubordination.
Rodney Johnson as Fred; Sean Turner as Toby
I was a little apprehensive about doing another show at Live Arts after the hell that was Virginia Woolf, but this production suffered none of the setbacks and roadblocks that plagued that show. Thank the theatre gods for small mercies. (Incidentally, that production of Woolf has now entered local theatre lore. I can’t even count how many actors/techies I’ve met since the show closed who, once they find out I was in it, come back with “Oooooooh! I heard about that…” But I digress.)
Candace tells a story; Lila tries not to judge
Evelyn‘s rehearsals ran smoothly and efficiently, direction and notes were clear and straightforward, and the directors were able to accommodate my conflicts because I was rehearsing and performing the Tapas festival at the same time. The best thing, though, is my character was a knitter. I spent the majority of my on-stage time with knitting needles in my hand. It was fabulous.
Once we opened, we had great audiences, and even sold out a couple of performances. We got this glowing review from a local director, and we were nominated for several awards.
Last Saturday was the Live Arts Theatre awards ceremony, also known as “The Livelys.” Much to our surprise, we won! A lot! Five awards went to our production:
Best Supporting Actor: Rodney L. Johnson Best Actress in a Leading Role: Cat Roche Best Director: Becca Parker and D Norris Best Ensemble: Evelyn in Purgatory Favorite Production: Evelyn in Purgatory
All in all, a much better experience than my last at Live Arts. I’ll go back there again. Assuming they’ll have me.
Yes, I know. But I did another play — well, two more plays — since Old Love closed in February.
First, I went to Unified Auditions, a metro Atlanta cattle call held in March. That was an experience! I was fine waiting in the green room for my turn on the big stage. I went out there, did my thing, and then… well, I was going to let the video tell the story, but I still have a free WordPress account and it doesn’t support video. Essentially, I nearly cried when I got off stage after my monologues because the nervousness hit me all at once. But I plan on applying for Unified again next year.
Anyway, shortly afterwards, I got a callback from Academy Theatre, one of the companies in attendance at Unified, to read for Tapas, their series of short plays. I was subsequently cast in a ten-minute short called “For the Love of Noodles.” In this piece, a couple in their 50s who pride themselves on their open-mindedness and progressive politics come face to face with their adult daughter’s new love interest…and let’s just say it doesn’t go well. I wish I had some decent production photos, but all I can find are two rather blurry rehearsal photos:
Tapas ran in June. In the middle of that show, I was cast in another show, a full-length production called Evelyn in Purgatory, which ran in July. That blog entry will have to wait until I get hold of the production photos, currently in the hands of the theatre’s artistic director who is editing them.
In between all this stagework, I’ve been reading and knitting and acquiring more yarn. Blog entries on those subjects will be forthcoming.
After Virginia Woolf closed, I moped around the house for days. I really really missed that show and that cast. After about a week, I decided the best cure for a show hangover was another show, and so I auditioned for and was cast in Staged Right Theatre‘s production of Old Love by Norm Foster.
Old Love is the story of Molly Graham and Bud Mitchell, two mature adults who find themselves navigating love and loss and relationships at an unexpected time of their lives. Molly is recently widowed; Bud is long divorced. Bud met and became infatuated with Molly many years ago, and now that her husband (his former boss) is deceased, he thinks the time is right to make his move. But Molly has no memory of ever meeting Bud, and certainly is not prepared for him to ask her out to dinner while standing at her husband’s graveside.
Yep, it’s a comedy. And a pretty funny one, once you get past the stalking angle. Much of the story is told in flashback, with two other actors playing the younger versions of Bud and Molly.
Old Love cast, L-R:Â Nick Fressell as Young Bud/Young Arthur/Arthur Jr.; Allen Stone as Bud; me as Molly; Ilene Miller as Young Molly/Kitty/Kendra
The road of this production from rehearsal to performance wasn’t nearly as rocky as Virginia Woolf‘s had been, but we had some challenges. First of all, the weather. It was fucking FREEZING in our rehearsal space, which is only to be expected because it was below freezing outside. We got hit with a couple of snowstorms; in Atlanta, that means everything comes to a dead stop. So we missed a couple of rehearsals due to weather. And our director got the flu, so we missed a couple of rehearsals because he was down for the count.
Me as Molly, Allen as Bud
Generally speaking, though, it was a relatively drama-free production. We even got a really nice review. As mentioned in that review, though, we had to change venues in the middle of the run. Apparently the church that lent us their performance space forgot to write down that we needed it for two weekends, and booked over us on the second weekend of the run. So, while we were in the middle of opening weekend, the artistic director and the producers were frantically searching for another venue that could let us in at the last minute so we could continue performances for the second weekend. They found one, thank goodness, and my family and friends who had tickets for that weekend were able to see the show after all.
Molly can’t believe Bud has thrown rocks at her window in the middle of the night.
Remember I said “relatively drama-free”? Aside from the mid-run venue change, the chief drama happened on our Saturday performance at the new venue. We lost power near the end of Act 2. Instant pitch dark. Nick and Ilene were onstage in the middle of a big scene and were utterly frozen. They couldn’t even see enough to move off the set. Amazingly, our audience came to the rescue by pulling out their cellphones and using the flashlight function to light the stage. We finished the rest of the show by cellphone light. And we even made the news because of it!
Cellphones as footlights
Here are few more performance shots from the show. I hope you like them!
Kitty (Bud’s ex-wife) fixes his tie.
Molly and Bud people watching at a Christmas party
The other day I mentioned I’d been absent from this blog for the same reason as the last several times I went AWOL for a few months: I was cast in a play, and what a play it was: Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf by Edward Albee. As Martha. My dream role.
That was last August. Our performances were in late October, early November. What a rocky road this production had!
I was the second actor cast as Martha, because the first actor backed out after the initial read-through, telling the director she wasn’t “comfortable” with the subject matter. Who the hell auditions for and ACCEPTS a role in a play without knowing what the play is about? And a world-famous play at that? Apparently this woman did. So the director called me and I leaped at the chance. I had been waiting until I was old enough to play Martha since I first read the play sometime in the 1980s. I had big footsteps to fill.
Uta Hagen, originator of the role of Martha — 1962
I was not the only cast member change, however. The original Nick didn’t like the original Martha, and he backed out. The original Honey also left because her parents’ home had been destroyed in the Houston flooding after Hurricane Harvey, and she needed to go down there to help them sort out their lives. Only the original George was left standing.
While our director auditioned for a new Nick and Honey, Edwin (playing George) and I began rehearsals. A few days later, Jamie (Honey) and Josh (Nick) joined us. And we were complete.
Elizabeth Taylor as Martha in the 1965 film version
Then the real trouble began. Our director gave us strange line readings and odd blocking. He had us wandering randomly all over the stage with no real reason for the movement. He cut rehearsal short and left promptly at 9:30 or earlier every evening, often in the middle of a scene. And then would want to start the scene exactly where we left off when we returned the following evening, instead of at the beginning so we could build the emotion and energy again.
Kathleen Turner as Martha in the 2007 revival
As actors, we became increasingly frustrated at these artificial restrictions and interruptions to our flow. I mean, it wouldn’t kill anyone if we stayed an extra 10 minutes or so past the scheduled end of rehearsal to finish out a scene, would it? And thus, the inevitable happened.
Woolf War I — the Bergen incident
One night, I arrived at rehearsal a little early. Edwin and our director were already there, deep into a disagreement over the pronunciation of a word. In the show, George delivers a monologue about his time in prep school when he went out with a group of young men, and one of the young men mishears the word “bourbon” and orders a “bergen” instead. Edwin pronounced it with a hard G. The director corrected him and said it should be a soft G instead. Edwin disagreed and explained his reasoning (with the hard G, it sounds more like “bourbon” than with a soft G, and besides, everyone who’s ever done this play, including the original Broadway production, pronounced it with the hard G). The director insisted. I don’t know who raised his voice first, but voices were raised, and both men lost their tempers. Much yelling ensued. I bailed out the rehearsal room and literally hid in a corner until the argument was over.
Imelda Staunton as Martha, 2017 London production
Sometime later, we were off book. For those of you unfamiliar with the process, “off book” means we deliver lines from memory instead of reading from the script. The first few days off book are always rough, and actors generally “call” for a line with some frequency — that means we’re asking the stage manager to give us our next line because we can’t come up with it on our own.
Me as Martha; Josh as Nick
That’s the whole point, though: we ask for the line. On purpose. Unless you had our director. At every pause, however minute, he jumped in and gave us our line, whether we asked for it or not. We asked him repeatedly to let us struggle for it and call for it as needed. He ignored us. And thus occurred…
Woolf War II — Don’t give me a fucking line until I ask for it
Edwin, bless his heart, lost it one night after one too many unrequested lines given. All four of us were fed up; Edwin was just the most vocal about it. If I thought Woolf War I was bad, then this was bad times 10, because the director escalated it unnecessarily, yelling and screaming and tossing the script on the floor. At one point, Edwin walked out and we all followed him down the hall as one of the theatre associates was on the phone to the artistic director about the argument. I overheard him say, “Oh great, now the whole cast is leaving…”
Clockwise from left: Jamie as Honey; Josh as Nick; Edwin as George; me as Martha. Yes, they’re all a foot taller than I am.
We didn’t leave. We stopped at the end of the hall; we all took a few deep breaths; we talked to the associate for a little while who then mediated a conversation with the director; and then we went back to rehearsal. We finished out the night, the director left, and the cast went out for a drink.
That was the first time we had got together outside rehearsal: our first time to be able to talk as a group about our hopes and dreams and ideas and thoughts about this production without a member of the theatre staff within earshot. It was an excellent bonding experience.
The next night our director didn’t show up. We rehearsed anyway. He didn’t show the rest of the week. We rehearsed anyway. A full week after Woolf War II, the artistic director told us the director wouldn’t be coming back and she would take over directing the show.
Directing ourselves
Well, that didn’t happen, exactly. The artistic director came to a few rehearsals and gave us a few notes, but she was in the middle of auditioning, casting, and directing the show that would immediately follow ours, and couldn’t devote her entire attention to us. We ended up directing ourselves for the most part. Thank the theatre gods for Edwin and his extensive theatre training and background, not to mention his contacts throughout the Atlanta theatre community. Several of his friends came to our rehearsals and provided guidance and direction and suggestions for improvement. We fixed the weird blocking and changed the odd line readings. On a personal level, I am especially grateful to Edwin’s friend Esther, who gave me invaluable advice and helped me through a few difficult spots with Martha’s character.
Edwin, as George, laying down the law to Martha
Delayed opening
All this turmoil, unfortunately, resulted in the theatre’s decision to delay our opening by one week because we just weren’t ready. Josh had gotten physically ill a couple of nights — we later discovered the water we had been drinking throughout every scene was, um, not good. So he missed a couple of rehearsals due to illness. It’s a miracle the rest of us didn’t become ill. Lines were still rough; the set wasn’t completely built and dressed; our costumes hadn’t been settled; the sound and light design was barely sketched out. We did two previews to accommodate family and friends who were coming from out of town to view the show on its original opening weekend. Those previews went really well and gave us hope for the following weekend and our actual opening.
From left: Josh as Nick; Jamie as Honey; Edwin as George; and me
And then we went on
Opening weekend was almost anti-climactic after all the drama that preceded it. We had very small houses, unfortunately, but we played our heart out every night. You can read a review of our show here.
I’m not ashamed to say I think it’s the best work I’ve ever done. My Martha was deeply deeply sad; she hurt people because she was hurt. It was a challenge and a privilege to bring that out and present it to the audience. I gave our patrons two acts that made them hate her, and one act that broke their heart.
The Sunday after our final performance, the cast went to the theatre one last time to strike the set, and then we went out to dinner. I cried when we parted afterward. I don’t usually get misty when a show ends, but this show was different. My life is irrevocably altered; Jamie, Joshua, and Edwin are forever a part of me.
Goodbye, Martha, you poor misunderstood little girl. Playing you was an experience I’ll never forget. Maybe someday I’ll get to be you again. I’m willing if the universe is.
Lancelot, known to his intimates as Lotto, and Mathilde meet when they are in their early early 20s and baffle everyone who knows them — who knows Lotto in particular — by quickly marrying. The novel follows them throughout their married life, from dead broke college students to successful and well-to-do middle age and beyond, first from Lotto’s perspective (Fates), and then from Mathilde’s (Furies).
Good things:
The language is gorgeous.
After having been married for quite some time myself, I’d say this a reasonably well-drawn and not entirely implausible study of a particular marriage, although not mine.
I rather liked both Lotto and Mathilde for the majority of the story. The two of them reminded me in some ways of a married couple I know: a pair who met and married very young; who, to all appearances, are still passionately in love with each other after all these years; who wholeheartedly support each other in all their endeavors, business, artistic, and otherwise. (Special note just in case one or both of them might happen to read this book AND this review: By no means do I mean to imply that either keeps the kinds of secrets that make up the crux of this novel. In fact, I’d be shocked to the core to discover such a thing.)
I loved the chronological synopses of Lotto’s plays as a device to show the passage of time. And the synopses themselves made me wish these were actual stage productions I could see performed somewhere.
Today the dinosaurs wanted to go to the Natural History Museum. Luckily, we were in agreement with this agenda.
The object of all this intrigue.
But first, the rest of the subway story…
After breakfast, we headed down into the 103rd & Broadway station to catch the train. As we went through the turnstile, we noticed our “friend” from yesterday doing the same fast-talking hustle-’em-through-the turnstile act with another couple. Spouse told the couple as we walked by, “It’s a scam. Walk away.”
“What?” they said, because they didn’t hear him over TicketScammerGuy’s patter. Spouse repeated himself, louder. “Oh! Thanks!” They glare at TicketScammerGuy and walk away. TicketScammerGuy calls after us and threatens to shove his fist into spouse’s face. We ignore him and start down the stairs to the train platform; then suddenly spouse turns around and walks straight to the station agent’s booth. She’s facing the other way — her window opens into the “lobby” area, before patrons go through the turnstile. He taps on the window until he gets her attention, and points out TicketScammerGuy , who by this time had taken up his position next to the MetroPass vending machine to await his next victim.
“He’s running a scam.” Station agent looks puzzled. Spouse describes him: “That guy over there in the striped shirt and ball cap; he’s running a scam.” She looks over her shoulder in the direction spouse is pointing and enlightenment dawns. I think she’s familiar with him.
“Thank you,” she says, and she set her jaw with a determined expression. “We’ll take care of this.”
We never saw TicketScammerGuy again.
*cue ominous music*
Now, in reality we expect TicketScammerGuy took his show down the road to another subway stop, but it’s tempting to indulge in those New York City transit system stereotypes (read: Teamsters/union thugs/organized crime) (yes, I’ve seen too damn many film noir flicks) and think he was “taken care of” in a more, um, permanent fashion. Regardless of the true circumstances of his sudden absence, he no longer disturbed the patrons of the 103rd and Broadway station.
Our subway stop for the American Museum of Natural History was at 79th Street, and then we walked a few blocks east, toward Central Park. (Sadly, this is the closest we got to spending time in Central Park during the whole week.)Â The museum is nestled at the edge of Central Park, and we went through Theodore Roosevelt Park to get to the entrance.
I’ve mentioned the weather was perfect this whole week, yes? Oh my gosh. Mid-70s, mostly, with a hint of a breeze, and blue blue skies every day. Just amazingly beautiful.
The dinos, of course, were looking for their relatives’ house. According to the map, their relatives lived on the fourth floor; we decided to start there and work our way down.
Pictures galore follow.
May we come in?
So, cousin, not much room for brains, huh?
This guy. Not a good guy.
I enter the picture unexpectedly.
Mom, is that you?
Did you know these skeletons are usually plaster casts of the actual bones? Because the fossilized bones themselves would be much too heavy to articulate and display.
These creatures amaze me.
Found the family tree.
More amazement.
Dad?
We also went into the special “Dinosaurs Among Us” exhibit, which tells the story of the latest innovation in evolutionary thinking: how dinosaurs became birds. It’s fascinating. Look at these three photos together.
A quick stop for refreshment:
And then we headed downstairs and cruised the other floors. True confession: I bypassed several of the halls on each floor because my ankles were starting to hurt. By the time we got back to the first floor, I was dog tired and my ankles were in agony, so I crashed out on the floor next to an outlet in one of the halls to charge my phone while spouse cruised the North American Mammals exhibit. A passing security guard just grinned at me as I huddled up in the corner on the floor with my charger.
We had theater tickets that evening. After taking a brief nap at the hotel, we changed into our theatre duds and hit the town once more.
Oh. My. Gosh. The Book of Mormon might be the funniest thing I’ve seen in my life. Definitely not family friendly, but side-splittingly hilarious. The Eugene O’Neill Theatre is gorgeous;
the set was amazing;
and our seats were perfect. (Yes, we splurged. Yes, it was worth it.)
I haven’t been here in weeks. Play rehearsal, performances, plus another go-round with bronchitis have all left me with no energy and no time. I haven’t even read anyone else’s blog entries; it’s all I can do to stay caught up with my friends on Facebook.
Five more performances of Clybourne Park and done. Then I’ll be back. In the meantime, here’s a picture of a goose. Because who doesn’t love a goose?
I finished up the right front of the Wildflower Cardigan over the weekend and got started on the left front. You can just barely see the cable crossing that marks the bottom of the flower pocket detail. I haven’t touched any of the other WIPs that are floating around in my craft room — all of which are either cardigans or socks — and I’m fighting what may be a losing battle to cast on a quickie instant-gratification hat project.
Current Kindle book: California by Edan Lepucki, a collapse-of-civilization/survivalist story of the near future. I use “survivalist” in the sense that the characters are out there in the wilderness doing their best to keep body and soul together, not in the hunkered-down-in-the-bunker, got-my-guns-n-ammo-n-MREs, looking-out-for-number-one sense that word usually implies. However, I have just reached a part of the story where that latter definition might come into play. Good story.
Current physical book: The Museum of Extraordinary Things by Alice Hoffman. This is the January selection for a Ravelry reading group, and I’ve barely started it. Although I really like what I’ve read so far, I daresay it will not get finished before the end of the month.
Currently in rehearsal for Clybourne Park, playing Bev and Kathy. Every time I take a part in a play, I remember why I don’t take parts in plays very often, especially as I get older. I hate hate hate learning lines. I want to place my script under my pillow and have the words I’m supposed to say magically appear in my memory through some form of osmosis.
This post is part of the Stitch-Along Wednesday round up. Click that badge over there to see what other folks have been working on this week.
“He’s running a scam.” Station agent looks puzzled. Spouse describes him: “That guy over there in the striped shirt and ball cap; he’s running a scam.” She looks over her shoulder in the direction spouse is pointing and enlightenment dawns. I think she’s familiar with him.
Our subway stop for the 
Avanta Knits 