Plays, past and present
I never seem to have stress dreams about shows I'm in; it's always just after the show has closed that it seems all the ideas of what might or could go wrong crowd themselves into my sleeping mind and terrorize me. In "The Real Inspector Hound," which closed on Saturday, I had an ornate 1940's hairdo, involving hair rats and liberty rolls, that I developed through hours of watching Youtube instructional videos. I was incredibly proud of the results and always began preparations by 4:30 on show nights. Naturally, last night's dream had me waiting until the show actually started to begin my preparations backstage, with disastrous results.
I loved every minute of this production; it hasn't quite sunk in that I won't be getting my hair into an elaborate updo tomorrow night. Or, will I...? Hmmm.
Yesterday, Kyle and I were invited to brunch at the home of Joy Cutler, the incredible woman who wrote last year's "Pardon My Invasion." We went out to get on our bikes, since Joy lives in a fairly inaccessible (to us) part of the city, and discovered that Kyle's bike simply was not there. It's been so long since we've taken a ride, that it's impossible to say how long it's been gone. A mystery indeed. So, we cabbed it to brunch and then walked home afterwards -- a nice leisurely walk behind Boat House Row, around the art museum and over the Schuylkill River, past the gorgeous Victorian turned frat houses that are sprinkled around University City. And brunch itself was lovely, with conversations about plays being written and short stories being peddled, and bread and chocolate and vegetable stew and quiche. A comfortable way to start a brand new year.
I loved every minute of this production; it hasn't quite sunk in that I won't be getting my hair into an elaborate updo tomorrow night. Or, will I...? Hmmm.
Yesterday, Kyle and I were invited to brunch at the home of Joy Cutler, the incredible woman who wrote last year's "Pardon My Invasion." We went out to get on our bikes, since Joy lives in a fairly inaccessible (to us) part of the city, and discovered that Kyle's bike simply was not there. It's been so long since we've taken a ride, that it's impossible to say how long it's been gone. A mystery indeed. So, we cabbed it to brunch and then walked home afterwards -- a nice leisurely walk behind Boat House Row, around the art museum and over the Schuylkill River, past the gorgeous Victorian turned frat houses that are sprinkled around University City. And brunch itself was lovely, with conversations about plays being written and short stories being peddled, and bread and chocolate and vegetable stew and quiche. A comfortable way to start a brand new year.