Humans Anonymous
ebrooklynw and I went to see a reading of Kate Hewlett’s play “Humans Anonymous” last night. It was FANTASTIC-I was really, really impressed. She’s an incredibly funny writer, which I guess shouldn’t be a surprise, but the play was also quite moving and most of all, real. There were also clearly lots of cool visual/staging things in the script that impressively came across even in a straight reading; I really hope the play gets the planned full-fledged staging here in L.A. soon. I want to see it properly, and also, I think y’all would dig it.
The…well, not the backstage drama, but the house drama of going to this play was less full of overwhelming awesome. The theater was in this weird neighborhood in East L.A., and ebw and I of course didn’t give ourselves enough time to get there. Well, actually, we gave ourselves an hour and a half to go 13 miles, but in Los Angeles traffic, that was apparently not enough. We made it with about 10 minutes to spare, and that was without stopping for food as we had planned. So we arrive…and it turns out they’re late starting-the house isn’t even open yet-which thankfully gives us the opportunity to run across the street to a little market to become characters in a Snickers commercial. (Hungry? Why wait!)
Once we get into the theater, we discover that we are without a doubt the only people there for fannish reasons-pretty much everyone else seems to know someone in the production or who works at the theater. We huddle in the back row (there are two) and I deflect a question during intermission about which of the actors we know with a cool, “We read about it on the playwright’s blog.” (As is always the case when I manage to be cool for even 30 seconds, I immediately follow this up by walking in on one of the actors in the bathroom.) After contributing to the hearty round of applause at the play’s end, we decide to make a somewhat hasty (but cool!) exit, stopping only to make sure we sign up for the theater’s mailing list, so we can find out about the proper staging they’re hopefully going to do. ebw’s scrawling her email address on the back of a receipt (there was no official sign-up sheet) when a bespectacled woman of about my age taps me on the shoulder and says:
Stranger: I’m sorry, but is your name Trin?
Me: (agog) Um…yes.
Stranger: I thought I recognized you. I’m from Your Tiny Hometown in Vermont.
Me: Oh my god. Seriously? I’m sorry, I don’t recognize…
Stranger: I was a few years ahead of you in school. I’m Name That Doesn’t Ring Any Bells.
Me: Wow. Um. How are you? How long have you lived in L.A.?
Doesn’t Ring Any Bells: Three years.
(Someone else says hi to DRAB. ebw is shooting me a questioning look from her place by the door.)
Me: (Following her out) Well…bye!*
So that was weird. And kind of full of suck. I was 16 when I left Vermont, and frankly, I really like to delude myself into thinking that I’m way hotter than I was then. (This is not saying much, as that would not be hard.) Yet I’m easily recognizable, not only in a crowd, but in the bizarre context of an indie theater in East L.A.? Dammit. That’s not how it’s supposed to go.
THIS is how it’s supposed to go:
Me: (Spotting a handsome young man in his 20s) I’m sorry, but is your name Ben?**
Ben: Um…yes.
Me: I thought I recognized you. I’m from Your Tiny Hometown in Vermont.
Ben: Seriously? I’m sorry, I don’t recognize…
Me: Trin.
Ben: (Astonished) Trin? Really?
Me: (Nods beatifically)
Ben: WOW.
(We make out and stuff. Then Ben goes home and tells everyone in YTHiV what a hotass I now am.)
Real Life is clearly working off the wrong script, don’t you think?
*Exact quote.
**I had crushes on two different guys in Vermont named Ben, so it’s a good name to place odds on. However, I’m willing to be flexible on this point.
The…well, not the backstage drama, but the house drama of going to this play was less full of overwhelming awesome. The theater was in this weird neighborhood in East L.A., and ebw and I of course didn’t give ourselves enough time to get there. Well, actually, we gave ourselves an hour and a half to go 13 miles, but in Los Angeles traffic, that was apparently not enough. We made it with about 10 minutes to spare, and that was without stopping for food as we had planned. So we arrive…and it turns out they’re late starting-the house isn’t even open yet-which thankfully gives us the opportunity to run across the street to a little market to become characters in a Snickers commercial. (Hungry? Why wait!)
Once we get into the theater, we discover that we are without a doubt the only people there for fannish reasons-pretty much everyone else seems to know someone in the production or who works at the theater. We huddle in the back row (there are two) and I deflect a question during intermission about which of the actors we know with a cool, “We read about it on the playwright’s blog.” (As is always the case when I manage to be cool for even 30 seconds, I immediately follow this up by walking in on one of the actors in the bathroom.) After contributing to the hearty round of applause at the play’s end, we decide to make a somewhat hasty (but cool!) exit, stopping only to make sure we sign up for the theater’s mailing list, so we can find out about the proper staging they’re hopefully going to do. ebw’s scrawling her email address on the back of a receipt (there was no official sign-up sheet) when a bespectacled woman of about my age taps me on the shoulder and says:
Stranger: I’m sorry, but is your name Trin?
Me: (agog) Um…yes.
Stranger: I thought I recognized you. I’m from Your Tiny Hometown in Vermont.
Me: Oh my god. Seriously? I’m sorry, I don’t recognize…
Stranger: I was a few years ahead of you in school. I’m Name That Doesn’t Ring Any Bells.
Me: Wow. Um. How are you? How long have you lived in L.A.?
Doesn’t Ring Any Bells: Three years.
(Someone else says hi to DRAB. ebw is shooting me a questioning look from her place by the door.)
Me: (Following her out) Well…bye!*
So that was weird. And kind of full of suck. I was 16 when I left Vermont, and frankly, I really like to delude myself into thinking that I’m way hotter than I was then. (This is not saying much, as that would not be hard.) Yet I’m easily recognizable, not only in a crowd, but in the bizarre context of an indie theater in East L.A.? Dammit. That’s not how it’s supposed to go.
THIS is how it’s supposed to go:
Me: (Spotting a handsome young man in his 20s) I’m sorry, but is your name Ben?**
Ben: Um…yes.
Me: I thought I recognized you. I’m from Your Tiny Hometown in Vermont.
Ben: Seriously? I’m sorry, I don’t recognize…
Me: Trin.
Ben: (Astonished) Trin? Really?
Me: (Nods beatifically)
Ben: WOW.
(We make out and stuff. Then Ben goes home and tells everyone in YTHiV what a hotass I now am.)
Real Life is clearly working off the wrong script, don’t you think?
*Exact quote.
**I had crushes on two different guys in Vermont named Ben, so it’s a good name to place odds on. However, I’m willing to be flexible on this point.