I looked good yesterday. I don’t know why especially, but the mix of the winter standby equation for dress (jeans + t-shirt + sweater =?) came out to a lovely result. It’s a shame I didn’t leave the house until 9 pm. Just one of those days.
But when I did leave, boy, was it worth it. This weekend’s menu is thoroughly excellent. Every once in a while those Neos just assemble a real winner. In cases like these, I become aware of it in the middle-ish of the show and know it at the end. The audience also called the show exceptionally well, if I may say so myself (though I actually did very little calling - maybe only 40% of the time, tops. I was just too gobstruck by what I was watching on stage, I guess). The audience would call a more sad, poignant play and then a funnier, crazier one. And I felt practically bipolar. I almost cried at least a dozen times. I wanted to, you know. I wanted to bawl. Right there at the end of the second row, middle section, stage right, next to the man who would have forgotten his scarf had I not seen it, who smelled faintly of cigarettes, his scent intermittently wafting over that of my patchouli scented hands. I wanted to stand up during that one play, the fourth one called, I think, number 8. I wanted to, I could have, it wouldn’t have been a lie. I’m not afraid. I’m just thinking. Not sure. Am I qualified? I don’t know anything.
And then it was over. I wanted to be there forever. Not just in the theatre, forever on that second floor, with wonderful people. Or alone. Whichever.
But I didn’t stay forever. I left. “Alison” was playing. I didn’t like that song at all until just then. I walked out the door and made a phone call and pretended (but not really) to smoke the last candy cigarette in the pack of “Lucky Strikes.” I’d eaten half the pack before I read the ingredients and found that gelatin was one of the few. Aw well. I’m usually pretty good about that too.
So where were You then?
Flying back from Portland?
Were You on an airplane? Chatting?
Or writing a college application essay?
Or reading Othello?
I finished Othello yesterday. What a waste of my time and Billy Shakes’ wit. Really dude, you’ve had better plots and characters (…I mean Iago was cool, but everybody else were puppets). Fuck you “greatest Shakespearian tragedy.” Fuck you AP Lit. I for sure cannot WAIT to dissect this play for a month; find all of its symbols. Ha.
My hands still smell like patchouli.
I think I’ll wear the exact same outfit tomorrow (which is really today). Complete with the “HELLO MY NAME IS: Dancing Angel” nametag.
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