Alright, I suck. We’re going back in time a week.
The first time they ran Free Comic Book Day
I was in college, with enough idle geeks in my environs that I could justify organizing a trip to all of Manhattan’s major comic book stores. This hasn't been feasible for awhile, and this time the comics wound up being incidental to the mission of flyering for MoCCA (I picked up a bagful, of course, but this was at Forbidden Planet, where they were dispensing mostly superhero comics that I didn’t much care aboutwhich ought to teach me to go straight to Rocketship
next year). We got rid of all of our fliers before too long, netting some positive responses from anyone who actually looked at them, and then I headed uptown for a home-cooked CUSFS banquet
. Going back to college? Still weird.
Sunday was a theatre day with the parents that wound up encompassing both the dregs and the heights of the New York theatre scene. Our matinee was The New Century
, the last show in our Lincoln Center Theater subscription. I disliked it enough that I’m pretty sure it’s knocked something else off my list of the ten worst shows I've ever seen, and we’re probably talking over 600 of ‘em by now. Granted, plenty of the audienceand a lot of reviewers, but New York theatre reviewers are hopelessseemed to be enjoying themselves, but that almost made it worse: jokes about broad gay stereotypes are bad enough when they're aimed at audiences that will understand that they're jokes, but are vaguely creepy when most of the people watching are straight old people from New Jersey. Probably the show's only redeeming quality was Jane Houdyshell
, who can't help but inject some humanity into whatever she's in.
But the day was a net gain thanks to The Sound and the Fury (April Seventh, 1928)
, an Elevator Repair Service
show at the New York Theatre Workshop that’s grounded in a word-for-word enactment of the first part of The Sound and the Fury
. It is a living example of theatre’s transformative powers that a direct literary adaptation could yield something so beautifully done and weird and funny and involving, one of those shows that teaches you how to watch it as you go. I immediately wanted to see it again, but this is why theatre both gives and takes in its ephemerality: given a fast-approaching close date and the droves of people lining up to get on the wait list, I pretty much had to give up that idea as impossible. But then they extended the show for a week and I was able to grab four more tickets for the final performance: bless you, NYTW and your $20 Sundays. If you're at all able, you should try to snag one, too.
I can't remember anything about what I did on Monday, and there is nothing in my schedule wiki, which is kind of discomfiting. Did I see you? Was I there? But on Tuesday there was NYRSF
, where I heard Kelly read her glorious story "The Cinderella Game" for the third time. And dinner gave us the opportunity to have a long talk for the first time in awhile, a secret cabal of quiet-voiced people talking under the crowd.
On Wednesday we had the volunteer orientation for the MoCCA Art Festival. It was reasonably well-attended by interested-seeming people; the only downside being that that meeting marks the point where, whenever I am doing non-MoCCA-related things with my free time (like, oh, writing this entry), I am kind of shirking and should kind of be stopped. After we finished, I rushed home to eat a sandwich and meet a prospective new roommate, who...did not show up. He is automatically less awesome than ecmyers
A digression: Back in ‘04, my dearest darling Shay got me into the habit of attending the annual screening of Oscar-nominated shorts that the Academy puts on each year at Lighthouse International. I eventually sucked fullcopy
into the habit; but we missed it this year, out of strike-related timing confusion, and me with theatre tickets, and him with bridge. Eventually he convinced julianyap
that we should just buy all of them on iTunes and do a home screening. On Thursday we actually went through with this plan, and though it was a long night, and I disagreed with the winners (as usual), it was probably the strongest overall slate I’ve seen so far. glvalentine
, have you seen "Tanghi Argentini"? It is darling.
On Friday, musetoself
, and I ate some empanadas (the new cupcake!) and then saw Crooked
at the Women's Project. It was impeccably acted, frequently hysterical, sometimes brutal, and though I kind of felt like I'd been slapped when it endedI basically loved it and can't stop thinking about it. There is only one performance left, but if you're not doing anything on Sunday afternoon, there are many worse things you could do than show up at the Julia Miles at 2:00 and try to rush it.
After the play, I bought some cookies and brought them to Matt
's party, where I felt vaguely entertaining for awhile, totally awkward for about twice that long (repeating “this is why people drink” in my head the whole time), and then gave up and went home in a fit of social retardation. Sigh. Also: friends my age getting engaged? Still weird.
When I started this entry on Saturday morning, it was supposed to end that afternoon with some statement about what a relief it was to have a completely unscheduled day, especially given how full my Sunday was going to be. This plan was spoiled by the fact that I had been shockingly moronic and had listed the two plays on the wrong day
in my schedule, a mistake that wascomically? tragically?perpetuated by an e-mail from my mother that said "We'll see you at 1:30 at Sunday" (she meant in the Park with George
, of course, though she did not actually say that last part). I misread this note as a confirmation that both shows were on
Sunday, and didn’t think enough about how improbable that was until my parents showed up at my apartment, half-convinced that I was dead, to ask why I had failed to show up. Eeep. Don't let anyone ever tell you that too much theatre doesn't lead to a life of ruin! Anyway, I have the unused ticket, and I’ve managed once before to recover from gross flakiness by convincing the box office to let me transfer an unused ticket to a future performance (feminine wiles? No, I have none of thoseprobably sheer patheticness), so perhaps all is not lost.
Luckily, I hadn't imperiled our plans for The 39 Steps
. I'm having a hard time judging this one: I thought the performances were great; the stagecraft was brilliant; that the show is charming and clever, delivers everything it promises, and is doing something genuinely new; and I’d gladly recommend it most anyone. And yet, there's a tiny part of methe part that hates uncomplicated funthat feels a little bit dirty about the whole operation, like I’d bought into something I oughtn’t. I suspect I may be dragging unrelated emotions into the equation, but it’s hard to tell from here. Ask again later, I guess.
And that’s it for the past. I am hyperaware that by conflating too many subjects people are less likely to read or respond to any of them, but perhaps you will humor me this time around. Yes? No?