Friday Sushi Hana with Julio, his student at MICA Joel, and Yo!Adrienne. I had the mercury roll with e. coli starter.
Somehow our conversation derailed from the lofty plateaux of Sargent paintings and fresco techniques to farts as "molecules of poop" and thence to far worse territory: buttplugs, accidents of the fecal variety, and US politics.
After, we scurried off to Mick O'Shea's for a Move Like Seamus original line-up show. Don't get us wrong: we love the new Seamus, and dig the current lineup and the new crunchier sound. But a chance to hear the old set-list with cello and accomplished rock guitar soloing is rare, and we were full of nostalgia for the days when we could count on a crew of ten or fifteen stout childless souls to show up and drink themselves into oblivion with us. Alas, we were tardy and missed their signature rendition of I am the Walrus.
We had a wedding reception to attend Saturday, the wedding having already taken place in the South Pacific. A nice time, but we left early and sneakily during a video presentation; Cha was exhausted, and had been through a miserable allergen attack earlier.
A snippet of conversation with an off-off Broadway actress at our table:
Gentleman to my right: So I hear you've got two lead parts coming up?
Actress: Yes, and I'm very excited. One is about a Japanese American woman and her daughter by a Japanese woman playwright. It's all psychology, with lots of the superego.
Me: Really? How so?
Actress: Well, there's not just the ego of the characters, but more than that, like extra ego.
Me: (choking politely on my portobello in WD40)
Gentleman to my right: And the other gig?
Actress: It's the best! A musical with really awesome music including notes and choruses. It's likely to be the penultimate theater experience if you go!
Me: Indeed.
Now I languish at the Service Desk, my last Sunday at work for the forseeable future.
4 comments:
My father-in-law kept joking with us that we should name Eve "Penultimate". "But I'm not having any more kids!" I'd counter. It seemed a hopeless argument.
Haha -- extra ego, indeed.
Friday was fun. I'm just so sad that I turn into a pumpkin at midnight.
Poor Lucien was yawning on stage during the last set; it's hard on you parentals to know you'll likely need to be up early and to balance that with a free night of boozy leisure.
Soon I'll have to be awake in the mornings. Bah
First - you youngsters are pretty good coming out of the starting gate, but you just can't go the distance.
Friday, I was up early with the wee dragon, took the family on a 3 mile hike, loaded all the gear in the van and into mick's, set-up, then went back an played the show. Just for fun, I hung out until 3:00 am. I was up at 7:00 am (but I did get to have a nap).
47 (and a half)! I'm holding two fingers up at the gods.
Second - "the penultimate theatre experience." As I laughed out load, spitting the water I was trying to drink all over my desk at work, I couldn't decide if she meant "this show will be so good hardly anything else could entice you back into the theatre," or if she meant, "this show will be so bad it will nearly drive you away from theatre forever."
Either take would make a gutsy marketing campaign.
I think she assumed PEN-ultimate must be better than just plain old ultimate; just as her assumption that super-ego meant somehow extra-ego. A dimwit of the sort I've not encountered outside TU undergrads. And like many in her field, a rather attractive dimwit.
I can function reasonably well on four hours' sleep, but wouldn't have energy for child-rearing or singing. Geeze.
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