Tuesday, October 21, 2014

The Theatah!


Angels in America is one weird-ass play. I think that it's an important play, but when it comes to theatre, I'm more of a Sing About the AIDS Crisis with Rodgers and Hart kinda girl. "Surreal" is not my cuppa.

Having said that, this production was first-rate, and I am very glad I saw it.

And my pal Handsome D was beyond terrific. He plays Belize, a flamboyant nurse who finds himself ministering to Satan himself, Mr. Roy Cohn — which he does with compassion, kindness, and grace. D lights up a stage — it is almost impossible to look at anyone else when he's performing, such is his magnetism as a performer. I've seen him play many characters, and none of them resembled this boa-sporting icon of fabulousness.

Damon Singletary as "Belize" and David Berti as "Roy Cohn" 

The rest of the cast was excellent as well, particularly my old theater buddy Peyton (Pryor), and David Berti, the actor playing Roy Cohn. I told Mr. Berti that while I congratulated him on an excellent performance, I really kind of hated him too for making me have compassion for Roy. Fucking. Cohn.
  • David Berti: He wasn't such a bad guy. He was really misunderstood.
  • Me: What?
  • David Berti: I read his autobiography.
  • Me: Um — he had good things to say about himself? 
  • David Berti: Turns out, he's a fan.
Too funny.

You can read a review here and here.

I went with these beautiful ladies:

Brunie asked me to write up all the funny things that she and I and Mrs. Cynicletary said at dinner and on the drive to the theater and later, when we sat next to Mrs. CrankyPants-BitchFace and her partner, Mr. Placate, but my mind is a perfect blank. I do recall having a glass of wine, or possibly four, but do you understand that is a seven-hour play?? That's, like, five ounces an hour. Or something like that.

(Wow, I haven't been a Math Guide for more than a year, and yet here I am, still making up story problems. I'm a Giver.)

In other news:
  • My knees are still killing me, and everyone asks why I'm limping, even if I feel like I'm walking normally. I'm calling my primary, Dr. Barbie, tomorrow and asking about cortisone shots. Or knee replacement. Or a lobotomy, I don't care at this point.
  • I see my cancer-prevention doc on Thursday, and I will try to get her to pinpoint which of my current challenges (weight gain, fatigue, weepiness, and poo problems) are likely caused by the Tam, which are linked to what seems to be the early menopause brought on by the Tam, and which are likely due to the fact that I'm still mourning my dad. I don't know if she'll be able to tease them apart like that, but that is my goal.
  • With Good Neighbor Anne's encouragement, I made a huge dent in my list of eight hellish tasks. I still haven't sorted my basement files or measured the g-- d--- front steps, but I did everything else. The thing is, though — once you clip your hedges, it's not like they stay clipped. Arggh!!!
  • My daughter has been calm and cheerful, my son is a punk but also loving and affectionate — at moments — I have a hot lunch date with my sweetie-pie husband this Friday, I still have lots of good editing work on my plate, we're seeing Avenue Q this weekend, I did my first subbing job for this school year, which was awesome, and I'm reading two excellent books and have a pile of interesting-looking videos to watch. If Dr. Barbie puts me on bed rest (ha!), I'm golden. Nothin' but good times ahead.
Time to go read some more, have a coffee, watch Jeopardy!, and go to bed early. Night comes early 'round these parts, and I'm happy to succumb.


— Lady C

p.s. Lady Darcy, here's what I just read:


And here's what I'm reading now:


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