Now we have to settle a script we originally didn't like, find a script that one of us can now perceive as buried treasure, or find a brand new script that we can cast and produce on short notice.
I think B will be the reality, and I already have a show in mind we can do. I loved it last year, and it's tailored for four young actors and a cheap set.
6 Rms, Riv Vu
Play Grade: A
Theater capability: A plus-plus-plus.
A man and a woman are looking at a tiny apartment. They get locked in when the super removes the doorknob, and as they yell for help, they become acquainted and banter and flirt. Even for such a dated comedy (the references are beyond me sometimes), this is still a funny and charming play.
In the second act, the couple return to the apartment with their oblivious spouses and try to avoid each other. They debate an affair and decide to stick in their marriages. They're adults; they don't want to start over. And they really love their significant others. The play isn't about finding love too late. It's about being reminding about the sparks of love and taking them back home.
What aces this play for us is the set: it's an unfurnished apartment. We can make the set for about $13. Small cast, breezy show with unexpected heft at the end. I like my comedies like this.
There is no other answer. What better show to start focusing on younger actors to build for the next season?
I started calling Mom daily starting Friday, and she seemed OK. Friday wasn't a good day, and we talked for a long while. It's been a long year.
The street festival here was welcomed with rain. We didn't want to see it anyhow as Your Sis begins the long, slow slouch toward the end of the semester, and I stayed near the phone in case Mom called. I'm spending Sunday and Monday with Sunday's NY Times. I'm also dangling the crossword in front of Your Sister to give her a break from research papers. I planted corn, and all this rain may be the best thing for it. The compost bin is practically empty as I chucked coffee grounds, dark soil, a few pounds of worms and egg shells from the bin to the corn patch.
We saw Terminator Salvation Saturday night, and I give it four out of five Death Stars. It has many, many callbacks to the earlier films, which I dug. It's neither as eye-popping as the second film (and it's groundbreaking effects) nor as goofy. There are nice surprises. We, of course, topped it off with doughnuts.
I ran Monday after assuring myself I wouldn't fall over dead. It's been a while. I did 2 miles in just under 19 minutes, and I will forever wonder what times I'd have on flat ground. I came in, wrung myself out like a washrag, and cleaned out my closet. Either I didn't know how to buy dress shirts or I've lost significant weight. I'll need to buy a new suit before the Chicago trip. I avoided dry cleaning my current suit in the superstitious hope that would prevent another funeral. So far, it's worked.
Later in the day, I helped Your Sis and other teachers record scores from the senior project presentations. It's a burgeoning tradition to do this at the local Mexican restaurant while downing beers. Alcohol is my mathematical lubricator; I should have nipped scotch during Algebra II. Your Sis ordered the giant mega-beer for me, and I shocked everyone by drinking the whole thing. And then she drove my staggering corpse home.
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