There's something about taking a nap in a theatre (not during a performance, obvs) that makes the theatre feel a little bit like home. American Airlines Theatre, I am pleased to add you to my list of Theatres I've Slept In Which Will Always Remind Me Of Having Slept In Them, Even When I'm Just There To See A Play. You're in fabulous company, along with the Atlantic and Kerry's high school theatre where we did her play in college. (I probably won't ever be in Kerry's high school theatre again, but if I ever am, I'll be all, 'Oh, that's where I took a nap, and that's where we were all sitting when we find out Maria wasn't going to be able to do her stage adaptation of Newsies.') AA, you have lovely aisles, and I feel priviledged to have gotten to know one so intimately.
Not only did I survive the 24 Hour Plays (thanks in no small part to the comfort of the American Airlines' aisle), but I had a lovely time. I even made it into Campbell Robertson's
At this point a young woman approaches Mr. Gardner.
“So for the crazy, crazy hat I didn’t find one,” she says. “So we should just tell them to use the crazy hats they have.”
That's me! You can tell by my trademark aversion to forming real sentences. Campbell's write-ups are actually pretty great, and you should go read them. (Am I just saying that to get him to use my name next time? Because I intend to marry him, and this flattery is just the first step in an elaborately plotted campaign? Because if you read his stuff, I don't have to type it all out? Who knows.)
-Unlike every person walking down 42nd Street, if I saw Chris Rock and Ben Shenkman smoking outside of a theatre, I'd ask to have my picture taken with Ben Shenkman.
-Not really. But if I were going to take a picture with one of them, it'd be him.
That's actually it. (Oh, also, Jeremy Sisto is incredibly hot.) The formula for the 24 Hour Plays is, like, Sleep Deprivation + Copious Free Post-Show Booze, with a little theatre-making in between, so afterwards we're all like, 'That was awesome!' and 'I love you all!' and 'I can totally afford to take a cab home,' but we're not so much with the lots of smart, interesting things to say about the process. It's frenzied and fun and scary, and it makes good theatre. I think just about everyone enjoys themselves, even before the drinking.
I got home a little after 2 (thanks to the blessed luck of two of the ADs living way uptown, facilitating a shared cab, facilitating not taking the subway for three hours), slept for a while, and then went over to East Harlem to get a new kitten. It's taking, like, seventeen years for them to spay her, so I (they've assured me) finally get her tomorrow night, at which point I'll probably post pictures and ask for help choosing between names like Avril and Clarissa. (I think she might be French.) I also think I may have chosen yet another sweet retard of a cat. But at least two sweet retard cats will probably get along well.
[Update: In the continuing saga of me never getting this kitten, I just realized that tomorrow's the New Pornographers concert, and, as it seems cruel to pick up the kitteh, throw her in my room, and head back out the door to the concert, I will now be getting her Friday morning. This is the most retarded three-days-turning-into-week-taken-off-of-work ever.]