theres something about press opening that always makes me unrealistic. not about the press -- they can do as they please -- but about what will happen when the show is over. I realized tonight as I poured wine and tried, and failed, to answer patron questions about the script, that what I really wanted was for someone to come up and speak a poem to me. I wanted someone to exhale and fill the party with that thrilling night air that whips through the car when you make an impromptu solo 1 am drive to the beach with all the windows down. I wanted to sit in a corner with someone and hear them talk about beauty in such a way that there would be no walls left standing. opening nights make me lonely. next time you see me at one, feel free to quote Yeats at me.
Posted on: Sun, 10 Aug 2014 05:18:03 +0000
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