Weekend Update

Warning: This post rambles like whoever it is that sings “Ramblin’ Man” that I’m too lazy to look up right now. Strap yourself in: It’s going to be a bumpy post.

Coming off a good weekend today. It started out early, strangely enough, with a train delay. Somehow fate had contrived to seat me in the same booth as a woman I talk to on the platform and one of her friends, and we had a good conversation about horror movies at 8-something in the morning, As they described some horrific details of Hostel, and I mentioned some skeevy goings-on in The Ruins, I had to wonder—was anyone listening to us?

I’m reminded of a line from Jo Carol Pierce’s musical, Bad Girls Upset by the Truth: “Friends are great, but to have a truly exciting life, you must have strangers.” Here’s to that.

Saturday night, Kathy & I hit TheatreSource’s Estrogenius festival for the closing night of the Week One one-acts. Our friend Jen Thatcher had written a play for it, and it was good to see her and her husband Jesse (and their friends Greg and Beth) for dinner and theater. In between, we caught some talented singers busking at Washington Square, and Jesse explained some math priciples to us (including how the sum of a certain infinite sequence of numbers comes out to Pi squared over six, which is brilliant in a way that only Jesse can see).

The festival provided a fun night of plays, with Jen’s “The Wedding (Re)Gift” being one of the strongest of the night—it was written and acted very naturalistically, about a very human problem (a couple’s marriage gets off to a rocky start). It was funny and genuine, and well-acted by Denise Fiore and Elon Rutberg.

The other standouts were “Swan Song,” a heartfelt musical about aging and caregiving by Andrew Frank and Doug Silver, and “After People” by Fiona Jones, which absolutely kicked my eyeballs in. Set in a post-apocalyptic future, a group of clone-grown women are setting about to rebuild the devastated planet. It sounds like too big a concept to fit into a one-act, but Jones narrows the focus perfectly on a specific problem, with implications for the future of society as a whole. The ensemble (Elizabeth Rosengren, Carla Hayes, Judy W. Chen, D’Vorah Bailey and Brie Eley, directed by Mhari Sandoval) buzzed around the stage with urgency and purpose, deflty handling the exposition necessary in a piece like this without ever making it seem like an information-dump. It was a great piece to close out the night with, and has enormous potential for expansion to a full length play or a movie.

Afterward, there was a week-one closing party at the Source, and we hung around gabbing until a lucky glance at the time made us realize we’d have to scamper to make the last train home to NJ. After trying unsuccessfully to get a cab, we’d just resolved to hoof it back to Penn Station when I spotted one as we were crossing the street. We made it just as the train started boarding, and were able to get seats together.

The train ride home was terrifically entertaining, as a cluster of drunks had gotten on the wrong train and were asking every conductor where they should get off, and what their next step should be. Then they’d forget about whatever their plan was, and ask again. I heard the leader of the bunch, a white guy with long greasy island-style braids, say to his friend, “If you weren’t so sober, you’d be fuckin’ bombed.” Words to live by. Anyhow, they planned to get off in Rahway, then passed that station. Then they planned to leave at Metropark, but didn’t get off when we did. I don’t doubt they saw the nightlife in Trenton by the time the night was over.

Yesterday was some much-needed yardwork, and some little-needed extra eating. I’m glad the tabloids don’t stalk me like they do Britney and Lindsay, or else I’d be in some sort of ankle bracelet for that bowl of ice cream and spoonsful of peanut butter I couldn’t resist. Stupid human! Stupid! Stupid!

And then, this morning—the guy I’m sitting next to on the train asks me about the comic I’m reading (the excellent Sandman Mystery Theatre) and suddenly we’re off and running on a nice conversation on comics and the direct market and commentary and all sorts of stuff. Turns out he’s the boyfriend of Cheryl Lynn of Digital Femme fame. Thanks for the conversation, Jay—hopefully I’ll see you on the train again sometime.

See what I mean about strangers?

Rob