Saturday, September 2, 2006

Post Natal Depression Is Real

We opened Take Me Out last night, and I realize I have no knowledge of how to read an audience. Or maybe I do and just don't want to admit it to myself. A lot of the people who were there were friends of mine who politely shied away from me without making comments during intermissions and at the end.

I'm wondering today if most of the audience had an inkling of what the play was about before coming to the show. I'm thinking they might have thought it would be a frivolous comedy with lots of naked men prancing around.

It actually requires thought and a knowledge of the English language beyond fifth grade.

At least I didn't use my real name as director.

Before the show, while speaking with the house manager, I asked, "Do I really need to carry that walkie-talkie around with me again tonight?"

And he said, "Actually, no. Your work is done."

That hurt. As much as I've been writing about how this development was inevitable, it hurt.

Poor me, baby needs a hug.

1 comment:

  1. Pussy! If you can't take it, then just lay your fat ass up in bed and don't come out from under the covers.


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