Getting Downright Mean

Nah, not my style.

Valhalla is done. Put to bed in a reasonably nice way. Coulda been better, but you take what you get. One day I hope to see a physical performance equal the performance I see in my mind. There were nights when this one came close.

Lyla Hay Owen, who reviewed us in the T-P, came three times to see the show, the last time on Saturday night, accompanied by Jim O'Quinn, the editor of American Theatre magazine(!).

He didn't walk out.

They were joined - late - during the masturbation scene (you had to be there) - by the nameless one from the T-P, who stumbled over chairs and knocked over my tripod trying to get to Mr. O'Quinn.

The starfucker has no shame.

But he did enjoy the show, in spite of my association with it.

Later today, I meet with Louie Crowder to start mapping out a production schedule for his next play. Wish I had made arrangements to do this tomorrow instead. Maybe I'll call him to reschedule. I want a little time to grieve.

Hey, endings are final, you know.