I haven’t written in awhile because last week was so busy with seeing shows of people I know and teaching a lot.

It started off with a bang with a reading of Lynn Rosen’s Puddy Tat at New Georges.  I can’t wait until this play comes to the stage because it is surprising and funny and startling, watching a man become a beast and a “Cat Man” brought to life.  Then, there was Crystal Skillman’s Nobody at the wonderful Jimmy’s 43, a site specific piece in the darkened backroom of Jimmy’s which was moving and moody and mesmerizing. Next was Tongue-in-Cheek Theater’s production of Recent Tragic Events by Craig Wright and a Joyce Carol Oates in puppet form.  Lovely detailed character work and pitch perfect comic timing.  I needed to laugh next week.  Even if it was during a 9/11 play.  And while I never do it, afterwards, I traded 9/11 stories with a friend in the audience.

I was teaching at Hunter College High School.  That’s all I’ll say.  I taught through the whole school day.  The rest is a story for another day.

And then The Foundry’s Telephone just blew me away.  It made me decide to see shows earlier in a run so when they are that mind altering, I can tell people before they close.  It just closed.  Damnit.  What started out as a meditation on the telephone and conversation and communication by Bell and Watson turned into fragments of conversation in a darkened room.  Missing and catching one another.  Why do we do that?  Why can’t we hear one another across the phone waves or even, when someone else is standing right there?

My heart hurt afterwards, and I don’t exaggerate.  It hurt.  For the whole next day.

And I remembered why we do this.  Why we try to tell these stories to other people in a darkened room.

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