Idle Sunday Reverie

My theater itch won't go away. Within a long walk from where I live there's one of more than 80 "smaller theaters," as listed in the Weekend section of the LA Times, in the greater LA area.  I've attended two plays at that one, nearby, theater, Company of Angels, one original, one twenty years old. Not bad. Neither performance was sold out. (When I direct it's strickly SRO. I have a gift.) My overtures to the theater, never direct, have been ignored. I'm getting seriously annoyed! I'll come clean: I insult them. Oh, the fiendish ways I've insulted them. My most recent was contained in a large envelope I dropped through their still-unrepaired, rain damaged front door mail slot, a door which is practically falling off its hinges. I wrote in red on the outside of the white envelope, "poor co. of angels." They don't deserve capitals, yet. Inside the envelope I sealed my annotated four pages of newsprint from the Times giving information about the eighty plus productions now playing, including their revival of L. Kramer's play, The Normal Heart about the 1980s impact of AIDS. "Gay AGAIN?" I wrote. Their last production had been a comedy improv titled The Gay Mafia. The 79 plus other "smaller theaters" had more appetizing fare. The new owner of that little theater (an expression apparently from olden times, shelved perhaps 'cause "little" is demeaning?!) I fantasize is unconsciously erecting a gay pickup place, sort of like Starbucks in many communities. I mean who else sits out on the sidewalk so close to noisy, dirty traffic? In Paris it's a long, long way from one's chair to the traffic, at least in my experience. Well, if you're waiting to be picked up, I suppose, you'd have less distance to walk. Also, if you're going to be perused by passing 'shoppers' you'd better be close to the prospective customers. See? I'm mean.

The closeness of the theater to my house nevertheless is compelling me to persist. The traffic is so horrendous beginning two hours before curtain that many theaters have tried making curtain time 9 pm. Yet, in spite of that, when I drove to Santa Monica from home, I had to give up because I'd have been an hour late. So, the temptation of a little theater only two miles away beckons. It needs me. Rehearsals would be scheduled for everyday and everyday I could walk both ways.

There's a certain kind of incompetence that comes from nervousness, shyness, and plain ol' fear. So maybe that explains the wooden,  trembling, blob inscrutability of the owner. Not that I'm positive I've even met him. He must be the one who wanted me to pay again three days after I paid. I didn't have tickets because they don't give out tickets! No Tickets?! That's not the ticket! See? It's gonna be tough sloggin'.

Barry