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Got back last night from a completely wonderful day: first to matinee of an Arthur Miller play I'd never even heard of, The American Clock (directed by Cynthia Babak, writer & reviewer Paul Witcover's partner). There's a nice review here, and
deliasherman just wrote one as well (also see her last one, on the TFANA's brilliant revival of F. Murray Abraham's Merchant of Venice). Final performance tonight. A fusion of vaudeville, show tunes, video & a script written with Miller's genius for tight characterization, jumping from scene to scene, from monologue to monologue, so that you felt like you were switching channels on a collection of fabulous movies about the Great Depression, each of which you'd love to watch in its entirety, and all of which together gave you the genuine sense of what it was like to live through those times - as Miller intended.
Our companions were the delightful delicious pair Carlos Hernandez (author of "The Assimilated Cuban's Guide to Quantum Santeria" and co-author of the Interfictions 2 Study Guide) and poet & educator Liz Clark. We started out at that fish place on 5th, wound down to Gorilla Coffee . . . and were still talking about books, writing, teaching and the best leather jackets when we parted at the Atlantic St. station.
I got home and checked e-mail, and was disappointed to see that there were no comments to the LJ post I had thrown off that morning . . . hadn't I? I remembered writing it. So where was it? Oh dear, oh dear . . . nothing. Went to bed certain psychosis was immanent.
Then I remembered that I'd posted it here.
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Our companions were the delightful delicious pair Carlos Hernandez (author of "The Assimilated Cuban's Guide to Quantum Santeria" and co-author of the Interfictions 2 Study Guide) and poet & educator Liz Clark. We started out at that fish place on 5th, wound down to Gorilla Coffee . . . and were still talking about books, writing, teaching and the best leather jackets when we parted at the Atlantic St. station.
I got home and checked e-mail, and was disappointed to see that there were no comments to the LJ post I had thrown off that morning . . . hadn't I? I remembered writing it. So where was it? Oh dear, oh dear . . . nothing. Went to bed certain psychosis was immanent.
Then I remembered that I'd posted it here.