May 4, 2008

Three purple globes of allium come to bloom. The dusty pink heirloom rose that I forget the name of reaches for the sky, blooms is old fashioned, wonderfully durable blooms.

Went downtown to see Immediate Theatre Project’s The Only Worse Thing You Could Have Told Me, a series of vignettes about gay life, superbly performed by Francis Kelley. People are always finding excellent actors I had never seen before. If you had seen Kelley on the street you would not have imagined him an actor, and even his acting was not very "actorly," which is to say, his transformation from one person to another occurred without artifice, without reminders to any part of his body to stay in character. Either very adept or very well rehearsed, or both.
Downtown was filled with kids on their way to Prom, stylish or gawky, full of hope, grownups looking for parking places, guiding their dates up Walnut Street toward the Civic Center. Prayed that all would lie down in their beds–even if not until tonight–safe. In my day girls wouldn’t wear anything that betrayed that their figure was less than perfect. Not so now, when really big girls hobble up the street in sheaths–I think you call them-- which reveal every bulge and roll. I suppose not caring is healthy.

Please, God, stop me from using sentences which begin with "In my day–"

Good day in the studio yesterday.

Report on Edward from New York-- where doors get locked during rehearsal , elevators get shut down, assistant directors and interns do not show up, costumes get lost. You think that stuff only afflicts YOU, but there it is in the big time as well.

Jason phones that the University Library has bought his portrait of me– good news for him, and perhaps for me, though it does make me a little squeamish. Perhaps after a year or two people will forget whose the image was. It’s a fine painting and deserves such a public space, and I do look rather benevolent, if also quite strange.