May 21, 2010

Eventful Thursday just behind me, by a few wee hours. Zach praised the beauty of my garden, which was gratifying, but also a relief, as I feared this gaudy interruption in the line of lawns might be an irritation to my neighbors.

Had my first training session with N at the Y. For months now as I did my weights and scanned the room, the thought had crossed my mind that I needed to get this big, handsome, not-like-me-at-all guy into my life. The Muse of Decisiveness must have reigned the other day, for ten minutes after I arrived at the gym I was signed up for personal training. I need a new friend, to fill the Jason/ Marty/Graduating Students slot of straight-arrow, good-hearted but far-away-departed normal people. The hand of God was on this one, for yes, he’s a good trainer, and I ache as I type, but more than that he is sweet and candid and all the best things one means when one uses the word “boyish.” It was like when you’re eight and you meet a new kid from the next block and you know you’re going to have adventures.

Evening, to Cucina 24 on Wall Street (which appeared while I wasn’t looking; I can’t even remember what was there before) for the first part of NC Stage’s Dinner and Theater night. Jack and Leland were in Hawaiian ensemble; I could have been too had I but warning. The play was What the Butler Saw, which Jack and I had done 23 years ago with Asheville Rep, in their old stage above what is now Table restaurant. The production was flawless, the acting excellent. Orton, though, is a little like playing ping-pong with an opponent whose only move is the smash spike. By the end of the evening I had surrender, bruised and broken, to an onslaught of “hilarious” situations and well-wrought, indeed relentlessly wrought, theatrical jokes. Situation: set up: smash spike delivery of the laugh line. Charlie and company did their best to turn perpetual motion hilarity machines into real people, but in this they were working against the playwright. I have no patience with farce. Perhaps I should simply acknowledge that and drop the rest. Several years back I was obsessed with Orton’s life, read everything, saw everything, rushed downtown to audition when the opportunity came. But the actual plays perplexed me. They seemed not the sort of thing this sort of person was supposed to write. I wanted to look at them as the juvenilia of one who would eventually blossom into his true self, but, of course, that process was cut short.