November 6, 2015

Went to buy flowers for the opening. Happened upon a place run by handsome young gay men, which was a plus. They were friendly and cute and stupid, which was neither a plus nor a minus as far as concupiscence was concerned, but rather amusing, or would have been had I not been having a bad morning.

    Him: So, where do we send these?
    Me. The Magnetic Theater, 375 Depot Street. (Disturbance in back, so he doesn’t hear me)
    Sorry, where do we send these?
    The Magnetic Theater, 375 Depot Street.
    Now, where are we sending them?
    The Magnetic Theater---

This went on for quite a while. Turns out he was looking for a name, and what I was giving him didn’t sound like one.  At one time I was actually turning on my heels to make for the door, but at last we got it worked out.
  
To the Magnetic then for the premiere of Washington Place, going alone, as if creeping in hoping not to be noticed. I need a gala in my life, and this wasn’t it. The house was sparse but contained quality people. And, in the moment, all was most and exceedingly well. The acting was excellent, the set and costumes and sound and lights flawless. May well have been the best opening night ever, including New York. I sat there taking it in, hearing laughter at the right moments around me. The play does not need even a touch. Proud, happy, came home and slept the sleep of the righteous.

Excellent session at the studio this AM. A whole painting in one sitting. The bitter sadness of the first of yesterday was not quite washed away by the satisfaction of the second half, so I had little skirmishes of that war to fight today. Theater again in a few hours.