Tryst n� Shout!

Dear Lar-rah,

Thank you so much for the tickets to TRYST. I have been deeply mired in my theater addiction as well as this really strange tendency to write linear narrative as of recently/late. Booooo! The show cured me of both these ailments . . . killed two birds ‘cuz I am really stoned.

In light of you not being able to go, I invited Jack Daniels™ only to realize the restraining order has not expired. Kat de Sade and I have a date to see Julia Bond strip at Scandals on Saturday. I am trying to coerce Tara, who I hit in the head with a beer can, to go see THE CATARACT with me on Friday (NYT’s review is total crap by the way). And this evening I have to get turned away from Press Night at FESTEN because I failed to perform fellatio on the right House Manager . . . Rats! I dig that Dogma-Cum-Theater stuff. Maybe I’ll go see DEGENERACY . . . I heard Vicky’s in a harness. Naaaah.

Sooooo I decided to invite my recently widowed friend Daniel Safer, who is also credited with the choreography for TRYST. Note the ungainly waltz, the huge-two-step . . . this being Dan’s signature style mind you. Upon entry to the Pomade The-ah-tah, I saw the Great Glaudini and Peter of the French Wood. Peter was online for the box office rocking a slice of thin-crust NYC ‘Zah . . . the kind big mama raised me on . . . hmmmm piz-zah . . . Oh, I also saw some kids from ThaRow including Ian “I swear I was up for that part, man” Kahn and Thom Caruso, who was shocked to see that I was still alive. You’re not the only one . . . but don’t worry, homie . . . I won’t tell anyone yer gey. I mean I’m gay but that dude is geeeeeeeey.

Margot Harley was seated at the edge of my row, with a very attractive date I might add. Oh Margot, if only I had listened to you in high school when you told me to get out of the theater. I wish I had heeded your abrasive yet prophetic advice! I know now that you were trying to save me. You trying to save me from this show!!!!!!

I sat next to some sycophant claiming to be tight with Ameila-what’s her-nuts. It’s a Two-Hander (theater jargon for a show with lots of people in it) in which she plays opposite this fine chiseled beefcake who couldn’t act his way out of a marijuana possession charge with Peter Tosh as the arresting officer let alone a period piece which refers to Edgware Road as if it were some undiscovered dirt road in a quaint village filled with plastic white people. If it weren’t for the pseudo-“Jack the Ripper”-black-Goth setting, I would have thought we were in Candyland.

Luckily we came prepared. I coughed to cover Dan filling my Vitamin Water with Johnny Walker. Very junior high. I know. But hey, it works! We didn’t wake the people in front of us or disturb the Teutonic twat translating the play for her non-English speaking boyfriend. Nor, it should be duely noted, did the play’s direction. Totally benign. The set did this cool garage door thing and then they had this three-way mirror that doubled as a brink oven . . . hmmm . . . thin crust pizza . . .

Should’ve grabbed a slice at Intermission but got distracted by the long line to the men’s bathroom (what???). And yes, I had to put a stop to this whole stupid quitting smoking thing . . . love me or kill me. Please.

Bob and Peter were nowhere to be found. Smart.

My head was comfortably numb as it fell aloft Dan’s shoulder for a ‘lil post-interval nappy nap. I awoke just in time to see Amelia naked. Dan saw her in OUR COUNTRY’S GOOD when he was like twelve. Honey, I hope my country looks that good when I’m your age. You know, Daddy likes a little Crisco in the can. And Mr. Kahn, I would have loved to see you rock it. C’mon and let me rock it. I feel for you. I think I love you.

You are spared my rant on the UT reading series at New Dramatists but not my link to Schnitzengruben:

And if you’re in Austin (or have friends there… hint… hint…) go see Ryan’s Hotel Room thingy:

Next up (maybe) is the DC CDP Round-up. And I’m going to Hot-Lanta this weekend. Me and Big Boi are gonna hop the underground smellroad to Stankonia. So hide your hos and moonshine. We’re in hot pursuit. Coo coo coo!

Ivan, Man of Bells

2 thoughts on “Tryst n� Shout!”

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d bloggers like this: