In which our correspondent becomes a girl gone wild.
Friday, March 2, 4:04 a.m.
No wry, no drinking, no Southern Gothic?? You are so f*cking demanding!
OK, so as I was finding my seat with my posse, I realised that [Michael John] Garces was sitting in it. When I pointed this out, he asked to see my ticket, and promptly ripped it up. That's a gantlet I can't resist, so my intelligent, cultured response was to start unbuttoning my pants. In the back row of the Bingham. He immediately said "Do it! Do it!" Which merely added more fuel to the fire. Consequently, I mooned him at close quarters in a sold-out theatre on opening night. Amazingly, very few people seem to have noticed.
No wry here, just ribald. But that's me.
We just finished our ten out of twelve, and then repaired to a cast member's apartment to decompress. I love being able to talk about life with people I'm working hard with on something that we all believe in -- people I've never met before, might not ordinarily seek out or come across, who are so different from me, who I have so much to learn from, and to whom I may have something to offer.
And this is an obscure reference, but my belt buckle in the show has a funky kind of rectangular boxlike shape which has inspired many "box" jokes and merits a mention of the "I put my box in a box" video on You Tube.
By the way, I stand corrected by a resident: it's Looahvul, not Luhvul. Either way, sounds like you just came from the dentist.