I'll begin at the beginning. But first, let me say this. I have just returned from seeing the worst play I have ever seen. EVER. And I have seen some puh-retty bad theatre.
The real beginning. You know my state. I have ups and downs. This past week has been difficult. But I won't get into that now. Just know that seeing a very bad play may not have been, uh, soothing, for me. No, no, it may have spawned a fury. So. I knew it was a bad play. Everyone said it was bad. My mother designed this play and all she could talk about was how bad it was. But she made me see it anyway. Well, let's not dump this on her shoulders. Her set was lovely. And the lighting was very good, and the sound design quite sweet. But the script. (Whoops, I just puked a bit). And the directing. (Brief pause while I gouge out my own eyes). She did not MAKE me see it. But she did want me to see it. Partly to see her set, and partly because she really wanted to hear how I would analyze it. So I agreed to go. Now, I had heard that on opening night the production manager and props guy had walked out after the first ten minutes and gotten very drunk in the lobby and very loudly tore the thing to shreds, in full hearing range of the audience. And tonight when were seeing it at one point all three people I went with were asleep. All three of them.
What I'm trying to get at here is that my expectations were very, very low. Very low. On the way to the theatre I was driving, a half hour drive or so, in the car by myself, lowering my expectations, wishing I smoked cigarettes. Which led to wishing I had any vices right now. How do people maintain goodness? I'm not drinking, smoking, doing drugs, lying, cheating, stealing, fucking...nothing. I came to the conclusion that it's going to have to be tattoos. And I did drive a bit fast on the way to the theatre. But I knew that I could neither get a tattoo nor lay on the gas pedal while watching the show. So I really, really, really wished I smoked by the time intermission rolled around. I asked permission to not stay for the second act, but got the hairy eyeball, so I moved to the back of the theatre so that I didn't have the director and playwright sitting right behind me and I could glower and mutter to my heart's content.
So by the end of the first act I am wishing that every character on the stage would die an excrutiating death. And by the end of the second I am wishing I would. And then. A great cosmic joke. Possible Karma for my lack of diplomacy. I discovered that a very large, very FRESH wad of gum had been under my seat, in just the perfect place to A: get stuck to the back of the left leg of my jeans so that it could B: get stuck to the right front leg when I crossed them and C: could get stuck to my dress when the seat flipped up and I leaned against it. I have gum stuck to everything. Insult+Injury=irrational rage.
Sadly tonight was closing night so that I can not inflict the torture on anyone else I know. "Ew, this reeks, smell it". "This tastes disgusting, try it". "This play sucks, go see it". You know how bad it was? I preferred the smell of my own farts on the way home in the car to the play. And I had had a pork sandwich for dinner.
Thank you, and good night.