Thursday, April 14, 2005

Oh theatre. Why do you let me down so? Why are you so predictable? At times, so thoroughly boring? Why are audiences so arrogant? Why does a man with a hearing aid turned to 11 sit in front of me and swing round accusingly when I peel the wrapper, quietly mind, off my wine gums (the quietest sweet known to the dress circle)? Why did an actor who I introduced myself to in a venue I happened to be loitering around in insist on reciting a lengthy list of his actor friends who'd appeared at the same venue? Why do people at the box office not believe you when you point out that you can clearly see your tickets in an envelope behind them and, instead, go through some elaborate routine to give you two more tickets, and then blame a breakdown in communication when you hand her back the original two tickets that were inside the envelope that was clearly behind her? Why will nobody take risks? Why does every play have to be a facsimile of the last? Why do we always know what's coming next? Why do I feel guilty claiming my complimentary drinks? Why does the bar manager think I wrote 'press' on a drinks slip? Why does that woman behind insist on slapping her lips together at regular intervals? Why are (other) critics so loud? Why don't comedy dramas make me laugh? How can people be happy with the state of you? Why are people still insisting on being elitist? Where are the plays that talk to me?
No work today. Pains and migraines and bellyaches. Not just because of the above.
Tune: Jesus & Mary Chain - Sweet Jane

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