Scooch

Usually a little behind the times: Just read Alison Bechdel's beautiful graphic autobiography, FUN HOME. I had seen her work here and there online, and when this book came out I remember the reverberations, but just this weekend finally managed to read it. Or should I say devour it. So well-done, disarming, childlike, sophisticated, stimulating, inspiring, and most of all, brave.

This weekend I opened my phone bill and it said six hundred and something dollars were due. After talking to several Sprint operators I realized that lots of calls had been made from my phone to South Dakota, bringing my overage minutes to an unprecedented high. I wracked my brain for South Dakotan phone pals. Couldn't think of any. Was righteous and indignant with the Sprint operators. A few hours later I realized that all those South Dakota calls had been made by me, mostly in the month of January, when I signed up for a 30-day phone meditation. Apparently, "free conference call . com" is not free to the people who call the number; only free to the person who sets up the conference. ARGH!

We have been seeing a lot of theatre. Vanities. Steel Magnolias. Mame. Caucasian Chalk Circle. And we'll see Unnecessary Farce and The Bacchae soon. I wish the theatre we were seeing were a little bit more high-quality. The stuff that passes for good in this town is starting to look pretty lame to me.

Seeing Mame onstage prompted me finally to watch Rosalind Russell in Auntie Mame. I loved it. Why did no one force me to watch this years ago?

Tonight I will start rehearsals for two 10-minute plays I'm directing. I'm always happy to start a new project.