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Tag Archives: Massachusetts

Oh, just hanging with Marion Ravenwood, no big. How was YOUR weekend?

I had a weekend of all the things. Every last one of them. And I should PROBABLY blog about something of great social and political import, right? (This is where you start singing “Mercedes Benz,” if you’re me. Or maybe if you’re you and you love Janis Joplin and that song always makes you grin like it does me.)

LOVE.

LOVE.

But, nah. Instead I’m going to fill you in on the latest goings-on and then I’m going to eat dinner and loaf around lazily because I’m a little exhausted. Long week. And it’s so hot. So, so hot. And going to get hotter. Look at this forecast that popped up on Google for me today:

OMG. 97° is WAY too close to 100°, right? This is weather I can’t leave buildings in and have to sit in the air conditioning and dread the drive home. (I do not recommend not having air conditioning in your car, if you can help it. It’s not a valid life choice in weather like this.) Dad swears it will be cooler at the end of the week. I will tentatively trust him on this one.

In fun news, on Friday, I will be driving 4 hours to vacation in the car with no air conditioning. Vacation = good; driving in this kind of heat without air conditioning = not good. Cross your fingers that it cools off at the end of the week for driving purposes.

BUT, when all is said and done, it will be worth it, because, VACATION! 8 days and 9 nights in the mountains where it is cool and green and quiet! And The Nephew will visit, and there will be dinner and a play with Mom, and the movies with Dad and The Nephew and my brother, and much time for reading and writing and watching movies and television and so much sleeping and eating of things cooked on grills. And apparently there is a woodchuck who lives under the camp. I want to be friends with a woodchuck! Dad says he will disown me if I do, but I’m totally going to bring him some carrots cut into hearts. So he knows I love him.

Hi, woodchuck friend! Maybe you and Dumbcat could hang!

Hi, woodchuck friend! Maybe you and Dumbcat could hang!

(There will also be Helper-Mule-visiting and grandmother-visiting and Dad has some sort of secret adventure planned, but I don’t get to know what it is. I fee l like it might be eating food on a boat.)

And, in the BEST news, you all get to come with me, if all goes well, because per all reports I’ve gotten, my cell phone will now work in the mountains. YAY FOR NOT BEING CUT OFF FROM CIVILIZATION!

So, this weekend. Well, Friday night I went straight from work to a play out of town, which I attended with my lovely cousin P. Cousin P. is Dad’s first cousin, so she’s a little older, but not Dad-age older. She’s also funny and irreverent and intelligent and we’ve never had grownup time before, so this was an exciting adventure, right? Right.

When I got to P.’s house, she wasn’t ready yet, but that wasn’t a problem. Guess why? Because her house is a CALVACADE OF WONDER!

I was greeted by:

  • Either a very tall beagle or a foxhound! (I’m guessing foxhound.) He wanted all the petting. If I stopped paying attention for even one minute, he put his paw on my leg to remind me what I was there for.

    Yep, I vote foxhound. He totally looked like this, only demanding more petting.

    Yep, I vote foxhound. He totally looked like this, only demanding more petting.

  • A squishy gray dog that I suppose is probably a cockapoo or something. I’m terrible at small dogs. It was very soft but also growly. It wanted to be petted, but then when you petted it, it growled at you, so I think it had a personality disorder. (P. took this dog in when her mom, my beloved Aunt Jan, passed away, because it was her dog. The dog only really liked Jan.)

    Research tells me it was a maltipoo. And it was totally snarly like this one.

    Research tells me it was a maltipoo. And it was totally snarly like this one.

  • A black and white cat that jumped up on the couch and said a very distinct “MEOW!” to be petted. And then kept saying it. Loudly. Sometimes right in my ear. And made me laugh so hard.
  • A gray and white cat that headbutted you for petting, and then jumped up and walked on its hind legs a little when you petted it in the joy of being petted.
  • A beautiful calico cat that I wanted to pet very badly, but it was too shy and hiding in the kitchen and I know better than to chase after a cat that doesn’t want to be petted (even though I totally wanted to.)

P.’s son apologized for all the animals mobbing me but I told him over and over it was ok. It was the happiest household ever. I would totally be happy to have a billion animals and hang with them all day long.

Then P. was ready and we went to dinner. We ate outside because it was the first day in like ever that the humidity wasn’t insane. However, that restaurant was plagued with large shiny beetles and one totally got in my shirtsleeve and I was all “what is so scratchy OMG BUGS BUGS IN MY TOP” and we were NOT entertained by bugs in our tops and then we decided we felt like we were covered in bugs.

We talked and talked and ate and laughed and went over to the theater (which was right across the street – handy!) and P. knew all the people because it’s a small town so she kept saying “hello!” then under her breath “that’s my dentist” to me and that made me laugh.

The play was excellent. It was a new work (which can be hit or miss) about a family living in Georgia O’Keeffe and Alfred Stieglitz’s house in Lake George (they actually lived in Lake George, but the modern-day part was fiction) and it had everything I loved – family drama and art and passion and love and the pain of loss and big deep issues like how we change over time, and how we’re not the same person when one person views us as when another person does and how two people can love each other so much, but they’re poison to one another, and need to be apart to save each other’s sanity.

I have an O'Keeffe and Stieglitz thing. I am drawn in by passion and art and the pull between people that is both destruction and creation.

I have an O’Keeffe and Stieglitz thing. I am drawn in by passion and art and the pull between people that is both destruction and creation.

And I related to so many of the things it brought up, and there were a lot of times I cried. Not all rudely, though. Just quietly. Also I nodded a lot. And at one point, an actor was giving a monologue and I wanted to get up and give him the answers he was asking for, because I knew them so well (he was asking about loss – about how, when you lose someone you love more than your own heart, you stop talking about them. He wanted to know why that happened – why would you pretend that never happened? Wouldn’t you want to honor that person, by talking about them all the time? And I wanted to shout, “No. NO. You think about that person all the time. He or she is sometimes ALL you can think about. But if you let it out, it might drown you. You box it up. You keep it inside you. It might be selfish, but it’s self-preservation, and holding it in is all that’s keeping you afloat.” I didn’t yell at the actor, though. Heckling’s not encouraged at fancy shows.)

Then I went home and wrote the review and stayed up way too late and went to bed for work the next day. Yawn.

(Also, I’m pretty sure anyone reading my reviews thinks, “Oh, that’s that girl that doesn’t hate anything.” Because I’ve been to some excellent shows this summer. And throughout my time as a reviewer, actually. I’ve probably only given negative reviews to two or three shows, total. And even in those reviews, I’ve found something nice to say. Because I can ALWAYS find something worthwhile in watching a show. Even if I hate it. I can watch the lighting, or the costumes, or the choreography, or even the props management, and think, “That’s really well done. Nice job, there.” So, yes. Probably there’s someone reading all the reviews thinking “OK, so Matt’s pretty harsh, and Carol’s pretty fair, most of the time, and Paul loves almost everything…and Amy just LOVES THEATER SO MUCH ZOMG.” And you know what? They’re not wrong. That’s not to say if a show is bad, I don’t review it fairly. I always do. I make a very clear point of always telling the truth in these things. I just think there’s no need to be mean, and that people should go into a show as informed as they can be about what they’re walking into, if they’ve read the review.)

Me at every show, because I'm just SO DAMN HAPPY TO BE THERE!

Me at every show, because I’m just SO DAMN HAPPY TO BE THERE!

Then Saturday I worked all day and it was busy. I should make a shortcut key for that sentence; I say it every week. HOWEVER, it’s the last Saturday I have to work until August! HOORAY! Vacation time is almost here!

Then it was off to Arlo-land for another review at the same theater I went to at the end of June to see Treat Williams. This one was Extremities (a very serious play about rape and violence, written in the early 80s) directed by Karen Allen. You all know Karen Allen, right?

YAY!

YAY!

FAMOUS! She was in the New York version of the play in the 80s, and came to Massachusetts to direct this version!

I read Extremities in college, but have never seen it staged, and was both excited and nervous, because I really wanted to see it (it’s a powerful piece) but also…well, triggery. Super-triggery. And I was scared I might react poorly.

Guess who was in the row right in front of me? Friend P.! I haven’t seen him in over a month because he was fancying it up out of town in a show for 5 weeks. He’s back now so the Capital District feels whole again. There’s such a loss in the area when he’s away. Also, friend C. was there! He was far across the theater so I told him he was naughty and probably in time-out. It was funny to see them there, even though they see more theater than anyone I know, because it’s so far away. I didn’t expect to see anyone I knew there.

Also in the audience was…

KAREN ALLEN!

She looks more like this now. Still totally lovely, and still with this amazing smile.

She looks more like this now. Still totally lovely, and still with this amazing smile.

I was kind of the most impressed by that and kept peeking at her during the show to see what she thought. She seemed nervous (it was opening night) but pleased with the job her actors were doing. (She’s also so pretty! The internet tells me she’s 61 and she looked LUMINOUS! And even better – she looked REAL! Not even plasticy! Even though I found some internet site that tried to tell me she had all the plastic surgery, and if she did, well, it was the least obvious plastic surgery ever, so I totally don’t believe it. Way to be naturally gorgeous, Karen Allen! I see why Indiana Jones was so into you! She also seemed not-at-all actory and was interacting with people and laughing like a normal human being and I decided she just jumped up onto my list of favorite celebrity types, because I like when celebrities aren’t asshatty and “don’t TOUCH me! I AM MUY IMPORTANTO!”, you know?)

Then the show started and I was a ball of nerves and I pretty much stayed that way throughout the show. It’s a tense play. I’m not going to lie and tell you it’s not. Within the first ten minutes, you have a rape scene down center. Right in your face-area. And it’s violent. It’s really violent. And there’s swearing and screaming and your whole stomach goes into your mouth and you’re frozen into a little statue and the next day your hands kind of hurt and you realize it’s because you were twisting them together so tightly for two hours you bruised your own hands and fingers in finger-shaped pain-places.

It’s also an IMPORTANT play. About the nature of violence. About how women are treated, both before, during, and after an assault – not only by the person assaulting them, but by their friends, law enforcement, hell, even themselves. About monsters, and where they come from. About kindness, and mercy, and redemption. About your soul, and how far you’ll go to hold onto it with both hands.

Sometimes the best plays to watch aren’t the easiest plays to watch, but it’s all the more important you watch them, in that case.

(I won’t tell you what I said in the review, because it won’t publish until today or tomorrow…but I think you can tell the general tone of it from the past few paragraphs.)

Then it was driving-home time (if I didn’t have to write the review and wasn’t socially-awkward, I could have stayed and had food and met Karen Allen and told her she was luminous and that I love both Raiders of the Lost Ark AND Scrooged, but I had a long drive, I’d been up since 7, and I had to write write write. So off I went.)

Before I got on the highway, my GPS crapped out (Stockbridge hates technology, I’m sure of it) and also I realized I was going to run out of gas before I got home so I went to a shady gas station and while I was gassing up left my windows open and ALL THE MOTHS FLEW IN and then as I was driving there were MOTHS IN MY CAR and I hate moth-wing-dust more than I hate almost anything in the whole world so I kept getting the shivers. But I didn’t crash the car, so I think that’s a win.

OMG JUST THIS PHOTO IS MAKING ME SQUIRMY!!!

OMG JUST THIS PHOTO IS MAKING ME SQUIRMY!!!

And some of my favorite songs to sing along to all loud and obnoxious-like came on while I was driving so I sang until my throat was sore.

(This one got repeated like seven times in a row. I love it just that much.)

And that is the story of my weekend! SO MANY ADVENTURES! Sunday I relaxed, and read (finished The Ocean at the End of the Lane, review forthcoming – or maybe already published? – at Snobbery) and did some artwork that I got PAID for, you guys, that I can’t talk about yet, but it turned out BEAUTIFULLY, so once it’s something I can talk about, I will, and wait til you see! I did a happy dance when I was done. I think it’s awesome, and I’m so proud of myself, and the person who commissioned it was happy with it, too, so YAY YAY I AM AN OFFICIAL ARTIST NOW! With MONEY for making ART! And that’s about all I did on Sunday. I needed a day off. WHEW!

This week is going to be a flurry of list-making and packing and plan-making and such, but it’s a slow week otherwise, so I will check in with you as often as I can, and then less than a week from now, we are ALL GOING TO THE MOUNTAINS! Aren’t you so excited? I know you are!

Happy weeks, everyone! Hope your weekends were calm and quiet and productive and, if not productive, gleefully slothful!

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The quote Scene of the Crime unquote

The summer malaise has hit me. I pretty much only want to chill out with one of these:

This is a delicious shaved ice slushie. And Dumbcat looking like he wants one, too. NO SLUSHIES FOR YOU, DUMBCAT! Only cat treats. You don’t like things that smell like fruit, they make you make faces and hide under the couch. And that there is a throw-rug that looks like a stretching tiger because reasons. (“Reasons” were that it was on clearance when a store was closing, and it is a THROW RUG that looks like a STRETCHING TIGER. Who wouldn’t have purchased this thing?)

I bought a shaved-ice machine (which is kind of like a snowcone machine only the ice is finer) and it’s just about the best thing ever. So pretty much this is the summer of shaved ice. ALL THE SHAVED ICE. Both as snowcones and as the ice in beverages. It is delicious and cooling and it is all I want to put in my mouth at the moment because the humidity is INSANE.

But for all the summer-melting-into-my-couch malaise, I suppose I could write some words down. As long as the air conditioner is on high. Is the air conditioner on high? DUMBCAT. GO CHECK IF IT IS.

Man, he’s really being useless for anything but cuddling and sleeping right now. (AW, THAT SLEEPY FACE!)

We’re just going to have to assume the air conditioner’s on high, then. Too much work to get up and check on that. Thanks for nothing, sleepy adorable Dumbcat.

Here’s what’s up in the land of Amy, because I’m too tired to rant and I have actual things to blog about but my brain’s decided not to put them together into something both intelligent and readable.

This weekend, I went to Stockbridge, Massachusetts to see (and review) a play.

Does this ring a bell with anyone? Stockbridge? Come on, I must have at LEAST one reader who made the same connection I did the minute I looked up where the theater was.

How about now. Ringing any bells now?

WHAT ABOUT NOW?

YAY! Yep, I was totally in the town where a very young Arlo Guthrie was arrested for littrin’.

I want tell you about the town of Stockbridge, Massachusetts, where this happened here, they got three stop signs, two police officers, and one police car, but when we got to the Scene of the Crime there was five police officers and three police cars, being the biggest crime of the last fifty years, and everybody wanted to get in the newspaper story about it. And they was using up all kinds of cop equipment that they had hanging around the police officer’s station. They was taking plaster tire tracks, foot prints, dog smelling prints, and they took twenty seven eight-by-ten colour glossy photographs with circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one explaining what each one was to be used as evidence against us. Took pictures of the approach, the getaway, the northwest corner the southwest corner and that’s not to mention the aerial photography.

Now, let ME tell you about the town of Stockbridge, Massachusetts.

It’s very pretty. It’s very green. It’s very small. There was a cop hiding in some trees (no, not like a monkey, not like hanging OUT of the trees, but HIDDEN by some trees, like he was being tricky) looking for speed demons (a tribe I am a not-so-proud member of, sorry to say) and I saw him and slowed right down because I didn’t want to be locked up and have them take away my wallet so I didn’t have any money to spend in the jail cell there, and my belt so I didn’t hang myself for speedin’.

(I did, however, say, “OMG OFFICER OBIE?” when I went past the cop, which my dad said was probably not the brightest thing to do. “They’re probably pretty sensitive about being called Officer Obie in that town,” he said very seriously.)

Real Officer Obie!

Real Officer Obie!

Stockbridge, Massachusetts is not the town where Alice’s Restaurant is. Both the restaurant and the church were in Great Barrington, Massachusetts (which is about 15 minutes away.) But Stockbridge is the town where Officer Obie (a real person, you guys! It’s totally a real story, if not a little exaggerated, for flava, as any good storyteller will do) worked, and where Arlo was locked up, and where the garbage was dumped. I totally was driving a historic path. I wanted there to be a sign saying “Site of the Alice’s Restaurant Massacre, (with full orchestration and five part harmony and stuff like that)” but there wasn’t a sign. Mom said probably they were embarrassed. “EMBARRASSED?” I said. “Well, it made them look a little dumb, Amy,” she said.

Anyway, Stockbridge made my GPS go insane and tell me to turn onto lawns where there weren’t roads (and it wasn’t like I hadn’t updated the GPS lately, or the roads had been worked on recently – those were old-timey roads) and it was also the town where Verizon went to die. I’m not really sure WHY, as all the other people there seemed to have connectivity, but when I first got there, I was able to call Dad (he gets super-worried when I go to other states; I think he thinks I’m going to become an expatriate or something) and then my phone was all “NO BARS NO Gs!” and I couldn’t do a thing with it. So I had a lot of time to kill, and I wrote a very long email and thought, whatever, it’ll send once I’m on the way home. But randomly it sent at around 8:15, once the show started. So what the hell was happening with that? I also attempted to send a text, but THAT didn’t send. And therefore people thought I was dead. If I knew emails were randomly going to get through Officer Obie’s Cell Phone Deadening Net, I would have emailed people telling them “I am not dead! Just in a very small town where once, my most beloved Arlo Guthrie was Public Enemy Number One.”

Apparently, this no-cell-phone thing is a problem in Stockbridge. Huh.

Apparently, this no-cell-phone thing is a problem in Stockbridge. Huh.

The play was amazing. AH. MAY. ZING. Treat Williams was great (I didn’t expect him not to be, but was pleased he lived up to my expectations) and I didn’t realize I would be seeing ANOTHER star!

Jayne Atkinson! She’s been in many things, but I know her best from Criminal Minds.

Hate to say it, Treat Williams, and you will always be in my heart, but Lady Jayne, here, out-acted you on that stage. She was BRILLIANT.

The show was The Lion in Winter, which I’ve heard of, but never seen (or read, actually.) It’s the fictionalized story of a Christmas in 1183 with King Henry II, Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine, their three sons, and the King of France and his sister. Henry and Eleanor’s first-born son, next in line for the throne, has just died. Henry and Eleanor each want a different son to take his place; the sons each have their own reasons for wanting the crown. It’s snarky and it’s black comedy at it’s darkest and it’s intelligent and it’s wise and it’s a little heartbreaking and it made me laugh and it made me tear up a few times. Just an amazing, amazing night of theater. (The author, James Golding, is William Golding’s brother. The Princess Bride? Yep. Talent runs in that family.)

I readily admit I’m a sucker for an intelligent, well-written show that makes me think. Give me one of those over fifteen mindless comedies any day. This was utter perfection for me. I never wanted it to end. (Although I kind of missed having phone connectivity. But on one hand: excellent theater! On the other: a phone that works! It’s a total Sophie’s Choice for the digital age, people.)

This was just supposed to be a little post and it got majorly long, dammit. But, Arlo! And good theater!

Fine, fine, I’ll wrap it up with this:

This weekend, we have a VERY PRESTIGIOUS VISITOR coming to stay Chez Lucy’s Football. (And also, of course, Chez Dumbcat.)

Amy’s Mom!

Amy’s Mom is coming to spend the night Saturday night. We are going to have an adventure!

The first part of the adventure is called “Amy’s Mom has never driven here by herself before, and has also never used a GPS and is worried it will drive her into a lake.” I keep reassuring her it won’t but she doesn’t seem reassured. What’s up with that, I’m totally reassuring. Plus I don’t live very close to many lakes.

The second part is called “I get out of work early on Saturday!” Yep, 2.5 hours less answering crazy people’s calls on Saturday, it’s a total hoot. (I actually only work one more Saturday this whole month, as I have the last two Saturdays of the month off for vacation. What WILL that place do without me?)

Then we’re going to dinner. Friend A. said I should bring her to his favorite restaurant which is a nice Italian place I’ve never been to. Mom doesn’t like things that are scary or new or weird (hmm, wonder where I got my palate from?) so I asked if a nice Italian place was ok with her and she sounded relieved.

THEN we are going to see a play that I’m reviewing and she’s totally excited about seeing a play with the reviewer. (It’s not so exciting, but shh, don’t tell her that.)

Then I’m coming home to write the review and it’s going to be WAY past her bedtime of 9pm (I know, I KNOW, that’s insane, she likes to get up at the asscrack of dawn to exercise, I often wonder if I’m adopted, too) and she will sleep and Dumbcat will be both amazed and excited someone’s sleeping on his couch and will most likely bounce on and off of her fifty times in the night. He doesn’t think it’s obnoxious, he thinks he’s just showing you he loves you and knows you’re there. “HI HI HI!” says Dumbcat, 50 times a night. “This is a niec cowch, rite? I sleepe on theis cowch at nitteime, too! WE ARE THE BEST OF FREINDS NOW! COWCH FREINDS! I showe my love by leeping on your spleen!” says Dumbcat to overnight visitors who sleep on the couch.

I love yew, cowch! Mommee, stop taking piktres of my catface. I am sleepin.

I love yew, cowch! Mommee, stop taking piktres of my catface. I am sleepin.

Then the next day she is going to church (which I nicely found for her, but also nicely said I would not be attending with her, a girl’s gotta put her foot down somewhere) and then we’re going to celebrate The Nephew’s fourth birthday.

THE NEPHEW IS TURNING FOUR!

I know, who can even believe such a thing? When I started blogging? HE WAS ONLY ONE! This is craziness and I don’t know if I love how fast he’s turning into a little grownup. I have a whole story about the quest for the perfect nephew gift, but that will have to wait for another day.

Then Amy’s Mom will head home, as will I, and I will most likely collapse on the couch (“BFF! YOU ARE ON MY COWCH!” Dumbcat will say with glee as he leaps on and off of my liver-area with his full weight on all four paws) and think about what a VERY LONG WEEKEND THAT WAS. Filled with MUCH ACTIVITY.

So be prepared for reports of Amy’s Mom hits the big city with Amy, which will hopefully not lead to either of us crying, getting lost, or yelling.

(“WHEN WILL THE LAYDEE BE ON MY COWCH?” says Dumbcat. “I VOMIT ON IT? TO MAEK IT MOERE HOMEY FOR HER?”)

Four more sleeps, Dumbcat. Or, in your case, 57 million more sleeps, because you nap ALL THE DAMN TIME. And no, please don’t throw up on the couch, go do that on the rug like you usually do, right where I walk when I first wake up. Thataboy.

Happy Wednesday, internets. May your humidity be low and your air conditioners be frosty.


Things you cram into a weekend

  • When one of your coworkers at the newspaper emails you at 7am asking if you’re free to cover a review for him that night in Massachusetts, even though the show starts at 8:30pm and it’s over an hour away and you have to write the review when you get home in order to make the deadline and then get up for work the next morning at 7:30am at latest, you say yes. Because you’ve never been to Massachusetts, you’ve never been to this theater and you hear it’s one of the best in the area, and you really like the playwright and haven’t seen this particular play of his yet.
  • Sometimes, you just need an adventure all on your own, even if it’s a little scary, because it’s something you have to prove to yourself you can do.
  • The drive to Lenox, Massachusetts from Albany is very pretty. First it’s all city city city, then it’s all highway highway boring blah, then it starts to be very green and rural and the air smells nice and clean.
  • There’s a huge “Massachusetts Welcomes You” sign once you cross the border on I-90. You’re totally allowed to cheer and say “THANK YOU I FEEL VERY WELCOMED, MASSACHUSETTS!” and bop around in your seat a little.
  • When you cross the border into Massachusetts, it looks very much like New York. You might think there would be unicorns or something along those lines, but you would be wrong. It’s the same. Which is a little disappointing.
  • Having a billion songs (give or take a billion) on your phone is the best thing ever. It totally beats having to bring a bunch of CDs and change the CDs and almost drive off the road every time you do it. You just put the phone on shuffle and you’re good to go. Added bonus: you know all the songs so you can sing along loudly and off-key. Especially since you’re alone in the car so you’re not bothering your passenger.
  • There are a lot of tollbooths between Albany and Lenox. Another awesome bit of technology: the EZ Pass. Which even works in other states. You may not be aware of this and think you’re in trouble because you don’t have any cash on you. Nope! EZ Pass is accepted all over the land. (“Of course it is, Amy, SIGH,” said Dad. Sorry, Dad, I’m not much of a world traveler.)
  • Once you get off the highway, Lenox is a lovely little town. It looks old-fashionedy and pretty and there are a lot of trees and old stores and houses. It was utterly charming.
  • Your GPS will sometimes take you down roads that look like no one’s driven on them in a billion years. “Why are you trying to kill me, GPS?” you might say to it. I mean, if you were the type to talk to inanimate objects. Which of course I am. “This is where killers live in the trees, GPS. I don’t know what I’ve done to you to deserve this kind of Texas Chainsaw Massacre death, really.”
  • Suddenly, you will come upon a little road with a sign for the theater and you will apologize profusely to your GPS for doubting it.
  • Shakespeare & Company is not just a theater. It is a THEATER COMPLEX. It is a NUMBER of theaters all on what seems to be an old farm. There are signs pointing to each of the theaters telling you what’s playing at each one. It’s all landscaped and there are trees and water and little fairy lights in the trees and it might well be one of the most beautiful, magical places for theater to happen you’ve ever seen in your life. You might drive around with your mouth open like a gigantic country rube. Hypothetically.
  • The theater was beautiful, the show was amazing, the employees were very nice without being weird about it (sometimes theater employees are overly solicitous to reviewers, and it’s a little off-putting) and there were a LOT of rich people there. Apparently, Lenox is rich-people land. Whoa. You may be a little underdressed amongst all the snazzy people since it was dress-down day at work and you are wearing jeans and a shirt that started the day nice enough, but ended the day a little wilted.
  • On the drive home, the night was as clear as could be, and without all the ambient light from the city, the stars were so bright they were the stars from every poem ever. They were FIRMAMENT stars. And the moon started out as a light orangey-red and slowly morphed to an almost coppery-amber, and it was a perfect crescent moon. It is completely allowed to marvel in the night.
  • You can make it to Massachusetts and back and see a very fancy play all by yourself even if you are completely directionally challenged. You will feel very good about this. Very proud of yourself. And very happy you have such a job that allows you to do such things.
  • You will not, however, feel so proud of yourself the next morning since you stayed up until 2am finishing the review and it is a very long day of work and a LOT of crazy people will call needing your attention and you don’t have a lot of it to give. You will yawn a lot. A WHOLE lot. You also have to grocery shop after work because you are out of milk and cheese, and dairy is really kind of a staple food group. I mean, it’s on the food pyramid and everything.
  • You may have plans to stay up late and talk to Andreas with your face between 11pm and 12am Saturday night but when he emails you right after 11pm you will sadly beg off because you are falling asleep over your laptop. You are sad about this because Andreas is one of your most favorite humans. He does, however, understand, and tells you to get a good night’s sleep because he is, without a doubt, one of the most caring people you know. You are very tired, and someone caring about your sleep this much makes you cry a little, which is a thing you do when you are very tired. You make plans to talk to him tomorrow when you wake up. This seems like a very good plan.
  • You collapse into bed and sleep for EIGHT STRAIGHT HOURS. You would have slept longer, but for some reason, your beloved but mentally deficient cat decides to leap on your face after you’ve slept for 8 hours. Apparently, he thought that was enough. He didn’t need food or water. Just attention. That was what precipitated the early-morning face-leap.
  • You realize you cannot talk to Andreas until you put yourself together, because not only did you sleep for 8 hours, you slept HARD. You look like you’ve been hit by a truck. A truck full of cast-iron pans. And in just a few hours you have to go BACK to Massachusetts to see ANOTHER play and also meet friend C. for lunch.
  • You put yourself together so you look less like a highway accident victim and more like a human being. (Note: Andreas probably wouldn’t have cared. Sometimes you talk to Andreas in your pajamas. Andreas is very understanding and doesn’t care if you look like a weirdo. Or, if he does, he’s too nice to mention it.)
  • You talk to Andreas for an hour. His family all make an appearance, including the dog, and you cannot stop smiling. Andreas is a balm that cures many ills.
  • You attempt to get some things done but fail miserably because the internets keep distracting you from your goal. It’s a thing that happens more often than you’re willing to admit.
  • You take off for Pittsfield. Pittsfield is not an easy of a drive as Lenox, because you can’t take the highway all the way. You have to take a lot of little tiny roads where the speed limit is 30 and, randomly, there are a lot of cops. You sigh a lot.
  • You make it to Pittsfield and your GPS hates one-way streets and refuses to help you find the theater. You instead find the restaurant and go in and almost cry all over the bartender telling her you can’t find the theater where you’re supposed to meet friend C. She is more scared of you than understanding, to be honest. She gives you directions to the theater, which is randomly a couple blocks away. When you leave to go to your car, Friend C. is outside. She is also unable to find the theater. Her GPS has also refused to bring her there. However, since you are at the restaurant, you decide to eat.
  • The food is kind of meh, but the company couldn’t be better, so it all balances out. When you have known someone for almost twenty years, you are never really at a loss for conversation.
  • You take off for the theater and are kind of embarrassed at how easy it is to find when you know where it is. You mentally apologize for almost crying on the bartender.
  • The show is good. Quite good. It’s just not your thing. However, some people like pretty, brainless musicals, so if that’s their thing, they will like this show very much. There are a couple people in the show that are very good, so you watch them with the most joy. And randomly, one of the songs makes you think of something that it wasn’t even supposed to make you think of, and it wasn’t even especially sad, and you might start leaking at the eyes a little bit. Then you have a moment where you think about how memories sometimes ninja sneak-attack you and make a completely benign song suddenly the most tear-inducing thing you’ve ever listened to.
  • You say goodbye to friend C. and make plans to do it all over again at the end of the month which will be the most fun because you weren’t sure when you would see her again and drive home through all the teeny-tiny streets past all the cops.
  • You make it home in time for True Blood and half-watch while writing your review. Even half-watching True Blood is enough to know it is still quite terrible. However, Eric is still the prettiness.
  • You quickly write sj an email recapping True Blood which is the best part of True Blood and collapse in bed because it is now almost Monday and time for the week ahead which has even MORE things to do in it.
  • You have weird dreams for no apparently reason other than your brain runs like a hamster on a wheel sometimes and you wake up enough times that the cat gets fed up with you and goes to sleep elsewhere.
  • Suddenly, bam, it is Monday, and your weekend is over. And look at all the things you have done! You are a ROCK STAR. You went to a new state! You went to two new theaters! You saw two shows you’ve never seen! You got to hang out with friend C.! You got to talk to Andreas with your face!
  • You can now rest. Until the next adventure. Which, knowing you, will be any minute now.
  • You are most definitely queen of all the adventures.
  • MOST definitely.

    Well, maybe not this particular adventure.

    Well, maybe not this particular adventure.


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