Small Town Friday Night

I'm in rehearsals for a play right now. It's called Dead City. It was written by a thirty-three year old playwright named Sheila Callaghan. She's a New Yorker and this play is about New York. That's her in the cemetery picture.

More to the point, it's the portrayal of a 'banal' day in the life of a fictional woman named Samantha Blossom, based ever so cannily on a fictional character named Leopold Bloom from another work of fiction called Ulysses by a guy named James Joyce, who, in about 1918, based his own adaptation on the original story of Ulysses by Homer. Yeah, that Homer...the The Iliad guy.

So, like...hilarity ensues, n'stuff.

Dead City was first produced in New York in 2006, then in Chicago, also in 2006.

I better be good, that's all I know. I better not be a faker. I better not be phonin' it in. I better be rested and ready and whatever it takes to transport a viewer somewhere she or he couldn't be if they stayed home and sat on their own couch contemplating their own mortality instead of the fictional mortality I go out of my way for five nights a week until opening and then about three times a week.

Like I care. I do care, but...like I can afford to care. Which, as it so happens, I can.

"But that's not what I wanted to tell you, what I wanted to tell you is..."

About four hours ago I went to see The Bluesville Drifters at The Thirsty Ear on West Third Avenue in the Grandview part of Columbus Ohio.

Tim Browning, the lead singer and fellow Dead City cast member, invited our cast a few nights ago; I was the only one who showed-up. I was hoping a few more of us would, but no.

Tim is an honest actor with whom it is simply a pleasure to work.

I could go on, so I won't, except to say:

Google "The rest is silence."