(no subject)

For some reason, I am thinking Steven Sondheim this afternoon.  I was lucky enough to see “Assassins” this past year.  I had to walk from Canal Street into the quarter to Le Petit Theatre in order to see it.  There were parades around town; not Mardi Gras, but another one of those times that the city celebrates the fact that it still exists.   I am perpetually jealous of those who live in cities where current plays and musicals actually are seen (read: New York).  Here, we get “Oklahoma” for the umpteenth time. 

Except—We did get “Assassins” this past year.  I see why it was never a film.  It needs to be performed in a small theatre in an intimate setting.  Nothing concentrates the mind—as mentioned by a character in the play—like having guns pointed directly at you.  Even if you know they are props.  This is still New Orleans, occasionally a regional murder capital.   Who knows if a real gun might have been sneaked backstage?

Dark, dark outside with the rain.  I am woodshedding as Kalamu might say (www.urbandictionary.com/define.php).  Writing here in preparation of really writing.