Seeing your friend suffer on stage

Can be such an interesting experience. On one hand, it’s absolutely fantastic to see this friend transform herself. It’s like she has grown an entirely new skin. It’s magic, Dumbledore-style. On the other hand, your mind begins to race as you’re trying to reconcile her with the character, and you wonder if she has ever screamed and cried like this in what we like to refer to as “real life.”

*shiver*

As I was waiting for Anya after the performance, I honestly ran into the one person in the entire city of Kiev who wishes to discuss a particularly warped version of feminist politics after a theater performance. Head meet desk. Or wall – I was standing next to a good, hard wall at the time.

Here’s a paraphrase:

“She got naked at the end!”

“So?”

“Naked! NAKED! Naked-naked!”

“Well, as I already most eloquently pointed out: so?”

“NAAAAAAAKED!”

Right. Fascinating. You know, I thought I’d never use the phrase “I’d much rather discuss Meghan McCain’s Twitter picture with Twisty’s commentariat,” but, after those five minutes of rhetorical Hades crossed with Nancy Grace-style charm, I’d much rather discuss Meghan McCain’s Twitter picture with Twisty’s commentariat. (And thank you, Twisty, for some much-needed clarity)

Other than that, I just have to say – if you’re depressed like me, don’t be an idiot and see “4.48 Psychosis.” Well, unless your brilliant friends want you to see it. And get you a free seat. In front row. And hang out afterward. Then maybe, maybe see “4.48 Psychosis.” But after you’re done for the evening, just get home and log into, I don’t know, ONTD, as quickly as you can, to check out stuff such as – “The only way Jon could put his kids in more danger is if he somehow found a way to squeeze Roman Polanski onto that ATV.”

Nothing like a little rapist humour to lift the mood after a Sarah Kane play.