After dinner at Last Concert Cafe tonight, I went to see Catastrophic Theatre’s Our Late Night, written by Wallace Shawn (the only celebrity I’ve seen while in NYC) (he came into the smallish Italian place where James and I were having dinner with a very attractive young lady) (he was with the attractive young lady, we were not) (he was wearing a knitted cap though it was only maybe in the 50s outside – not that cold) (and I’m from the tropics). Two rows in front of us tonight sat the stoic Edward Albee (pictured above). I laughed a lot during the show. Some of it was uncomfortable laughter, which is one of my favorite flavors.
After the show, a bunch of us stood on the deck at DiverseWorks, shooting the shit. I reconnected with an actor I really like who was in my last big show – she’s probably going to be in our fringe fest show in May. I assumed she was too busy for the likes of me, but that wasn’t the case. Happy coincidence.
After shooting the shit, I came home. James informed me that my onions had sprouted today. Literally – last night when I watered (don’t tell me not to water at night because of fungus – I know this – but sometimes I don’t get around to it in the morning) there was nothing. Then tonight, life: