O my m'my my my, what a day! This won't be any more a relaxing weekend than the last one was, but I'm certain that it will have been as interesting. It has been so far!

O, now I've gotten you all excited. I didn't win the Lotto, I didn't get laid, I just had a fun day is all.

Today was my birthday treat, my real one. JC Superstar was on my birthday, of course, but that was only because this wasn't playing until now. I went to the Brooklyn Academy of Music and saw Ralph Fiennes in Coriolanus and Richard II.

And it was just fine.

The matinee was at 1.30p, and I left the house at 12.15p rather than noon, as I meant to, I just couldn't go without showering. I don't dress up for the theatre, but I do insist on being clean. I'm certain that the people that I sit near are pleased about it as well.

I was doing really well, though, the van came quickly, and I decided to take the A to the D, switching at West 4th. Once I got to West 4th, though, there was one of those stupid signs up about how the damned train wasn't running over the bridge, that it was running over the R line, and it suggested that I go back up to 34th St. on the F train and take the D going local to Brooklyn.

At this point, it was, what, 12.50? I was still in great shape, but I didn't think that I could do it that way, and I couldn't really see the point in going back uptown, so I decided to get out and grab me a taxi. I was already all the way downtown, how long could it possibly take?

I thought that before I got the stupidest taxi driver in Christendom, who took me down 2nd rather than 3rd, and 2nd Ave. on a Saturday afternoon is apparently the place where everyone in Manhattan comes to double park.

I was watching my watch, it was 1.05p, it was 1.15p, and then we finally got to the bridge, and they had closed the lower deck, and you couldn't get to the upper deck, not from 2nd Ave. So I jumped out of the taxi, ran to 3rd Ave., and agitated on the streetcorner until another empty taxi came along. I must have looked like I was going to meet my dealer or something. At this point I was certainly going to be late, but it wasn't too bad, only five minutes, but, hey, maybe they would start late! I knew in my heart that they wouldn't, but I hoped anyway.

We streaked up to the theatre, I flung handfuls of cash at the driver and ran up the stairs, holding my ticket as though it were the Olympic torch. "Are you going to Keralus?" It took me a second to recognize the usher's question as referring to Coriolanus. "Yes, yes!" I shrieked, wild-eyed. "Well, it's at the other theatre two blocks away."

Of course it was.

Anyway, I was ten minutes late and missed the first scene, but was seated rather quickly, and didn't mind. I had never seen the show, and I understood what was going on quickly enough, so what the eye doesn't see, the heart doesn't grieve for.

And the show was fantastic.

Maybe it was something about having to pay attention so hard when I came in, all alert and bright-eyed, else I wouldn't have a clue as to what was going on (I'm a Shakespeare fan, and can discourse knowledgeably on many a play, but Coriolanus is one that I had never run across) or maybe it was the fact that the beginning of the play is a war, and there were all of these explosions and running about and all, but I felt I was all eyes.

The performances were altogether excellent, especially the man I came to see, Ralph Fiennes, as Coriolanus himself, Barbara Jefford as Volumnia, Oliver Ford Davies as Menenius, and Linus Roache as Aufidius (who was the only one so say "Co-RYE-uh-lu-nus" rather than "Cor-ee-oh-LAY-nus"). There was also an actor, Damian O'Hare, with a lovely Belfast accent, my favourite accent in all the world. It was a real treat to hear.

I wasn't entirely crazy about the woman playing Coriolanus' wife, but since she only had about six lines, it didn't much bother me. It was in the next show that she really had a chance to shine, and she about drove me crazy then, but it wasn't so bad.

Ralph Fiennes was really excellent as the proud, flawed soldier, not so good at peace as war, unable to bend, disdainful of the common people, unworthy of being delivered by him, broken by an ungrateful nation.

The best bit, though, the absolute best bit for me was in Act I, when Coriolanus was winning that war on his own, he spent a good fifteen or twenty minutes with his face absolutely awash with blood, eyes peering through the clots. It was absolutely beautiful. I sat there thinking that I would literally give just about anything to photograph him like that, hair mussed, red with gore, eyes white against it. I also thought that perhaps I'd like very much to have him declaim Shakespeare, perhaps "What a piece of work is man..." but really, almost anything, while I blew him. It was rather hard to sit still.

The set was great, though I think it was greater than I could see, because I was on audience left and it seemed as though on stage right there was some big clangy thing, like a giant metal door. I could hear it and see its effects, but I could see it no better than house right could see stage left.

It wasn't the best designed theatre on the planet earth. Especially the seats. They were stadium seats, so not a head blocked the view, but because me seat was at the curve of the row, the only way that I could have actually been comfortable would have been if my legs had been lopped off about halfway up the thigh. At the knee wouldn't have been good enough, because the stumps would have batted the head of the woman in front of me, dripping blood down the back of her neck.

I had neglected to bring along an ax, so I had to suck my legs back like sucking in my tummy, trying to keep the sharp seat back in front of me from cutting off all circulation to my feet.

The second act was not so good as the first, but it isn't anything like as thrilling as the first so that was only to be expected. The end was terrific, though. A real corker.

Afterwards, I had a few hours to kill before the second show, so I cleverly decided to go to Penn Station and pick up my ticket to Boston for the next day. I figured that it would be difficult enough to catch an 8.30a train without fumbling for a ticket beforehand.

One would imagine that I then proceeded to be late for curtain for the evening show, but this did not occur. Oddly enough. Nope, the going there and back was smooth as silk, and I got dinner as well. 'Mazing, ain't?

One thing, though, as I was walking from the subway I turned my head as I was crossing the street, and I was suddenly struck by the sight of the sunset. It was one of the most beautiful ones that I have ever seen, dark pink, like the clouds were on fire, and only just visible as you were crossing the street--the buildings were blocking it otherwise. And when I got to the next corner, because of the way the street slanted, it was invisible again. It was like a secret, only for the people who looked left as they were crossing that one street in Brooklyn at that very moment.

The second show, Richard II, I didn't like as much as Coriolanus--I don't know if that's because it isn't as fresh a show to me, or because I was tired and had been there all day, or if, as I think, the director didn't have a clear a throughline for this show as he had the other.

The performances were just as good as in the afternoon, but there was a section of the second act that became hilarious, it was almost farce. I found this pretty annoying.

Not to mention the fact that there wasn't any lovely blood on Ralph's lovely face. Ah well, you can't have everything.

During the show, apropos of exactly nothing, perhaps my mind was wandering, I decided that what I really wanted to do was to dye my hair purple. I wondered if anyplace would still be open on a Saturday night at 11p, anyplace that sells Manic Panic.

When the show was over, I decided to give it a try. Of course, I had the same train trouble getting back as I did getting there, even though it was a different line, and I didn't get to St. Marks until after midnight.

Man, everyplace was closed on that street, everyplace that you couldn't eat at. Didn't those people consider that there may be a hair-dying emergency? Weren't they thinking of me? I finally found a shop that I thought might sell dye.

"Do you have any Manic Panic?"
"What is that, t-shirt?"
"No, hair dye."
"Only got one."
"What colour?"
"Purple, only purple."
"That's what I want!"

So I took it home and I put it in my hair and I didn't get to bed until 3a. The next morning I looked at it, and it wasn't as purple as I would have wanted, but it was pretty enough and I was glad that I did it. I'll put more on and make it more purple. I want it to be really bright for the reunion. I want those high school kids to see me and say,

"My God, who's that old bag with the purple hair think she's kidding?"

What's the most spontaneous thing you've done lately?

And we're still talking about how we feel about medication, the one right way to do things, self-knowledge, running out of time, new movie recommendations, what we need to be happy, our personal angels, our offices, vocal tics, and bad movies we love.

Today's horoscope:
You need a sense of security as well as adventure today. Go a bit afield with family members for recreation.

One year ago today:
Yesterday morning Martha Stewart made Swiss Chard Ravioli.

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Last Updated Sun 18 September 22:10:09 2000