SEMIOSPECTACLE

My thanks to Mashinka Firunts and everyone who participated in Semiospectacle at PS122.



Friends Les and Sean during rehearsal, working out blocking and cues. They played diametrically aligned roles in my performance. Both did so perfectly. Thank you, gents!





Les really got into his role as the obnoxious bridge and tunnel jerk. (Here he is, ruining a perfectly fine tira misu.) Despite his mugging in these photos, he did feel a bit self-conscious while we were out eating dinner.



Sean is a paragon of elegance, so he was a natural as the emblematic dandy. I do appreciate his rushing home to don his attire and then foregoing dinner. Top marks, all around.



The lovely Minsky Sisters.



Dr. Lucky



Hounded by the press.



The Missus and I backstage. Have to say the atmosphere backstage was great fun: it was essentially a cramped, crowded broom closet with two floors. It felt like the bowels of a sailing ship. The second floor--really a deck--could only be reached by a steep, narrow staircase that one used like a ladder. It was classic Vaudevillian backstage: three-piece suits, people in heavy makeup and silk kimonos primping in the mirror, cute ladies in feathered hats and tap shoes running around, and zaftig ladies in massive wigs swanning about in g-strings and sequined pasties. Great fun. Someone should start a restaurant with a backstage theme.







Jeremy's magical suitcase.



Mashinka, seen here in her magnificent, radar-defying eveningwear, put Semiospectacle together. I simply can't imagine being able to assemble such a huge production at the tender age of twenty-two. Younger than my own nieces! I can only shake my head in amazement.



The divine Vaginal Davis followed my performance, and so we chatted backstage for an hour, awaiting our turn. Such a sweet, sweet person. Jet lagged from Berlin, and still the most cheerful person in the room. Turns out we both have Choctaws in our families, so we may very well be distant cousins, who knows. I had a beaten-up copy of my book in my bag, and during the course of our conversation it was clear Ms. Davis was a kindred spirit, so I signed it and gave it to her. La Davis: you are my queen.





Both the 8PM and 10PM shows were warmly received, and quite a few friends managed to venture out into the rain to see us. Curtain calls came for both shows, and off we went for some unagi and our ride home. Turns out Laura's car had been towed (NYC has some fairly insidious tow traps, with no parking signs twenty feet up, parallel to the curb). So we flagged down a patrol car, got the number and address, and took a cab over to the tow depot on 12th Ave. Les discovered that his ipod had fallen off in the cab (yet another reason not to wear those awful tracksuits), so I had to run as fast as I could--through rainy puddles in my bespoke suit and carrying all sorts of bags--to beat the cab to the light. Fortunately I did. Sitting on the back seat was Les' ipod, safe and sound. My boots are still drying out from this episode.

So after spending an hour navigating the Byzantine workings of the NYC Police Dept., we were back on the road. Upon arriving at Les and Laura's home at 3AM, which s a wooded 100-acre farm, we discovered that it was the peak night for eastern spadefoot toads, which were making quite a din. So Laura donned her wellies to investigate. So an evening that started in Vaudeville ended in puddles. Not a bad way to spend one's birthday.

So how was your Monday night?