Dear Exile on Pain Street:
Repeat after me.
Writer Nora Ephron recently passed away. Here’s a screen shot of the New York Times online Arts section landing page I took a few days ago:
I haven’t done any theater posts in a long time. I’ve seen plenty of plays, but I’m no longer motivated to write about them. It’s a subject with limited scope, methinks. I did, however, want to mention this beauty that’s on my calendar:
He plays ALL the characters. Lady Macbeth! For added fun it’s “…set in the clinical green-tiled room of a psychiatric ward in which Cumming is the lone patient.” I’d like to smoke a big fatty before seeing this. I hope it gives me nightmares for weeks to come. I saw him as the mad MC in Cabaret along with Natasha Richardson as the broken Sally Bowles. It was one of the best things I’ve ever seen on a stage, so my expectations are high.
As long as I’m feeling a little catty and unpleasant.
Do you know what I like best about the sorority chippy interns at work? When they talk? Their voices rise at the end of a sentence? And everything they say? Sounds like a question?
They also use the word “like” as a comma, shoehorning it into their conversation where it’s not needed or, like, relevant to what they’re saying?
My other favorite tic is that their voices trail off into guttural sounds. It’s a phenomena that women in their 20s display called vocal fry.
“Is fixed income a product that invests in gar gar gerr gar gaaa grrr?
“I’m sorry, what was that?
“Do fixed income investment vehicles gru grrrg gar grrr gar gar gar?
The funny thing is that once you hear it, you can’t help but to focus on it. Some senior managers I work with commented on it but but little darlings seem, like, blissfully unaware.