And Stinky, Too 15 October 1999

8:29: Need I say that I was stood up once again by a young, female, differently chronometered acquaintance of mine, who only days before had been so very excited to be going to her first play ever! squeek!

Or mention how once again I ended up in a crowded theater, except for my row, which was empty? That it didn't start that way this time, at curtain there were people on either side - well, except for the mandatory unoccupied seat next to dateless moi - but they all left at the first intermission?

Or that when, after a long dull journey on a single-tracked BART from Berkeley, down to Lake Merritt, and then back to San Francisco, I finally got into the bar, Chakra the evil imp and bartendress came up to me and said, "Why does it smell like puke over here?"

Or that, nonetheless, the play was absolutely outstanding? That it was bright, smart, and goading? That several times a particular line or scene was so strong, unexpected, that I sat back abruptly in my chair as if to avoid a blow? That the members of the cast - even the small children - were uniformly professional, and in some cases brilliant?

Or that Galileo began to remind me in a way of Bruce Sterling, which ought to make one of us very uncomfortable?

Or that I'm here too late again on a Friday night, as if Friday nights meant anything at all to me, and I'm bored and angry and depressed and a fat tourist in an unoccupied life?

No, I don't think I need to say any of that.

Willfully blind self-indulgent nebbish or amusingly quirky old coot? And how bout that local sports team? Discuss among yourselves.

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