Some theatre each day keeps the doctor away…

Barry Humphries’ Weimar Cabaret

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How nice an opening night is.  I forgot to mention last night that I got to see an actress that I have a slight crush on (although the fact that I forgot to mention it suggests how slight the crush is – there was certainly no conscious avoidance of the subject on my part).  How warm and dark affection from afar!  (Nothing like a bit of iambic.)

Before the play had started, walking into the foyer from outside, I saw a waitress coming towards me through the crowd carrying two plates of food, and I was, quite literally, two seconds away from reaching out and taking a morsel off of the plate, until I realised that wait, no, that was someone’s dinner, not some free pre-play food.  Good grief, how far I have gone down this complimentary road!  And it’s not as if food is usually given out before a play starts – once or twice I’ve had something before a symphony, though.


Saw Barry Humphries’ Weimar Cabaret with the Australian Chamber Orchestra tonight.  Rather fantastic, it was.  In the bathroom after the concert, having had mum take a while to get to the foyer from the Hall (being somewhat slow), an usher was changing in one of the men’s cubicles, and after coming out, while he was walking by me out the door while I was washing my hands, he said “later”, and kept going.  What?  I can think of no other reason why he might have said that other than that he thought I was one of his colleagues, or that he knew me in some way.  (Well, I am there so often, maybe he does recognise me.)  Weird.  Very weird.

Anyway, today is the fourth anniversary of me seeing Travesties.  Huzzah and celebrations!

I was investigating some chat logs with my friend and I (my friend who went with me to Travesties), and discovered something rather interesting.  Up until now I think I thought that I had seen an advertisement on a pillar at Central station, and had Travesties enter my consciousness that way.  But now I think this is a false memory.  My friend and I went to see an Alain de Botton talk the week before, and we had been discussing both it and Travesties before that (as well as Gatz).  What I now think happened is that, being interested in de Botton (I had bought his cheap orange penguin book, “The Consolations of Philosophy”), and liking to think of ourselves as being somewhat intelligent, we started to consider going, and while I was looking around the Opera House website I stumbled on a trailer for Travesties.  And I remember it was quite an interest piquing trailer.  (I asked my friend, who had studied Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead in high school, which I hadn’t, whether it was any good, and he said it was.)  And I also saw the production of Gatz coming up.

Then, I think, I saw the ad at Central.  Whether I’d seen it before anyway, but hadn’t noticed it, or hadn’t thought much about it, I don’t know.  But I think it wasn’t what made me aware of Travesties.

I don’t know, though, for sure about all this.  But I’m more confident with the above version.  But why does  it matter?  Who knows, but it does.

Proust, however, is a liar about memory.  As if the narrator could remember everything with such detail.  Hmph.

Still.  Four years.  I wonder how many shows I’ve seen, concerts I’ve been to, books I’ve read.  I could work out a fairly accurate number if I had the patience.

Robert Alexander was sitting in front of me last night, too.  (He played Bennett in Travesties.)

117/whatever in the Genj (sic).

Written by epistemysics

April 24, 2013 at 3:14 pm

Posted in Uncategorized

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