In high school, we competed in statewide speech tournaments and one act plays. I have my 1978 All Star Cast Award on my bookshelf presented for my excellent portrayal of a bratty nuisance(no comments on Art Imitates Life; a stack of ribbons from tournaments long ago are in a box somewhere.
One of the plays we of Antic Spring competed against was Thornton Wilder's The Long Christmas Dinner which is a generational study of 1 family, told over 90 meals in 35 minutes. It mesmerized me, because of losing my parents before I was 1 and the search for that drvvu; being the defacto historian for the few relatives who survive and care about our family history. and because of the supernatural element of it all.
My new tenant seems very happy to be here and is rebuilding her network of friends from scratch (I gather). Many of her pals are from the international set and life in Los Angeles is not easy for those born here. I can't imagine arriving here from another country and having to adapt to so much. But this Miss has balls, but I know how very lonely, lonely can be.
A party she planned here on Friday night was scrapped, and she was disappointed that of the 15 people she invited over tonight, only 4 actually showed. I would choose quality over quantity but I had no plans to lurk or leer. They were going up the block for sushi and I must say I had fun explaining that a 20:00 starting party time in Los Angeles woiuld mean 21:00 arrival times.
The three that arrived byu 21:30 were clever, polite and they mixed well: represent Poland, Sweden, Finland and Austin, Texas. l made myself available but did not weasel my way into their conversations on music, karmic debt or that apparently my writings have been popular enough to merit translation into Polish. I excused myselfas the gears began to slow. I was ready to call it quits and retire for the night. but I'd committed to meeting a friend for a late supper.
The temperarture had dropped and I grabbed my houndstooth jacket from the closet to head out when the most suprising and shocking realization came over me. This was the first party in the apartment I had not planned, produced and populated. It would not be the last either. A generation had happened since I'd left Houston in1988. Tomorrow's leaders sat in my my living room, discussing the 'good vibes' the apartment gave them, appreciating my decorating style and marveling at my assortment of booze, books and the sight of the moon rising high above the balcony. Years and years from now, would these three recall tonight? Would they recall me?
One of the plays we of Antic Spring competed against was Thornton Wilder's The Long Christmas Dinner which is a generational study of 1 family, told over 90 meals in 35 minutes. It mesmerized me, because of losing my parents before I was 1 and the search for that drvvu; being the defacto historian for the few relatives who survive and care about our family history. and because of the supernatural element of it all.
My new tenant seems very happy to be here and is rebuilding her network of friends from scratch (I gather). Many of her pals are from the international set and life in Los Angeles is not easy for those born here. I can't imagine arriving here from another country and having to adapt to so much. But this Miss has balls, but I know how very lonely, lonely can be.
A party she planned here on Friday night was scrapped, and she was disappointed that of the 15 people she invited over tonight, only 4 actually showed. I would choose quality over quantity but I had no plans to lurk or leer. They were going up the block for sushi and I must say I had fun explaining that a 20:00 starting party time in Los Angeles woiuld mean 21:00 arrival times.
The three that arrived byu 21:30 were clever, polite and they mixed well: represent Poland, Sweden, Finland and Austin, Texas. l made myself available but did not weasel my way into their conversations on music, karmic debt or that apparently my writings have been popular enough to merit translation into Polish. I excused myselfas the gears began to slow. I was ready to call it quits and retire for the night. but I'd committed to meeting a friend for a late supper.
The temperarture had dropped and I grabbed my houndstooth jacket from the closet to head out when the most suprising and shocking realization came over me. This was the first party in the apartment I had not planned, produced and populated. It would not be the last either. A generation had happened since I'd left Houston in1988. Tomorrow's leaders sat in my my living room, discussing the 'good vibes' the apartment gave them, appreciating my decorating style and marveling at my assortment of booze, books and the sight of the moon rising high above the balcony. Years and years from now, would these three recall tonight? Would they recall me?
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