Bernard called me at work the other day:

"Where's that summerstock theater you performed at where they're doing Urinetown?"

Bellport, why?

"I thought we might go stay there and see what's playing July 4 weekend."

We, as in the four of us? I'm not doing that. There's no way I'm going to go to summerstock theater as an outing. That's the last regional work I did and that was three years ago. I can't go back there.

"How about we go to some bad, fun place in the Poconos?"

You can go to the theater. I'll stay on the porch and listen to peeper frogs.

"Um, OK. What would you like to do for the Fourth?"

Anything but go to the theater. How about Paris for the weekend?

"Don't tempt me. Larry, you and I can't not go to the theater anymore. It's too important to us."


Well, of course he's right. Why do I feel like I'm in mourning for something that isn't even dead? I think of performing as either a career or gone from my life. Either I act for a living or I banish myself from the stage altogether. Ridiculous.

The thought of talking to actors makes me very nervous these days. "So, what are you doing?" The dreaded question. Well, I closed a couple months ago in an Off-Broadway musical and the musical short film I just shot is in post-production. Right now, I'm helping guarantee the success of the largest financial organization in the world.

I wrote a few more paragraphs about this, but they don't quite work. So, I'm only going to state that I'm going through something right now and it's making me cranky and whiny.