Artsy-Fartsy

We went to see three plays last night in Manhattan, taking place at once. They were
off-off-Broadway shows, and Rob's best friend starred in the second one (we, of course, stayed for all three to be polite).

The first was completely random (to me); there was a wordless scene with spilled milk, and then the girl who spilled the milk wasn't seen again for the rest of the play. The rest of it was a woman, who had a cold, talking and talking about inane things, and sending the guy to get her water over and over. Then the guy and another guy were talking about rock gardens after that and then the first guy starts talking, very graphically, about sex. No kidding. Then it ended. Like, you're saying to yourself, "there was more to it, right?" And I say no! NO! I looked at Rob as we were applauding with my "What the fuck?" look, and he gave me the "I know right?" and "Be nice!" combo look back. He is, completely, the more gracious person in our duo.

The second was a group of six people acting like they were talking out loud their thoughts about their lovers. It was very mellow-dramatic. I was like, "Whaaaaaaat?"

I spent most of this one entertaining myself with one of the girls who wore a sun dress. I was trying to figure out how she got her underwear to lay so smoothly underneath it, because she had zero strap lines. I realized all of a sudden (I'll spare you the details of how, exactly) she was "commando". When I tried to point this out to Rob, he told me "shhhhhh!" Ok, I'll tell you how I knew, because Rob wouldn't let me tell him: Bush. Not the president, the lack of a razor. It was either that or black lace underwear. But no, because there would have been pantie lines. Yup. Bush. After that, I was transfixed. Was she cold? Didn't it chafe? I can't tell you how the second one ended. I was distracted.

The third, we found out later, was supposed to be post-apocalyptic, but I never got that from the show itself. It seemed like a bunch of guys who were stoned yelling and being crazy, and somewhere in there they smashed mugs. There was porn and the 4-H creed hanging on the wall, and that was supposed to be symbolic, but of what I don't know.

My conclusion: I am not, despite what some people may have thought, nor will I ever be, "artsy-fartsy". But I think I like it this way. I think I'll stick to musical theater.