I once got into a heated and prolonged argument with a close friend, over the fact that I’d enjoyed the Broadway production of Cats.
As a favor, I once participated in a reading of a play where I portrayed a heroin-addicted drag queen who died of an overdose in a phone booth, while singing Que Sera Sera. I was excellent.
At a bookstore in San Francisco, I did a reading of some of Libby Gelman-Waxner’s columns. After the reading, one of the store’s employees starting screaming at me, and accused me of taking a job away from a real female film critic. Another employee took me aside and explained that the first employee was upset “because her girlfriend’s in Australia.” I replied that if I was that woman’s girlfriend, I’d be in Australia too.
I do sometimes judge books by their covers. Occasionally I buy them because of their covers.
The director Chris Ashley and I once had to instruct a completely adorable, straight stage manager, on the proper way to say, “Get her.” The stage manager kept emphasizing “get.”
When straight guys come across cheap pageboy wigs, do they immediately put them on and take elaborately staged mug shots of each other?
I knew that an English production of Jeffrey was in trouble, when I saw that the proscenium featured an enormous cutout of the Statue of Liberty with a nipple ring.
