…you can pretty much forget what I said, because I now own this (the Vox, not the Les Paul or the Marshall):
That Obscure Object of Desire
First off, I survived “Commission! Commission!” relatively intact. The JAW people are extraordinarily kind to their authors, and we were squired about with gentle care. The whole experience, if a little edgy, was actually pretty fun, and my commissioner gave me a good solid theme to run with. My playwrangler, of course, got a run for her money, but handled my nonsense with aplomb. To wit, seconds before I was to be introduced to my commissioner, I turned to her and deadpanned, “Is this a good time to begin demanding coke?” To which she replied, in equal deadpan, “Which flavor?”
For a write-up on JAW, see: JAW festival gives theater world new plays to chew on
The rest of the summer…will largely be devoted to enjoying the stunning Oregon summer weather (the last phrase dooming us to a month of overcast), weeding and watering the garden as waves of bloom flow through it, working on at least two new plays, one under way and going well, and the other one bumping around inside my skull but feeling promising…and learning to play the red object above right, which has such a weird, seductive pull, that I want to be home with it right now. I taught myself a 12-bar blues this weekend, which, having loved guitar (and blues) from afar lo these many years, I found immensely satisfying. I have no desire to play for anyone but myself, but I’m happy to report that my left wrist aches like a bastard and it’s hard to type with the blisters on me fingers.