I went out to Trance last night, and bumped into my friend Carrie, who was up from Cincinatti, and preparing to go back down there with her girlfriend. In late 2005, Carrie and I were in a staged reading of Paul Rudnick's The Most Fabulous Story Ever Told, and I read the part of a disabled lesbian rabbi. Earlier that day, Carrie had gone to pickup an air conditioner at her girlfriend's, and recalled a very agitated voice saying something like, "But why the fucking air conditioner?!" She felt flummoxed about where it came from. Then it dawned on her that it was a line from the play where my character is describing how she came to be in a wheel chair. Basically, Rabbi Sharon was hit by a truck, and then an air conditioner fell on her head. So, the anger was at God for heaping yet more injury onto an already awful situation. Carrie and I had a very nice time catching up.
I went into the back part of Trance, and bumped into Bob Bearfield, who I hadn't seen for a while, and who played Adam in the same play. We were chatting, and I overheard a guy sitting next to Bob ask about Aleister Crowley, so I perked up, and shared the little I knew. The guy who asked happens to live around the corner from me. His boyfriend just moved in. I joked about us gays taking over the neighborhood. I forget if I knew this before, but he was friends with a guy who lived here with his parents before John and Paula owned the house I now live in. I mentioned about getting the email from the woman who lives in the house my family lived in years ago. So, we seem to have an oddly recurring theme of encountering people who have lived at or hung out the same address, but didn't live together at the same time. Weird.
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