Dear Trudy,

To the theatre. Again.

Aracdia.

It wasn't.

(The snob hit of the season.)

R.S. Leonard is delightfully delectable and that young Billy Crewdup - it was difficult to keep You-Know-Who from o'er-leaping the apron and grasping the young thespian firmly between the... I digress. Poor Victor Garber is good but miscast. However, I leap to defense of Blair Brown. At the intermission you should have heard the Fags and the "others" go on about how not good she was. Wrong. She was lovely and fuck them all! And the young lady playing the putative heroine of this fandango was nothing short of enchanting. It was just the three hour lecture I found less than amusing.

It was a well-performed, undramatic exegisis on God Knows what and I am just too stupid and ill-educated (pace, dear Prof Rossiter!) to aporeciate such rampant intellectuality. It will run, be admired and stroked, and it did not have half the emotional power of, say Lost In The Stars, which is ironic because that was one third as well written. But it ain't the writing, as we both well, know. But what is being written.

I am getting too old be to lectured by brilliant Brits. You-Know-Who is getting too old to o'er-leap aprons. There is good and bad to found in getting older!

My croissant is beginning to get stale.

Kiss the doggy and keep the cactus watered!

Mr. J.