The bad news is that for four days I've had something I'm going to diagnose as "poison stomach" and my left eye has been twitching for TWO WEEKS. It's all very tiresome. Perhaps I am more stressed out than I think I am, or perhaps I'm suffering from severe crunchy-food withdrawl (as soon as I get the okay from the periodontist, look out, apples, I'm on my way). Or maybe I'm dying of a silly disease that is like a pitiful patchwork of relatively benign symptoms. Next I'll probably get seven hangnails and one stopped-up ear. In any case, vim and its rugged companion vigor are not currently in evidence.
The good news is that, on Monday, my mother and I went to see another of those National Theatre Live productions and I'm telling you, if you like theatre and you live somewhere that movie theatres exist, you really ought to look into it. I have seen numerous plays that I have loved--LOVED--through this program. The Last of the Haussmans was one of my favorites. Damn. It was the playwright's very first play, which amazes me. The cast was perfect. I would see it again if that were possible (which, alas, for me, it isn't. However, I know it's playing this Saturday afternoon in San Francisco, so if you live here, it's not too late). I am now officially a fan of Rory Kinnear. If you see him around, be sure to let him know. I'm sure he's been waiting years to get my attention.
To sum up: Yay, National Theatre! Boo, achey stomach, twitchy eye, and general malaise. (I originally had an exclamation point at the end of the "boo" sentence too, but I reconsidered. If you give general malaise an exclamation point, it only encourages it. We can't have that.)