This looks to be a strange week.
After a week off in NYC, we’re back on the road in the Northeast for a week. It’s all basically over already, mentally. A strange nostalgic hiccup. The victory lap?
The weather in Burlington was stupid beautiful, and after some cart-food dumplings eaten listening to a street-performer on accordion, I went down to the lake to soak it in. It’s easy to forget in the narrative I build about my life that I spent so much time in new England as a kid. Almost every summer. So it’s strangely comforting to see stacks of wood next to old shingled houses, see middle aged guys in the getup: ties, jeans, and beards.
We taught a workshop before the show on Shakespeare’s language, which at first threatened to be like some of our very most awkward. Two very shy seeming teenage girls together with their father (very suspicious of the whole affair), two octogenarians, one unattached teenager, one unattached woman maybe 40, and one enthusiastic member of the educational department. Defying patterns, these were unexpectedly enthusiastic, and in their parsing of the text, taught us a lot of new things about it. Amazing how you can listen to a speech for six months, teach it a dozen times, and suddenly hear it for the first time.
King Henry was propositioned at a bar (whose soundtrack was killer and whose bartender was ninja) by a drunken college kid: “Hey… want to do some E with me?” I envy his gargantuan cool.
Next up, Ogdensburg, NY
