"I am, George. I am."

Some friends and I are going to catch "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?" at the Vortex tomorrow evening. Woohoo!

I saw the 1966 movie of it and fell in love with the play. I immediately bought a paperback copy and read and reread it. Tonight I dug out the copy, one of the many books of plays that were damaged when there was flooding in the storage locker where many of my books resided before moving here. The bottom is foxed but I can turn the yellowed pages and reread it. Which is what I am just about to do.

This should be fascinating. What will this slice of 1960s academia liberally sprinkled with fear and loathing feel like now? Will this be visiting an old friend? A fresh revelation? A new disappointment? Who knows.

I love live, local, intimate theatre.

--the BB