Horrible. Rain again. Found out yesterday my xray of last week shows I have a fractured kneecap from a fall more than a month ago. I’m supposed to stay off of it. OK, starting next week. On my way to review I Think I Ken, take my rental car back to the airport. (This is not Enterprise.) They’ve lost my records, can’t give me a receipt or release the hold on my credit card. I make a stink. They do it, but I miss my train back into town from the airport. Finally at Market East I get a cabbie from Nairobi who insists on slowing down at the green lights even though he knows I’m in a hurry. I jump out and run the rest of the way to the National, refusing to pay him. At the National showroom the volunteer won’t let me in. NO LATE SEATING ALLOWED. I tell her to tell @dance why they didn’t get a review. Before I leave the building, someone grabs me and they take me in. Another reviewer tells me it got better since I arrived. Show’s good. Jokes fly faster than you can catch them. Barbie tells Kira, the “Oriental” doll “You can’t drive,” and I laugh louder than anybody cause I just yelled that at the cabbie.
Go to St. George’s for a Relache piece by Joe Kasinskas, a favorite composer of mine. It’s last instead of first and we must sit through an excrutiating half hour of the Taylor/Madof Acoustic Trio — supposedly partly structured and partly improvised. But I’ll be dadblamed if I could tell the difference. I had shingles on my forehead 15 years ago and their music reactivated it.
Go to Cabaret with Jack D. G Rich sings some songs and asks for a smoke machine. Deborah and Diane get Camels (the venue’s sponsor — hey there were no kids there) and get down on their knees, puffing away. I lean over to Diane and say, “Boy, Deborah really will do anything for her job.” Diane says “Yeah but that’s her boyfriend.” I say, “So, I guess she’s not just blowin’ smoke.”