Now, I could humor you all with fake Secrets… Or I could just come clean and tell you what I’m really up to weekend. Meet me there, if you’d like.
I’m going to that cool-sounding Days and Nights show at the Grain Belt Office Building tonight.
I’m going running tomorrow morning–probably something like nine miles since I am now officially in-training for the Chicago Marathon. (Oi! Why am I doing this–this being ruining–to my summer?!) Then I’ll likely swing by the big textile garage sale at the Minnesota Textile Center, since I have resolved to start sewing again. I’ve also had this hankering to buy notions, although I’ll have to practice restraint in this area. I’ve decided to start honing in on the minimalist look.
Saturday night: I’m going to see The Internationalist: A Foreign Play at the Red Eye, and I’ll be filling in for Mr. Papatola once again. So that makes two dark “experimental” works in just one weekend, which is fine by me since I have been yawn-yawn-yawning over all the explaining that’s been happening on the local stage. Oh, and if you must know exactly the definition of “experimental theater,” go ahead and bother yourself with this ridiculous thing.
I hope to skip the family Easter function come Sunday. My brother and sister happen to be feuding, and as the neutral party in it all, I’m tempted to feign benevolence in skipping the torturous affair all together. (I’ll call it a “boycott.”) What I really want to be doing is drinking Bloody Marys on the back porch at my best friend Andrea’s place, and then moving into her kitchen, where we’ll content ourselves by microwaving Marshmallow Peeps–probably a much better way to commemorate the Second Coming, if you ask me. But there’s a good chance that my mother, preying upon my Catholic guilt, will make me go to my sister’s anyway. And there will be no Bloody Marys in sight. Just a whole lotta Lambrusco and boxed Zinfandel. Happy Easter anyway.
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