Somedays one can’t bring herself to write about the on-the-town junket she could and should be taking–in a perfect, more energized world. I am a woman, see, and so my universe is ruled by guilt. And it just feels really baaaaad sometimes, you know, to plug a show that I myself wouldn’t want to go to… A quick perusal of the events calendar is telling me tonight’s that kinda night. I am but a theater geek, a clotheshorse, a lover of poetry and fashion magazines, and, when it comes to the music I love, nuthin’ but a dilettante. The Master and Margarita. A clothing swap. That copy of News Junkie, which has been getting dusty on my bookshelf. The new Hold Steady CD, which I can vaguely hear wafting from somebody else’s cubicle. But the greatest of them all is The Master and Margarita, and I will certainly drag my ass outside for that… but not yet.
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