a review

and a doubt.

Did I mention that “We’re So Much Better Than Everyone Else” got reviewed?

It did.

In case the link goes stale, here it is in all its glory:

In We’re Better Than Everyone Else, movies took the front seat for debate. Not hardline movie criticism, grant you– Pauline Kael, be damned –rather, an assertion of the layman’s rights to film debate. Here we find three friends,
who have admittedly whittled away many hours embroiled in these debates, staging a contest to determine who is the
“rightest.” While low on concept, the piece was engaging on the basis of the actors’ strong personalities. There was
Pamela, the sarcastic analyzer; Chuy, the cutup; and Jeff, the academic who espoused with deadpan enthusiasm his
unabounding love for Andie MacDowell and Julia Roberts. For seven minutes, they took on audience-suggested
topics, from their favorite 10 movies of all time (Citizen Kane would be on Chuy’s list, but he hadn’t seen it yet) to
their thoughts on Brian’s Song (very few). The show hit a groove when members were riffing on their own idiosyncratic tastes, and stretched thin when they stuttered through unknown territory. But at least they acknowledged it: “This is boring,” one would complain and quickly jump to the next topic. In the end, we voted on who seemed rightest (Jeff), who presumably possessed bragging rights until the next installment. Like any heated and fairly ludicrous argument, it evaporated upon leaving. But for someone who will play Siskel to anyone’s Ebert, I didn’t have too many complaints. Except, of course, that I’m righter than all of them.

So, if you would like to see the touring production of “We’re Better…” let me know. We do children’s parties, too.

What’s neat about that review is it’s the closest a review has ever been to an actual show of mine. Often times the reviewer will spend paragraph after paragraph discussing the history of the play, or the origins of the style of the play because they really weren’t watching (or in some cases didn’t see at all) and they have so many inches of copy to fill. It was nice to know that Sarah really watched/participated in this show.

I always enjoy watching the trailers for films that you know have had terrible reviews, but they try to make some semblance of a good review out of them.


“This film… doesn’t stop…”

(probably used to be “This film, no matter how much you want it to, doesn’t stop.”)


(“I was gripping the armrest in agony.”)


(“I was touching my wrist to make sure I still had a pulse.”)


So, what do we pick out of our review for today’s show?




“…unabounding love…”

“…hit a groove…”




This afternoon I go in for my followup exam. I am rather nervous, as I am afraid the whole thing is just going to start up again with the waiting and the fretting and the unknown variables… I’m not ready to go through all of that again. It was a particularly rough spot for me. It was a rough spot for both Eric and me, as he doesn’t always know how to handle illness, potential or otherwise. I think he just wanted me to wipe my eyes and go take a lap. Put some ice on it. He never gets sick, you see, and there’s always something wrong with me, so there comes a point where you just can’t empathize anymore. And I suppose for him it was like, “Damn, I finally found someone that I like and she might be dying.”

But I’m not dying. They’re pretty sure I’m not dying. They just don’t know exactly what all is wrong with me. The test today is to see if what they did five months ago fixed everything. If not they may have to freeze something or slice something or burn something… whatever, I’m just going to not dwell on it for now.

Okay, for a couple of seconds, right here, I’m going to dwell… yeah, i’m pretty scared it’s all going to happen again…

Deep inhale, exhale. Good. Done with dwelling.

I only have one thing to say about the acquittal last Friday: Although I am happy with the judicial outcome, part of me feels really sad for my dad. It’s all he really wanted for his birthday, you know? Makes that gift I sent him really pale in comparison. Sorry, Dad. Maybe next year.

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