Yesterday I noted my enjoyment of a recent book about the train-wreck-in-slow-motion that was the decline of the New York City Opera.
I haven’t been writing much about the performing arts recently, though I did so many years ago. But that may change. Yesterday one of my daughters was accepted into a rather prestigious acting workshop, and tonight I’ll be taking in a show about a distinguished orphan son of a whore that I’ve been hearing a little about. I don’t know if running lines with Billie or tapping my foot to Broadway-style hip hop will lead to rueful nostalgia or something else, but who can tell? I’ll be lifting a glass to Thespis (and to Alex Hamilton, born this day in 1755 or 1757 — nobody’s sure which) at Cafe Katja this afternoon prior to my subway ride uptown; perhaps I’ll see you there.