Keine macht fur dich mehr.
Jun. 24th, 2001 09:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cyranoThis production of Rent was different in enough ways that I'm pleased I saw it. More an acting cast, less a singing cast. And I finally really cared about Mimi. The production was fast--the second act didn't drag like it usually seems to. Friends remarked that it didn't sound like the CD, and I agree. I get the impression they mean that in a bad way, though.
The Pride Parade was today, so we had to miss it and we had to fight the crowds to get to the show and to get to dinner after. Luckily Tony was there to serve as our sherpa and guide us to a Max's which was off the main parade route a little. None of the waiters sang, which was sad, but the dessert was (as usual) sumptuous.
My friend Lance (a linguist at MIT) just gave me the key to his journal, and Alexia (an LJ user who says clever things) started talking linguistics today. My head is full of language and I'm too tired to do anything about it. I should take advantage of the sheer exhaustion my body is in the midst of and go to sleep, but my brain is not co-operating. It obviously needs to watch more Sesame Street.
However, nothing ventured nothing gained. I'm off to bed, at eight-thirty, which means that eight hours later it'll be four in the morning and my body will say 'get up you lazy fuck'.
The Pride Parade was today, so we had to miss it and we had to fight the crowds to get to the show and to get to dinner after. Luckily Tony was there to serve as our sherpa and guide us to a Max's which was off the main parade route a little. None of the waiters sang, which was sad, but the dessert was (as usual) sumptuous.
My friend Lance (a linguist at MIT) just gave me the key to his journal, and Alexia (an LJ user who says clever things) started talking linguistics today. My head is full of language and I'm too tired to do anything about it. I should take advantage of the sheer exhaustion my body is in the midst of and go to sleep, but my brain is not co-operating. It obviously needs to watch more Sesame Street.
However, nothing ventured nothing gained. I'm off to bed, at eight-thirty, which means that eight hours later it'll be four in the morning and my body will say 'get up you lazy fuck'.
