Forward By Stages
A decade ago, there was a a thing called Theaterboy, which entertained (I hope) and infuriated (I know) many of those who make theater in the nation’s capital. It was fun while it lasted, but it withered on the vine when its author (that’s me) went to work at NPR and the time available for extracurricular shenanigans diminished well past the point of practicability.
Ten years, one moderately rococo midlife crisis and a spectacularly expensive stint in rehab later, the time has come for theaterboy (he speaks of himself in the third person, but never in the majuscule, save at the start of a sentence) to take up the gadfly’s barb again.
I don’t have much more time than I ever did, but I’ve got to think and talk about something other than politics in this our new Trumpreich, lest I go entirely mad. I’ll write mostly about theater, pop culture, and travel, though your mileage may vary and all manner of terms, conditions, and variations may apply. (Also: As you will have noticed, this journal will be employing the Oxford comma. Fight me.)
A further note on style, grammar, tone, and point of view: This journal is called This Distracted Globe, because again, more than just a theater-focused enterprise. But theaterboy will pop his head in from time to time, and anything he writes in the third person — as in “It occurs to theaterboy that there should really be a musical of The Bell Jar, and it should be called Bong!” — may (nay should) be read with at least one brow vigorously arched. Such observations may not be entirely in earnest, you see, though they will always be as true as theaterboy can make them.
More personal and more serious thoughts will be couched in more personal and more serious language. And if you ever find yourself absently humming the Marsellaise as you read, you’ll know I feel particularly strongly about whatever the topic of that paragraph is.
For now, enough. Tomorrow, forward by stages.