I saw "Indian Summer"

What I saw: “Indian Summer,”at Playwrights Horizons, on W 42nd between 9th & 10th Avenues.  

I guess my hand slipped

What I wore: black Fluevog calf-height boots, black tights, James jeans dark denim skirt, Brooks Brothers black cotton blouse, gray cardigan sweater from the Faroe Islands, gray rag & bone scarf, long jacket made of hand-woven fabric in Oregon that looks so much like something my mother would have worn I am incredulous that I actually bought it. 

What I did beforehand: cava and tapas and ice cream at Gotham West Market.


Who went with me: the Bacon Provider, who required a bribe when he saw how long the play was going to be.


How I got tickets: online, $10 off, about a month in advance.

Why I saw this show: I liked the last thing I saw here.


Where I sat: Row D, seat 13, behind some of the Bats from the Flea Theater.

Things that were sad: the plays dramatizes how very much class still dictates a young American’s future.

Things that were funny: actors harass each other verbally and physically.

Things that were not funny: actors harass each other verbally and physically. 

What it is:  a play in two acts, with a fifteen-minute intermission, running about 130 minutes. Set on a Rhode Island beach in an unnamed town of that fake-contemporary time/place when people use modern slang but don’t carry mobile phones, this play still crackles with good dialog. It even has a satisfying second act. 


Who should see it: anyone who wants to hear what a Rhode Island accent sounds like without actually bothering to find their way to Rhode Island; people who always wanted to see an empty stage covered in a great quantity of sand.

What I saw on the way home: trash

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