Post-Play Depression; or: "Mysterious Skin"-L.A. Was So Good It Hurts

I always suffer from a bit of post-play depression after the run of a production ends, especially on ones where I am intimately involved in the process. And with a cast, director, design team, and crew as talented and lovable as the ones involved in the recently closed production of Mysterious Skin at East West Players in Los Angeles, I feel like I've lost a limb. From the lower half of my body. You know the one I'm talking about.

This was, without exaggeration, one of the best theatre experiences I've ever had.

I bonded with the cast so well that with little coaxing they managed to lure me to karaoke one night, where I attempted to belt "I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)" by The Proclaimers, only to discover that the "da da da (da da da) da da da (da da da) da da da dun diddle un diddle un diddle uh da" part is so freaking high that my lungs almost collapsed in on themselves.

Fortunately, I was not among the most embarrassing people there. That designation clearly belonged to the group of Japanese male tourists who were drunk out of their minds and who, upon hearing Bryan Adams's "Summer of '69," spent the rest of the evening interrupting songs by screaming "69!" and making obscene hand gestures in demonstration.

In order to cope with this post-play depression, we have planned group activities to ensure that we stay connected. We'll go out to see East West Players' next production, Crimes of the Heart, and I'm in the midst of organizing a "Dip Things in Other Things Party" at my place.

We don't want it to end. And, goddammit, it doesn't have to.

In the meantime, try it, bitches!:

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