I'm going to the theatre! Bought my subscription, tickets are in the mail, and I'm off. It'll be Sunday matinees all the way, baby.

Baseball season kicked off this week and I know this because my bus got stuck in the traffic aftermath. It took one hour to go, oh say, six blocks downtown. One hour. And of course I was sitting next to an exceedingly silly woman who absolutely needed to narrate her adventures via cell phone. "Like, I bought this yarn, and apparently it's made by women in South Africa? Cuz they're poor? In South Africa? And all the money goes to help them stay alive... or something?"

No sooner did she hang up the phone, she dialed another friend. "Yeah, like so, I'm on the express, but it sure doesn't feel like it? Hahahahaha." The eye rolling in our section was apparently contagious, because everybody had a case of it.

So the first play I'm going to see is "The Pillowman" by Martin McDonagh. Although this Sunday there's a spotlight night for Stephen Schwartz and Pippin which I'm going to, but that doesn't count as a play exactly -- there will be talking and a variety of songs and a few Pippin previews, but I won't see Pippin until May, so I'll count it then. I will be flying solo at these events because everyone I know is a philistine. Or because I didn't invite them. Choose your own adventure.

I am selfishly hoping that as a result of immersing myself in culture, I will be inspired to finish my play. The one I started a year ago and set aside in favor of critical life changes like losing my job and moving many miles to the north and other convenient excuses. See now I am boldly entering the era of NO EXCUSES -- or NO XQS if you prefer the brevity -- and I will be rocking the literary world forthwith. Or the dramaturgical world if the literary world won't return my calls.