While I'm on the subject of NPR....
Sometimes they take their shows on the road - like "Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me" - and you can hear the audience chortling in the background. And sometimes I wonder to myself - is this a studio audience, like on Letterman? Who are all these people chortling?
In the unlikely event that you too wonder these things, wonder no more. It's me! Yes, me! Chortling! Even singing a bit!
Tonight we were given tickets to a show at the new WHAT. That's Wellfleet Harbor Actors Theater. They built this new theater and we've been watching the progress. It's a big deal and we've been really excited to go - and yet not so excited that we've actually purchased tickets to anything yet. But we will. Probably. Maybe soon.
At this point I'm mostly just excited to get in the building. It's shiny and new and I don't know anyone who's been. I'm the first on my block!
We are there for 30 seconds of the opening reception (my fault. Couldn't decide what to wear) and then the lights flash and we go to take our seats. The usher looks at our tickets and says, "oh, those are upstairs." So we go back through the lobby, up the stairs and then come almost halfway down the inside stairs to our row. There is no balcony. Our row was slightly above the midline, so we had to use the upstairs. It's grander that way. Or maybe the higher seats are more money and so we get our own door.
I'm sure that's it.
Anyway, we know absolutely nothing about what's playing. It's called Selected Shorts.
When the the host starts talking I think to myself, "jeepers, he sounds just like one of those NPR people." And, as it turns out, he was.
I really do say "jeepers" to myself sometimes.
Just so you know, Isaiah Sheffer, looks EXACTLY like you think he looks. He was even wearing the khaki pants, black and white striped shirt and blazing white tie I would have imagined him wearing if ever I had imagined what he would wear.
And he mentions that NPR is recording the performance for rebroadcasting at an undisclosed time.
Yes, there was silly audience participation at one point.
The short stories were great, especially "Custody" by Pamela Painter. There was also a story by Michael Cunningham. There is just nothing in the world wrong with Michael Cunningham.
When it was over we still had time on the babysitter clock so we sped into town in hopes of scoring some sushi. Too late, but we did sit at the bar and chat with friends who work there. We were therefore in position to help tidy up a few oysters.
On which we descended like seagulls.
And then we came home, where we are glued to our radios so we can hear ourselves in the audience when they broadcast.
Our cellphones are off.