This past weekend, I spent a glorious Saturday at a high school on the north Florida coast judging the regional Thespian competition. I have been doing the same for the last three years. This was my favorite session, containing the opportunity to watch and critique nine straight hours of a total of sixty-one scenes having a cast of two.
After a 5AM caffeine-induced musically eclectic back roads trek, I arrived at the heavily populated and intensely hormonal grade school and made my way to the sign-in area. Immediately I felt the tailored shoulder of an old friend, as he leaned in to me with a good ol' dude hug. This particular guy has been sadly distancing himself from me since the predictable aftershocks of my divorce. We have a bevy of under-resolved issues that might not be worth pursuing. On his coattails was another long gone close friend whose level of disrespect over time still reeks in the occasional air we share. He and I had a total of seven words.
The day also gave me the chance to become completely enthralled by two teenagers doing great justice to a five minute scene from Angels in America, in what my panel deemed the best piece of the day.
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