I’ll be departing Wednesday to spend the Labor Day holiday in seclusion, finishing work on my epic, three-part Kushnerian play addressing the health care debate, which culminates in a barn-burning final act featuring all the celebrities and public figures who met their end in this the Summer of Death ( The Awl™) donning Mexican wrestling masks for a cage match in Limbo.
Or not, actually. I will once more — yet for the last time! Bittersweet! — be in Westport New York, on this trip to rehearse and ostensibly perform Henry V. We will take pains, be perfect. (Or at least as perfect as the sure-to-be-present hangovers allow.) And in our downtime we’ll be free to dawdle and luxuriate at the manse, affectionately called “granny’s house,” wherein we’ll catch up on some back issues of Us Weekly, perhaps take a dip in the pool, and what else, oh yeah, drink more.
As is custom, every summer there seems to be something of global or national import occurring on or around our time there. Hurricane Katrina, the beginning of the John Roberts confirmation hearings, Sarah Palin added to the McCain ticket. I shudder to contemplate what might befall us on this trip.
Anyhoo, updates will resume on my safe and sane return. Presumably!