I’ve been writing on my day off, but since my last post, my day off has had other plans (much like that overtime money) and a bunch of shit happened: a dog emergency, travel to follow up on a mom emergency, the long-awaited opening of that show we were getting up and running. . .
And then I just tried to catch my fucking breath.
The dog is okay now. So is the mom. The critics hate the show, but the sold-out houses disagree. So fuck those guys. The day someone names a theater after Ben Brantley is the day my exit plan is overdue.
It’s not my day off. It’s my dinner break. But I figured it was a good time to break the silence and introduce you to Tom Petty, the best opening night present ever:
He’s ready for his closeup:
That’s all for now. Sleep tight.