In Which Your Humble Blogger knows that this all contains spoilers for the production; Gentle Readers who might conceivably attend may want to skip these entries and read them after. Or just skip them, you know.
In Which Your Humble Blogger capers. A bit. Nothing too excessive.
In Which Your Humble Blogger stands quite still and sweats.
In Which Your Humble Blogger actually thinks that a moving and inspiring filibuster is its own justification, but would still like to get something done, dammit.
In Which Your Humble Blogger focused for forty-eight hours on playing a three creditors, a zombie, another zombie, and a business man, none of whom were really worth writing about.
In Which Your Humble Blogger is still small; it’s the world that got big. Wait, that doesn’t sound right.
In Which Your Humble Blogger actually had one great-grandparent born in this country, but nobody believed that so I’m not sure it really mattered.
In Which Your Humble Blogger doesn’t have another rehearsal until Wednesday, so plenty of time to eat my liver.
In Which Your Humble Blogger brings Malvolio to other people for the first time.
In which Your Humble Blogger knows that when Shakespeare wants a character to have an accent, he makes is very clear, and that’s not the case here, but still.