On the way down to LA, I've stopped briefly in SF.
This was my home for many years. I fell in love here. I got married here. I got boozed up here. I got divorced here. I got sober here.
I first came into contact with real theatre here.
Leaving it in 2001 for Columbia and an MFA in playwriting was the right thing to do, but being here now, knowing there's no more NY for me, well, the temptation to do more than pause is strong.
It's such a manageable city, such a comfortable city, I could easily be deluded into thinking that I could just pick up my old theatre life here where I left it off.
Certainly, there's something appealing about a town that will let you produce work for peanuts so you can break even and enjoy yourself. Not that you can buy a house here for less than $500,000 or anything. Or find a place to rent for less than $1500.
Oh, no. That would be positively 1968.
Still, dipping into the old life has been fun. In fact, last night I went to a drop-in improv class at Voice One that was taught by my friend Brady. She and her husband David are very funny and while I sucked, it was great to laugh.
But the new also beckons, even here.
Today, I'm meeting with Mark Routhier at the Magic and a few others. They've been good to me over at the Magic, staging some readings of my plays and in general being encouraging. I'm handing Mark my latest, Beyond the Owing, about two people who are deeply in love and deeply in debt (that's not autobiographical - yeah, right). A lot of theatres around the country have asked to see it and while I'm not expecting anything to happen, you never know.
I'm also slumming it with a pit stop at an ad agency that's not interested in me, but is still willing to talk.
We'll see how all that goes.
But it's also good to pass through, stop. And not stay. Because it's not 1968. And it's not 1995, either.