It's hard to adequately express just how much the opening of my first professional play means to me. Not only was it the resurrection of a stillborn novel, a redemption of what felt like an immense failure, it also signaled a returned to the scene of another personal failure--the theater, where I struggled first as an actor then as an opera singer.
I'm pleased to report that the opening was a smash with the audience, though I spent most of the night making myself crazy watching the critics. More importantly, in lieu of opening night gifts, the cast and crew as well as the audience joined together to raise $700 to feed homeless youth at Outside In.
But I promised myself I wouldn't treat it as a New Thing because I've blogged about it three times already: when I sold it, when I started rehearsals and when my name appeared on a Tri-met bus.
I knew I needed to do something to make the day new.
So I wore women's underwear.
I thought this would make me feel giddily subversive and slightly fetishistic as I moved through the opening night ritual while secretly wearing silky lavender panties with bows that I bought for three bucks at Ross Cross-Dress for Less.
Yeah, not so much.
What surprised me was how not strange they felt. As someone who has squeezed himself into briefs after a weight gain, the spillage issues were not unfamiliar. (And before you tell me to try a thong--been there, loved it.)
That said, even though I've posted naked pictures of myself in the past, I'm not willing to have myself splashed all over Your Friend and Mine the Interweb in women's underwear.
Apparently, there are some things even I'm not willing to do for a laugh.