Friday night, after I had partaken of a Long Island Tea at dinner, we sat down to watch The Last Kiss.  I needed three goblets of Reisling to get through it.

Now, let me clarify: it was a damn good movie.  It was snappy, well-written, and quickly moving.  But it was hard to watch.  And it was difficult to stomach Zach Braff in such a morally-flimsy role.

Everyone, in any kind of relationship, should see this movie.

The Last Kiss follows four men as they go through different relationships, with Zach Braff playing the main character, Michael.  Michael is a 29-year old architect, who has recently learned that his girlfriend of 3 years is pregnant.  And that switch flips.

If you don’t know about the switch, men and women have switches.  Something will set them off in life (marriage, kids, jobs) and they lose all rational thought.  We used to call these mid-life crisises, but I think they happen much younger now.  And more frequently.

Regardless, Michael goes insane and hooks up with a brunette flautist who is almost ten years his junior, and probably twelve years younger in maturity.  The emotional roller coaster of watching him struggle with every moral dilemma was HORRIBLE. (And something we couldn’t stop watching.)

Tom Wilkinson plays a killer supporting role as the father of Michael’s girlfriend, himself in a marriage crisis with his wife of 30 years. 

The dialogue will astound you with its on-the-mark one-liners: the brunette whispers to Michael in a moment of passion, “I don’t care about tomorrow; let’s just live for the moment,” and the next morning, hides his car keys and demands that he call her.  I was so impressed with how well this movie pins down everything you love to hate about committment and love.

Two enthusiastic thumbs up, from the Brown-Comer household.

I’m going to sound like a martyr in this post, and I’ll apologize ahead of time.  Here goes: I’m sorry to sound like I’m a martyr, cause I’m really not.  Not in any sense of the word.  Because, to be a martyr, you gotta be dead.

I think that the most vital part of children’s theatre is learning.  Not for the adults, so much, although we can always learn a thing or two; but mostly, for the kids to learn.  I do children’s theatre so that children will learn something from my VAST knowledge of theatre and all that comes along with it.

A lesson I have tried to impart is the lesson of “thank you”.  The lesson that people are there to do a job, and you need to be kind, patient, and loving to those people.  Their jobs, ultimately, make you look better onstage.  So learn to be polite.  Learn to hand yourself over.  And, by God, say “thank you”.

However, I had an issue yesterday.  It was almost a diva moment.  I say “almost” because it didn’t start out that way.  I was the perfect actor yesterday, but since then, the inner diva has worked her way out.

When I sit down in a makeup chair for specialty makeup, and I warn you that my skin is especially sensitive, I need you to listen.  I am not trying to wax poetic on my flawless porcelain complexion nor am I trying to be particularly troublesome.  I need you to know that this is a medical issue, and you need to have your game down-pat when working on my skin.

I woke up this morning with my eyes swollen to the sizes of plums.  I can’t even see out of my right eye because my lid is so swollen it’s hanging over.  Those of you who saw me during “Shel Shorts”.. it’s THAT bad.  And while I was in a position at the time of “Shorts” to stay home and recover, I have too much shit happening at work to stay home just because I look like a burn victim who tried to curl her eyelashes with a curling iron.

Needless to say, I am terrified for the coming week.