"Heaven Never Dreamt Of Anything As Sweet As That..."

And so it ends, feeling monumental somehow, feeling like so many factors lined up just right to make it happen. We closed “Soul Of A Whore” on Saturday night, partied it out, said a long goodbye.

Author-man Denis Johnson came up to see us closing night, which made a lot of people really nervous, myself included. But when it came right down to it, it was realizing that it would be the last time I would be walking that stage as Will Blaine and speaking Will Blaine's lines with his faux Southern gentleman swagger that blocked out the fact that Mr. Johnson was watching.

There was a particular scene, my particular favorite, that was just me and the super talented Terri that I just plain hated to see come to an end. It's a disturbing scene, one where I had to fully acknowledge my creepy side. Every night, on finishing the scene, the two of us would walk off stage, stand right behind the wall for a second and hug it out - just a sort of reassurance to each other that we were cool. Saturday night we hugged, went back to the green room and both started crying a little bit knowing we weren't going to get to do the scene again.

I don't know, it's weird and I probably can't explain it very well, but we all put a lot of work into this show and invested a lot of emotional intensity to make it work, so now that it's over there's an emptiness that sort of hurts. The next morning, sitting in a birthing class (which I'll bring up tomorrow) and watching videos of women going through labor and delivery, I was still so emotionally raw that I couldn't stop crying at the simplest expressions of emotion.

The closing party started out as a relatively sedate affair. I was sitting down on a table, talking to Erik's fiancée Irene about having seen the show 3 times during the run when Denis Johnson approached. I had met him once before and he struck me as very quiet, particularly shy. He still seemed this way, but also had this sort of happiness floating around him, which I assume probably occurs when you see something that you yourself have slaved and sweat over come to life. He thanked me for the job I did, mentioned a couple of parts he was fond of and told me about how the script had changed over various incarnations. He has this sort of plain, Midwestern handsomeness and a dry smile that just puts you at ease, and I remembered wondering why I had ever felt nervous about performing in front of this man.

The night wore on, more beers, more hugs, a fake striptease by yours truly that turned into a real one when Jodi ripped every goddamn button off my shirt (well, all but one, but Robert made sure to finish the job). I made my usual prolonged goodbyes and wandered into the cold around 3. I felt a big crying jag trying to bust itself out of me while I walked the dark roads home, pulling my button less shirt closer around me. I pushed it down trying not to think about the fact that it was done, but about feeling like I'd done some pretty good work and had gotten the chance to work with some truly amazing people. I thought about the extra time I'll have now, and of getting to see people I haven't hung out with in awhile.

But no joke, I'm gonna miss it.


Rocktober song of the day: Don't Bring Me Down by E.L.O.