woody woody woody woody

(sung to the tune of "kelly, kelly, kelly, kelly," from woody on cheers.)

so last night, woody harrelson showed up at the theatre (he's directing this torrid tale told by beautiful people). and it was so perfectly set up, too!

we, the volunteers, were sitting around talking shit. no - not quite shit... fluff. talking fluff, and the girl from the play crashed into the space. the foh-guy (front of house manager) smiled "she'd like to buy a coke," she giggled. she's so... what is it.. there's an unmistakable sexiness there, just peeking out from the folds of her cotton-candy glee.

foh-guy asks if woody will be coming to the closing, on saturday. "oh yea, in fact he's already in town - he called me." ker-plissshht, she tears into her cola. "he said he was going to come to a show without telling us, see what we've been up to while the cat was away.." she giggles and bobs away. she's pretty. i saw her recently, in a movie with callum keith rennie. boy, i wish he'd been the one buying the coke.. alas. she was also in ginger snaps, but somehow i never did get around to seeing that one...

so then, as if on cue, the stage manager emerges from another door. she walks over to foh-guy "woody will be coming tonight, after 8 of course." "no problem" he suavely replies, but you can feel the giddiness, it has instantly surged through us all. even me, yes deep down i am an unabashed star fucker. there is a moment of excited laughter and then eyes fall on me. i'd been trying to ditch early, but i decide to stick around.. there's a talk-back after the show, and i joke about saying "wow man, kingpin changed my life, really opened my eyes!" everyone laughs.

but there's no fucking way i'm seeing the show again. i guess it's not that bad, but... well anyway. so at curtain, i toss on my hoodie, grab my book and a cigarette and sit in the courtyard to pollute my lungs and set my mind free. mmmm, scribble scribble. the silence is briefly interrupted: a car pulls right into the courtyard and wispy curtains of pot smoke hang off emerging woody, clinging to him like phantasmal groupies. he's shorter than foh-guy, i note with a shrug.

at intermission, i realize he's with those guys, those drunk guys. two had arrived, soaked in drunkenness, oozing rowdiness, ensuring me a third would be coming. "big, handsome guy." "right, no problem," i assure them, and watch the boys race to the bar. don't want to waste any precious drinking time. i recognize the third when he arrives, partially because he's big, and yes he is handsome. but mostly cuz he looks like he's ready for a party, not a play. "ah: big handsome guy... yea, go ahead" i say when he steps in. he beams, "you just made my day!" the first drunk guy comes over "see?" he asks me playfully. "yep," i reply, "he's exactly as you described him." there are smiles, but blessedly the bar beckons. and they're off.

at the end of intermission, foh-guy peeks out to see if anyone remains in the courtyard, and whispers conspiratorially "somebody's smoking weed!"

..you think?
(i hope i did in fact resist rolling my eyes)

seconds later the posse enters, only just in time for the second act. unfortunately they are delayed by a giddy girl asking for an autograph, so they actually end up stumbling into their seats after the play has started. one of the babboons is sniffling, another is doing the cocaine-gum-rub. woody sneaks in a bottle of heinekken. anyone else and i'd think what assholes. ok.. i think they're assholes anyway.

after the show, woody et al. rush out so i decide to not linger for the talk back. i'm tempted to stay and ask the sex-in-the-city hottie (jason something, i keep saying alexander, but i know that's wrong) why he wanted to do theatre, since he doesn't seem to have a talent for it at all. i think better of it, not wanting to be shived in the parking lot by the hordes of girls who have come just to drool at his feet. instead i shuffle over to my bike, ready the walkman (i'm currently revisiting old tapes - last night was william s. burroughs, spare ass annie), the lighter, the joint, turn on the flickering red light and prepare to flee. the badasses are still there, talking shit and blocking the pathway, so that i have to creep past them to exit. i wonder what it was that caught woody's eye. the flower-laden basket? the joint dangling from my lips? my devastating good looks? "hello" he says as i inch by. i hesitate..

i want to tell him to smack his lead upside the head, and help him find a way of expressing mania, panic and loss of control in a way other than raising his voice an octave and slurring his script at break-neck speed, thereby killing any merits of the dialogue which i have a sneaking suspicion is actually quite good.

i want to tell him "you should direct my play next" and might have had i had a script handy, why the fuck not.

instead i toss a glance back as i keep walking. "hello.." and i pedal off, lighting my joint. i can feel them watching me ride off into the sunset.

i wonder though, should i have stuck around, tried to engage the monkeys in conversation? why? it's not like i'm fabulously blown away by his directorial skills. and while natural born killers blew my mind, it's not like he's really what i'd call a distinguished actor. and yet that smile. what a great fucking smile and i gotta saying - having that woody smile flashed at me felt pretty nice. mmm, nice nice woody smile...