the art of the sell (out)

As is generally the case, things have been quiet in my blog because things have been anything but quiet in my "real" life. The husband, cats and I moved to Forest Hills, I've been spending money at Home Depot and Bed Bath and Beyond like a drunk interior design show producer, and my body has been gradually rebelling against me as it sides with the baby in her quest for extra-uterine viability.

Today I made the decision to leave my job at the end of November instead of the second week of December. It's really bizarre to know that I have 11 days at work after today, and then I'll be a SAHM, to use the common abbreviation. (Is it just me, or does anyone else see that abbreviation and think it means "Single Asian Heterosexual Male" or some other personal ad acronym?)

I went to a play last Friday (Sister Cities at T. Schreiber Studio), but I didn't review it for any publication. The storyline wasn't my cup of tea, but, for the kind of hot-button personal issue melodrama that it was, the characters were well-developed and the dialogue crackled with realism. (The set was also spectacularly conceived and dressed. Why is the designer working off-off Broadway instead of raking in the loot by doing bigger projects?)

I'd like to think that a playwright as smart as this one penned the show more for its commercial value than its dramatic value. It's a one-set show starring five actresses - one in their mid-twenties, three in their 30s to early 40s, and one in their 60s/70s - that bursts with talent-showcasing secrets and monologues. There's a script that'll have an active life in theaters across the country! If you're going to sell out, just sell the f*ck out, you know? :)

Sometimes I think of doing that ... of writing a play that's so god-awfully commercial that I can get it published and collect some sweet royalties from community theaters across the country. Maybe there could be a festival of shows like that, like that "bad theater" festival this summer that I can't remember the name of. Imagine a series of shows tackling cancer, death, mental illness, AIDS, and the war in Iraq, and they all have monologues and minimal sets and parts for character actresses in their 30s and show-stealing turns made for grand dames in their 60s!

Is it wrong to dream about creating low art as often as dreaming about creating high art?