
I don't get around much anymore; not like I used to. Age, children and, yes, a diminishing cityscape are all factors. With once-ample opportunities for aesthetic nourishment in steep decline around town (in direct proportion, seemingly, to the ever-encroaching ascendance of sky-high co-op sales), I tend to stick close to home.
This past Saturday, however, I was reminded of what I've been missing. My brother Mark, bless him, invited me to a staged reading he was participating in of Catherine and Petruchio, a rarely (like, never) performed 18th Century adaptation of Shakespeare's Taming of the Shrew by the dimly remembered ...
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