Ragazzoccio

When I announced I was going to Italy, lots of friends seemed to expect me to come home toting an Italian boyfriend, regardless of how my actual American boyfriend might feel about that.

Here's the perfect compromise: an Italian boyfriend for Little Girl, the Gibson I left at home. I call him Ragazzoccio. (It's only fair to assume that she, like I, would fall for a bad boy.)


I'm very happy to be able to play again.

In other news, I got the name of our quarter wrong when I described the joust. It's Porta Crucifera, not Crucifizione. (I wouldn't mention it except it seems like the kind of thing that could get you beat up.)

And classes have started. You can now tell which students are in the theater program because we all grimace before we sit down. We've been using our thigh muscles a lot in movement class. But it's wonderful: a combination of yoga and Feldenkrais and acrobatics for two hours, first thing every morning. I'm trying to figure out how I can maintain this kind of rigor when I get back to the States. Because it's the sort of thing I've always wanted from my theatrical life.