That's when the real fun begins.
Pretty good ceremony, very good party. You can read who won what in the Voice, they had some people live blogging all through it up in the balcony at Webster Hall. Bill Coelius, Matt Oberg, Liz and Greg and I stood behind the blogger whispering our names over and over, spelling them out, trying to get subliminal on them.
Don't think it worked.
Powerful moment of silence imposed by Michael Feingold, remembering the dead. I thought of the women Nancy and I lost this year. None were of the theater, but by god they all supported it.
Today's the first anniversary of Nancy's sister's death.
Still need to find a kick-ass Hispanic actress, 45-60, for a reading the day after tomorrow. Sometimes I can be quite the moron. All suggestions welcome.
And Ann's drinking white lightining while Lori and Rose fight over who gets the front pig's feet and who gets the backs. (Backs are better, ladies, relatively speaking.)
Fort Worth Hambone Blues is sung by Johnny Gimble, Old Black Mountain Saturday Night is by Joe Maphis, the screwball I threw at you Conversation with a Mule is by the great Arthur Smith and Hot Damn Mama, Come Home Tonight will someday, Gob willing, be recorded by Scrappy Jack and his Irregular Army featuring Eureka Candy on the triangle.
The giveaway was that if you're playing bluegrass you can't cuss.
Mama don't allow that around here.