The backers’ readings of my play ISABELLE are behind me—as well as an editing all-nighter that was productive though less than pleasant. Reviews were a mixed bag but did, however, manage to bring about some worthwhile changes, putting the creative team in a good direction for a future workshop. A workshop, in contrast to a bare bones reading, is a more fully realized production of the play complete with sets, lighting, costumes, and most important, more time in the rehearsal room. I’m so humbled by the experience of working with passionate director Joseph Mazzella, smart and saucy producer John Retsios, as well as the dedicated and thoughtful cast headed by Seinfeldian (not a personal descriptor, she actually worked on the 90s sitcom) Ali Marsh, accompanied by the dashing Fabio Motta, statuesque Booker Garrett, and driven Vandit Bhatt. Since many of you supportive out-of-towners expressed interest in attending but could not, I’m pasting some images courtesy of social media guru Lisa Goldenberg and the producer.

Any-huh, with all of that behind me for a brief moment of non-theatrical breathing, I have escaped to my favorite destination in all of Mexico-dom, Vallarta, where each day I check my e-mail account courtesy of barely trickling-in in-room wifi, hoping NOT to get an e-mail from unnamed literary agent du jour (if he doesn’t e-mail, it means he’s still entertaining the latest draft of my 92,000 word manuscript).

Oh, and as an aside for friend Amy, on my first day at “Green Chairs” in PV, I sat down and broke a chair (second year in a row). It’s becoming an embarrassing tradition, like my friend Joey ripping his rented tuxedo pants doing “the needle” or some other retro dance at a wedding reception. If he doesn’t tear anything, be sure the marriage is DOOMED—or at the very least, six more weeks of winter.

Of course, one of my favorite things to do in Vallarta is to watch cabaret, and the Zona Romantica, where I stay, is brimming with tribute shows and revues. Did someone say, “Dueling Tina Turners?” Before the sun goes down, though, my day is generally jam-packed with do-nothing beach time—I rarely swim in the Pacific here because the water is so incredibly rough. After all, the beach is called Playa de los Muertos, which roughly translates as “shouldn’t have transferred to Broadway”. Anyone who knows me, knows that I love a good wave, but here, nearly every day, someone is pulled out of the water, bleeding from the head, having been tossed around by some serious surf and rolled along the sandy bottom. Some attendees at my reading felt similarly. There are also some sharks—the small variety—but after living in South Africa, I find those little guys practically endearing. I mean… once you’ve had a White shark bite the bars of your steel cage and shake you around like a Polaroid picture… the rest of the fishies seem like guppies. Of course, I’d face a White shark SANS cage over some high profile New York literary agents—both have a lot of power but the agents have bigger teeth.

As for the Oscars, good for you Miss Stephanie from my NYU dorm. I mean, many people who have worked with Julie Andrews would have loved to make her cry, but you actually did. And all those kudos just in time for the announcement of your starring role in the new season of American Horror Story “Hotel”. Obviously, there’s a joke in here about one of our MTAT competitors, but I’ll keep it classy like Patricia Arquette, my favorite Arquette, of the three that wear dresses. And in case you care, yes, I’m happy for the BIRDMAN sweep. It really was the best picture of the year, aside from the one just above, where my poor friend Diego was “dragged” up on stage during a Vallarta cabaret show. Go, Diego, go.