(no subject)

Hey, remember that oversculpted skull that Damien Hirst made and I hated? Well, just to give the whole thing some completion, he sold it. For a hundred million dollars.

ELSEWHERE IN GOTHAM:

This was an actual conversation we had with, and I stress this, the Artistic Director of our theatre, the person who controls the content and vision of our art:

AD: Hey. If a good-looking guy comes up to the building, or tries to get in, or walks past or looks around it, could you let him in?
Us: *stare*
Me: Does he have...a name?
AD: Richard. Um. Richard. *wanders off*
Me: AD has no sense of how many people walk up to the theatre each day, huh.
L: Or, apparently, of how to define physical characteristics.

And as I sit here, watching the mysterious Richard tour the lobby, it becomes apparent that our Artistic Director does not have a terribly firm grip on the definition of "good looking", either.

I won't be around this evening -- I'm off in twenty minutes and I'm booking it to Navy Pier to see Cymbeline. It's always easier to decide if a show is worth paying $50 to see if you're not actually paying $50 to see it.

The Late Hector Kipling continues to be funny, but I want to grab David Thewlis by his lapels and shout FOCUS! at him.