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There’s a little patch of Band-Aid on my arm where my blood was taken for the AIDS antibody test. Perhaps in as early as a week, I’ll know if I’ve been exposed to the AIDS virus. Dr. Rundle, the gay doctor I went to, told me to sign a fictitious name to the consent form. I signed it “William F. Buckley, Jr.”

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“And now whatever way our stories end,
I know you have rewritten mine by being my friend.”

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These artists live and breathe to provide their audiences with moments — moments to reflect, to think, to feel. Moments we don’t get every day with our faces buried in laptops or our eyes glued to television sets. They give us moments that remind us of our humanity.

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We all know how 50 Shades of Grey came to be: Erotic Twilight fan fiction becomes titillating bestseller, which is made into blockbuster movie. What next?

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Long live the grand tradition of the American Theatre!

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We are blinking cursor addicts dependent upon the right to delete and rewrite ad infinitum.

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You empower me, you excite me, and you exhaust me. And I love every second of it.

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Step 4: Befriend the vaguely European girl next to you who also hates everyone and watch each other’s stuff while you go to Starbucks or the deli down the street to pee and/or retrieve coffee.

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Oh, what do ya know! It’s 8am and I’ve inhaled seven fart clouds — and all without having had my morning coffee yet!

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In all honesty, what originally drew me to the Broadway play was, well, James Franco.