Must be getting soft . . .

There once was a day when I wouldn't let a little thing like frigid temperatures stop me from running. I guess those days are long gone. Maybe it's the combo of the cold and not having run in a while because of the cold/flu/whatever it was, but I was going to run this morning and just thought: 'You know what? Uhuh.'

Does this throw off my thing with the marathon? I don't think so. Seems like there's plenty of time once this big chill breaks. Once I get back in the rhythm of running every other day I won't think twice about running during lower than ideal temps, but for now it can wait. One thing I won't do is run on a treadmill at the Y. I never could get that treadmill thing, but then I've never tried it so I shouldn't be too quick to judge. It just seems kind of . . . I don't know, it's just not my thing.

So instead of running I'm blogging . . . yea! Not much else happening. I printed my new two hander the other day and I need to read it one of these days. Still working on War and Peace. What a terrific writer. And the research! Nowadays you can get practically anything you need in about five seconds on the web; in Tolstoy's day it required a bit more effort I'd say. But what a story . . . what scope. There was a piece in the Times the other day about history plays not doing well (bad news for my Emma Goldman plays). Anyway, scope in theater, by which I mean real sweep, majesty and not just falling chandeliers, but big stories with depth are pretty much a thing of the past. Angels in America is a recent example (recent being almost twenty years ago); there may be more but I don't know of them. It's what John Guare attempts apparently in A Free Man of Color, which was one of the subjects of the Times piece. So go for it. I used to write big ensemble pieces and my hope is they will be performed some day, but who knows? Right now I'm doing smaller pieces for the hope they will be performed (hey, it worked with Old Hickory!). Onward.