A Wacky Play About a Global Pandemic That Came True

Tjaša Ferme: Hey, Theatre, Science, and Innovation fans. This is Tjaša Ferme, your podcast host for Theatre Tech Talks: AI, Science, and Biomedia in Theatre, a podcast produced by HowlRound Theatre Commons, free and open platform for theatremakers worldwide. Tune in

Today I'm speaking with Chisa Hutchinson, an award-winning American playwright. We are going to be speaking about The Bleeding Class produced by Undiscovered Works at 59E59 last August. Bleeding Class is a play about a Dominican-American escort from the Bronx and a Black doctor who saved the world from a deadly plague. It's a pandemic play.

Chisa Hutchinson: I enjoy giggling.

Tjaša: Yeah, me too. If we're having fun, they're going to be having fun. That's just how it is. I literally sometimes listen to certain podcasts because I just want to hear the frequency of some people. I really like Carolyn Elliott, now Lovewell. She giggles. Sometimes I'm like, "Is she high?" She talks about stuff I don't necessarily super relate to sometimes, like deep love of Jesus. I'm spiritual, but Jesus specifically is not my thing, but just she brings so many different spiritual aspects together, and I am compelled by that and her energy. I believe in giggles over podcasts. They translate.

Chisa: I am a firm believer in the giggle also, so...

Tjaša: When you work, do you make yourself giggle or try to make yourself giggle?

Chisa: I aim to amuse myself when I'm writing, particularly the stage directions, because I'm a dialogue fiend. I like to watch people talking to each other. I like dialogue.

Tjaša: Same.

Chisa: If I'm writing stage directions, if I have to describe the things that are on stage or what someone is wearing, or if I have to describe that stuff, I want to make it as entertaining as possible, so I really try to not bore myself when I'm writing stage directions.

Tjaša: I love that.

Chisa: I like to leave room for the designers. I'm always so tickled by the expertise and the thoughtfulness that a designer brings to a production. They think of things, I don't know, it's so cool. It's having tentacles to dig around in your story and excavate something cool. But yeah, they always come up with some cool shit and just I'm here. Oh, I can curse, right?

Tjaša: Yeah, yeah, yeah, you can.

Chisa: Okay, cool.

Tjaša: That's cool. Yeah. When you say that it feels like it has tentacles, so you're the center, you are the circle of the organism, but all the tentacles. Are the extensions, the designers, directors, actors, extensions of you?

Chisa: Or really not me, but the play, whatever. It's the blueprint. The script is the blueprint, and then the tentacle, they dig in and pull out the story. Oh, this is the lighting tentacle, this is the sound tentacle. Here's the scenic tentacle. What do all those tentacles pull out of the script?

Tjaša: And video projections were so good in Bleeding Class in the production at 59E59.

Chisa: Yes.

Tjaša: Scott... What's his name? Scott from BAM.

Chisa: Yeah, Scott, man. Scott and who's the... Jett Adams. They also just brought such a fantastic sensibility and such a sense of fun and theatricality. That's not on the page.

Tjaša: And the shadow puppets.

Chisa: The shadow puppets. Jett was the one who did the shadow puppets.

Tjaša: Oh my God, I had no idea. I thought it was all Scott. Okay, cool, because he was so seamlessly integrated in the video design. Chisa, tell me about the inception of this play, The Bleeding Class.

Chisa: Oh, good grief. Okay.

Tjaša: You were writing this before the pandemic hit?

Chisa: I was writing it in 2019. I got the idea for it in 2019. I remember I told my agent, I said, "Well..." Because she knows that I'm always just looking for new or different ways of just asserting the humanity of people whose humanity is often overlooked. I was thinking, "All right, new vehicle for Black humanity, let's do it." I thought, "Well, it's been a long time since I've done comedy or satire or anything. I'm going to try satire. Yeah, I'm going to try a farce. I'm going to try something really wacky, so I'm going to need a really zany premise. I'm going to need, I don't know, a global pandemic. Yeah. Yeah. That's it. There's like a Black Dominican hooker who... her blood is the key, and she has a Black doctor. Yeah, yeah, that's it, and they're going to save the world in this wacky satire."

I started writing it, and I got, I'll say, maybe a third of the way through, or maybe even halfway. Then 2020 happened. It took me a while to finish it because I was like, "Well, what is this now? I don't know that it's the satire anymore. I'm just going to make my way to the end of the play and whatever." Then I was just going to put it away. I didn't think it was going to see the light of day ever, but people were interested, so...

Tjaša: There she is. But did the little child in you on some level thought that you brought the pandemic on by writing about it?

Chisa: I hope I didn't, but I don't know. No, I have a way of writing plays that are just a little bit ahead of their time, but just slightly ahead of their time. I don't know, maybe I'm just picking up on stuff. I don't know. I feel like a Richter, some political Richter is just picking up on vibes out there that...

Tjaša: But it is true what you said. You thought that you were working on something totally out there and something really zany and out of the box, and then that became reality. That totally molded our view of the pandemic and of the play, because things were so bonkers at the time that when you see a play, you're just like, "Yep, great comedy. That's what happened." How everything's so dependent on the context, on the historical sociopolitical context.

White supremacy, Trumpism, all that stuff—it's like herpes. It just keeps coming back, and we can't get rid of it.

Chisa: Yeah. The play that's up right now at the same theatre is about a guy in Sharpsburg, Maryland, white guy who decides, because he's a new father, he has a newborn son, that he is going to join the local white supremacist group, because that is the way to plug into a strong community. They offer family events and child care and professional networking and all that. They also just happen to hate Blacks and Jews and gays. He joins this group, but as part of his initiation, he has to take a DNA test to prove that he's pure white and he gets some surprising results. There's a lot of talk in it about Trump, because I wrote it in 2017. It is wild, it is bizarre how perennial this play is proving to be. It's just because white supremacy, Trumpism, all that stuff—it's like herpes. It just keeps coming back, and we can't get rid of it, so here we are dealing with an outbreak, and the play is premiering at a weird time. We got an NEA grant last year.

Tjaša: That's telling, knowing what the guidelines are for this year.

Chisa: Yeah. As far as I know, the theatre is still waiting for that money. That money got held up.

Tjaša: Oh my God.

Chisa: Yeah. It's already...

Tjaša: In effect.

Chisa: ...in effect. It is just another play that just like, oh, I wrote it way back then, but it just keeps being relevant in scary ways.

Tjaša: Do you see a trend and is there a particular number of years that you're clairvoyant for. Let's say you wrote something in 2017, and now it's 2025, and it's kind of coming to pass, it's coming true. What's your clairvoyance incubation time before something you think of becomes reality?

Chisa: But I need to start writing some plays about world peace or some shit, because this is... I got to write some solutions.

Tjaša: Yes. Oh my God, yes. Totally.

Chisa: Yeah. I don't think I'm clairvoyant, though. I think I'm just, I don't know, just paying attention to stuff that is happening and just people are, to a degree, fairly predictable.

You stimulate us in a certain way, we're going to respond in a certain way, it's because that's human nature.

I guess, there's not really a lot of time between when I write a thing and then when it just becomes conspicuous enough for everybody to notice happening in the world, because there's already threads of it. I mean, 2017 was... I started writing it after the first Trump election. I was writing it in response, and then it just kept getting more and more relevant as the years went on. Then with The Bleeding Class, yeah, I will say this is the most bizarre. That's the most bizarre one, because there was no science for COVID. I finished the play on April 30th, 2020, a month after the shutdown, the next month after the shutdown, but I finished the play because, I don't know... Again, if you just think cause and effect, all right, well, they're going to want to find a vaccine. Of course, they would be interested in someone who has blood that's resistant to the... Yeah, of course, because we've seen that happen before, Henrietta Lacks.

We are predictable. We're predictable. We do the same shit over and over again. It didn't really feel like I was predicting anything. We just then, I think, once we got past the initial shutdown, then just proceeded to act in order to respond to the stimulus. That's how it is.

Tjaša: I don't want to give too much of the story, but I would like to ask you to speak a little bit about the narrative so that when we get to the questions of the nitty-gritty, people already have a concept of what happened. Even the people who haven't seen it, even though they should have, maybe hopefully there will be more opportunities to see the show.

Chisa: I don't know. We'll see.

Tjaša: We all want to forget about the pandemic.

Chisa: I know, but yeah.

Tjaša: We're all like, "Chisa, don't write any more plays about pandemics, please."

Chisa: Yeah, no, I won't do it. I won't do it.

Tjaša: What is the narrative in The Bleeding Class?

Chisa: Okay, the narrative of The Bleeding Class is, in the news, we get inklings of stirrings of a pandemic activity. This mysterious flu, which they call HXNX, it doesn't even have a... It's not COVID, but it's HXNX is super deadly. It's like the quarter of the people who get it die. It's just starting up, the research and whatever, the stats are just coming in, data is just coming in. It just so happens that at the same time that escort who lives in the Bronx, she gets exposed through one of her clients. She's exposed to the HXNX virus and is freaking out because her client died. She goes to see this doctor to say, "Hey, I was exposed, but I'm not experiencing any symptoms. I just want to make sure I'm okay," and it turns out that the doctor discovers that she is not just resistant to HXNX, but resistant to all manner of opportunistic infections.

Of course, he's going to be interested in her blood and her body, its capabilities, and he pairs up with this billionaire pharmaceutical guy, and they use her blood to create a vaccine and a treatment for HXNX, which we'll just say they maybe skipped a really critical step in their research process, which throws into serious doubt whether or not this vaccine and treatment ought to be out there. But yeah, capitalism wins and...

Tjaša: Yay, it's a positive story.

Chisa: That was actually supposed to be the point, was like capitalist greed. It was supposed to be the... But it somehow became an anti-vax play. I'm like, "No, no, no. That's not what this is. That's not is supposed to be. It's just really about humans and how we should value all humans and not place profit over public health." That's what it was meant to be.

Tjaša: I mean, first of all, I'm sorry that it got labeled as an anti-vax play. It's just like all these labels are so hurtful, because people are just taking one sliver of information and making it the whole thing about that or giving it a massive destructive political label. This show, I wouldn't say it's vaxxer, pro-vaxxer or anti-vaxxer. I am for people to make their own choices that are in alignment with their own bodies and protecting their loved ones and whatever that is or seems to be.

Yes, let's go into the part that maybe made people think that this is an anti-vaxxer play. I will say this play had me laughing, this play had me in tears, and then at that point, I just felt like I'm going to fall down on my knees. I felt gutted. I was like, "No." But I didn't think it was like, "Oh, this is some anti-vaxxer propaganda." I was like, "Oh my God, is this just pointing back to some of the stuff that came out?" I don't know how much of it is true and backed up by real science, but a lot of people were testifying about these outcomes, so I guess it was true for some people across the board.

Chisa: I guess. I know there was some bizarre symptoms, post-vaccine symptoms or side effects that I still don't really think that they maybe did a good enough job collecting that data, or maybe they did and it wasn't beneficial, it wasn't profitable. I don't know what it... I don't know. But again, it wasn't meant to be a predictor. It wasn't meant to be biographical. It wasn't meant to be... I didn't mean for it to be true. You know what I mean?

We're always using Black and Brown bodies as Petri dishes or patient zero, whatever. We're always, always experimenting on the most vulnerable people.

Tjaša: I love that statement.

Chisa:I didn't mean for it to be like a documentary play. That's not a docudrama. I didn't mean for it to be a docudrama. It really was supposed to be “this wacky, and isn't this such a...” Sure, it's a hyperbolic, totally exaggerated, heightened version of other things that we have seen happen in this country, in this world. We're always using Black and Brown bodies as Petri dishes or patient zero, whatever. We're always, always experimenting on the most vulnerable people.

Tjaša: Where it went was... I don't want to speak in code for listeners. I do want to tell what happens.

Chisa: Oh, okay.

Tjaša: What happens is Sugar has such a strong immune system, so they basically take, I don't know, the components of her blood in her immune and make a vaccine out of that, because she is able to dispel any disease, but they don't realize that she also can't keep any pregnancies because her immune system also attacks the sperm. What happens to the fertility of the vaccination... You're saved, but nobody can reproduce.

Chisa: Yeah, and I actually had to consult a couple doctor friends. I had an actual virologist show up too for reading of this play in Texas, which that's fun. But yeah, I've had some medical professionals go, "Yeah, actually, yeah, that is absolutely possible. Scientifically, it's sound." I think I had someone say... Really, the only things that I had to change about the script from the original draft were, first of all, the numbers, because as a writer, math is not my strong suit. Exponents, not really my jam. I didn't quite understand how quickly a virus can spread in those numbers, so I really had to up the numbers. Then the other thing, I had the virologist actually who came to see it in Texas said, "Oh, we don't say shreds of the virus. We say remnants. We use remnants."

Tjaša: Ah, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.

Chisa: Those were literally the only things I had to change about the script. I feel good about the research I did for that. That's like, all right.

Tjaša: I mean, some thoughts on that. First of all, statistics are not intuitive. Even for statistics professors, I just started reading or listening to an audiobook Thinking Fast, Thinking Slow, and for some reason that's where the book starts and it's, I think, nineteen hours, so I decided against it. But the first chapter I did hear, and it was exactly about that, how basically two professors of statistics and mathematics tried to figure out if you can just ballpark something, because you've been in the field of statistics for a long time. Basically, you cannot intuitively figure out the statistics at all. It's not you and your math, it's just the general human trait.

Chisa: Well, now I don't feel so bad.

Tjaša: See? Me too. But no. Yeah, I was so intrigued to learn about how... I guess, I was thinking that you were writing the play and then the pandemic happened and you were like, "Oh my god. Okay, what's the actual research?" And you were writing in parallel. But now it turns out that you just wrote the play and then everything came true, which is, "Oh my God, the power of art, the power of human soul and writing and…” things are not rational.

Chisa: Well, I'm tickled that you're like, "Oh, the power of art," because I'm just over here freaked out a little bit, just like... I don't know. It is weird. It is very weird. It's wild. I got to be careful what I write.

Tjaša: Yeah, yeah, I reckon. Is there any plays that you used extensive science research for when you were writing it?

Chisa: No, this is probably the most science-y play I've ever written, just because it does get into all the immune response and all the jargon and all that, just making sure that everything that happens in it biologically is actually plausible, at least, even if the human behavior is, or at least I was thinking, exaggerated or heightened or stylized or whatever. But this is definitely the most scientific play that I've written. The other play that has some science in it is a play I wrote called Surely Goodness and Mercy about an oddball little boy who... He goes through a shitty public school and he's just bullied all the time. He is a bit of a miss. He doesn't really fit in with any of his peers. He befriends the lunch lady who's a curmudgeon. She's an old bitch, but she likes him.

But anyway, she starts to develop symptoms of a neurological disorder, and then he takes it upon himself to figure out what it is and get her the help that she needs. It's very sweet. It's a sweet little play. But him doing that research and her symptoms and making sure that those were all actual symptoms, making sure that the treatment options that he presents to her that they're actual treatment options and that what they do know about the disease is actually what we know about the disease, just doing all that research. But yeah, that's about as science-y as I get. I'm not really a science-minded person, but I do enjoy trying to make complex science-y things accessible to laypeople.

Tjaša: Yes, yes, yes. This is what we need. This is what so much also of my work and Transforma’s work is all about, creating this literacy and open dialogue and presenting information in various different mediums so that there's some part of it that intrigues you and resonates with you.

Chisa: Yeah, exactly. Yeah.

Tjaša: What is the disease, and how did you decide to write about this?

Chisa: Oh, well, that's easy, because it is multiple sclerosis, and I picked that because I actually do have multiple sclerosis.

Tjaša: Oh, wow.

Chisa: Yeah. It presents in weird ways, and it took a very long time to get a proper diagnosis, because I have what's called progressive-relapsing remitting.

Tjaša: Wow.

Chisa: It gets progressively where... It comes and it goes, but every time it comes back, it comes back a little bit worse.

Tjaša: What is the treatment for it?

Chisa: Well, right now I'm on a really terrific treatment called Ocrevus, and this is my sixth, I think, treatment that I've been on for this disorder. Generally, what they've been, immunosuppressants, because multiple sclerosis is an autoimmune disorder, which means that essentially what's happening is your immune system, for whatever reason, and scientists don't know what that is, decides that the myelin, the sheath, the protective coating on your nerves, for whatever reason, your immune system decides that that sheath is the enemy, and it sends its henchmen, the white blood cells to go attack the sheath and disintegrate it. Then what's left, it's not able to conduct the electrical impulses, it's not able to carry the electrical impulses from the brain down to whatever part of the body. For me, it's like the left side, the left arm, mobility on the left side is untreated. It's completely compromised, and I have a hard time operating this arm, this hand.

Tjaša: I'm sorry to hear, and thank you for sharing.

Chisa: Yeah. Well, it started in my legs, so that was horror of horrors. It was starting on my legs, my toes went numb. Things get tingly. Things then start to feel really heavy, and then they become just paralyzed and you can't move them. But that's what's happening, is that there's lesions where your immune system has attacked the coating on your nerves.

Tjaša: How strange? I think we all need just a little bit of Sugar's superpowers.

Chisa: Yeah.

Tjaša: Now it makes sense why she's called Sugar, because sugar does make you feel better.

Chisa: I know.

Tjaša: Always.

That's really what I want to do with this play, is to just make the Black and Brown folks feel seen and cherished, valued.

Chisa: But yeah, I also just really liked the idea with Sugar in particular and her immune system, because I do apparently have a hyperactive immune system, or else it wouldn't be just looking for enemies where there are none. I am intrigued by this idea of this woman, this Black woman, and Black women... Who said it? I'm pretty sure it was Malcolm X who said that Black women are the most disrespected and unprotected people in this country. Unprotected just feels so apt a description living in this body.

I was really intrigued by this idea of this woman's blood being her fiercest protector of her immune system working harder than anyone in her life to protect her, to be her champion and to make sure that nothing causes her harm. That just felt like such a nice poetic way of expressing my desire to put a protective bubble around all Black and Brown bodies to just… That's really what I want to do with this play, is to just make the Black and Brown folks feel seen and cherished, valued. Anyway, this was a very intriguing idea to me that, yeah, you can only have yourself to depend on when you look like this, right?

Tjaša: Yes, yes. What do you recommend to other playwrights? It seems like you've been very successful in getting a lot of commissions, and commissions are traditionally hard to stumble upon. How do you go about this, and what do you suggest to other playwrights?

Chisa: I don't really know. Seriously, if I had a magic bullet answer to this question, I would be telling every young mentee, but I guess, a couple of things that I can say are... I can just only speak to what worked for me, which—

Tjaša: Of course.

Chisa: ... would be, first of all, if you don't see an opening for yourself, create one, which sounds... I know that sounds very like, "Well, pull yourself up by the bootstraps," or whatever. But truly, I mean it, I'm trying to think of practical examples of this where I've done this. One of the biggest ones is, I was in grad school at NYU, and as part of the curriculum, I had to do an internship somewhere. Now, mind you, I'm grown ass. There was six years between when I graduated undergrad and when I started grad school, so I'm grown at this point, I got bills, and I'm like, "What is it?" I'm almost thirty at this point. I'm like, "I'm not going to go fetch coffee at a theatre company where... No."

What's going to be useful to me is shadowing a living, working playwright who I respect, whose work I really love, and I just want to see how she moves in the world. I just want to see how she gets down. I want to see how she operates, what's her life like. That's going to be educational for me. I just finagled. I asked Diana Son, bless her, I love her so much. Diana Son was teaching a master class, and I remember her saying that she was close friends with Lynn Nottage, who is my absolute... I adore her. I went to Diana Son. I was like, "Hey, hey, Diana Son. You think Lynn Nottage might be interested in having an assistant for a semester? Because I got to do this internship, but I am not trying to go make photocopies at some theatre company that's probably not even going to remember I exist in two years, so help me out."

She did. She hooked me up with Lynn. We met, it was a love fest. Lynn was like, "Yeah, sure. You can be my assistant." Mind you, this was before she won her first Pulitzer. Then a couple weeks later, she won her first Pulitzer and was, I'm pretty sure, super glad that she had an assistant at that time, because she became very busy.

Tjaša: Amazing.

Chisa: And needed all the calendar help. But in the meantime, I got my “internship”—you can't see me using rabbit ears.

Tjaša: Air quotes.

Chisa: Internship. I'm using the air quotes. My internship was just helping Lynn Nottage in a busy time, which was so cool. But that's what I mean by creating your own opportunities or just asking for what you need, because you never know. I didn't think that the head of the dramatic writing department at NYU was going to go for that, but he was cool. I just asked. I said, "Hey, instead of an internship, how about..." He was like, "Yeah, sure. Sounds great. Just get her to sign off on this when you're..." I was like, "Cool, cool, cool. Yeah, just ask, just ask." That's I think one big piece of advice. Then the other I would say would just be to say yes to everything until you can't, because you're super busy. But say yes to everything, because you never freaking know.

Somebody suggested, "Hey, do you know about the Dramatist Guild fellowship?" I was like, "No, I do not. Should I know about the Dramatist Guild fellowship?" They're like, "Yeah, you should apply." I applied for the Dramatist Guild fellowship and I got the Dramatist Guild fellowship, which was cool. But beyond just the work that we did in the room, which was just like a writer's room, you show up every other Monday, I think it was, and you present pages and you get feedback on your pages, and they have mentors who come in and blah, blah, blah, and that was cool. But what really changed the entire trajectory of my life was meeting the photographer who took our portraits. The Dramatist magazine, as part of our fellowship, we get a profile in the Dramatist magazine, and they take your picture for it. The photographer, his photographer name is Walter Kurtz, but his actual name is Mark Woodcock.

Mark, during our photo shoot, I don't know, we just hit it off. I really like him. He's just a fun dude, just a chill person. We kept in touch. We just started hanging out. He comes to see all my plays and stuff. At one point I looked at him and I was just like, "Mark, how many of my plays have you come to see?" He said, "Oh, I see all of them. I'm a fan." I was like, "Oh." I just love that. He takes portraits for all different kinds of people. He took a portrait of Stephanie Alleyne, who is a fancy producer, both Broadway and Hollywood. She was during the photo shoot, lamenting the dearth of Black writers in Hollywood. He said, "Oh, well, I know someone you need to meet," and he hooked us up. She is how I got into film and TV world, which is crazy. It's all because I said yes to the Dramatist Guild Fellowship and met a photographer that I like. How bizarre is that?

Tjaša: I love it. That's great. Thank you. Thank you so much. That's amazing.

Chisa: Yeah. That was very long-winded. I'm sorry.

Tjaša: No, no, no. This is what I'm looking for. There was so much flow in this. Thank you for giving it to us. The question just begs itself, but you said writing for Hollywood. Oh my God, what's that like? Are you in writer's rooms? How does that work? Can you work remotely?

Chisa: TV is not naturally my jam. I've been in two TV rooms, one of which I really, really loved being in, the other not so much. That really put me on TV... I'm just going to be pretty discerning about what types of TV projects I'll involve myself with, so there's that part. Film is cool, because it's a one-off on my own time, for the most part. I write when I write, and as long as I meet my deadlines, they're fine. But I'm not required to be in a writer's room from 9:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m. Monday through Friday. That's not really a thing. I can write when I want, so it's pretty flexible.

Tjaša: In a writer's room for TV, how much material do you have to generate in a week as a team and individually?

Chisa: I guess, it depends on the show. Both shows that I worked on were based on books, so there was raw clay material to work with. Yeah, I don't even remember, because the two rooms were so very different in the way they approached breaking story. I couldn't even say like, oh yeah, you roughly crank out this many pages, or this much outline per week. I couldn't even tell you that, because they were so different. The room that I liked working in was very organic about how it broke story. The way I was describing the tentacles, and you're reaching into your pockets and you're like, "Well, I got..." It's the same... With that writer's room, it really was like, "What can I bring to these characters as a human being?" Like, "Okay, I've got these three traumas, these four great loves and a stick of gum. Is any of that useful for the story?" It's that thing.

That was a really nice way to break story, because it was that thing, that causal logic that I really am drawn to of watching how here's a thing that happens to this person, and as a result of that happening, this person is going to bla bla bla bla bla bla. That just feels like such an organic, lovely way to break story. The other room, that was more fast-paced and more...

Tjaša: Deliver. Deliver, deliver, deliver.

Chisa: Yeah, deliver, deliver, and plot A, plot, B, plot C, plot... This character's plot, this character's plot, and where did they meet, and where's the funny moment and where's... It just felt a little more like there's a formula, there's scaffolding, and we have to shoehorn the story into it.

Tjaša: Geometry.

Chisa: Yeah. Yeah.

Tjaša: Interesting. Okay. Thank you for spilling all of your secrets. Thank you for sharing what you shared with us. Thank you for your clairvoyance, and I'm looking forward to seeing your new play.

Chisa: Amerikin. Yeah, yeah.

Tjaša: Yeah, Amerikin at 59E59.

Chisa: Yay. Oh, let me know when you're going to go see it. Maybe I'll be there.

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