Instant Karma

Well, I'm moritifed.  It happened.  I've been called out.  Discovered, exposed, unmasked, revealed.  "J'accuse!" is ringing in my ear.  I dared to venture into the Dark Side, and it has bitten me soundly on the ass.

Here I am thinking the only people who are reading this blog are related to me by blood or by  other common traumatic experience, such as college, or grad school, or Dr. Thornberg's 10th grade chemistry class.  (Actually, I'm pretty sure those really are the only people read my blog.  I use StatCounter, I know the numbers.  But let me continue.)  Little do I realize that there are other performers here at the Fringe who engage in the same obsessive behavior I do, which is to Google one's own show on a horrifyingly regular basis.   I, myself, Google The Americans at least a half-dozen times a day.  I wouldn't accuse anyone else of being nearly so vain.

I think you can see where this is heading.

There I am at the Loft Bar -- the VIP bar at my venue -- when I recognize a gentleman who I'd met in passing and whose show I'd recently seen.  I hailed to him across the room, told him I liked his show, and he replied with, "Oh no you didn't, I read your blog."

Now, if you listen closely dear reader, you can hear the sound of my brother's head hanging in shame, and my father trying to hide himself under a couch cushion.

I'll spare you the details, but suffice it to say I spent the next hour reeling in hideous, appalling humiliation.  Happily, that hour and the next few were also spent in lovely, engaging conversation with said performer who could not have been more gracious and forgiving under the circumstances.  (Gracious and forgiving -- like he really cared all that deeply about what some chick wrote on her blog.  Still.)

This terrible experience has naturally led me to question whether I shouldn't just take my lumps, call it a lesson learned, and pull the review column all together.  After all, here I am dishing out "S'okays" to top-rated shows when my own humble offering has not yet broken (and might not ever) the ever-so-important four star mark.  However, when I proclaimed my intention for removing the reviews, Mr. Gracious Performer insisted I refrain, even going so far as to tell me I had integrity -- presumably because I'd readily and sincerely discussed with him my reasons for not giving his show high marks.  Nice of him to say.  I still wanted to redeem my shabby karma by their immediate removal.

All the same, at the end of the evening and for the moment, the reviews stay.  After all, I did have the instinct (and vanity -- it's a theme in this post) to share my opinions with the blogosphere in the first place, so until such time as I can give the whole matter further thought, the reviews stay.  However, you will now note, I have made some alterations to the review column:  all reviews are now prefaced with the disclaimer that, "I am just a git."

I wish Broadway Baby would have done us the same courtesy.