All hail "Gang Cult"

Were we a "gang?" 

Were we a "cult?" 

Who knows? And who cares? 

We weren't sure, so we called ourselves "Gang Cult" and that was that. 

 

I couldn't have gotten through the last few months without these boys, and our "Annie Zuks--" wardrobe woman extraordinaire, always staying til 1am, doing our laundry and mostly getting chalk out of ... everything. 

 

We met almost every night post show. 

We greeted our friends in the lobby or outside, then we'd sauntered back within-- rip the curtain that divided the men's from the women's dressing rooms and in the still-small space, we'd turn the chairs toward one another and settle back in to relax for an hour before heading home. 

 

You would think we had spent enough time in that theatre (as in: all day, especially once we were doing double duty with Merchant of Venice). 

But it didn't feel excessive. 

It felt therapeutic. 

Necessary. 

Real. 

True.

 

 

 

We laughed. 

God how we laughed. 

We drank wine and bourbon. 

We solved the world's problems. 

We heard one another's. 

 

Stephen ate salads. 

Will ate nuggets. 

I ate nothing. 

Our hearts broke and broke open. 

We welcomed special guests (for truly all were welcome!)

And we carved into eternity, memories and bonds that only theatre can create. 

This is the why. 

The "why" of "why we do this" when almost everything else makes us forget. 

It's the people.

The friends. 

 

So thank you, friends. 

Gang Cult: over and out.