The Fringe Festival is over, all the beer has been drunk, all the friends seen, all the unwelcome sexual advances made. Just one more stop to make in Miami.
One of my favorite shows this year was "Real Time," a play about a guy and a girl who meet online, during the playing of an online video game. The story traces their courtship. The actors performed skillfully and the direction was excellent. It was a pleasure to see how much imagery can be woven with the most minimal of sets.
I like to give credit where credit is due: The Sentinel provided top-notch coverage of the festival. (My earlier crack about blogs didn't target the entertainment people; it was aimed at the self-satisfied sixth-graders who fancy themselves heavy-hitting journalists, you know, blowing wide open crap that doesn't matter. "Should this road be widened to four lanes? We say yes! Ta Da! Where's our Pulitzer?" [And even this crack isn't aimed at the Sentinel; I promised that I wouldn't say another cross word about them.])
