The Final Friday

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On Friday evening, after chatting with a post-performance Danny Hoch in the lobby of the Simons Center, as he was signing books and being surpassingly genial (with nary an f-bomb in sight), I hoofed it over to the east end of Beaufain Street, where video artist and current Redux exhibitor Kevin Hoth had promised he’d be. The original goal was for Hoth to be walking the streets of the historic district performing mobile “projected video manipulations” while wearing a battery-powered video-projector, a laptop, and speakers. It sounded like Hoth would be outfitted like a cross between a Borg and something out of a Neal Stephenson novel, and I felt obligated to check it out.

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I found Hoth in a small parking lot behind Vickery's, where his perambulations had pooped out due to technical problems (too much electronic gadgetry, to little battery oomph). But he and walkabout buddy Philip White, of New Music Collective, had made the most of the situation by setting up

on a low brick berm and projecting onto the large wall of the building across the parking lot. At one point, a startled nightgown-wearing resident apparently opened her window to ask what was going on and became an impromptu cast member of a short looping film about birds, single-celled animaliculi, and other critters.

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While I was there, my phone rang with an unfamiliar number; being a sucker for adventure on a Friday night, I answered it, and discovered Eva Magyar on the other end – Yseult, of Tristan and Yseult, inviting me to a party being held in the cast’s honor at a private home on Tradd Street. (Lest anyone think I have anything on her Hungarian boyfriend, Robbie: we’d talked each other’s ears off at an earlier Spoleto shindig.) As most of these affairs are, it was full of beautiful, fabulously wealthy people who like to suggest publicly that they’re not in fact fabulously wealthy. While there, I chatted with Peter and Natalie Nahlor, the very friendly hosts of
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the previous Saturday’s big party at 17 Legare Street, who assured me the pool in their spacious yard was in no way, shape, or form heated. The T&Y cast kept things firmly grounded in reality by taking over the piano in the sitting room and serenading the party with songs from their play. You haven’t heard “Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic” until its been sung in a South of Broad living room by Giles King a.k.a. Frocin, who, when he’s not acting with Kneehigh Theatre, performs in a band called Bagattack...

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