Friday, August 09, 2013

I'm getting increasingly embarrassed by how nice venue press people are being to me in my capacity (which continues to feel vaguely fraudulent).

As if lavishing free press releases and (oh these were the days as I'm reviewing nothing at the Traverse this year) scripts on me were not enough, this year, I'm being treated to extensive expansive (sales) pitches for venues and shows and this life, this other heady life of doing this peculiarly exhilarating milarkey full time.

Three days ago, I was wooed by a publicist in Fringe Central who did a superb seduction job on me, hauled the director of her shipped over from South Africa astonishing theatre piece across the hall to woo me too, subsequently sent me a comp for the show (heartbreakingly, this girl had her day job to tend to) and therein, neatly guaranteed that I would voluntarily seek out The System at 10:30am at Just The Tonic at The Caves.

Last night, the piece de resistance. Free drinks. I have never, in all my born days, accepted a free thing (scripts aside!) as a consequence of reviewing. Well, who would want to bribe me??

But, anti-bribery legislation quiz completed on account of my day job (which took three attempts for me to complete successfully) tapping at the door to my conscience, I took the (obligatory plastic cup of) chilled white wine as we loitered in the Tennessee Williams slightly steamy night air - and enjoyed it. The show was half an hour ("two minutes", said the publicist) late starting after all.

Trotted in to see the show after twenty minutes of wishing I was you (me, not her) from the extremely cool publicist and found myself 85 times more predisposed toward the show than I had been before She started work on me.

Who knew my integrity was so easily bought?


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