So, here’s the deal. You’re looking for a job. You stumble upon three viable options (hey, see below). Which sounds most appealing to you?

A) Is yours an artistic soul? Do you have a grand vision to share with the world? Do you wish to express yourself while making the big bucks? Are you willing to go out on a limb and make a name for yourself?

B) Are you looking for steady, reliable work, where you’ll be welcomed as one of the family? Do you have an eye for detail, a commitment to perfection? Do you seek a job at once relaxing and engaging, every minute a new discovery?

C) Are you in the mood for adventure? Do you long for a job that will keep you on your toes? Where you never know what might come up next, or where you might be headed? A job—and we guarantee this—unlike any you’ve ever had before?

Strangely enough, each of these corresponds to one of the plays that comprise Working It Out. (I know, fancy that.)

If you chose A, your job waits in Aaron Sorkin’s Hidden in this Picture. A director? Screenplay writer? Production assistant? Cow-rustler, perhaps? (Got to cover every contingency, after all…)

If you chose B, proofreading and Lynn Rosen’s Washed Up on the Potomac should be right up your street.

And if you chose C, congratulations, you’re ready to begin your career as a hitman! Er, maybe you aren’t, but that’s what you get in Rick Cleveland’s Jerry and Tom.

-Kristi

The other evening we were delighted to have join us the author of our current production, the always youthful Mr. Oscar Wilde. He graciously took the time to review the show.

Ok. So one of the most famous, or notorious, features of Wilde’s Importance of Being Earnest must surely be the quasi-mysterious offstage character of Algy’s alter ego, the permanent invalid Bunbury. This fictitious friend, always at death’s door, provides Algernon with a convenient excuse, ready on demand, to get out of town or out of responsibilities whenever he likes. All he has to do is claim that Bunbury is having a relapse, and off he goes to the country—where he can behave as badly as he likes. Ludicrous as the name may seem (and yes, potentially rather suggestive in unfortunate ways), it actually belonged to a classmate and acquaintance of Wilde’s, Henry S. Bunbury.