I am still, of course, seeing shows. My first week back from Sicily I went to see the Royal Ballet's new triple bill (Polyphonia, Sweet Violets, Carbon Life<)/a>, which I'm pleased to say meant I had a chance to listen to Boy George singing life. (Not really what you expect from a night at the ballet.) Then this Tuesday I went with my roommate to the Landor to see The Mystery of Edwin Drood, famous both as Dicken's last work (unfinished) and "the one where the audience gets to pick the ending." This was a good time, done as a Cockney music hall extravaganza and rather overwhelming in such a tiny space especially when the 13 actors outnumbered the audience.
(For completeness it appears I also saw and wrote up the entirely forgettable Filumena before I left on vacation. It's practically a sitcom.)
I am very much enjoying my new job despite the lack of time to get any writing done. I haven't been in such an energetic environment since the Onvia days (not necessarily a good thing), but I feel I left a seargent, ate my Wheaties, did pushups, and came back a general. I've gone from "enemy soldier ahead" to "and let's approach the battlefield in a pincer motion like they did at the Battle of Corinth." And the other generals have taken me as one of them (I keep hearing, "We've been waiting for you to come on board and help us do these things," where things = get a staging environment built, for example).
It's nice. I'm earning my money. I'm still seeing shows. I'm feeling pretty happy. But I am not, sadly, finding much time for writing.
Off to Amsterdam to see the tulips this weekend - hopefully I'll get a bit of writing done there.