So, in case you were wondering, John-Boy ain't a Mormon. You might have heard that he was, because that's what I've been telling people.
Saturday night 4 hungry women (Mom, Jen, Melanie and I) went to see Twelve Angry Men at Gammage. It is about 90 minutes of jury deliberation on a (fictitious) 1954 trial. I liked it quite a lot. It was short and interesting. I didn't have to pee, which always makes for a better theater experience. The acting was mighty fine, but as usual, hard to hear. Frank Lloyd Wright's theater design is beautiful, but his acoustics aren't great. I did have trouble with the climactic moment, where the final juror changes his vote. He needed a pause or some additional dialogue or something. I didn't believe him at all. It looked and felt like acting. Jen disagreed. She thought the quick change was the point.
During the play, star Richard Thomas (of Waltons and Democracy fame) lit up and smoked a cig. After the play, I asked "I thought he was a nice Mormon boy? Maybe he didn't inhale." Melanie told us there was no question he was guilty of inhalation. He was expertly blowing those fancy smoke rings. I wonder how Melanie knows so much about tobacky?
So I googled him. He's no Mormon. At least the internet doesn't think so, and we all know the internet is always right. I'm not really sure where I got the idea. Maybe because he was in Go Toward the Light, that made-for-TV movie from the 80's about the little LDS boy who died of AIDS, and in The Christmas Box. It doesn't really follow, though, because I also saw the 1977 Brigham: A Savage Journey, in which Bull from Night Court plays Joseph Smith, and didn't make the same assumption that Bull was a believer. In fact, his poor acting makes his Joseph Smith look like a Saturday Night Live parody. He is entirely un-believer-able. But funny, even though he wasn't trying to be. I think.
P.S. I got into my van on Saturday, and I heard a ruckus in the trunk. I leaped out of my seat, just in time to see Stripy-the-feral-and-more-than-likely-pregnant-cat fly at me over the back seat, teeth bared, hissing and screeching and trying to find her way out. I started screaming like a girl, which only made her crazier. She threw herself around like a pinball in a machine until I used my button in the front to open all the doors (I'll bet Honda didn't know this would come in so handy), and she tore out of the garage and back around to the side of the house, where she thinks she lives. I'm not sure who was more terrified, me or Stripy. I do know this: only one of us was so scared she peed on the van's carpet.