Okay, now that I have your attention, please know this is not about MY sex life, even though I know you're dying to hear. Too bad.
This is about Sex With Strangers, a play at Steppenwolf, an engaging, thought-provoking production about two writers (a passion near and dear to my heart). One is a 20-something who has a best-selling book and a movie deal based on his blog where he recounts his experiences bedding a new woman every week. The other is a woman closing in on forty who has a beautifully written novel that didn't sell well (now out of print) but who's reluctantly working on her second. She fears the public criticism. He couldn't care less what people say about him as long as they're saying it.
This odd couple falls into a romantic (read: sexual) relationship.
The performances are mostly wonderful, except that Sally Murphy sometimes feels the need to shout her lines even when the script doesn't call for it. Very distracting. But all in all an engrossing two hours.
But here's the question:
How much of your life do you want on the Internet? As someone in his 20s Ethan doesn't give a second thought to posting his sexual exploits all over cyber-space, and he doesn't care who reads it. He's too young and naive to understand the ramifications of that kind of public display. Olivia won't even post a picture on her website. Is it about youth and naivete or is the issue about privacy. Where's your line?
My life is pretty much an open book, and if it weren't for being worried about offending people (friends, relatives, my love) I would be much more candid about things that happen in my life. Thing is, none of us lives in a vacuum, and besides considering how strangers might perceive us, we need to be mindful about how our words affect our loved ones.
If I occasionally cross the line, it's unintentional. So the bottom line is, no matter how much you beg you're still not going to hear about my sex life.