My feet hurt.

I wasn’t smart enough to wear good shoes tonight, and as usual, I ended up standing throughout the performer showcase. Eventually, I had to leave Wally’s side (more about Wally in a bit), and find a seat, because my heels felt like someone had tenderized them with a jagged block of concrete.

This year’s shows are going to be very good. The out-of-town performers really seem excited to be here, and there are a whole whack of new local companies, some of whom are hilarious, all of them compelling in different ways.

Unfortunately, Club Fringe is, yet again, being held in a dive bar, which usually has bottom-rung clientele who are loyal because they sell bottles of Blue for $2.50. My friend from the TV station calls them “Whitesnakes,” because it’s a good bet the last time they were sober was when Whitesnake ruled the airwaves. Here I Go Again (On My Own). Frankly, I hate this place. The food is virtually inedible, and so I think I will probably smuggle my snacks in. I didn’t think it was possible to screw up a hamburger, but…

I think the crazy woman I used to be sort of friendly with (until she forced herself on me and my friends in March) has finally gotten the hint. She has submitted some of her art to the Visual Fringe, and when I complimented her on it, she didn’t get all weird and gushy on me. And she basically ignored me tonight. Her ex-boyfriend remembered me, though, and stood chatting with me for several minutes. I was secretly pleased when it looked like his attentions to me were bothering her.

Wally is a true gem in our city. He’s in his 90s, and he still has energy and true vitality. He has volunteered every year since the Fringe’s inception, and he is one of the sweetest, kindest people I have ever met. When I first volunteered, Wally was often my House Manager, helping me out, answering my questions and sharing funny stories with me about shows he had or was going to see. When you stand next to Wally, you meet everyone, because he’s the sort of man people flock to. And Wally gives me hugs. I dread the day when I hear he has passed, although I know, at over 90, the time left to him is not on the long side. But for now, I can enjoy Wally’s company, his conversation, his wit and his calming, loving presence.