I often attend the theatre with my wife (I am opposite-married). We like to go at 1pm on Sundays and pretend we are in a Children of Men-style dystopia where we are the youngest people on Earth. Today we saw Doctor Octopus in The Jeffrey Tambor Story. It was a “two-hander” (a theatrical term for a play in which there are only two actors with two functioning hands between them). A potentially perfect afternoon of listening to elderly people snoring was ruined! First, whenever the actors were in profile, their powerful plosive ps caused great clouds of spit to become visible against the lights. It happened so much that I wondered if they were signaling something to each other, in some sort of saliva-based variation on smoke signals. Second, there must have been some Craisins somewhere on set, perhaps crushed up and used in the painting of the scenery, because I have a severe Craisins allergy, and my throat was all but sealed shut for the entire performance. I could barely swallow the Craisins I was eating by the handful. All in all, I would have to say, the theatre is no place for people; and with great power comes great responsibility. Please register to vote.