Where You Goin'?

Say what?  You heard me.  I'm goin' to Kansas.  Lawrence, Kansas.  At last, I'm going to the hometown of the one, the only Cathy Hamilton, the original Boomer Girl, my co-conspirator in silliness.  As I've noted a few hundred times before, Cathy just gets me to do stuff.  She shleps me out of my comfy zone.  "Wanna write a play together?" I think about it for all of two seconds.  Even though I've never written a play, I don't hesitate.  "Hell, yes."  "Wanna meet me in Santa Fe?"  Again, I react, accordingly.  "Well, why the eff not?"  This explains why I'm heading to Lawrence, Kansas, where, God willing, our play, "It's All About the Hair," will debut... at some point in the near future, kina hora, poo poo poo.  We wanted to call it "Hair," but that title's taken.  My logic here is simple:  My dad had a play performed in Kansas once.  Why shouldn't I follow suit?  Of course, what we've cooked up isn't a traditional play. We've done vignettes, monologues and whatnot about women and hair, and all the hilarity and pain of maintaining a decent 'do.  And so, I'm going to Kansas.  Lawrence, Kansas.  I'm going to Kansas City, too.  I'm going wherever Cathy wants me to go.  She's the captain of this trip. I'm just the co-playwright.