Ok, so I’m writing this onboard the InterCity Express from Frankfurt Hauptbahnhof to Weimar Monday morning—a few days before I thought that I would be returning to home.

It seems that my usual trip detail anality has not been accurate enough. I need to learn to read calendars and itineraries more carefully before approving anything.

However, I’m not really that upset. There is some measure of relief being back home: I’ll be sleeping in my own bed by noon—I need some sleep for although I got sleep on the plane, this has not been the best week of sleep in my life.

Saturday night, after realizing that my plane ride home was leaving sooner than expected, I squeezed in a trip to see the Off-Broadway play, “Confessions of a Mormon Boy.”

The autobiographical play was written and performed by a Mormon Boy from Utah. Now, to be frank, it wasn’t the best play I’ve ever seen, not even the best gay-play I’ve ever seen, but it packed an emotional punch covering his life from childhood, his mission in Portugal, his marriage with two kids, and then his work as an escort in the Big Apple.

The conclusion to the play had a rather unexpected twist that actually resolved the only significant question that I had about the performer’s life story. I’d tell you what that was here, but I wouldn’t want to ruin it.

The audience was involved and, for the first time I can recall, there was unexpected audience participation at the end of the performance.

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