Yes, always go to the funeral.

Recently, I went to the funeral for the father of a friend of mine. The father was murdered in his own home. It was very emotional, as you can understand. Between the service, which was beautiful and moving and infuriating because we wouldn’t have needed this service had someone not done what he did, we were all emotionally spent. I cannot imagine how my friend felt — I would have felt deeply angry; plus, the killer is still on the loose — and yet, somehow, he said to me later when he saw me in the receiving line, “I can always count on you.” And, yes, he can.

When my own father died after a protracted illness and I went to his funeral, it meant a great deal to me to see how many people came out and how many of them I knew from my childhood. One of his friends, Mr. Groff, cried in front of me, and I still love him for that. And, obviously, haven’t forgotten it.

In late 2003, a friend and former colleague died young, leaving behind a wife and a little boy. To this day, I don’t know why I didn’t go to the funeral. Whatever the reason was, it wasn’t good enough. Because I still think of him, and those thoughts are primarily tied up with my not having attended his funeral. That’s not how I’d like to remember him — by my poor behavior.

A very close friend of my 20s died last summer. This was a difficult person who nonetheless made a great impact on my young adulthood. I always thought we’d get back together. When I learned he died, I was stunned for weeks. Maybe months. Not surprised, but stunned nevertheless. I still feel strangely about it; again, because I thought we’d reconnect, and also because when your friends start to die, you know that death is getting closer to you. I emailed with his surviving family, all estranged, and learned that there wasn’t going to be a funeral. No service of any kind. Nothing to attend. Having learned my lesson, I would have flown across the country for that one. But there was nowhere to go. That is a sad final comment on someone of great talent who squandered so much.

Here’s how.

Surely, after 30 years of being involved in PR shoots for plays, I must have been involved in at least one of the terrible PR pictures from the theatre of the United States.

The guy in the photo above, by the way, strongly reminds me of my first boss, when I was 14 and he was theoretically running the nighttime classified ad department. He later got fired for sleeping on the job. Next time I ran into him? Nine years later, in college — turns out he was, you guessed it, one our flamboyant community theatre actors. I’m sure that in someone’s files there are photos of him in “acting mode” all too similar to what is seen above.

I’m also struck by the hunchback on the left.

Who said what, writer James Joyce or rapper Kool Keith? Take the test here.

At some point or other, almost every playwright finds himself in a development process. His (or her) play is being workshopped for a short run, possibly for consideration of future production; or he’s at a retreat working with actors and directors that will result in a reading of sorts; or he’s at a new play development conference for a public reading with feedback; or he’s working out some areas by having some actor friends get together and read scenes now and then.

I’ve been involved in many of these experiences myself, as a playwright or director or producer or respondent.

So, occasionally, I’m asked by a playwright for my advice on whether or not to bring an unfinished play into such a situation. Not a play that has a first draft and needs a rewrite, and not a play that is stuck and that the playwright needs to hear — a play that is being written but which is currently unfinished.

Here’s what I say:

I can’t say what you should do, but  I can tell you what I would not do:  I would not take an uncompleted play into a development situation, especially not a play-in-process that is working well.

My friend the actress Cathy Carlton (here called “Cathy Hews” — so I guess I’ve just discovered that Cathy Carlton is her stage name) has moved back to her hometown of Belchertown, MA to care for her aging father. Prior to that, she was an actress here in Los Angeles, and later in New York City (where, it turns out, she did some shows with my friends Barry and Catherine at Peculiar Works Project).

Here’s her local paper’s story about the return home of a “big city actress.”

Please take the time to read this.

Please note that this family of four would have been ruined financially without the Affordable Care Act, and that until they got affordable insurance through the ACA the 40-something cancer-stricken father was left shaking and sweating in admittance for 90 minutes while the hospital in question was trying to figure out if he could pay.

Please note also that for whatever reason, they hate Obama and explicitly didn’t want this coverage.

Perhaps now they’ve changed their minds.

As an adoptee, my friend Max Sparber didn’t know a lot about his genetic background. Thanks to his adoptive parents, Max has a Jewish name and a Jewish cultural identity. But courtesy of a $99 genetic test he was able to order online, he’s learned he’s Irish. (And, I should add, 2.9 percent Neanderthal.)

It’s not ’cause they’re stupid. Chaucer wasn’t stupid, and he said “aks,” too.

So evidently after the big game yesterday, some pro football player mouthed off in a way that set social media ablaze. This kind of behavior makes me wonder, “When will these football players stop acting like they’re the governor of New Jersey ???”