Theater people are people too.

I always feel very creative in the fall, because the weather is brisk and I am out walking a lot. It takes walking to get my creative juices really flowing; whenever I feel stuck, I go out and walk. If you pass me on the street and I seem to be talking to myself, I'm not crazy, I'm being "creative." My biggest fear is that one day, I'll be busy being "creative" and get hit by a car. But let's hope that never happens.

Last week, I attended a remarkable playwright pal of mine's "graduation" from her 7-year residency at New Dramatists, and in honor of the occasion, they put on a reading of one of her plays. It was the most simple kind of reading you can imagine: six actors, six chairs, six music stands -- go. We laughed, we cried, it was much better than Cats. (Though I will say that I would not be the musical-making-man I am today if not for those Jellicle Songs for Jellicle Cats. And that's all I will say about that.)

But this reading -- on top of reminding me what a remarkably talented person my playwright pal is -- also reminded of just how damn special this thing called theatre really is. I mean, some words someone wrote and some people speaking them, and it changes you. It actually changes you! It's something of a miracle, if you ask me.

I remember an episode of that great Aaron Sorkin show "Sports Night," where Felicity Huffman's character, an always-on-the-go TV executive, goes to see The Lion King, and comes back and has this monologue where she finally takes a breath and says, "I didn't know we could do that." It's great to be struck by those moments when you realize that something amazing is just the work of another person, another human being. It's us. "I didn't know we could do that."

Theatre, like soylent green, is just people.