A few weeks ago, the boyf and I went to see his friend Matt Mulhern (the Lt. from Major Dad! AWWWWWWESOME!) in a Horton Foote play that was part of the EST's Marathon of one-act plays. Matt was totally awesome, and the play in which he starred was wonderful as well.
But before we got to see Matt's play, we had to suffer through a piece of dreck called "Gryzk." It's apparently part of the playwright's "Beach" series and it takes place, appropriately enough, on a beach. There's this rich woman with a horribly oit of date "wealthy" accent and her neighbor tells her that this couple, Mr. amd Mrs. Gryzk, were brutally murdered the night before. The rich woman apparently knew the Gryzks because she sold them her house, and as the play unfolds the rich woman reveals that she's waiting for her teenage son to come join her for cocktails, and then the ghost of Mr. Gryzk appears and starts shrieking about crucifixes, and the rich woman gets drunk on daiquiris, and then the ghost of Mrs. Gryzk shows up in a wedding dress, and there's a lot of stupid lighting cues and some really atrocious dialogue and then, ohmystars, the teenage son never shows up and he was crazy and an alcoholic (just like his mom!) and he brutally murdered Mr. and Mrs. Gryzk. The play was so bad that the boyf started doing that hold-in-your-laughter silent shaking thing and almost vomitted. And then, right before Matt's play was about to start, the actor playing Gryzk sat right in front of us and I started silent-laughing so hard (GRYYYYYYZK!) I like unto wet myself.
Anyhoo, since then, "Gryzk" has come to mean both anything that sucks and also anything that is faintly reminscent of the stupid, wannabe pretentious world of the play of Gryzk. And so. Just for a lark, during our layover before returning from vacation, we visited one of Nassau's casino/hotel complexes. And found this totally Gryzk scene. And the boyf snapped a photo, just so we could revel in the Gryzkness of it all. This beach is soooo Gryzk.
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