Yes, Sir, No, Suh

The Southern gentleman next to me wanted to talk about public nudity.

At tonight's opening performance of Firehouse Theater's "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof," I had the pleasure of a man with a delightful drawl sitting next to me.

The first thing he explained to me after introducing himself was that he was not in his usual seat.

Not that it was any of my business.

He and his partner, who was tonight seated directly in front of him, had been asked to move.

So the happy couple didn't get to sit next to each other, but I had unexpectedly charming company.

We talked about the upcoming play, which actors we'd seen before and how tickled he was to see his partner drinking a PBR can.

He even shared with me what he'd made for a pre-theater supper ("Salad with everything in it, even chicken. And ham biscuits!").

And then chuckling, he said he'd just learned about San Francisco's nudity laws and did I know about them.

Why no, but I'm always eager to learn.

"You know you have to put a towel down when you sit in a public place," he told me. Made sense to me.

"And if you get an erection, you have to leave!" he shared, as if it was a punch line.

And on that note, Tennessee Williams' play about repressed homosexuality and dysfunctional families began.

It wasn't my first time seeing COAHTF produced and the last time had been with an all-black cast, so I was eager to see it in its pure form.

Although the cat of the title is Maggie, the play was most alive when Big Daddy, played by Alan Sader, was on stage.

Last seen in Richmond Shakespeare's "King Lear," he was just as magnificent here as he'd been in that.

The play is long, two and a half hours with two ten-minute intermissions (we joked that the Brick character needed two bathroom breaks because of all the "whiskey" he was drinking onstage), but it moves along with so much dramatic dialog that the audience never loses interest.

One comment that I heard from several people during intermissions was about some of the actors' Southern accents.

Sader handled his admirably, but the accents of a few others left some of the Southerners in the audience cold.

"It's like they're trying too hard to sound Southern," the guy behind me said. He also said he was from Southside.

My very Southern seatmate agreed in his effortless Southern accent, but, like me, was thoroughly enjoying the drama and insightful wit of the story.

Because it was opening night, there was a party afterwards; since it had been catered by Sticky Rice, there were many people eating with their fingers rather than attempting chopstick usage standing up.

And because it was Sticky Rice, there was a big bowl of Tater Tots, amazing some of the attendees not familiar with the sushi place's trademark dish.

Brave (foolish?) soul that I am, I balanced a paper plate and used chopsticks as I chatted with strangers about the play.

Even the Southern-accented agreed that it had been an enjoyable night of theater.

What is the victory of a cat on a hot tin roof?
Just stayin' on it, I guess, long as she can.