Here's how I know that I remain, at heart, an eighth grader. Whenever I'm in the bathroom at work, and farting noises and fecal grunts are exploding all around me, I invariably have to stifle a case of the giggles.
This problem does not afflict sober, mature adults--people like Ruth Bader Ginsburg, say. When Ruth Bader Ginsburg is in the ladies' room at the Supreme Court, and Sonia Sotomayor is over in the next stall, letting fly with a symphony of hilarious sounds, Ruth Bader Ginsburg does not so much as crack a smile.
I am beginning to think I just might not make it to the Court.
My short review of New Leaf Theatre's Burying Miss America is in this week's Chicago Reader.