So I've got this friend, whose name is Kathryn Chetkovich. She's a prize-winning short story writer and essayist, and now she's got a play on 42nd Street in Manhattan. It's called Acts of Love and its current run has just been extended from an initial three weeks to the end of the year and even beyond. There are two reasons to see this play. First of all, it's good—a wry and withering look at the lies we tell (or don't tell) ourselves and others about our relationships, with some genuine surprises and a dash of acerbic wit.

The second reason is a little different. We all know people who talk about their writing/art/music (delete where applicable) and themselves all the time, leaving you little time to talk about your passions and concerns. Kathy's not like that: she's generous with her time, thoughtful in her conversation, and genuinely enthusiastic about whatever creative act you might want to be involved in, and reticent about trumpeting her own. If that strikes you as unusual in a creative person, then all the more reason to get yourselves to "Acts of Love" and support her.