Thursday, December 30, 2010


The new year it's a-comin'. You all excited? Well God called. He said not to get your hopes up.

Also The Corrections is wonderful and Eve Harrington is the most evil character in cinematic history. The end.

Monday, December 27, 2010


So this Christmas was pretty epic. A blizzard howls around me, so I've had plenty of time to watch movies. On Saturday I got:

Angels in America
Passing Strange
Damn Yankees
All About Eve
Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?
Anna Karenina

I've already watched Baby Jane and Passing Strange, and I stayed up late last night to start Angels in America. I've seen it so many times, but Mary Louise Parker never stops being amazing and Al Pacino never stops being scary. I could take or leave Meryl Streep, except when she's Ethel Rosenberg. Then I'll take it.

I also got Dance on Broadway for the Wii, and I am utterly terrible at it. My sister filmed me attempting to do the Bend and Snap. What has been seen cannot be unseen.

Thursday, December 23, 2010

My Year at the Theeyater

So my buddy Kimber bought me La Cage tix for the ninth. WOOO! Third row. I didn't even know she new I was a La Cage fan, but far be it from me to deny anyone the chance to visit my favorite gay cabaret. I also found out about my Angels in America tickets two days too early. I'm a real bitch with surprises. Nobody gets anything by me.

I've seen a decent amount of shows this year. Let's see what I can actually remember.

1/10 Ragtime

1/22 Night Music

1/29 Jersey Boys

1/30 Next to Normal

2/21 God of Carnage

3/7 Hair

4/3 Next to Normal

4/? Cats

5/2 Next to Normal

6/13 Sondheim on Sondheim

6/30 American Idiot

7/18 Next to Normal

8/13 Night Music

9/4 American Idiot

9/4 La Cage

11/26 Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson

There's probably some I'm forgetting, but that's enough for anyone. The best was Ragtime, and the worst was that goddamn Cats. In fact, it was the worst thing I've ever seen. Let's focus on the positive, though. I've never in my life seen anything as wonderful as Ragtime, and I doubt I ever will again. I may be exaggerating a little. Not everyone loved the production. But I did. And this is MY damn blog, thanks. My memory has probably built it up to be better than it was. But not by much.

Tuesday, December 21, 2010

Snapping the Tether

Harper has a line in Angels in America that goes something like, "Wow, I musta REALLY snapped the tether this time!" So did Julie Taymor. The entire NY theatre scene is abuzz with what happened last night at Spider-man. I haven't forgotten this picture. Apparently Jennifer D. saw the whole thing happen. Nothing like seeing somebody come crashing down from 30 feet in the air. Apparently the audience could hear her crying. (Cheap shot, but here I go - that's more than the folks at the Booth ever heard. I hate myself.) Anyway, they stopped the show and the guy got taken out in an ambulance. Apparently he's ok, but no good can come of this fiasco.

I don't know what's gonna happen because of this, but it can't be good. I'm not thinking they're getting shut down, but I foresee the opening getting pushed back again. God knows I'm not interested in giving this show any of my money, but snagging a seat in the orchestra might be worth my while. Maybe if I'm lucky I'll get hit by a falling baritone and then I can sue and be set for college and grad school. Not funny. I'm not laughing. Not laughing. I really suck, don't I.

Poor Jennifer Damiano. I know it's closing, but she probably should have just stayed with Next to Normal. You know. The show where you can't get killed.

Monday, December 20, 2010

Don't Tell Mama

So I did make Emerson, and it's fun already. Huzzah for me.

Yesterday I had a Christmas party in SoHo, after which I took it upon myself to roam the streets at sunset. Stranger danger, but what Mama don't know won't never hurt her. (She's already forbidden me to walk Boston Common at night. I said I wouldn't, but the thing is she'd never know if I did.) God knows that's not my territory down there. Plunk me south of 30th Street and I have no idea what I'm doing. It's much more fun that way. After a while I found that I'd wandered to 13th Street. Something made me look up, and there was a boy sitting in a third floor window and playing the guitar. I smiled at him. He waved at me. I waved back. Obviously we're engaged now.

After that I headed over to the Strand where a cashier yelled at me because I didn't know who wrote The Corrections. Well excuse me. I picked up Tropic of Cancer, and reading it is like taking too much Robitussin and then watching all of Alice Ripley's Youtube videos. You know. Like that.

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

Woman on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown Part 2

Emerson letter coming tomorrow. Claude and I are sitting here and trying not to rip each other's hair out. I haven't been this nervous since the 2009 Tonys. For some reason listening to Video Killed the Radio Star is calming me down. Am I too young to be having my quarter-life crisis?

Lenora joined Facebook two days ago. City of the damned. The suspense, Mr. Lies. It's killing me.

Saturday, December 11, 2010

A Tapdance

I have a problem: I'm inordinately proud of my legs. That makes me feel like a creeper. One of my Facebook (and actual honest to Jebus real-life) friends says it's suggestive that I like to show them off so much. What am I suggesting, exactly? That I'm not an ass-aching Puritan? That there is one part of my body of which I am not unendurably ashamed? Or maybe I'm what Sylvia Plath would call a drunken amorphous slut.

We've been discussing obscenity in my law class. The thing is there just isn't much that I find to be obscene. J-Woww, maybe. Or the fact that Fred Phelps has followers. I'm pretty much game for anything else. Put it on a stage and call it art and I probably won't be smart enough to know the difference.

All for now.

Thursday, December 9, 2010

Women on the Verge

So I've decided that I will heretofore dedicate my sidebar to the women who have shaped my life. I want to be like them. I want to dance like Gwen Verdon and write like Sylvia Plath and have Vivien Leigh's sweetness and Alice Ripley's individuality. I am so a product of observation.

Monday, December 6, 2010

Pity Post # 2

Sorry, folks. I reread Gone With the Wind and haven't been blogging as much as I ought. So. Lotsa shit closing.

Night Music
Next to Normal
In the Heights
Scottsboro Boys
Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson

I'm certain there are some that I'm forgetting. It's 2009 all over again. I'm gonna miss Next to Normal a lot but I think the purging is necessary. The way I see it you have to give up to get. I can't remember where I heard that.

Emerson decision coming back any day now and I am so nervous I may very well have a seizure any minute now. Probably shouldn't be blogging when that happens.

Tuesday, November 30, 2010


Spiderman's alive and kicking. Scottsboro Boys is closing. American Idiot sends out an SOS and brings in Bille Joe again.

Every day a little death.

Saturday, November 27, 2010

Andrew Jackson

Saw Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson last night. I have to say, they've done a superb job converting the Jacobs. Only problem is I'm not exactly sure what they converted it into. The show is bloody and it does feature Andrew Jackson, but I don't know how anyone could have missed telling me how BORING it is. I'm being a little harsh here. I had fun for a while. Once he actually became president, though, it was slow and painful death brought on by girls kissing for no reason and jokes about John Calhoun raping crippled children twice. And Emily Young has scary eyes.

Let's not condemn the show. I enjoyed myself, I really did. I remember thinking in the beginning of the show that it was like being raped from the seventh row of the mezzanine. In a good way. When it's not trying so desperately hard, it can be very funny. For instance - two Jackson supporters yelling out earnestly "WE WANNA FUCK YOU!" They then turned to the audience and said something else that immediately killed the joke. Damned if I can remember what it is. And, okay. Watching people get shot with pretend arrows is only funny the first eight times. Then it just gets dull. Lobotomy dull. Lobotomy-no Tony nom for you Ben Walker-dull. Yeah. THAT kind of dull. BBAJ was the only show I've ever seen where the audience did not stand at the end.

So lately I've been attempting to read plays that AREN'T written by Williams or Miller. So far I've hit Come Back, Little Sheba and am currently slogging through Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? and loving it. Why oh WHY was Bette Davis not cast as Martha in the movie?

Saturday, November 13, 2010

Massachusetts, Beeyotch

So I'm up in Boston. Actually, a crappy hotel on the outskirts of Boston. Thanks, Mom. Dad's snoring woke me up at four, so I've been watching Family Guy for the past two hours. I'm going to see Emerson again today, but last night I roamed the city quite a bit. Here's what they have a lot of:

Dunkin Donuts
Bank of America
blonde hair
skinny legs

Here's what they don't have a lot of:
people who aren't white

To my front-of-the-mouth talking New Yorker's ear, everyone up here sounds a bit like Peter Griffin. Anyway, as I was strolling around last night I realized that it's incredibly easy to pick an Emerson kid out of the bunch. There seems to be an unofficial uniform: primary colored knit beret, black peacoat, leggings, flat-heeled leather boots. I also think there might be a weight limit, since everyone I've seen looks to be hopelessly anorexic. Oh, well. If we were at the Omni or the Park Plaza I could look out the window, but all I have here is a lovely view of McDonald's. Jesus Christ, kill me now.

Thursday, November 11, 2010

So Anyway

Next to Normal closes January 16. Usually I'm a fan of saying, "Ok. Let it go. Better this than they end up like Chicago." But they've been doing okay, as far as I can tell. It wasn't time for this one to go yet. I thought it still had a lot of life left in it. Oh, well. Leave it be and let it end. Thanks for the fun. I never, ever thought it would last this long.

I don't want to go to closing night, so I won't. But I did want to see Marin Mazzie play Diana. So maybe I'll go one dat during Christmas break. Crappy seats. Sit by myself. And say good-bye. January is a brutal month. Fela and Next to Normal have already taken the hit. American Idiot they're coming for you next.

Friday, November 5, 2010

The Dead Horse

Apparently Rent's getting revived off-Bway in June. NO. NO. NO. As Mrs. Lovett said, "DIE! GOD IN HEAVEN'S NAME WHY WON'T YOU DIE?" Christ. You'd think they let the old whore rest in peace for a while before bringing her back in all her bloody glory.

And Spiderman's been pushed back two weeks. My word, Julie Taymor. Are you just very dumb or very, very optimistic? This is not going to end well. Open up your cash-coated eyes and see that. I also don't have an especially high opinion of the people who chose to join this project. I know the economy is down, but nobody has a gun to your head forcing you to play Mary Jane, Jennifer Damiano. Anyway, leave it be and let it end. People got on the Titanic out of their own free will. Far be it from me to stop anyone from being part of a show that's already 65 million bucks in the hole.

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

So Anyway

I'm leaving inkpop for good. Deleting the account, the book, and all the comments. Like it never existed. It did. That's enough for me. Toni Morrison said if you wanna fly you gotta give up the shit that weighs you down. Time for me to do that. Take one last look, and hit the delete button. For a place that gave me so much grief this a lot harder than I thought it would be.

It's time for me to go. And so, good-bye.

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Post for a Birthday

OH MY LORD I FORGOT WHOSE BIRTHDAY IT IS. It's October 27 - Sylvia's birthday, her seventy sixth. I hope she has a very, very, very happy heaven birthday. This is one of those things you hate yourself for forgetting. Lenora forgot John Lennon's birthday last week and I teased her about it. My glass house and I are in peril over here! Maybe today would be a good day to start The Bell Jar once again. Fourth time around the track never hurt anybody.


Going on through fall. It's less of a sail than a climb.

Anyway. Saw my very first live production of Streetcar last week at Binghamton. It was absolutely brutally intense. Why oh why did the movie cut Blanche's beautiful death monologue at the end of the show. It really is great. I think the one thing I'll keep from this production is the awful memory of Stella screaming for Blanche at the end of the show. That's also not in the movie, but it was epic. I applaud the director for choosing not to overdo the curtain call. Lights up, all bow together, lights down. No standing o.

Okay. Now the bad. Stanley Kowalski is a bad, bad man. He is scary. The kid portraying him was never scary. Stanley and Stella have an intense sadomasochistic relationship, and too many times they came across as children teasing one another. Plate smashing does not make up for the fact that Stanley was not the least bit intimidating. This production never really made me feel that there was anything mentally wrong with Blanche. She was composed and ladylike, right up to her rape and even afterward. Still, I enjoyed it. A for effort.

Saturday, October 16, 2010

The Waiting Game

Sent in my Emerson application. As Peter Griffin said, "And now I play the waiting game." The suspense, Mr. Lies. It's killing me. Apparently I have about two months to wait. TWO MONTHS. I could be dead by then. And if my parents don't let up a little with their nagging, I probably will be. Oh, well. Let's all calm ourselves down by looking at this scary picture of Lady Olivier as Lady Macbeth. I think she was considerably less desperate than I am. Epic eyebrows going on here.

One thing that annoys me is having to slog through my Facebook news feed and read multiple statuses that say, "omg my life is jokeee lolololol." Your life is not a joke. You may be an idiot, but your life is not a joke. I don't go for any of those happy go lucky witticisms about not having to take life seriously because nobody gets out alive. To me, that seems like a reason to take it a hell of a lot more seriously. I'll admit I slough a lot of things off. My complete nonchalance when it comes to school drives Lenora up the wall. I usually just shrug and say, "I'll be okay. I always am." And I am lucky enough for that to be true. I have an easy life. Sometimes it gets frustrating, but it's not a joke. I take myself desperately seriously. Need to work on that. But I try not to sweat the small stuff. I accidentally wrote "scienece" instead of "science" once on my commonapp. I sent my mom an email saying I probably wouldn't get into colleg now. She did not find it amusing. Really, people. They are not going to reject me for an extra e. Once they find this blog, though, then I'm REALLY screwed.

Saturday, October 9, 2010

Isn't it Rich.

The two little kiddies next door are running through my backyard screaming like Indians and waving sticks at Claude. I am not angry. I am not going to yell. I am simply going to sit at this window with my laptop and play Send in the Clowns. Nonstop. Very loud. In all its variations. Scream all you want, children. Judi Dench is up next. We're gonna have a fun evening. God whose eye is on the sparrow, please make these little demons leave Claude alone. And please help me learn how to be a mature adult and spend my time doing something other than playing mind games with children using the works on Stephen Sondheim.

Speaking of Steve-O, he helped me knock my SAT out of the park this morning. The essay was about the importance of the creative arts. I whipped out my best analysis of Sunday in the Park. Connect. Children and art. And I made that essay into my bitch. It was kneeling at my feet by the time I walked out of there. I also managed to slip in the JFK quote that Alice Ripley said at the Tonys. "I am certain that when the dust of centuries has settled we will not be remembered for our victories in battle or in politics, but for our contribution to the human spirit." I wove in The Crucible and Angels in America. Streetcar made and appearance with the death of censorship. All in all, it was just so very me. That's my little way of kicking dehumanizing standardized tests like that in the face.

Friday, October 8, 2010

Hell, No

Apparently the Idiots have nominated me and my book for some kind of award. No. NO. Just when I think I'm out they PULL me back in! They can keep their award. The best prize I can think of is a very, very long vacation from that place.

Sunday, October 3, 2010

My Way

I feel positively famous. People keep coming up to me to say congratulations. All weekend it's been flowers, cream puffs, dinners, cards, e-mails. I haven't done anything to deserve all this. Others have done it before and done it better. But I have to admit I am rolling in all the attention.

But the best, best, best part is waking up in the morning and not having to go check inkpop. No more reading romance and science fiction for me. I can watch my number of picks drop and delight in every single one lost. I think we can safely say it was nine months of hell. Turning left when everyone else turns right is harder than I thought it would be. God help me, I am immensely and egotistically proud of myself. I did it my way, as Frank would say. And I am proud of that. It is no big accomplishment. This is not going on my gravestone. But I still made it through. I think that's something worth noting, at least. In my own tiny world.

*Edit: Oh, how darling. Even Claude wanted to offer his congratulations, apparently. He took it upon himself to kill a mouse and drop it by my feet. He had not neglected to rip its face off. I was gagging, but he was so proud of himself - cause really, nothing says I love you like a mutilated rodent. I wanted to yell at him, but then I realized it was kinda sweet, dead mouse notwithstanding. It must have taken a lot of time and effort to catch a mouse for me. Much harder than picking up the phone and ordering a bunch of purple tiger lilies. This just isn't the kind of gift you put on the coffee table to show the family.

Friday, October 1, 2010


I'm incoherent. I AM A SUCCESS. To be honest, two phrases come to mind right now. One of them is from American Idiot: "Take one last look at this shithole because these are our tickets OUT OF HERE!" Oh Lord, I can't really celebrate. I'm just going to sit here in stunned and still silence. Probably till morning. Lenora says not to look back, lest I be turned into a pillar of salt like Lot's Wife.

I wanted to say goodbye to the idiots with a quote from Perestroika: Bye now. You are fabuluos creatures, each and every one. And I bless you: More Life. The Great Work begins.

To be honest, I think there's only one appropriate way to say goodbye to that site, though. - Farewell, see you in hell. I hope you rest in pieces. FUCK YOU. Am I ungrateful? Probably. For the experience. Not for the outcome. But still. Everybody rise. Inkpop is over. I made it through and nobody died. I'll drink to that. SO LONG, SUCKERS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Tuesday, September 28, 2010


One of my Facebook "friends" posted this on their wall: "Some people are meant to stay on their medication." She got 7 likes. Oh, okay. I guess some people are meant to get AIDS. Some people are meant to be terrorists. Some people are meant to be in the mob.

I'm over reacting a little. I know. But I also know from experience that it is just not okay to say shit like that, and I am massively offended. I am not perfect. I admit that in the past I've been a nasty. But still, Miss Facebook friend. You go to college. Leastest thing that they could teach you is not to talk on what you're wholly, completely, abysmally ignorant of. And I will fire back, thanks. I was not nasty. I was very civil. I borrowed from Night Music. "Not trying to nasty, and you're free to say whatever you want, but as someone affected by depression I'm not sure I appreciate that comment." I was told "with all due respect shut the hell up." Ok. I guess I'll just leave it at that. Sometimes I wish people would realize that Facebook is a public forum.

Sunday, September 26, 2010

Wheel of Disappointment

Flea Market today. I saw/met:

Alice Ripley
Jerry Mitchell
Susan Blackwell
Jason Daniely
Marin Mazzie
Robin De Jesus
Mandy Gonzalez
Donna McKechnie
Elizabeth Stanley
Wilson Jermaine Heredia
Andrea McArdle
Julie White
whoever the new Diana understudy is
Levi Kreis (TONY THIEF!)

I'll have you know that Julie White likes my headband, and I did not choke or say something stupid when conversing with the talented Ms. Ripley. I just didn't say anything at all. Really. Mime status. But I got a very nice picture. Claude started licking the camera when I showed him. Creepy.

I also bid $125 on Daisy and Violet Siamese twin bears autographed by Ripley and Skinner, but I think I got outbid by someone named "Nora Z." Suck my dick, Mother Theresa. I also found out that Billie Joe Armstrong is gonna be playing St. Jimmy for a week. I SMELL SOME AMERICAN IDIOT DESPERATION!!!

Saturday, September 25, 2010

Angels in America

So I just finished reading both Millenium Approaches and Perestroika. I haven't seen the play yet, but I watched the movie. And Mary Louise Parker as Harper Pitt was the best part. Meryl and Al can suck on that. I haven't seen the current productions yet, but I know where I'll be this Friday. Even if Zoe Kazan's eyes do scare me a bit.

Anyway. Brilliant, brilliant play that has affected me like no other. Let's be clear: I love the Westons more. Joe and Harper are not in it nearly enough. At times it can be pretentious. But it is woooonderfully powerful. The scene that opens the second act, with Prior lying on the floor and Louis screaming, "Oh God, I can't. I can't." Neither can I, apparently. I burst into tears.

I am gonna go see the play. Of course. Not gonna miss out on this one. Not gonna miss out on hearing my new favorite line in theatre history. "Suck my dick, Mother Theresa! This is life and death!" You can't really top that. Not even with "You don't wanna break shit with me, muthafucka!"

So if you got six hours to burn, go check out Angels in America. It's on Youtube.

Anecdote for the day: word on BWW is that Kacie Sheik is the Hair tour's Jeanie. Halle-sonofabitching-llujah. Look, folks! Incentive! Unfortunately, I'm in Paris the week they're at the Colonial up in Boston. Maybe I'll see if there's a stop in Philly. But they kept the best part of the production. Good call.

Flea Market tomorrow. My very favorite event of the year. Stand aside, my fellow Shubert-Alleyans. I've fifteen pounds heavier and I'm on the hunt for a Millenium Approaches Playbill.

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Being Alive

Make me alive. Make me alive. Somebody love me too deep. Know me too well. Pull me up short and put me through hell. Make me aware of being alive.

And nobody does it better than Norm Lewis.

Saturday, September 18, 2010

Counting the Minutes

Got the most astonishing inkpop message.

"ok I get that ur desprate but I DON'T CARE! be considerat and read my profiel!"

Somehow I'm the inconsiderate one. Oh, well. Welcome to the publishing industry, folks. Get yourself a hard hat and a therapist and you should be good to go. I swear to God once I get out of that stupid site and I am NEVER going back. Or maybe I will. I'll write the most predictable fantasy-infused romantic teen fodder I can think of and have it all over with within two months. Won't that be a kick in the ass.

Anyway, the poor dear who sent me the message must still be new enough to labor under the impression that people on that site care about each other. We don't. Nobody's going to take the time to read all your stupid swapping rules. They'll find somebody else to swap with and leave you in the dust. It's an utterly dehumanizing way of running things, but that's the only way to get it right on that stupid website. You have to climb that ladder to the roof, and if anyone comes near you you kick them in the face. How awful is that? Sweeney Todd designed the site, I swear. Machiavelli may have collaborated.

Oh. Look. A new message.

"Sorry, I don't swap but thank you for the kind offer."

Wow. Politeness and class. Revolutionary. I could learn a thing or two from this one. Hope springs eternal, but it's still the City of the Damned. Maybe I should just be a mime. Or maybe not. I'm terrified of those freaking things.

Monday, September 13, 2010


Smashed briefly fell to fifth this afternoon. I did not take it very well. If you can picture Barbara Fordham going toe to toe with Nurse Ratched, that's probably as close as you'll get to it. But now I'm back and I am fighting like a bitch to stay. One of the Inkpop Idiots recently pointed out to me that my book has no dedication. I happen to think that dedications are pretentious, but then I started wondering what I would put if I had one. These are a few of my ideas. (And before I forget, let it be known that I am applying to Smith College strictly For the Hell of It. Sylvia Plath went there. Reason enough for me to at least try.) So here I go. Testing the waters.

To Mom, who helped me live it. To Lenora, who helped me not. To Nan, who believed I could.

For my teachers - Toni Morrison, Sylvia Plath, Maya Angelou, Alice Walker, and Margaret Mitchell, who helped me get it right.

To Lenora, who put up with every Idiot-induced nervous breakdown.

To the Idiots. Go fuck yourselves.

I think in the end, if in fact we ever GET there, I am remaining dedication-less. The people who I have to thank know how grateful I am. You know who you are. Every tear, curse, and snapped nerve have hopefully not been for nothing. Toni Morrison says that if you wanna fly you gotta give up the shit that weighs you down. I think I can honestly say that inkpop has been weighing me down for a long, long time. How nice it will be to finally be free of it all. I am going to enjoy life again. No matter how bad the HC review comes back, it won't matter. I tried, didn't I? God damn it, at least I did that.

Sunday, September 12, 2010


I've taken it upon myself to teach myself absolutely everything I need to know in order to be a good writer. So that means I spent the afternoon playing with the dogs in Washington Square Park and browsing Shakespeare and Co. (Which is only the best bookstore EVER.) I picked up The Journals of Sylvia Plath and Angels in America, which I have surprisingly never read. So far it's evident to me that the only two writers in history who really knew what they were doing were Sylvia Plath and Toni Morrison. I read their work and I think to myself, "How could you possibly have known that about me?" That constitutes getting it right in my book. But hope springs eternal. I have high hopes for Nabokov. Lolita's up next after I finish Perestroika. Of course, first I have to finish Jazz, Manic, The Color Purple, and the journals. I am thinking I may have overestimated my abilities a little bit.

I almost forgot. Today in September the 12. Happy Frank Mills day!

Friday, September 10, 2010

Captain Passive-Agressive

Today I was told, "Of course you don't have to worry about auditions. You're just a professional audience member." Oh. Wow. Is it me or was that dangerously close to being a resounding "fuck you!"? If it was, then right back atcha. This professional audience member is writing your review.

Inkpop Idiots also blabbing about me on the forums. Let them. I LOVE that, really and truly. They think I'm a bitch. Means I'm doing this right. My law teacher told me what it's like to get someone on the witness stand. "You be their buddy. Sweet talk 'em. Lead 'em down that road and then BAM! You cut their throat." That's marvelous, but that's not how I inkpoperate. (I know, right?) I'm not St. Jimmy. This isn't shut your mouth before I shoot you down. I'll let you talk, but I'll silently think to myself that you're an idiot. Moderately kidding. I'm not cutting any throats here. I just can't help it if your stupidity gets in the way of your day to day functioning.

Can you tell I'm in one of my bitchy moods? Sorry. Claude came to lay on my feet and help me with the story I was working. Little did I know that he had just wolfed down my dinner. He threw up on my feet. I hate everything. I'm also pissed that I have to miss Broadway on Broadway. I love that freaking thing. And the tickets for Cabaret are sold out the weekend I'm in Boston. And I'm gaining weight like a bitch. And and and and and and and.

Oh, how loverly. Pretty sure my neighbor's garage just exploded. Well, that certainly invalidates everything in this post, doesn't it. Gonna go check it out.

Tuesday, September 7, 2010

Fall Docket

Inkpop is as soul-grinding as ever, but with any luck it'll all be over soon. I have to admit there is some kind of elation in seeing someone try to pass you and repeatedly fail, God help me. There's a Churchill quote that I like that says something like, "In life there is nothing so exhilirating as to be shot at without result."

Well, since school's back in session and I'm about to cut summer's ripcord and slip on into fall, I think it's time to set a fall docket, don't you? I have this theory, see: seasons that start on odd numbered years suck, and the ones that start on even-numbered years are much better. This year doesn't look like it's going to break tradition, thank the Lord. Aside from the perfection of Ragtime, last season was a total snore. Oh, well. Leave it be and let it end. This fall and winter I think I'll have a go at:

Mrs. Warren's Profession
Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown
La Bete
Pee-Wee's Playhouse (I was a big fan as a kid.)
Driving Miss Daisy
Bloody Blood Andrew Jackson (My bet for Best Musical.)

Not too shabby. So Yank got pushed off a year, so what? Priscilla's coming in in time for the Tony's. That's gonna be another fun one. Lately I've been realizing that theatre in fact can be fun without having to account for itself. I look at all the new shows coming in and all the new blood that we're getting and I am excited. And, for the record, I freaking love the artwork for Mrs. Warren's Profession.

Sunday, September 5, 2010

The Best of Times

is now. What's left of summer but a faded rose? The best of times is now. As for tomorrow, well, who knows?

Sorry. I've yet to stop singing that song since I soft-shoed my way out of the balcony at the Longacre last night after an impromptu visit to my favorite gay cabaret. The show is fun. Glitzy, glittering fun. I'm sorry I didn't have Lenora with me, but I still enjoyed myself. It's a great show. Better than Ragtime? No. Nothing I've ever seen has been better than Ragtime. But still good. Douglas Hodge is wonderful. VEANNE COX. Yay Caroline, or Change. I stood up for her at curtain call and I am not ashamed to admit that. And I sang along and danced and twirled. I was not ashamed. I was happy and sorry for everyone that was not. Every Republican needs to see La Cage. Albin summed it up for me, "Be NICE." What a hypocrite I am.

I've never heard an audience laugh quite so hard. Lots of screams and shrieks of surprise of surprise that made me wonder if Karen Weston was sitting in the mezzanine. I think I'll always remember when Georges and Albin kissed at the end and the audience went crazy for them. I thought that was really something special. Glenn Beck, Rush Limbaugh, Fred Phelps, Pat Robertson - drop what you are doing and go see La Cage. Learn something. Laugh at yourselves at little. Everyone else is.

I also saw American Idiot yesterday afternoon. I am terrified of St. Jimmy. I will never not be terrified of St. Jimmy.

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

At last.

Success. Hold your hats and hallelujah, tonight is celebration. More tomorrow. There is at long son of a bitching last something to smile and laugh about. I've never been so happy to see September in my life.

Tuesday, August 31, 2010


I have a pounding headache and my entire family and I are crammed into this goddamn hotel room. Every single one of them is snoring like a velociraptor, which means I get to stay up all night or sleep on the fucking balcony. I am inches away from smothering myself with my pillow or hurling this laptop through the blurry TV. As good a time as any for a blog.

I am so tired I could drop. There is no ear plug strong enough to block out my dad's snoring. Inkpop Idiots are as exasperating as ever and I am getting nowhere with anything. I don't like any of my Facebook friends that are online so it's not like I can talk to any of them. Stupid conservative aunt stopping me from seeing La Cage and wants to talk to my mother about keeping me away from Emerson cause she's afraid I'll turn into a lesbian. Maybe if I sit here and stare enough daggers at my father he will wake up and be quiet for the first time in three hours. I am angry. So angry. This laptop has no sound. No more Pretty Little Liars episodes until January. No more Syliva Plath books until ever.

God help me, I am never getting married. I like myself far too much for that. Plus I've been told I'm too crazy to ever get married. Son of a bitch, that's true.

You know who I hate? The women on the Real Housewives of New Jersey. All they ever do is try to rip each other's hair out. Whatever happened to class - yeah, you won't find it with me. Someday I will learn to dance like Gwen Verdon, act like Judi Dench and sing like Christine Ebersole. It's only a thought. Maybe then I would be able to get my own son of a bitching hotel room.

I get to meet Bill Clinton on Friday through work. I do not plan on telling him I am an intern.

Someone on inkpop wants to commit literary suicide, and I just realized I have absolutely no reason to tell them they shouldn't. Because really, I think they just should. There is nothing good on that site - just stress and never ending frustration. I don't remember the last time I had fun there. We're all competing for a pat on the head from some Harper Collins editor who isn't going to tell us anything we don't already know.

Saturday, August 28, 2010

God Damn Everything

So my book fell again and I received the most astonishing message:

"dnt giv up ur book isnt gud but u giv gud comments there funny"

Forgive me. Actually, don't. Fuck you. As Barb Fordham said, "You'd have a lot more credibility if you had any credibility." I'm pretty sure something just broke and I cannot. go. any. more. What kind of animals am I dealing with? Christ, when this is over I'm going to be canonized or institutionalized.

Tuesday, August 24, 2010


So Katie Finneran just announced her pregnancy. She got married on Sunday. I am deeply suspicious, but congratulations to the happy couple.

Sunday, August 22, 2010

Oh, Inkpop

You know what I love? When people feel obligated to give me a negative review just because I gave them one first, and then send me a message crying about how I don't know anything and how disappointing my book is.

You know what else I love? When people have enough of a spine to actually give negative reviews. I respect that.

Thursday, August 19, 2010

Booky Bitch

So I've found one little thing that makes me like LuPone. On the Gypsy CD during Smile Girls - the first time she says, "Smile Marjorie Maaaaayyyy." It's pretty nifty.

So if I'm going to be a writer (and my SAT results tell me I am) I need to start talking about books, right? Of course right. And not books like OMG THE BOOK OF IN THE HEIGHTS SUX. So here's a list of what I read this summer.

The Bell Jar - Plath

Jazz - Toni Morrison

American Eve - Paula Uruburu

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings - Maya Angelou

Johnny Panic and the Bible of Dreams - Plath

The Collected Poems - Plath

Night - Elie Wiesel

So yeah. I love Plath, obviously. Daddy is my new favorite poem. American Eve was about Evelyn Nesbit, The Bell Jar was The Bell Jar and Jazz was good but Beloved It Ain't. But Night. Oh, Lord, shall I talk about Night. I bought it at the Lower East Side Tenement Museum. As I was handing it to the cashier the guy behind me said, "You ever read Night before? You won't be the same after you do." Trust me. I needed the warning; it's about the Holocaust. I started reading it when I was sitting on a bench on Orchard Street, and I came to a part about throwing infants into the air for target practice. I thought to myself, "What the hell did I just get myself into?" and I stuffed the book in my bag and did not open it again until seven hours later, when I was sitting waiting for Night Music to begin. And I read it. And at intermission I read some more. And more at the stage door. And some more on the ride home, when I finished it. It is a short book and finishing it was one of the hardest things I've ever done. It is terrifying. It didn't bring me to tears, but it did make me shake like a scared child.

I don't like this book. No human being on the planet should "like" this book. I don't know what it says about you if you do. But I am deeply, deeply grateful that it was written and that I had a chance to read it. If you've never done it, do it now.

Wednesday, August 18, 2010


I was just bribed into visiting SUNY Binghamton because they're putting on Streetcar in October. I have no interest in actually going to school there. On the other hand, I've never seen a live production of my favorite play and my parents know me too well. Oh, dear. I'm a spoiled bitch, aren't I. Well, no more than Michelle Obama, who took 40 people to Spain and rented 60 hotel rooms on the government's money.

That's right, folks! She need 60 HOTEL ROOMS FOR 40 PEOPLE. Isn't it rich? Isn't it queer? Isn't it ridiculously untrue? Not only that, but right wing liars are bad at math. Claude could have come up with better numbers. And he doesn't even have thumbs.

Monday, August 16, 2010

Every Day A Little Death

Some bastard in my phone bank just called me a horrible name because I interrupted his dinner. Men are stupid, men are vain.

Saturday, August 14, 2010

Bring Down the Curtain

I just received an inkpop message saying "hi im jew to dis site read my book" I think it's time to leave at last, when I can still pack up whatever's left of my dignity.

Bring Up the Curtain

I was bitterly disappointed by what I saw last night at the Kerr. Bernadette Peters, I felt, is almost unendurable as Desiree. She raises her arms in the air on every single line and practically screams it. She is never serious until Send in the Clowns, which did not impress me much. It seemed the only way she showed emotion during the song was by either splaying her fingers over her face or looking up at the ceiling. My mother fell asleep and I was counting the minutes until the Miller's Son.

While Bernadette is chewing scenery and everyone else seems bored beyond belief, Elaine Stritch is giving a dynamite performance and Leigh Ann Larkin is still a very alluring Petra. That's about all I can say, though. Ramona Mallory's Anne has turned into a twisted, ANNOYING, giggling idiot of a little girl who can't manage to say anything audible or coherent. There were hardly any smiles at the curtain call. In fact, I saw a few yawns and Ramona Mallory looked incredibly pissed off. I wasn't expecting her to stagedoor, and I wasn't going to bother her if she did. But she did. And it was awkward. It went like this.

Her: Hi, my name is Ramona.
Me: Ok. Hi.
I thought she was trying to be like Dainty June, so I just kind of smiled, but then I realized that she was staring at the guest sticker I got from NYU. It wasn't a "Hi my name is" sticker.
Her: No, cause you have the...oh. I thought it was a nametag.

A very rumpled, tired, and overheated Leigh Ann Larkin complimented my headband, but not before Aaron Lazaar told the girl next to me that no, he would not sleep with her. I think I am going to lay stagedooring to a rest pretty soon. It's not fun anymore.

So, lesson for the day: shoulda seen La Cage.

Thursday, August 12, 2010

The Glamorous Life

So, before we start - Fela FAIL. Sorry bout that, folks.

Now. This afternoon I was sitting in the living room, working on a poem and cursing like Barbara Fordham. (Ever tried to write a poem that doesn't suck? Try. It's more strenuous than running a marathon.) Anyway, Mom drifted in, saw me sitting in a sea of crumpled papers and empty Powerade bottles, and said, "You look stressed. We should see a show tomorrow night." And that we will do. We've got such lovely Night Music tickets. I am no BP fan, but huzzah for Elaine Stritch. I very nearly picked La Cage, but perhaps that will come later. Still, send in the sonofabitching clowns. I'm gonna get to see Elaine Stritch in one of her bitchy moods.

Tuesday, August 10, 2010


So Claude likes to roam around, and for the most part I let him. That ends today. About an hour ago I heard giggling, so I looked out and saw that two little demon twelve year old girls next door had him cornered. They were calling him Kitty, poking him with a stick and trying to pull his tail. Right away I said to myself, "Okay, that's not gonna fly." I mean, those motherfuckers were breaking shit with my cat! And, goddammit, he may not like wearing collars but he is MY. CAT.

So I did what you would have done. I went Patti LuPone on their asses. I went out into the backyard and up to the fence. The altercation went like this:

Me: What are you doing?
Girls: Playing with the kitty.
Me: That's my cat and he doesn't like having his tail pulled.
Girls: Yes, he does.
Me: Can I come to your house and poke you with a stick?
(Claude takes the opportunity to run out of there like a bat out of hell.)
Girls: Aww, he ran away.
Me: Yeah, cause you were bothering him. Don't do it again.
Girls: What's his name?
Me: You wanna know his name?
Girls: Yeah.
Me: Too bad.

And that was the end of it. I considered letting Claude teach them the lesson himself by scratching them, but I opted out of having two little bitches screaming that I let my cat hurt them.

Double Sigh

Well, it's coming. Spiderman opens on Dec 21. I am very happy and worried for Jennifer Damiano. This cannot end well.

Sunday, August 8, 2010


A blurry picture of my buddy Claude. He is the only one I am ever happy to see anymore. I am thinking I'm gonna end up like Little Edie.

Saturday, August 7, 2010


Before I start, my cat Claude is sitting by the window going MOWMOWMOWMOWMOWMOW. I think it means something like, "Include me in the sonofabitching post, and there better be tuna for dinner." Arrogant little bastard. He's just like his momma - all fat and grey and bitchy and lazy. He also likes George Hearn more than any male cat should. He loves I Am What I Am. Claudio's getting a feather boa and wig next time he's in a good mood.

Anyway. My mom suggested that I make my pen name Peggy Ross. Jesus Christ. That sounds like an old lonely Irish lady writing romance novels in the attic. Which, God help me, is what I may turn out to be. So here are some names I've been considering, though I don't see what's wrong with my own.

Vivien Ripley
Betsy Knight
Olivia Mallory
Virginia O'Neill

Fact is I think I hate every single one of these names.

Wednesday, August 4, 2010


Prop 8 has been overturned. THIS IS A BIG SONOFABITCHING DEAL. My background today is in honor of this momentous day, the work that's been done, and the work that's yet to be done. I am what I am. You are what you are, and there's nobody that's gonna change any of that. What a comforting and wonderful thing that is.

Tuesday, August 3, 2010

Nobody Likes You

So I spent the week in Maryland, and I sincerely wish I had not. Some redneck slammed into me on the gokarts so hard that I got a concussion and passed out. I opened my eyes to see him standing over me in a camo hat and tank top, scratching his bald head. He said to me, and I quote, "Sorry, kitty. Giss Ah hitcha purty hard thur, din't Ah?" Don't kitty me, you son of a bitch. And yes, you did hit me very hard. I would have thought you could have gathered that when my car spun out and I was slumped over the wheel with my eyes closed.

I am stupid. I know that. It's just a comfort to know that there are people much dumber than I am. For instance, today my brother was whining because he's tired of reading about the "Joe-ads and how the dustbowl destroyed their house or some shit." My itty bitty English major's heart split along its faultline.

Apparently, a family friend is producing Women on the Verge. Lenora's over the moon about that because of Sherie Rene Scott, and I'm very happy for D'Adre Aziza and BRIAN FREAKING STOKES MITCHELL, but now I have to pretend to like and possibly be nice to Patti LuPone. I was told, "Hey, maybe we'll all do lunch after a Saturday mat or something." I severely, sincerely do not want to go to lunch with Patti LuPone, and somehow I don't think she's too keen on dining with me either. Several reasons:

1. She rests between shows.
2. I would have no earthly idea what to say.
3. All I'd be able to think about is STOP TAKING PICTURES
4. I'd sit through the meal overcome with the fear that she may at any moment smash a salad plate over my head.

So I'll see the show, but, diva or no, I think that is one invitation I will be declining.

Monday, August 2, 2010

See You in Hell

Some kid at driver's ed decided to tell me I'm fat. Well, actually, he saw me reading and said, "Don't you hate fat bitches who read all the time?" I was hurt, but I said, "Not really. But still, thank God there are no fat girls around here or that would have really hurt." He just kind of blinked at me and we both backed down. You don't wanna break shit with me, motherfucker.

Deliberate cruelty is not forgivable. I'd never even met that son of a bitch before. I just don't get what he could have gained by deciding to call me fat. It's actually a great comfort to have that confirmed for me. For a while there I thought all my friends were turning anorexic. Oh, well. Sticks and stones, Kate Monster. That bastard can just kiss my fat literary ass.

Sunday, August 1, 2010

Not a Day Goes By

My heart is once again broken. I was inches away from the top five and some motherfucker blew by me. This leads me to believe that I'm not a good writer and should maybe be a prostitute. Problem is my own brother tells me I'm a grenade so I guess I won't be good at that either. This is a list of things that happened today:

1. I failed at inkpop. Again.
2. My cousin that I love more than anything said she didn't love me and then showered everyone else with kisses.
3. I freaked out while driving because SOMEBODY had to sit in the back, eat his chicken, and critique me every time I hit the gas or flipped the blinker.
4. My own brother told me I'm too fat and ugly and crazy to get married. Not a day goes by when I don't remind myself of that anyway.
5. I realized I am never going to get to see Stritch.
6. My aunt got me Green Day tickets and then decided to give them away.

Throw all of these things together and it makes me think I'm not worth very much. This is not a cry for help and it's not a chance for you to tell me I need a psychiatrist. Had that covered a long time ago. And to top it all off, I'm stuck in Maryland. I'm just not in the mood for Republicans right now.

Saturday, July 31, 2010


Look at pretty Madame Plath. She was hot. I just finished my beloved Bell Jar for the third time, and every time I've read it I've found something new. It feels like Sylvia is speaking from the grave, which I know she is not. If there is any justice in the world that lovely lady is resting in unadulterated peace and calm. Modern research suggests she was bipolar, like Vivien Leigh. Poor, tortured, wonderful women.

Friday, July 30, 2010


I lost the spot again, Mama. This means I get to play this game all the way into October. I think I'll have shot myself before then.

Monday, July 26, 2010


I am tired of inkpop and incredibly bored with it. It's not fun anymore and I want to stop. It doesn't make a difference to me anymore, really. There is nothing good on that website. All I've ever gotten were comments full of people falling all over themselves to generically compliment me, and that doesn't do anybody any good. In fact, it's deeply insulting. I would much rather get a well-written scathing review than a laudatory one written by someone who didn't read past the prologue. I know why my story is struggling. It's because I tell people the truth and don't kiss anybody's mediocre ass, so they don't feel obligated to help me out. That rancid little community is built on lies, flattery, and predictable romance. To be perfectly honest, I don't want to be associated with an organization like that. Maybe my high horse and I will just ride over to a place where honesty is appreciated.

Friday, July 23, 2010

Working Girl

Had a very enjoyable day at the office. Olga from Belarus, Mr. Upper East Side and I sat around sucking Snapple and trying out our nifty new headsets. Makes me feel like I'm in 9 to 5. I had a few interesting calls. One woman said, "WELL, TELL THE CONGRESSMAN HE CAN FUCKING DROP DEAD!" She followed it up with "AND YOU CAN GO FUCK YOURSELF, YOU DIRTY LIBERAL WHORE!" (When I told the story to my mother I left that part out.) Fun fun fun. My favorite part is calling married men. Usually the fat sour cat of a wife answers and demands to know why a young girl is calling her husband. Olga from Belarus told one lady she was calling to tell the husband she couldn't meet him at the motel. Christ Jesus. She's gonna get the both of us fired.

Still, Olga from Belarus is marvelous. I came into work today excited to debut my new haircut. The bitch upstaged me. She cut and dyed her hair into what she calls a Rihanna wedge. There was some other story there, but when she talks as fast as she was talking her accent comes back and you can't understand a word she's saying. The other day I told her I liked her purple nail polish, and she started telling me about OPI and shrekollections (?) and donkeys. Oddly enough, a few days later I was checking the Twitter of American Idiot's Aspen Vincent, who apparently paints her nails purple too. It was then that I realized that she had been trying to tell me the color was from the Shrek Collection and was called Funkey Dunkey. Oh. Well in that case, never mind. Can I just digress a second on the subject of Aspen Vincent? She's married to Tony Vincent who plays St. Jimmy, who scares the crap out of me. But her Twitter is basically a pastiche of random anecdotes, pictures of her hairless cat, and TMI updates about cramps and PMS. I appreciate your openness, Mrs. Vincent, but I don't need to know all that. Jesus Christ, I'm an ass-aching Puritan, aren't I? It's a filthy, foul group of people that works on Broadway. Said the dirty liberal whore.

Thursday, July 22, 2010

The End

Taken me a few days to gather my thoughts, but I'll start with what Lenora will expect me to. So Alice skipped us at the stagedoor. There's only one explanation: Alice Ripley HATES us. Waah waah. Sorry, Lenny. It's not like she came out and kicked us in the face. There are worse things than that. Someone behind me at the stagedoor said, "She wouldn't skip all of us. Not our Alice." Ok. Wait, what? You have an Alice? I don't have an Alice. I don't want an Alice. Creepy.

Anyway. Why did I forget how good Brian D'Arcy James was? Idjit me. He's great, but, God help me, all I could see was Shrek. Sorry, man. And Alice. Oh, lovely Alice. She was as wonderful as ever. Here's the thing - Next to Normal doesn't get to me anymore. I have no heart, remember? Wrong. Apparently I do, because So Anyway sawed it open. I mean, really. "So anyway, I'm leaving..." Lenora sat next to me sobbing, but I didn't cry. I just clawed all the skin off my chest. Still have red marks. Alice very nearly cracked on the last lines because she was crying so hard. "I loved you once and though, I love you still I know, it's time for me to go. And so..." BIG PAUSE "goodbye." At that moment I felt my heart crack open and spill its contents. It was one of my favorite theatrical moments, right up there with seeing Angela Lansbury's first entrace in Night Music and dancing onstage at Hair.

I may be the one person who laughs at the end of Next to Normal, but I was so overwhelmed that I was just giggling hysterically. When Kitt and Yorkey made their speeches at the end, Lenora scared the crap out of me. She just grabbed my arm and screamed out, "OH MY GOD, IT'S TOM KITT!!" Good Lord. I never knew she felt that way.

So I met Jessica Phillips and I did not throw my Playbill in her face. I've decided I don't hate her anymore. She went on for Ripley twice, and I was not happy to see her either time. I had to project my rage onto somebody. Sorry, lady. I will concede that your I Miss the Mountains was beautifully sung.

Sunday, July 18, 2010

The Queen Honeybee

Sorry. Reading The Color Purple. Yes, Alice is leaving tonight. It's gonna be a sad day, but I'm all powdered, crimped, cut, lipsticked, heeled, and ready to go. I've learned a lot just by watching her. I don't know when I'll ever use any of it, but I learned it. I love her, but not in a scary way. I'll miss her, but not in a scary way. My cat actually let me pet him today. I think he senses that I'm feeling a little down.

Journey on, lovely lady. I salute you. God be with you. I will miss you.

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Phone Bank Fun

Work just keeps gettin' better. I love working the phones. Mr. Upper East Side and I have a running contest to see who can make the most calls. I'm winning, but only because he spends so much time talking to me, rearranging furniture, and hiding Olga from Belarus's cigarettes. Olga from Belarus paints her nails purple. She's awesome.

You know what else is awesome? The names I come across in my phone bank. So far I've had:

Jon Lennon
Lance Armstrong
Bettie White
my neighbor
Gay Moon
Andrew Dacunto
Mildred Yafuck
Will Ferril
Michael Jackson
Lois Griffen
Mary Gently (she told me to go to hell)
Karen Olivo (I almost died. It wasn't that Karen Olivo.)

Saturday, July 10, 2010


Someone called my book art today. My book is not art. I am not an artist. Toni Morrison and Maya Angelou are artists. Sylvia Plath was an artist. Sondheim's lyrics, Ripley's performances - art. Underwater from Caroline, or Change. That is art. My stupid little book is not. Is it good? Maybe. Hopefully. But art it's not.

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

Freedom Experts

You know what I love? My job. I sit behind a desk and chat with people and wait for the phone to ring. It's great fun. There's Mr. Upper East Side and The Boss Aged 19 and Olga from Belarus and they are a fun buncha folks. Mr. Upper East Side is exactly my age and talks to me about the city. Today we had an argument about the merits of Bryant Park. (It does SO have a lawn, god damn it.) He is very rich and gets driven around the city in a town car. He offered me a ride home today. Don't mind if I do. Olga from Belarus is marvelous. She can't work the phones because of her accent and she speaks English faster than anyone I've ever met, so she tells me stories about Europe - England, Paris, Czech Republic (she loves Prague) and Amsterdam. I asked her what Amsterdam was like and she gave me a no-holds-barred description. I love Europeans. So here's the PG version:

-lots of pot
-prostitutes in windows
-sex shops

Yum. I felt like I was in Passing Strange. So yeah. That's what I do all day. What's your job? Mine's better.

Monday, July 5, 2010

A Weekend in the Country

Spent a few days at Maisie's country house. There is a reason nobody lives up there. But I got some very bad news about my book. I was furious. I wanted to quit. The line from American Idiot kept pulsing through my head. "Farewell, I'll see you in hell. I hope you rest in pieces - FUCK YOU!" I went to bed fully ready to end this madness in the morning - literary suicide. Something weird happened. I woke up in the middle of the night and my iPod, which I had turned off before I went to bed, was on. I reached for it and listened. Everything's Coming Up Roses was playing. My grandmother was a big Gypsy fan. Before she died I sat and watched the movie with her, and when the song came on she reached for my hand and murmured, "I love this song." She loved the song and she loved me. And I will keep going because she believed I could.

It's not over till you're underground. Nanny is, but guess what. I'm not and neither is this book. I will not move from where I'm standing and this is not over yet.

Thursday, July 1, 2010

Little Ears

So. American Idiot. Bright lights, big city. Yes, I did write on the walls. I took out my silver sharpie and wrote STOP TAKING PICTURES. By golly, that's just what I done. But we'll get to that.

First things first. Lenora knows the story. I'm not going into it, but here's the bare bones - Dear guy in the Lincoln Center library - GO TO HELL. I'm not trying to burn the place down. I just want to watch Caroline, or Change. So sue me already, Mr. Crabby Appleton. The guy infront of me got bitched out cause he wanted to watch August: Osage County. Thank God that wasn't me. Deny me my Westons. I dare you.

So on my way to the theatre, I mozied on through Times Square in the crushes of people and distinctly heard some lady behind me say, "I hate when people cross against the light and I hate Times Square. It never woulda happened with Giuliani." Sigh. I was immediately reminded of one of Stewie's best lines - "Is she retarded?" God. I can hear you, folks. And I am making fun of you.

The show. Put it this way - Norma Desmond would have loved it because NOBODY EVER TALKED. Seriously. There were like ten spoken lines. But I did enjoy it when it wasn't trying so hard to be something it wasn't. I mean - when Favorite Son puts on the army garb? Try a little bit harder to be Hair. I dare you. So let's see what we've got. I'll make a checklist.

sex - check
drugs - check
unwanted pregnancy -check
nudity - pretty close. Whatsername I'm looking at you.
bizarre choreography - SON OF A BITCHING CHECK, especially for the girls.

Most of the show consists of them screaming at you while flashing strobes in your face. Fun fun fun and seizure seizure seizure. It just gets tired. Towards the end, when they sing 'somebody get me out of here' I couldn't help thinking, "Take me with you." Also, I'm scared of St. Jimmy.

So. Show ends. Since it was Mummy and me we got to stay as long as we wanted. I love her. There are times when she just astounds me, but not always in a good way. For instance. Rebecca Naomi Jones comes to us.

Me, in some lightning strike moment of non-shyness: I love your hair.
Her: Oh, thanks. There's a lot of it.
Mom: Like Kacie Sheik.

Silence. WHAT?! I hope to God that both of them knew who my mom was talking about. Still, I have no idea how she could have possibly remembered that. Careful the things you say. Mothers will listen.

She was followed by Gerard Canonico, a Spring Awakening alum. Apparently he knew the people next to me, so he stayed and chatted with them for a while. Now, I don't know him. I don't know them. Bet your ass I was listening to every single word they were saying. And let me tell you he was saying some pretty not-nice things about the Spring Awakening replacements.

Unprofessional? Yes.
Immature? Yes.
True? Yes.

On the way back I asked Mom the question I ask after every show - Was it good or did it suck? She loved it, actually. Shocking. I said it was okay, but all Whatsername did was scream. Mom got very quiet. I turned around, and of course Rebecca Naomi Jones was there, about five paces behind me, glaring at me with afro atremble. I fail.

Sunday, June 27, 2010

Moving On

I guess I'm not all that cut up about Hair. Still, I'm wearing a sundress and my purple flower pendant to American Idiot. Old habits die hard. Sigh. What does it say about me that I'm most excited about being able to write on the walls at the theatre? Jesus, it's a luxury I've never known. I'm no Rent fan. What should I write? I've been considering:

3. EFF U MEMPHIS (Kidding. I would never.)

And of course it will be in ALL CAPS LIKE THIS AND POSSIBLY IN BUBBLE LETTERS. I learned that from someone else (I WON'T SAY ALICE RIPLEY.) Lately I've come to the conclusion that she isn't crazy. She's just a very lovely, very ordinary, very bored lady.

I am going to miss Hair. I'm gonna miss the music and the lights and the laughs and the tears and the joy that fills your lungs up with helium and turns your legs to jelly. There are things I won't remember, but there are things I'll never forget. I'm not sorry I'm not there, though. I'm just sorry that it had to end at all. Leave it be and let it end.

Life is sunny life is gravy. Thank you Jesus, thank you navy.

Sad Face

Hair's closing today, and I'm not going to be there. I've never missed this closing of a show I love this much. Here's the thing- for me, Hair closed when the original tribe left, or at least it should have. At least then they would have gone out with some dignity. And I was there for that at least. Ah, well. Eyes, look your last. Arms, take your last embrace. Sending all my love to the Hirschfeld.

Friday, June 25, 2010

Life is Funny

From here on in, I am using that picture EVERY SINGLE CHANCE I GET. Someone says something stupid on Broadwayworld - BAM! JENN DAMIANO IS NOT AMUSED. Confession - I think I've met her like twice, but I am just a teensy bit scared of her. She looks like she could grow up to be the next LuPone.

Darling Mumsy (I hate myself) has surprised me with end-of-the-year American Idiot tickets. (Lenora don't hate me.) Very excited, except I freaking hate the St. James. It's my least favorite theatre, next to the busted-ass Majestic. Word has it that you can write on the walls now? I'm gonna go in there and write "Stop taking pictures." Maybe someone will get it. Still, very excited. Haven't had a day with Mummy in a long time, and maybe I'll finally be able to try that Cajun place on 46th. Or maybe I can just go to Junior's, buy a slab o' strawberry cheesecake and fill my iced tea up with six pounds of sugar like I always do. The possibilites are almost endless. Gonna be a blast from the past seeing John Gallagher go on again. No matter how hard I try, I'll probably only be able to see the spastic suicidal German kid, God rest him.

So I've got a new favorite Sondheim song - Could I Leave You? I never knew Follies came after Company. Idjit. Anyway, it's a hilarious song. You bet your ass. Sondheim likes that phrase. So do I.

My New Favorite Thing

Jenn Damiano does not approve.

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

Woody and Tinny

In my years of writing and liftetime of talking, I've developed a passion and a tremendous distaste for words. When you're up at four in the morning lying on the kitchen floor because you dropped an eighty-page manuscript on your way back from the printer, you come across words. And you learn to love and hate them. Duck and strap in, folks. It's time for another list.


refresh and all its variations

Or maybe I'm just talking to myself again.

Monday, June 21, 2010

Not a Day Goes By

When's the day I'll have started forgetting?

Thursday, June 17, 2010

Lovely Ladies

Broadway is full of nobodies. Go into a sports bar and say Alice Ripley. See what happens. Back yet? Ok. But here's the thing - there are Nobodies of Broadway, and that's when you know you're really in bad shape. The chorus girls, the Guy Who Went On Once For Sweeney in 1980, and all the Wicked swings and understudies. It's a shame, though. Some people are truly, truly talented and never really get a chance to step into the spotlight. In this day and age, unless you count Nathan Lane, most of the leading Broadway performers are big belting women. I guess they love their divas. But really, stop to consider:

Brynn O'Malley
Vianne Cox
Phoebe Strole
Lynette Perry
Leigh Ann Larkin
Leslie Kritzer
Kacie Sheik
Tonya Pinkins
Leenya Rideout
Heather Laws

Not a Tony among them. Of course the divas are talented, and I'm not trying to kick Audra or Bebe in the face here. I'm just shifting the spotlight a bit. No harm in that.

Monday, June 14, 2010


Can we all agree that the Tonys sucked this year? Let's pick out some particular lowlights, shall we?

1. Idina Menzel shushing the Ragtime fans.
2. Catherine Zeta Jones making it look like Desiree had a nervous twitch.
3. Katie Finneran is not Karine Plantadit. Sorry, she's just not.
4. The best play eff up.

1. Katie Finneran
2. Angela Lansbury
3. Bebe
4. CZJ
5. Lea Michele

1. Cathy Zuber
2. Bernadette Peters
3. Christiane Noll
4. Katie Holmes
5. Barbara Cook

And Alice did not present. Maybe we are lucky for that. Ah, well. Maybe next season won't be so goddamn lackluster.

On the plus side, I did see Sondheim on Sondheim yesterday afternoon. It was nice to see Barbara Cook, even if she did not do much. I never knew what a great show Merrily We Roll Along is. Norm Lewis is brilliant. Being Alive was the very best part of the show. It was the kind of moment that brings me to the edge of my seat and twists my insides around until I'm wound up tight as a spring and practically choking on my tongue. Moments like that are rare.

The intensity is what makes it all worth it. The first time I saw Hair, I ripped my Playbill to shreds during the be-in. I don't get why people go to the theatre expecting to forget their problems. It doesn't make a bit of difference to anybody if you come out the way you went in, does it?

Saturday, June 12, 2010


Feeling depressed. My Tony party's tomorrow night. I need to clean up and wrap the presents. So I just finished listening to the entire score of Caroline, or Change. I wish I had seen it. But it got me thinking. What are the saddest songs I know?

Another Winter in a Summer Town - Grey Gardens
Make Them Hear You - Ragtime
Underwater - Caroline, or Change
My Child Will Forgive Me - Parade
At the Glen - Dessa Rose
So Anyway - Next to Normal
Left Behind - Spring Awakening
Sunday - Sunday in the Park

No, I did not just push my chair back and lean over to mentally scan my CD collection. The very nerve.

Not so excited for the Tonys. Christiane Noll is not going to win. Neither is Ragtime. Sorry, Lenora, but neither is Sherrie. But I get to see Christiane Noll do Back to Before. I'll cry. Alice Ripley's presenting. Oh, dear. I am genuinely scared for her, and a little scared of her. She's been getting increasingly erratic these days. I'm scared of what she'll get up there and say, though I don't see how she could possibly make it any worse for herself than she already did. Her actions are forgiven but not so easily forgotten.

Now that school's out it's time for me to start arranging my summer docket. Tomorrow's Sondheim on Sondheim, and then I've got:

Next to Normal
Everyday Rapture
American Idiot

Sigh. It was a lackluster season, I am thinking. Oh, and I can't forget Night Music. No missing Elaine Stritch. No missing Leigh Ann Larkin's Miller's Son. No missing Ramona Mallory sing from the back of her throat.

Lenora got president of the drama club, but now they need a show. I've pitched

Sunday in the Park

They've all been shot down mericlessly. It's gonna end up being High School Musical. Lord save us. Because really, God knows we can't put any effort into this. All-girls school means we always end up doing a ridiculously girl-heavy show. Night Music could have worked. Damn you, revival. Damn you, scaredy cat director. It's not impossible for a high school to get Sondheim right. I've seen it happen more than once.

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

God Damn It

Yes, I did. Yes, I am. No, I won't be.

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

BAU as usual? Can we all just go back to hating Rush Limbaugh now? Ewwwww grosssss. Fat son of bitching Vicodin-sopping idjit.

Got word today that Annie and Funny Girl are coming back. I could do without Little Red, but Funny Girl is a big deal. Most people are gonna call for Stephanie J. Block or Lea Michele. I don't know who I'm backing just yet. Also found out that Jennifer Damiano is also leaving on July 18. Should be a fun night, save the pop-eyed freshman who stalks me and thinks I'll be Gabe for Halloween just so she can be Diana. I swear to God that kid just shows up out of nowhere. Today she asked me if I had seen Ripley's new hair color yet. Wait, what?! WHAT?! How the eff could you possibly know that? Did you bribe the hairdresser like in Sunset Boulevard? I tell you, it's goddamn terrifying. If this kid's not Broadwayspotted, I don't know who is. I wonder what would happen if I asked her if she thinks Elaine Stritch will be a good Madame Armfeldt. I don't know, maybe a nuclear sinkhole would form or something.


Alice Ripley Hey guys- I just want to say how sorry I am for my recent post. It was careless and thoughtless and I assure you it is not a reflection of the way I really feel. Anyone who knows me knows that I’ve always supported the gay community and will continue to do so. I’m embarrassed and I apologize.

Good girl. Okay. Now that THAT'S over with, this old girl has some clarifications of her own to make. I told the people who were angered by Ripley's comment to "chill the hell out." I don't take that back. Everyone was caught up in the tumult, including myself. We ALL needed to chill the hell out. Anyway, I was told to go fuck myself. But I certainly was not trying to demean homosexuals or discount anyone's past struggles. I know what it's like, okay? I don't know anyone's personal history, but I know what it's like to feel victimized. Poor me, right? But I did get out of line, and so did Ripley, and so did everyone else. And I'm sorry I wasn't able to keep a more level head.

Problem is I think everyone has some issue that they're sensitive, or hypersensitive about, deservedly so. Okay, here I go - I've had depression for the past three years, and I was always ashamed of that, but I'm not here to whine about my easy life. I'm just trying to tell you that I KNOW what it's like to be alert for every insult and behavioral quirk. I cannot count how many times I have been called crazy, most times by my own family members. And I still remember how my blood used to boil. This cannot be compared to physical violence, and three years is not a lifetime, I know, but the underlying concepts are the same. Was I out of line in saying gays are hypersensitive? Yes. But is everyone who makes an off-the-cuff, angry, but still inappropriate remark a hell-bent homophobe? I'm inclined not to think so. Bottom line: Yes, people, myself included, needed to chill the hell out. But that remark was directed towards those who wanted to storm Shubert Alley with signs and bullhorns, not the long-suffering gay community. Trust me, folks. I am with you. And I am sorry.

To be perfectly honest, I'm just amazed that people care enough to read my stupid blog.

Monday, June 7, 2010

Oh, Jesus

RATS IN THE STREETS AND THE LUNATICS YELLING AT THE MOON IT'S THE END OF THE WORLD! And the crowd goes wild over Alice Ripley's perceived homophobia. Honestly, everyone, chill the hell out. She is not perfect. I am not perfect. You are not perfect.

Here's my take on it - she was angry, she was humiliated and she made an angry, inappropriate, and unthinking remark that a hypersensitized community took as a personal attack. That said, I do think she's taking it a little far now. Honestly, if she would just apologize everyone would let it go. But no, she's going on, head held high and defiant to the very end. Some zealots are planning on staging a demonstration in the alley. "ALICE HATES FAGS." Except for she really doesn't.

The problem is that she's completely herself, and nobody else really ever is. If I went around saying what I really thought, what would happen to me? If we're being perfectly honest, I don't think she's crazy. I don't think she does drugs. But sometimes I wonder if she realizes how she comes off to other people. I'm reminded of Dotty's part from the Moon Trio, which is beautiful.

"Now it seems you come to some confusion/You're losin' courage/You're losing light/lost your old shine/lost Caroliiiiiiine."

Saturday, June 5, 2010

Want Some Ice For That Burn?


Alice Ripley BURN. Nobody's been owned that badly since Patti caught that guy taking pictures. It's all so perfectly marvelous. So if you're out there crawling the internet, Alice, we've got nothing but non-creepy love for you over here. (Saw the lovely lady in the alley today while shopping for Tony presents. Was too shy to say anything.)

Friday, June 4, 2010

Grand Theft Miller

Sitting up here in the school library. The other girls are on Sporcle or applying wart remover, but I looked over at the bookcase next to me and what did I see? The Complete Works of Arthur Miller, and I've never read A View from the Bridge. So I took it and am now leafing through it. The librarian is glaring at me, but what good's it doing sitting there on the shelf? Anyway, there's not much point to a book unless there's somebody to read it.

Shattering news - I can't take a writing class in the city because I'm not 18 yet. Here's the thing - there are adults on inkpop. They shouldn't be there, but they are. And I'm better than they are. I know I am. The person looking to knock me out of the top ten is a fellow Guilty One. I've probably talked with her, laughed with her, sat next to her while we both screamed our lungs out. But my book is my baby. I brought it into this world, there's nobody else who knows it like I do, or who can fight for it like I do. So if you push me, I'll choose my loyalty to my work over my love for Spring Awakening. This is my craft, and I can't have another. Back to Mr. Miller.

Thursday, June 3, 2010

Forever Golden

RIP Rue McClanahan. Another Golden Girl gone to her rest. She was 76, like my beloved nanny who passed away three weeks ago. The two of us shared a love of the show, even if we disagreed viciously on who was the best. (It was Dorothy, goddammit. No cranky old lady in long johns is gonna convince me that it's Rose.) I like to think that Nan's the fifth golden girl. Anyway, this is a sad day. Give her my love, Nan. Journey on.

Wednesday, June 2, 2010


Freaking Inkpop Idiots don't know recognize Sylvia Plath and don't know her when I talk about her. I bet if I had posted a picture of their goddess Sarah Dessen they would have gotten it in under a minute.

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

Calming Down

Ok, so this inkpop thing really grinds my gears. To calm myself down I'll do a list.

Theatre Characters I'd Like to Meet

Diana - Next to Normal
Dot - Sunday in the Park
Berger - Hair
Jeanie - Hair
Barbara - August: Osage County
Jenny - Company
Joanne - Company
Petra - Night Music
Bobby - Company
Anita - West Side Story
Maggie - Cat on a Hot Tin Roof
Blanche - Streetcar
Norma - Sunset Boulevard
Mother - Ragtime
Caroline- Caroline, or Change
Johnny - American Idiot
Melchior - Spring Awakening
Carlotta - Follies

I wonder what would happen if you put all these people in a room together. Probably nothing good.


And my goddamn book falls again. I hate inkpop and I hate the people on it and I hate their vampire books and I hate that they step on anything with substance. I honestly cannot take these Inkpop Idiots anymore. I don't want your help and I don't want your encouragement. Everybody mind your own son of a bitching business.

Monday, May 31, 2010


Apparently Marin Mazzie is the next Diana. That is wonderful and awful news. I love Marin. But I just can't see Next to Normal again. July 18 will make it 6, and 6 is enough for anybody.

Saturday, May 29, 2010

How Bout No

Apparently Tom Selleck wants to come back to Broadway. As Peter Griffin said, "None for you, Tom Selleck. You've had yours."

I just realized it's been quite a while since I've seen a show with my mom or my aunt. Mom's last was Night Music, which she loved. Aunt Donna's last was God of Carnage, which she hated. But they both want to see American Idiot pretty badly. Hmm. Possibilities. Anyway. Yesterday some modernist bitch asked me what my favorite band was. I sat there and stared at her and she said, "Well, I heard you only like Broadway. That's so weird." So I said, "I actually like Green Day a lot, even though they're pretty old school." She raised and eyebrow, giggled to her friends, and asked me what Green Day song I liked. I said American Idiot, 21 Guns, Too Much Too Soon, Last Night on Earth, and Know Your Enemy. They all stared at me. I asked if they wanted anything else. They just walked away. Thanks for that one, Michael Mayer. I love owning people.

Friday, May 28, 2010


Hair in the West End closes Sept. 4. I'm sad. Okay, I'm really not, because now Creel and Swenson and and Levy and Sheik and Guinn and Case and everyone else can come home. Of course, Will Swenson is doing Priscilla, Queen of the Desert, but it's nice to think about. Except not in a creepy way. Love all the way. Ace Young can shut up and get gone now.

Rumor - Peters and Stritch are coming to Night Music. I'LLLLLLLLLLLLLLL drink to that! I freaking love Elaine Stritch. I was never a Bernadette Peters fan, but she's grown on me. She's a little old for Desiree, but I would go see her. And it would be a wonderful evening, because Leigh Ann Larkin is still around. Sondheim on Sondheim on the 13 and Next to Normal on July 18 and American Idiot and This Wide Night and Night Music and Next Fall and and and and I love summer. Hiho the glamorous life.

Wednesday, May 26, 2010


Yes, I heard. To answer your question - absosonofabitchinlutely, and Lenora too. She was the one that told me. I was sitting in class, and she was jumping around and flailing like an idiot. When I got out of class, she told me. And I said, "What? No, wait, what? No, really. What?" And then after it sunk in, I said, "Shit." True story. God damn it all to hell.

Monday, May 24, 2010

Die Salesman Die

Sorry. You know what's a damn awesome play? Death of a Salesman. There's just so much there that it takes several readings (and viewings) to weed through it all. Today I attempted to cut to the heart of the issue, and I asked my English teacher what's fundamentally wrong with Willy Loman. She said he was a man on the verge of a nervous breakdown. I nodded like I understood, but I don't. You don't just wake up one morning and have a nervous breakdown. Something had to put him there, and there had to be some underlying issues that made everything go so wrong for him. So what could possibly have been so intrinsically wrong with this man that he ended up being so passive-agressive? There must have been something that happened to him to make him that way. The issues run too deep for all of his problems to have been caused by what he does in the play.

I really enjoy plays, and I'm thinking my next venture into the nonmusical theatre will be This Wide Night. I've never seen Allison Pill live, but I hear she is wonderful. I could take or leave Edie Falco. Anyway, a lot of people write plays off, but I think I actually may prefer them more than musicals.

It just occured to me that Lenora actually cares a lot more than I do about my inkpop progress, and I think I finally figured out why. Smashed is my baby, not Lenora's. If I'm the mother, she's the fun aunt. Cheerleader that she is, she wants to see my book go all the way to the top. I want that too, but I've already spent hours and hours and hours with this project. I've sat up nights trying to get it just right, and it's still not quite there. For some reason, that kind of labor breeds a patience. I'm not willing to wait forever, but I do want to wait until Smashed is as perfect as it possibly can be. And besides:

Saturday, May 22, 2010


I don't usually post Broadwaysecrets here. It's just something I don't do, like getting up at intermission. But I had to post this one, because I just don't know what else I can do. Whoever made this should be locked up somewhere.

Stranger danger lesson: It is NOT okay to touch other people's kids without their permission. It is NOT okay to be star struck by a baby. AND IT IS NOT OKAY TO TOUCH A STRANGER'S KID WHEN HE'S NOT LOOKING! Jesus Christ, people.

Anyway, inkpop grows more exasperating by the minute. Aside from vampires, you know what really grinds my gears? People who insist upon giving their characters ridiculous names or ridiculous spellings of normal names. Seriously. I can no longer tolerate reading about Sharlotte or Traysee or Brok or Rayne. I just can't take it anymore. Oh, and I can't stand stories about "faeries." The word is fairy. Spelling it differently doesn't make you any cooler and it doesn't make your played-out story more original. My book reviews are getting increasingly caustic, but when I think something is good I say so. I'm not here to tear down everybody's dreams. But I'm not afraid to say it when I don't like something, and I'm not afraid for someone to tell me they don't like my work. I'd rather hear it from them than from the publishers. I expect honesty and I give honesty in return. So if your stupid repetitive vampire book is boring, I'm gonna tell you so and we'll all find some way to live with that.

Monday, May 17, 2010

Clara Bow

You know how everyone wants to look like somebody? I wish I looked like Clara Bow. Or at least I wish I knew somebody who looked like Clara Bow. Then I could be all, "Hey everybody! I know somebody who looks like Clara Bow!" Seriously. The main character in my novel is modeled after her. In fact, this picture was the inspiration for the book the way the picture of the old lady in the ruins of the New Amsterdam was the inspiration for Follies.

Saturday, May 15, 2010

One Saturday Morning

Welcome back, suckers. My psychiatrist tried to break up with me today. But no one ever leaves a star. That's what makes one a star. I heart Norma Desmond and her eyes. She did not have "Bette Davis eyes." The only person in history who had Bette Davis eyes was Bette Davis. If you think you have Bette Davis eyes, odds are you're just a pop-eyed freak.

So I just realized we never chatted about my latest trip to the Booth. For an hour before the show started, my heart was pounding hard enough to explode out of my chest. When I looked at the call board, I saw that somebody was out. My stomach dropped out and I think I said something that should not be repeated in front of the children. And I looked again, and it wasn't Alice. It was Jenn. Hell broke loose. I think I started screaming, "Thank you Jesus!" or something. I don't know. The memory is hazy. So she went on, but didn't come out of the stage door. I do not fault her for that. I wanted her to go on, and nothing else. And that's what I got. And life is a son of a bitching cabaret.

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

A Realization

I just realized that I don't like Into the Woods very much, and Early Sondheim is better than Late Sondheim. Road Show. Really, Mr. S? Road Show. You're gonna compare that to Company and Sweeney?

Still, I'm a Sondheim fan to the core. Word on the street is we're getting a Follies revival next season, and possibly some Merrily We Roll Along. Three cheers, and, dammit, c'est la vie.

So I've been taking a musical theatre course, and I am finding it horrifically boring. So far all I've learned is that Merman should have gotten the Tony over Mary Martin and life upon the wicked stage ain't ever what a girl supposes. You know, those things that every self-respecting theatre lover knows. Yeah. Those things. I feel like I have to sit there and pay to be taught everything I learned years ago and learned for free. I was one of two in the entire class who'd ever heard of Frank Loesser, and I was the only one who knew he wrote How to Succeed. The teacher asked us to name a concept musical. I said Company. The girl next to me said Wicked. I hate school.

But anyway, summer is coming, and I am looking forward to long, sweltering afternoons in Bryant Park listening to people's understudies sing. I've lost count of how many of those concerts I've been too. I just remember that the first one was the best one - Spring Awakening, The Fantasticks, The Color Purple, and Wicked. I was such a giddy little Guilty One that I was literally to excited to speak. I have gotten better since then. Seriously. Ask Lenora. I hardly ever freak out anymore, except when I'm caught off guard. So if I pass Alice Ripley in the alley or Jonathan Groff walks by me on 45th Street, the heart is gonna skip a beat.

Sunday, May 9, 2010

Momma's Day

Hello, darlings. I heart my mommy. For me she's sat through:

Beauty and the Beast
Little Women
Spring Awakening
August: Osage County
Speech and Debate
Night Music
Legally Blonde
Next to Normal
Mary Poppins
In the Heights

I'm sure I'm forgetting some. She loved Hairspray and Spring Awakening, but she hated Speech and Debate and Phantom with a sick and burning passion. She did not fall asleep at Night Music and Hair did not horrify her. I am proud of her.

So. Who's your favorite Broadway mom? I do this every year, and I have a few. In no particular order:

Diana Goodman
Sally Bowles
Barbara Fordham
Stella Kowalski
Madame Armfeldt and Desiree
Violet Weston
Momma Rose
Big Edie
Claude's mom

It's all so awfully loverly.

Thursday, May 6, 2010

I Haz a Cat

Yessiree, I have my first pet since my old goldfish named Bernice. She is a beautiful striped kitten and I named her Ripley. She is technically my neighbor's cat, and Maisie's gonna give her away. I'm gonna fight like hell to keep that from happening. Ripley is my cat. I love her. It's too late. I've gotten Attached. She fits perfectly across my thigh and likes to nibble the tip of my nose. I realize that loving a cat so much is the first step towards turning out like Big Edie, but is there anything more adorable than a kitten named Ripley? Sometimes Ripley is shortened to Ripples. Her father's name is Claude. I named him too. I think I have a problem.

Wednesday, May 5, 2010

I Can't Take It

People make me want to rip my hair out. Two of my Facebook friends were discussing why Obama didn't host a National Day of Prayer cermony. One of them said the following: "he didn't because he is liberal communist scum. basically the same reason for all of his bad decision."

I think it's time to unfriend.

Tuesday, May 4, 2010


Yeah, so, okay. I'm a little less hopped up now. I'm very grateful for those guys over at the nominating committee who treated Ragtime so well. I also take some pleasure in seeing those Addams freaks get kicked in the teeth. Let's see the snubs -

Nathan Lane
Bebe Neuwirth
John Gallagher Jr.
American Idiot
Addams Family

But, oh, how wonderful for beautiful Ragimte. And now, my Tony predictions.

Best Musical
American Idiot - should and will get it
Million Dollar Quartet

Best Actress in a Musical
Montego Glover
Christiane Noll - should get it
Sherie Renee Scott - will get it
Kate Baldwin

Best Actor in a Musical
Douglas Hodge - should and will get it
Sean Hayes
Kelsey Grammer
Chad Kimball
Sahr Ngaujah

Best Revival of a Musical
Ragtime - should get it
La Cage - will get it
Night Music
Finian's Rainbow (didn't see that bitch comin')

Featured Actress in a Musical
Lansbury - will and should get it
Barbara Cook
Katie Finnernan
Karine Plantadit (who?)
Lillias White

Featured Actor in a Musical
Bobby Steggert - will and should get it
Robin de Jesus
Kevin Chamberlin
Levi Kreis
Christopher Fitzgerald

Best Director of a Musical
Marcia Milgrom Dodge - should get it
Terry Johnson - will get it
Bill T. Jones
Christopher Ashley

More to come. Go Ragtime.

Let the Games Begin

I thought this season sucked. Ragtime was not forgotten. Christiane Noll was not forgotten. Bitch is gonna take down Sherie Renee Scott and CZJ and Kate Baldwin and Montego Glover and take that which is rightly hers. I'm backing her like I backed Ripley, but on steroids. It's gonna be tougher for her to get it, even tougher for Bobby Steggert, hell for Marcia Milgrom Dodge, and nearly impossible for the show itself. La Cage is the big bully this year. This is gonna be one bitch of a Tony night.

Life is Good

So the Tony noms were kinda fucked up. Nathan and Bebe got kicked in the face. But guess what got seven nominations. RAGTIME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Best Revival, Christiane Noll, Bobby Stegget, Marcia Milgrom Dodge, among others. I'm sitting in English class learning Plath and trying not to cry.

Sunday, May 2, 2010


At last. At long son of a bitching last.

Saturday, May 1, 2010

I Love Ya Tomorrow

I don't know if I spelled tomorrow right. But I just took the goddamn SAT and witnessed a car accident and it's freaking hot up here and I'm worried Ripley won't go on. It's been a rough day and it's only four o'clock. Come dance the edge of sanity with me. It's fun out here.

Yesterday Lenora made me climb a tree. And I did it, damn it. I climbed that tree like a bitch. I now own that tree. It is My Tree. The tree is my bitch. It's really really really hot. Anyway, once I made it up there, I got stuck. And I freaked out. While Lenora ran off to get her camera, I sat there and prayed I didn't fall and break my leg. An annoying little freshman sauntered over and began asking me stupid questions about contemporary Broadway. I literally had nowhere else to go. I had to sit there in that freaking tree and talk about Jennifer Damiano in more detail than anyone ever should. It was creepy and terrifying. Jennifer, if you're out there, don't lump me with her. She's a psycho.

So tomorrow's the day. I'm gonna roll them dice just one more time, and this time I'm gonna get it right. Until then, I shall direct you all to Allison Guinn's blog. Crazy Horse say white man die.

Thursday, April 29, 2010


Apparently Emerson is a reach for me. But then the college advisor started chatting with me about how great Night Music is and that Charlotte is more fun to play than Desiree. So I'm reaching. And I will step on your face if necessary. Reach reach reach. Reach past the kids who aren't trying as hard. And get into Emerson, god damn it.

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

This Time We're Gonna Make It

On Sunday, I am gonna try this one last time. Got me some Next to Normal tickets. Please, Jesus, let me get it right this time. Let Ripley be on. I can't take another Jessica Phillips performance. I don't know what else to do. Historically, my best theatrical experiences have been on even numbered days in May.

May 18, 2008 - Spring Awakening
May 20, 2009 - Next to Normal
May 26, 2007 - Mary Poppins
May 22, 2005 - Little Women

Goddamit, I'm gonna get it right this time.

Monday, April 26, 2010

Did I Ever Tell You You're My Hero?

Everyone on the planet needs to read Lynn Nottage's Ruined. Why oh why didn't I go see it when I got the chance? Seriously regretting that now.

Also, Toni Morrison is my favorite living American author. She's almost as wonderful as Sylvia Plath.

Thursday, April 22, 2010

Welcome Back, Sucker

I just finished The Bell Jar. Shit's hardcore. Anyway.

Brian D'Arcy James is coming back to Next to Normal. Welcome back, sucker. We forgive you for Shrek. We also laugh in your face. Jebus. Stuff like this almost makes me want to try one more time. But I won't. Cause if it's possible to miss Ripley twice, it's possible to miss her a third time.

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

American Idiot

Happy opening, Idiots. I love you in a sick, stepchild, You'll Never Be Spring Awakening way.