Have You Heard?

As 2009 makes its exit, I have one last bit of wisdom I would like to share with you - BIRD IS THE WORD, YOU SUNZABITCHES!

Sorry. I've never seen this episode and it's hilarious.

Well #2...

Apparently, Christiane Noll is out on the 9th and 1oth. Now I'm REALLY not happy. That lady gives an epic performance.

Well...

I got my Ragtime closing tickets. I am not happy, because it will be a strictly Lenora-less performance. Damn it, if there was ever a show I know with 100% certainty that she would love, this was it. Oh noes, Lenora. Oh noes.

Journey On

Yes, I heard that too! Oh, what a wonderful thing to happen to a wonderful show. Yes, the closing was only pushed back a week, but it proves what I knew all along - THERE ARE PEOPLE OUT THERE WHO ACTUALLY WANT TO SEE RAGTIME! They just needed a kick in the ass first.

And now I will let myself go to the closing, because now they're closing with some honor. They're going down swingin', so to speak. As I was lying in bed last night, one thought crossed my mind, "This isn't their time. Something isn't right here. They're not closing on Sunday." And lo and behold, their time it was not. Of course, it's only a week, but this is not over yet. At last, finally, god damn it, there is hope.

This is the most wonderful birthday present I could ask for.

Haikus are Fun

Indeed they are. And I am sensing that they are the only way this old crazy bitch could possibly vent her anger, sadness, and disappointment right now. The powers that be have dropped an ultimatum - I can go see Ragtime one last time, or I can go see Levy and Sheik at Joe's Pub. What to do?

I love those bitches.
But I also love Ragtime.
This shit is messed up.


I'm eating pizza.
While wearing a big Snuggie.
Suck on that bitches.


Ragtime is closing.
This is not okay with me.
Wicked should close now.


I love Stewie G.
He wants to kill his mother.
That's not very nice.


I like Cabaret.
It has Nazis and Hitler.
They are not nice guys.


I love Alice R.
She has red hair and blue eyes.
She is weird sometimes.


Vivien Leigh yay
She was good as Blanche DuBois
In the Streetcar film


P. LuPone - scary
She yells at the audience.
Stop taking pictures.

Shit.

Yes, I heard. Son of a bitch. So Ragtime is closing for real this time. Of course I'm upset, don't ask me that. It's such a wonderful show. This just broke my heart. Lenora tells me to think about Night Music, Next to Normal, and Jersey Boys. God help me, screw 'em all. Well, not Alice Ripley. Still loving Alice. But, God, why does this happen to all the good ones?

Don't ask me if I'll be at closing. I was just told that I owe it to them, and I owe it to myself. What complete and utter bullshit. I'm not going. Screw all the sentimental loyalty crap, because nobody cares about that. Nobody cared when it was running, and now nobody will care about the closing. One more person that doesn't care will not make a difference.

So here is what I know now - Christiane Noll was unbelievable. The whole show was lovely. There are no other shows left that I really care about.

Okay, It's Someone's Birthday!

I am not an especially good person. My only redeeming quality is that I have never pretended to be one. I am a goddamn liar. I cheat mercilessly at Monopoly. I have been called a negative bitch. (Don't ask Lenora about any of that, because she'll tell you it's not true. She's got an infuriating habit of seeing the best in everyone.)

And now this selfish bitch knows what she wants for her birthday! Okay, here's my confession - I am a closeted Kacie Sheik fan. A really really BIG Kacie Sheik fan. God help me, I think she is the best part of Hair. The last time I saw it, I sat stuffed into my mezzanine seat and basically watched her for the entire show. We got word today that she's playing Joe's Pub on February 15. Caissie Levy and her weave will be there too, but I can take or leave her. But I am excited. I can't remember the last time I was actually excited. The past few months have been blah. Happy as hell, but blah.

I'm starting to think about my new year's resolutions. So far I've come up with:

1. Stop saying son of a bitch.
2. Cut back on the blue Powerade.

That's it. It's not that I think I'm a perfect person. It's just that there's nothing else I'm really willing to give up. See? I'm b-b-bad to the bone. Not really. I'm sitting here in my purple bedroom eating frozen cream puffs. That should give you an idea of just how quickly I'm going to hell.

All Right, Mr. De Mille...

So I got Sunset Boulevard on DVD yesterday. It was wonderful. It IS wonderful. Gloria Swanson is utter magic as faded film star Norma Desmond. She is heartbreaking, repulsive, and utterly terrifying. Look at that. She makes such a lovely loony. Since you're going to ask...no. She wasn't. There was nobody better than Lady Olivier. But long live Norma Desmond.

I've already told you that I'm going to see A Little Night Music on January 22. That is a very, very nice present. My first Sondheim, my first Lansbury! What makes it so wonderful is that this is the first show that my mother has elected not to see on a Sunday. And that's just a goddamn miracle.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

I slept last night. I got a Renee Fleming CD with all the Streetcar arias. Night Music on the 22. I got a Snuggie. It makes me look like a Jedi.

So This is Christmas

Welcome back, suckers. It's Christmas Eve. Everyone knows Christmas Eve is better than Christmas. Because it just is.

So I recently got a request to post a Christmas list for this year. Truth is, I started a few posts with that intention, and I abandoned them all. I'm not gonna get all Allison Case-ish on you and say that I don't want anything for myself. I think we all know by now that I sure as hell do. I want to see Night Music. I want Ragtime, Hair, and Next to Normal to be running this time next year. I want, I want, I want. And I hate myself for wanting, because that is insanely selfish. Let's see if the old girl can redeem herself.

Here's the truth - I would give up every Christmas present I've ever gotten if I could be happy for the rest of my life. I want to be happy, and I want to be free. And I want that for you, too. One of my favorite sayings - "Keep going and believe, every second of every day, that it will come to good in the end." So, um, do that. And more I cannot wish you. Blessings on your head. Cream puffs and cheesecake are good for the soul. Life IS a cabaret. Merry Christmas to all and to all shut the hell up.

Contents of the Artist's Purse

Welcome back, suckers. So, while I sit here and wait for my iPod to charge so I can work off some of that lentil soup I just ate, I thought I'd walk all of you darlings through the contents of my bag. This is a very nice bag. I take it to every show. It is not heavy. It never gets lost or damaged. I think I will bring this bag to every show I ever see in my lifetime. Ready? Here we go!

cherry Chapstick

Hair Playbill

Marriott pen

red lucky Sharpie

black pen

confetti from Broadway on Broadway

glitter from Speech and Debate

Twizzlers

envelope

silver Sharpie

Rock of Ages handout

mascara

four lipglosses

blush

black button

purple guitar pick

Hair tickets (August 8/August 20/December 17)

Speech and Debate ticket (Jan. 5)

August: Osage County ticket (June 28)

Metrocard

quarters

There. That was lots of fun. I'm sure most of you are now thinking that I look somewhat like her. I'd never wear fur, and the aforementioned bag does not have Marilyn Monroe splashed on it. But doesn't she just look so much like Little Edie? For some reason, Christmas time always reminds me of the Beales. Love those crazy ladies. Grey Gardens was a wonderful movie and a wonderful musical. Unfortunately, the darling thing went the way of Caroline, or Change. Confession: One of my greatest fears is ending up trapped like Little Edie. But she was still wonderful, right? Of course right.

Lovely Lady

May Brittany Murphy rest in peace. She has passed away from cardiac arrest at age 32. She was a great talent that left us too soon. (For the record, she was the only one who I would have trusted to be Sally in a Cabaret movie remake.) Rest is peace, lovely lady. A blessing on your head.

Be Still My Heart

Damn. Berri and Lenora just got me second row tickets for Next to Normal on January 30. I'm a bit concerned that an impending strike will take them away from me, but what difference does it make? An offer comes, you take. Right? Of course right. Apparently, we've had the seats since the end of October. That means that for the past month and a half, Lenora, who never lies about anything, sat there and read all my gushy Alice Ripley posts and didn't say a word to me. Oh, Nora, you sly boots. (She also got me feather earrings. I love feathers.) So I am excited. Very excited. And very scared. Next to Normal had me riveted to my seat from the last row of the mezzanine. I can't imagine what the second row will be like.

So I saw Hair on Thursday. And it was empty. Ridiculously empty. From my seat in the seventh row of the mezzanine, I could tell that the entire rest of the mezz was completely empty. Really. Not a goddamn soul up there. That said, it is still a wonderful show. I let myself loose, screamed, laughed, and danced. Normally I am very careful not to disturb people, but the sad truth was that there really wasn't anybody to disturb. It is still the same show. Will Swenson is still wonderful, Gavin Creel's wig is still not good, and Kacie Sheik still uses a voice that sounds absolutely nothing like her real speaking voice. But then it is not the same show. Something is missing. An audience, perhaps? Hang on, darlings. You can make it through the winter.

I got my very first experience with audience interaction. Hannah Shankman caught me singing along to Ain't Got No Grass. She climbed the railing in front of me and started screaming the song in my face and thrashing her head. I got frazzled, forgot the words, and stopped singing. She stopped singing and we stared at each other for a moment before she awkwardly climbed down and walked away. It was so epic and uncomfortable.

Will Swenson decided to choose a sixteen-year-old girl as his mother and proceed to make out with her in front of the entire theatre. I want to be Will Swenson's mom. Other than that, there's really nothing to say except that Allison Case's replacement is her in every way, shape and form. She sings like her. She sounds like her. She looks like her. There was one point where I couldn't tell that it wasn't her. But she is wonderful. She is better at being Allison Case than Allison Case is.

I ran down to the stage, as always. By myself. And I danced. By myself. Kacie Sheik complimented my peacock feather earrings. I elected not to tell her that they were Lenora's. Since I had shoved daisies into my hair and down my shirt, the new Allison Case stopped me as I went down the stairs.

Girl Who is a Better Allison Case Than Allison Case: "Oh, I love your flowers!"
Me: "Thanks."
Girl Who is a Better Allison Case Than Allison Case: "Can I give you a hug?"
Me: "Um...okay."

That was also epic and uncomfortable.

It Turns Out God Had A Hell of a Lot in Store

I am not going to insult Ragtime by trying to describe it to you here. All I know is that it was really goddamn good. Here's one thing I know for certain - I am the type of person who notices the nuances. So if nobody else noticed the desperate shrillness of Evelyn Nesbit's "Whee" during Atlantic City, or that Younger Brother was crying real tears during Make Them Hear You, that's a damn shame.

Christiane Noll is utter dynamite as Mother. This lovely lady certainly deserves the Tony, and ain't no Catherine Zeta Jones gon' take it from her. Quentin Earl Darrington's expert line delivery has made me decide to make "Listen to THAT Ragtime!" my new catch phrase. It means something alone the lines of "Smoke on your pipe and put that in." Savannah Wise is a very nice Evelyn Nesbit, but I really wanted to see Leigh Ann Larkin do it. Until I saw Ron Bohmer's interpretation, I never realized what a douchebag Father is. (And that is a major testament to Mr. Bohmer's acting.)

And then we come to Bobby Steggert as Younger Brother. Even though he basically took all of his second act lines and SCREAMED THEM, I thought he did a very good job. And he is cute. Adorable. Not in the way Aaron Tveit is "Oh Lord can a person really look like that" beautiful, mind you, but a kind of "Awww, he looks like a little boy" beautiful. You know. That kind of beautiful. See? I told you he was adorable. Possible Best Supporting Actor nom there.

I am well aware of how disjointed this post was. I'm still a bit frazzled from what I saw this afternoon. As Violet Weston, god rest her and her family, would say, "Just gimme a few days to get my feet under me."

Tomorrow We'll Discover What Our God in Heaven Has in Store

So tomorrow's Ragtime. I'm not as excited as I thought I'd be. I still need to pick out an outfit. I just found out that I'm seeing Hair next Thursday. That's very nice to know. I'm also seeing Jersey Boys at the end of January. Here's the thing - I really really really REALLY don't want to see that one. But it's for Berri's birthday, and I have no place turning that down. Right? Of course right.

Happy Birthday

Today is Spring Awakening's third birthday. I almost forgot. This is one of the shows that I can say truly changed me. I still love it, and I still use the phrase "Oh, God, what a bitch."

Happy birthday to this beautiful show.

How Endearingly Horrifying

RATS IN THE STREETS AND THE LUNATICS YELLING AT THE MOON IT'S THE END OF THE WORLD! Good Lord, Corbin Bleu is the next Usnavi. Put me on the list of people who never saw this coming. I am shocked. I am terrified. I am horrified. I feel a bit like Fruma Sarah. "Such a learned man as Lin Manuel Miranda wouldn't let it happen! Tell me that it isn't true and then I wouldn't worry!" But apparently Lin backs this guy %100, so what can I do but trust his better judgement? Well, good luck Mr. Bleu. A blessing on your head. Mazel tov. Mazel tov.

Four days to Ragtime. I am excited, to put it mildly. Apparently Monday is Alice Ripley's birthday? Let's see...popping over to Imdb...ah, yes. The talented Ms. Ripley is going to be 46. A blessing on her head. Mazel tov. Mazel tov.

Jebus, I love Tevye's Dream.

Tell Me Who Do You Love, Man?

Welcome back, suckers. (And may I point out that I now have a third follower! Hello, darling. It's very nice to have you on board. I hope you like Alice Ripley. We get a lot of her around these parts.)

I love lists. Listverse.com is epic. So, why not include another list right away? I know you just love it when I do crap like this. Hmm...Got it. My favorite Broadway performers, living and dead, whether I have actually seen them live or not!

Alice Ripley
Vivien Leigh
Will Swenson
Sutton Foster
Christine Ebersole
Gavin Creel
John Gallagher Jr.
Lin Manuel Miranda
Boyd Gaines
Brynn O'Malley
Raul Esparza
Laura Benanti
Michael Cerveris
Liza
Jonathan Groff
Amy Morton
Joel Grey
Aaron Tveit
Sherie Renee Scott
Emily Skinner
Norm Lewis
Jenn Damiano
Lea Michele
Kacie Sheik
Caissie Levy
Allison Guinn
Tonya Pinkins
Natahsa Richardson
Alan Cumming
Cheyenne Jackson
Sarah Steele
Brian Stokes Mitchell
John Tartaglia
Priscilla Lopez
Krysta Rodriguez
Jackie Hoffman
Christiane Noll
Daniel Evans
Jenna Russell
Audra McDonald
Gina Gershon
Angela Lansbury

And many more. Wow. A part of me is amazed that I had the patience to type all those. Anywho, while I'm in a listy mood, might as well clack out my least favorites.

Patti LuPone
Matt Cavenaugh
Bernadette Peters
Harvey Firestein
Idina Menzel
Adam Pascal
Mandy Patinkin
Donna Murphy


There now. That was fun.

Saturday Morning

No closing notice yet. I am beginning to think that I may possibly have jumped the gun on this one. But really - I got fourth row Ragtime tickets. Exactly how much bad has come out of that? So here's what I'm thinking - the closing was just a rumor, and I've got marvelous seats to a show that I've wanted to see for a revival I've been waiting for for the past ten years. If that's what falsely prognosticating gets me, then, son of a bitch, Wicked's closing next week!

So it's Saturday morning. I'm not particularly fond of Saturdays. It's just a stop to all the running around I do during the week. And I thrive on running around. The only good Saturdays I've ever had have been the ones I spent in a theatre. Still, my show day is usually Sunday. I can't tell you how much I resent that. Really, is there anything more depressing than seeing a show and knowing you can't stay up late that night, marveling at what you have seen?

So in a few hours I've got to prettify myself for a sweet sixteen. Here's what I think - it's lots of fun to get dressed up, but that's not what humans are meant for. We are all most beautiful in our natural state. As Alice Ripley said, "If they say we're not then f-ck 'em."

Hope is One Sick Son of a Bitch

No closing notice posted yet. So I am hoping. Experience has taught me that hope can kill you faster than anything else on the planet. And yet there have been times when I've lived on hope alone. It's like this - if you're going to die of thirst, would you drink poison to save yourself? See what I mean? Lesson for the day - hope is one sick son of a bitch.

My Heart is Broken

SON OF A GODDAMN BITCH! My heart is broken. Word on the street is that Ragtime, my beautiful Ragtime, is closing on January 3. This is so disappointing. But, God damn it, I am not letting this one get away. I said I was going to see it and I am. As soon as is earthly possible. It was supposed to be my Christmas present. I am not waiting until Christmas. As Coalhouse Walker said, I will not move from where I'm standing. And this is not over yet. A month to go? Fine. Absolutely goddamn wonderful. Let it be a month.

I'll be there at least once during this month. Make them hear you, right? Of course right. I will go see Ragtime, this show I love so much, and I will stand and scream and cheer and make them hear me. This show did not live long enough to gain a really loyal fan base. But there was a small one, at least. And I was one of them.

But here's the truth - there are worse things than this. Of course I'm very upset. I'm livid. I'm disillusioned. But still, there are worse things than this. All hope is not lost. I can still go see it. I'm sure you can infer by now that this revival means the world to me.

But what? In my ten-minute break that I took between paragraphs, I shot downstairs and got myself two tickets for next weekend. Like I said, I wasn't letting this one get by me. So, who's ready for a Ragtime blitzkrieg? I am, as you know, a mezzanine crawler. So my fourth row tickets are a rare treat. But that will not be all. In the weeks to come I will get to the Neil Simon as much as I possibly can. I don't care where I sit, cause this is freaking Ragtime. And since my birthday is conveniently three days after the purported closing, I'm thinking there is no other way I'd rather celebrate a new year and a birthday.

Well, so that's that. Ragtime is closing. Serves me right for being so awful about Birdie, I guess. Anyway, I'm still here, no one has died, and Obama is still president. Oh, Ragtime. I salute you. God be with you. I will miss you.

Suck on That!

Bye Bye Birdie is closing on January 24. So, I guess, um, Bye Bye, Birdie. Now, I never wish for a show to fail, but...no well, I kinda wanted this one to fail. I'll admit it. It should have been SIDE SHOW, damn it. At the very least, a seasoned vet should have gotten Albert. But it's going going GONE! Much love and luck to the cast. I'm truly sorry that everyone involved with the show is losing their job. Really, I am. But to the show itself I say die, vampire die.

Knocking Birdie out of the box puts Ragtime one step closer to that Best Revival Tony. Come on, folks. You can hang on until then. I also have something very awful and childish to admit: When I scooted over to Broadwayworld and saw the headline that announced Birdie's demise, I shouted something to the effect of, "OHO! SUCK ON THAT, JOHN STAMOS!"

Oh No

No. Sweet Jesus no. Come on Ragtime, you can do it. Next to Normal is still running, you can do it too. Beautiful little show, I have faith in you. You can do better than this. Keep going. I believe in you. Most people do. Give the nay-sayers a kick in their smug little faces and win that Tony. Bye Bye Birdie has nothing on you. Just keep running. You can make it to the Tonys. Sit tight, beautiful Ragtime. I promise I'll be there to see you within the month.

Ripley: A Tribute

Alice Ripley, you are barking mad and I want to be just like you when I grow up. Lots and lots of love from this corner.

Top 25 Greatest Musical Characters - The Ladies

As you all know, I am just over the moon for lists. The title of this one says it all, don't you think? Here's a list for the ladies who lunch - the 25 greatest female musical theatre characters. They're in descending order, with the my first pick being the greatest.

25. Eva Peron - Evita
24. Tracy Turnblad - Hairspray
23. Mimi - Rent
22. Jeanie - Hair
21. Mother - Ragtime
20. Maria - West Side Story
19. Roxie and Velma - Chicago
18. Amy - Company
17. Big Edie - Grey Gardens
16. Little Edie - Grey Gardens
15. Sheila - Hair
14. Joanne - Company
13. Desiree - A Little Night Music
12. Louise - Gypsy
11. Eponine - Les Miz
10. Diana - Next to Normal
9. Dot - Sunday in the Park
8. Dolly - Hello, Dolly
7. Fanny Brice - Funny Girl
6. Anita - West Side Story
5. Maria - The Sound of Music
4. Adelaide - Guys and Dolls
3. Mrs. Lovett - Sweeney Todd
2. Rose - Gypsy
1. Sally Bowles - Cabaret

Okay, so maybe Rose should have gotten the top slot. She's every girl's dream role. But as for Sally - there's just so much there. All Rose has to do is be domineering and then have a nervous breakdown. Sally's gotta show that slow cracking, the seams splitting, all the while acting like a little girl. And her breakdown has to be terrifying for both her and the audience. Rose just has to scream and scare the hell out of the audience. And that's why Sally gets the top slot. Suck on that, Arthur Laurents.

Pity

I almost got tickets to see a show tonight. And I didn't, because I live in a mean, nasty, repressive Republican town. I'm not even making that up. Okay, so maybe it's not the Republicans fault that I'm not seeing a show tonight, but this is a predominately Conservative area, and I'm god-damned sick of it. One of my Facebook friends is one of the terrifying militaristic uber-conservatives that think Obama is the anti-Christ. I'm not even kidding. He actually thinks that, and he's told me I better switch parties soon or risk getting pitched into the fiery lake of hell. I think I'll take my chances. So here's what I think - yeah, I do get a little overzealous when it comes to demonizing the Republicans. Truth: My own dear mamma is a Republican, and I love her to death. I am fully capable of having elephantine friends. Look, folks, I'm not saying we Democrats are a perfect party. Jesus, we've got Fred Phelps. I mean, look at this. God hates fags? Really? You're sure? I mean, 'cause it sorta looks to me like you're the one doing the hating. When I die, I'm going to specifically request for whatever's left of the Westboro Baptish Church to come and picket my funeral. Because they just look like such a fun bunch of folks. Seriously, friends. Sometimes I think the fact that these people live right in the middle of Tornado Alley is just natural selection at its finest.

This week, I attended my very first opera. Lenora and I were stuck way, way up in the second (or possibly third?) balcony of the Metropolitan Opera House. Either way, trust me: we were really damn high up. Thankfully, I had my mother's priceless opera glasses, and when I used them I could almost see facial expressions. Still, Turandot was lovely. Very lavish and visual. Like Wicked, except this didn't suck.

Big News

Oh, my darlings. I had so much fun in Boston this weekend, and I know that's the place I belong. But we'll get to that.

I already told you all that I've been commissioned to review the school's production of Once Upon a Mattress. They told me I'm only allowed to say nice things. Damn it, folks, where's the fun in that, I ask you? Anyway, before I get to my writing my first draft, here it is: What I Really Thought.

Queen: You're a talentless hack. There is no hope that you will ever change.
Winnifred: Of course you're talented, and you apparently know that. Watch your vibrato. Yes, we all know you're pretty. There is no need to turn to face the audience to say every single line. Subtlety, child.
Dauntless: You did your best with a crappy character.
King: You were actually very good. I would hope this has nothing to do with the fact that you did not have to speak until the very end.
Minstrel: It was a little high for you, but you're very talented.
Larken: Dear Lenora, please understand that you don't have to throw your voice to play a character well. You're not Kacie Sheik. Also, watch your diction. I was very impressed by your delivery of your very first line. It felt really genuine.
Chorus: Each and every one of you needs to stop vying so desperately for attention. You're in the chorus for a reason.
Everybody: You guys had a horrible director. I thought you pulled it off. Moderately.

See? I can be vaguely positive. So I went to Boston this weekend, to check out Emerson College. And I love it there. I am not going anywhere else, because there are some things you just know. My parents are pushing me to look at other colleges. I will do it to humor them, but here's what I think - What difference does that make? In the end, I can only go to one. I actually ended up seeing Fiddler while I was there, and it was very good. But Emerson is a place where parties consist of beer and pizza on the floor of the black box while you run scenes. It's a place where the kids argue over whether their cabaret tribute to Alice Ripley should be more SIDE SHOW or Next to Normal centric. (I swear to God. At the moment I heard that, the decision was made.) When I went to their bookstore to get The Glass Menagerie, the guy behind the counter told me to skip it because Streetcar was better. I think I almost had a seizure. I love you, Emerson bookstore dude. I'll look you up once I get there. Wait for me in all your Williamsian glory. I also walked into a dorm only to be thrust into the middle of two girls having a heated argument over the potential of August: Osage County to become a classic. How did I get so God-damned lucky? I mean, this school fits me so well it's scary.

So, my darlings, it's today. Ragtime's opening night. I wish them all the luck, love and long-runningness in the world. Still, I am not blind to the fact that Phantom 2 is looking at the Neil Simon. I say Phantom 2 can suck it, cause ain't nobody gonna top my beautiful Ragtime.

Forgot to add that I got a teddy bear up in Boston. I named him Bean. Bean is the name of a cat in the story I'm working on. I don't particularly like writing about animals. I think in my entire writing career several characters have had: a cat named Bean, a French bulldog named Mousseline, a Bichon Frise named Katy, a bird named Beaky, a bunny named Arizona, a Lhasa Apso named Claire, fish named Jeannie and Amber, two dogs named Texas (short for Texas Chainsaw Massacre) and Mangler, and a horse named Punch. I'm sure there's more, but their respective stories were never finished. Oh, well. Off to bed.

Happy Tech Week!

This week coming up is gonna be a biggie for me. Lenora's play is going up on Thursday. I'm leaving for Boston Friday afternoon. Ragtime is opening on Sunday. Isn't it all so perfectly marvelous?

Lenora's playing Lady Larken in Once Upon a Mattress. Until this morning, I really wasn't that familiar with that one. I think by now I can call myself a fan of musical drama, and saying I don't like comedy all that much would be a fair assumption. I'm not gonna dress this up pretty. After watching the 2005 movie version on Youtube, I have no especially high opinion of the show. In all honesty, this is what I think - it's trite, empty, and foolish with a score that nobody will remember as a lost gem of the theatre. But is it really what I think that matters? After all, that's no reflection on Lenora, she didn't write the show. But it does seem to me that it's going to take an awful lot of effort on the part of 25 lowly highschoolers to make this thing work. The book is exceptionally weak and brimming with pratfalls. Anyone not willing to make a fool of themselves need not apply.


BUT. I did like Lady Larken quite a bit. True, she's a bit one dimensional, but this is Once Upon a Mattress. If I wanted fully developed characters I'd look to something by Williams or Ibsen. Of course, she's a stock character, the token "cute friend." Between you and me, that's always been my favorite archetype. Think about it. Some of the world's greatest characters have been sidekicks- Melanie Wilkes, Beth March, Stella Kowalski, etc. etc. etc. And anyway, everyone in this show is based upon some kind of archetype, right down to the evil queen and the dumbass, weak-willed prince.

I just wish the damn school could put on a play that's vaguely substantial next year.

A Public Announcement

There are worse things than never being able to see another Broadway show.

Happy Halloween, You Son of a Bitch

I have a problem. It's a big problem, bigger than my addiction to Gatorade, bigger than the fact that I think Dolly Parton is awesome. (Given the chance, I would have seen 9 to 5. I regret it now.) So here's my issue: I say son of a bitch. A lot. Probably more than anyone else I know. Seriously. My ratio of son of a bitches per hour is probably one of the highest in the world. It is my stock phrase whenever something goes wrong, so if I drop my phone in the driveway or keep messing up the intro to Maybe This Time, it's the first thing out of my mouth.

It's not like I actually direct this phrase at anyone. It's more of an expression of frustration, and a constant source of irritation to Lenora and my poor, harried mother. But the phrase is rooted in our national culture. It is Violet's first line in August: Osage County. Roxie Hart says it after she shoots Fred Casely. Jenny says it multiple times in Company. I'm pretty sure Mary Lincoln was thinking it that night at Ford's Theatre.

It's not exactly like I've got a mouth like a Second Avenue hooker. (Though that works on two levels, doesn't it?) Aside from the occasional damn it and the more than occasional son of a bitch, I am strictly after school special.

So last night was Halloween. After a day spent in Jersey with my cousin, I trekked back home. I've spent every Halloween of my life with Maisie, and I had no intention of breaking the chain. Lenora, don't be insulted. You can't buck tradition. She was a pirate and I was a very adorable clown. The two of us decided to take our chances and ventured out to a haunted house/the cornmaze from hell. Maisie, her mother, and I were linked like a human chain as we stepped into the cornmaze. And it was AWFUL. It was raining, we kept getting lost, it was dark, and things were popping out at us around every bend. By this time I was making the horrible, guttural sounds of a wounded animal, and saying things that made me grateful my mother wasn't with me. It was worse once we got into the house. Literally, it was like walking into a nightmare, with creepy clowns contorting themselves at the end of a polka dotted hallway. I started crying and screaming about how much I hated clowns. The irony did not strike me until Maisie pointed it out. True, I was a shivering wreck, from my tiny hat right down to my flowery galoshes.

So here's what I've learned: I am young. I will do many things in my lifetime. But I will never, ever, do that again.

A Desperate Woman

So let's start this one off with my admission that I am not proud of what I have done, okay? There's no need to be getting on me for this, for I've done worse things in the past.

It is no secret that I am dying to see Ragtime. I have been doing everything in my power to get myself there. On Saturday afternoon, I went a bit too far. I was in the theatre district, so I thought I'd mozy on over to the Neil Simon and very politely ask for a Playbill. The darling ushers gave it to me, and I hung around a bit to check ticket prices. And then I heard something. The show was going on inside the auditorium, and they were up to Atlantic City. I love me some Atlantic City. So I poked my head in. This was immoral. This was illegal. It was technically stealing. Good Lord, mine eyes dazzled. I started to cry when Evelyn Nesbit started her solo. It is as lovely and beautiful as I thought it would be, if any production can be judged by just one number. If at all possible, I'm even more excited to see it now.

This morning I was almost attacked by a possum. It was not fun. We'll leave it at that.

To wrap it up, here we have Maria Callas. Isn't she darling? Almost as pretty as Vivien Leigh. Almost, but not quite. Anyway, I consider Vivien Leigh to be the most beautiful woman to have ever lived. I don't particularly care that her performance as Blanche DuBois was based in her own history of bipolar disorder. Lady Olivier was the best. The absolute best.

Joy

Shrek is on its way out.

I'm super excited for Halloween.

And there are less than 24 hours to go. I wish the cast and crew of Ragtime the absolute best in this second venture to Broadway. Please, everyone go see this wonderful show. You won't regret it. Let the new day dawn, the new era begin, and let's hear that ragtime piano that I love so much.

Blogging Without Scruples

See Jane abandon her morals to get what she wants. See Jane manipulate others mercilessly for her own selfish purposes. See Jane burn in hell.*






*I'm Jane.

And Everything was RAGTIME

No verdict yet on the O'Malley vs. Sense of Self Worth case. But today is October 13. To bastardize some Ragtime lyrics - "And then were only ten days to go!" I don't know yet when I'll be able to see it, but I'll be god-damned if I don't go. I don't think I've ever been quite so excited to see a show. Well, that's not entirely true. After a summer of waiting and anticipating, I was practically busting down the door to get into Spring Awakening. Still, I am nonetheless jumping out of my skin.

Even the Prologue alone is a work of art. That little piano theme, the "bah dup bah dup bah da da" that repeats itself throughout the whole show, is ingenious. What a Game is hilarious and Wheels of a Dream is heartbreaking, and Atlantic City is utterly hummable. Just some of the gems from a score that knocks it out of the park.

Before I go, I thought I'd mention that Next to Normal is actually beating Hair percentage-wise. I hope Hair can hang on, but go, little sleeper hit, go.

A Dilemma

I have an issue. It is a small issue. Here it is: I am no Wicked fan. There is no need for me to say that to any of you, because God knows I've said it enough in the past. I am, however, a big fan of Brynn O'Malley. She's taking over as Nessa on the tour. Do I go see her? I don't know if I'm willing to shell out any amount of money to sit through Wicked again. There are better things I could be seeing. But doesn't she look just darling in headbands and a wheelchair? I know I've said that Lea Michele is the only person who could ever get me back to Wicked, but I've come to the conclusion that Broadway will never get her back. This, friends, is what we call The Next Best Thing. While I was typing that, it occurred to me that Brynn would have been a great Wendla, and an even better Mary Poppins. She's one of those underrated treasures, like Allison Guinn or Kacie Sheik. So my mind is as yet un-made up.

On a similar note, I've updated my fall roster. My list of prospective shows for this fall now includes:

Ragtime
Streetcar
The Royal Family
God of Carnage
Oleanna
Superior Donuts
Next to Normal
Hair


Santa Claus, take your pick.


I think today I will be dragging Maisie to the movies with me. Last week we saw Whip It, which was, for the record, great. Ellen Page is my freaking hero. This week's movie du jour is Paranormal Activity. I'm not really into horror movies, but I want to see for myself if it's really that scary. It's pretty easy to scare me, and I love scaring other people. I once hid in my grandmother's closet for two hours just to scare my brother when he went to get his coat. Two hours spent smelling mothballs and trying not to laugh were worth it just to hear the scream. I'm hopelessly immature.

IT'S THE END OF THE WORLD

So apparently NASA says that some time in the next two years there will be a solar flare that will kill us all. Ruh-roh. I guess that means I have less than two years to do all the things I've always wanted. As of now, that includes:

1. Go to Amsterdam.
2. Play : Sally Bowles
Mrs. Lovett
Joanne
Dot
Barbara Fordham
Jeanie
Amy
Blanche DuBois
Little Red
Momma Rose
Miss Electra
Evelyn Nesbit
Anita
Diana Goodman
3. See Ragtime.
4. Live long enough to see Wicked close.
5. Get yelled at by Patti LuPone.
6. Meet someone who is actually named Frank Mills.
7. Not be absolutely awful at the piano.
8. Bike the World's Most Dangerous Road.
9. Sky-dive.
10. Go parasailing.
11. Own a bunny.
12. Time travel.
13. Meet: Barack Obama, Olivia de Havilland, Stephen Sondheim, Hal Prince, and Liza
14. Learn French.
15. Some day see a Spring Awakening revival.

...and one for Mahler. Okay, so I don't actually know if this 'we're all getting burned to a crisp' thing is true. But still. I have some bad news. You are going to die. And I am going to die. The one thing I always tell myself is, "Start by admitting from cradle to tomb, it isn't that long a stay." Indeed it is not. Plan accordingly.

Moving Fast

Today is October 7. Two years since I first saw Spring Awakening, and now I'm sitting here watching Lea Michele on Glee. It's so insane how far someone can go in just two years. She's going to be a star now, and Broadway ain't never getting her back. But she was a Broadway actress first. And I think that's harder than doing TV or film. So there.

A Part of That

Hello, darlings. So recently I revealed a pretty big secret to someone who probably never saw it coming. But I can't take it back. Who can ever take anything back? It's happened, it's real, accept it and move on. That's a skill I developed pretty early in life.

So here's my Halloween costume. It's a clown, obviously. So far, everyone that I've shown it to hates it. They say it's "too loud" or "ridiculous." I say they can all go to hell. I'm the one who's going to wear it, so why I am asking their opinion, anyway? I'm slowly training myself not to care what other people think. So far, it's proven to be tremendously useful. Halloween has always been my favorite holiday. I'm an eight-year-old at heart, and I love playing dress-up. Always have. I've had some great costumes - the bumble bee, can can dancer, flapper, movie star, etc. And the cow. I was a cow once. Moo moo, motherf-cker.

Less than a month to Ragtime, and I am so excited I could jump out of my skin. Ragtime is coming back. I'm going to get to see it, in all its historically inaccurate glory. Think of it. I'm finally going to get to see Ragtime. In twenty years, I'll be able to say that I was there. I was a part of that. I witnessed it. I also have a feeling that seeing Alice Ripley in Next to Normal will be something to brag about in the years to come. There's never been anything like it. I don't care how good Merman in Gypsy was. Ripley in Next to Normal is the best performance we've had in decades. So Patti LuPone can just suck on that.

What else? Ah, yes! Sondheim on Sondheim! Even the name sounds utterly magical, no? So apparently there's a show that's basically a compilation of Sondheim songs coming down the track. It's got Barbara Cook and Leslie Kritzer. I'm there, and I'm bursting at the seams for this one. It's gonna be a good year.

Yes, I HAVE Lost it at Last

Yes, she took it down because she's an over-zealous bitch who doesn't deserve friends and doesn't care about anyone but herself. In case you're wondering, this is what I looked like as a baby. My undeserved sense of superiority and I are very sorry.

It's Gonna Be Good

Hi there. So tomorrow's the flea market, and due to the 100% chance of rain that's been predicted for tomorrow, it's been moved to the Roseland Ballroom on 52nd Street. Well, that'll be...crowded. But all the current Broadway greats plus Bernadette Peters under one roof? Epic. Now, as I sit here and drown my sorrows in sweet and sour chicken, and wondering how anyone could possibly find Emilie Autumn entertaining, I'm starting to formulate a plan. I'm feeling some Next to Normal for tomorrow evening, possibly. I think we all know by now that I'm a self, conniving, calculating, horrible person. Maybe this horrible little girl will be able to get herself to the Booth. But we'll cross the bridge when I distract the guy who's guarding it.

Now... on to Emilie Autumn. Most of you probably haven't heard of her. Neither had I, until about an hour ago. She's a singer, but she looks and acts like someone who just strolled out of a mental institution and onto the stage. (There will be no Alice Ripley jokes here, thanks.) Seriously. Look up some Youtube videos of one of her concerts. She's a loon, and she seems to be relying on some kind of bizarre "Victorian asylum for wayward girls" concept. Oh, I get it. You're edgy. You think by glorifying mental illness you can show the general population just how anti-establishment you really are. She also claims to have once been subjected to a mental hospital herself. Somehow I doubt that's true, but what a darling little addition to the facade. Anyway, let's just let sleeping loonies lie, okay?

Okay. Good. Since the flea market has been moved to an indoor location, I'm predicting some type of madhouse, brimming with vicious fangirls and gay men who will simply NOT let you get to that Hello, Dolly RP first! I thinkin' I'm gonna have to strap on my crazy boots for this one, and wear shoulder pads. 'Cause ain't nobody else getting my Sunday in the Park Playbill, and don't care how many bitches I have to cut to get it. Okay, that was a little much. In the event of a death match, I think I'll pack up my apples and go back to the garden. Still, last year I arrived home with my arms laden with trinkets and useless stuff that meant the world to me. I hope this year isn't any different.

So step off, folks. Nobody messes with a short brunette who's armed with a BC/EFA tote bag and fierce determination.

Momentous Day

Today is September 23. Do you know what that means?

1. A month until Ragtime starts previews.
2. Three years since the second time I saw Hairspray.
3. Lansbury officially going into Night Music.
4. Three years since I first discovered Colony. I would be a very un-sheet musicked person if I didn't.

The Hit List

Welcome back, suckers. I think I have a fever, which would explain why I'm sitting here talking to you fine people instead of sitting in a crowded classroom digesting government propaganda. Have no fear, friends. I never let school interfere with my education.

So Sunday's the flea market, and the unofficial start to my winter Broadway season. I haven't booked anything yet, but I'm thinking this is what's gonna be on the docket:

Ragtime
Streetcar with Cate Blanchett
Superior Donuts
Oleanna
A Little Night Music
Next to Normal

As you can see, I'm going pretty deep and dark this time around. And, much as I'm fighting it, I know sooner or later I'm going to end up at Bye Bye Birdie. This is not okay with me.

Next: The 39 Steps is finally closing. I don't wish harm on anybody or any show, but I will say this: About freaking time. On another note, it was confirmed today that Angela Lansbury is going to be in Night Music. I am so happy I could just jump up and click my heels together. Except I won't, because I know for a fact I can't do that. Seriously. I tried it once, and it didn't end well.

Yesterday afternoon, I made the fatal mistake of telling someone I've never seen Beauty and the Beast. I think this person is now convinced that I had a deprived childhood. Trust me, folks, I didn't. Baby Blogger was too busy belting Tomorrow from Annie and traipsing around the living room to You Gotta Get a Gimmick to pay much attention to stuff other kids liked. This is kind of embarrassing: When I was five I wanted to be a stripper because my parents let me watch Gypsy. I made my mom get me a plastic trumpet so I could be like Miss Mazeppa, and at Christmas I would hang ornaments on myself and pretend to be Miss Electra. Jeez. Childhood was great.

So, in order to satiate the crowds who are calling for my cinematic blood, here it is: The List of Movies I've Never Seen

Beauty and the Beast
Hercules
Enchanted
Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs
Casablanca
It's a Wonderful Life
Citizen Kane
It Happened One Night
anything from Star Wars, Rocky, or Indiana Jones

I don't feel particularly deprived. By the time I was six I was watching The Sound of Music and Bye Bye Birdie. I don't consider missing out on 'classic' Disney movies to be that great a loss. Whatever. I saw Streetcar at a very young age, and that is all the movie I've ever needed.

It's Today

HELLO, DARLINGS!!! I have a great, great feeling about today. Now, it may have something to do with the fact that today may be the most beautiful day I've ever seen, or the fact that I fell asleep at seven last night, surrounded by sheaves of sheet music and with my head on my piano. But I just have this feeling that something wonderful is gonna happen for me today. There are just so many things I could do. Somewhere there's a party worth crashing, and I intend to be there.

The sun is really shining in today. And so, the little voice in my head is repeatedly chanting, "GoseeHairgoseeHairgoseeHairgoseeHair." But that ain't gonna happen, because I'm not that lucky. That might not happen, but something is. I don't know what it is, but it is gonna be great. Thanks for that, Mr. Sondheim.

Sunday in the Alley With 20,000 People

Wilkommen. I don't know where you guys are, but here it's a beautiful, cool night. I've tucked myself into a little ball and am sitting underneath the window. There's ten minutes to Glee, so I thought I'd pop in here. Pop.

Great news on all fronts today. I've started teaching myself the role of Dot from Sunday in the Park. There's a lot more to her than meets the eye. I like Jenna Russell's performance better than Bernadette Peters. Jenna played her as more youthful and fun-loving. So when I drift around singing the songs or run lines with my occasionally-willing neighbor, that's what I go for. I just realized how weird that is. But yeah, I could probably do a pretty decent Sally Bowles/Little Red/Momma Rose/Stella/Edie/Jeanie/Dot if the situation ever arose. Of course, one man's decent is another man's claw-your-eyes-out, so I think we should all just hope said situation never arises.

Hey, look! Glee just started and guess who I see! DEBRA MONK! And Victor Garber...I'm afraid of him. Debra Monk also scares me a bit. And I didn't even see Curtains.

Avenue Q is going back Off-Broadway. I was so surprised. And nothing ever really surprises me anymore. Which is why....wait, nevermind! IT'S JOHN LLOYD YOUNG! Yay Glee! I applaud the use of Broadway actors. Seriously. I'm clapping right now.

Warning: the following is gonna sound really spoiled, willful, and bratty. It may cause you to hate me more than you actually do. It may incite grumbles of, "Stuck-up bitch." But here it is. I'm going to Amsterdam. Summer 2011. So there it is. I'm going to Amsterdam, and I'm going to tiptoe through the tulips with the potheads and avoid the heroin addicts. It's gonna be great.

The BC/EFA Flea Market is next Sunday. As my two-year-old cousin would say, "I'm so excited." Indeed I am. This year, I am in search of a Sunday in the Park Playbill. If you've never been to the flea market, go. It's definitely a party worth crashing. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LCXNpTQgaAs Last year I saw Doug Wright, lyricist and book writer for Grey Gardens. If I've never said it before, Grey Gardens is a work of pure genius, thus, seeing Mr. Wright rendered me unable to speak. I distinctly remember standing there dumbfounded for a second, and then I said, "Around the World is great." Okay, so that was awkward. But Around the World is still my favorite song ever.

Great picture right? I don't know why I've never seen it before. It's a perfect combination of My Favorite Color and My Favorite Person Who Ever Lived. Yay for Vivien Leigh. Yay for purple.

So I recently read and watched The Crucible. Let me tell you this, folks: Shit's intense. I entertained my Facebook friends by posting, "I saw Goody Palin with the Devil!" as my status. I got three likes and a comment. Laugh, fools, laugh.

I'm Going to Hell

RATS IN THE STREETS AND THE LUNATICS YELLING AT THE MOON, IT'S THE END OF THE WORLD!! No, really. I just heard Allison Case say bitch. If that's not the end of the world, I don't know what is. On top of that, Berri probably wants to run a rusty spike through my stomach, and there is a great chance that Lenora will soon feel the urge to do the very same thing. So here's what went down, and then we'll elaborate on why I'm a terrible person. I spent my afternoon with:

Alice Ripley

Jenn Damiano

Aaron Tveit

Kerry Butler

Cheyenne Jackson

John Stamos

Matt Doyle

Caissie Levy

Sutton Foster

Seth Rudetsky

Josefina Scaglione

Matt Cavenaugh

Christiane Noll

Beth Leavel

others I have no recollection of


Okay, so I went to Broadway on Broadway, without Berri or Lenora. I'm not gonna say it wasn't fun, cause it was. It was really fun. But here's how it went, and maybe this self-seeking bitch can redeem herself a bit: My dad charged into my room this morning and declared that if I could be out of the house in ten minutes we could go to Broadway on Broadway. Of course I was up like a shot, washing and half-drying my hair, pulling out a pair of jeans and a plaid top, and out in the door in seven minutes.

We took the subway over. I have to say, I don't think there is any experience that is more 'New York' then emerging from the subway to see the entire city rise before you. We arrived in Times Square just in time to see Sutton Foster's face projected on the big screen. After some expert maneuvering, and my shameless manipulation of the fact that my dad's a cop, we managed to end up three rows from the stage. It was great.

First up was Bye Bye Birdie. It was okay. Seeing Matt Doyle again was a blast from the past. Even when I'm old and in my rocker, I'm still going to remember him as Hanschen Rilow, the creepy omnisexual German Nazi kid from Spring Awakening. He'd make a great Emcee. Because really, there aren't that many roles in the range of creepy omnisexual Germans.

Next to Normal did Superboy and the Invisible Girl. I hate that song. I just do. Alice Ripley seems to have seen better days. But then again, so has this country. I'm a Ripley fan now, I'll be a Ripley fan tomorrow, and I was a Ripley fan yesterday. As such, I screamed like a lunatic for her. I think a return visit to the Booth may be in order.

West Side Story was awful. Josefina Scaglione seemed decent, but Matt Cavenaugh was the auditory equivalent of inserting contact lenses with a razor.

Hair was next. Only Caissie Levy was there, and one of the highlights of my day was watching her horrified face when the host pronounced her name as "Cassie Levvy." It was epic. She did a pretty good job. There are worse songs they could have done.

A few bland numbers later, (I'm looking at you, White Christmas,) Ragtime was on. They did Wheels of a Dream. That's a great song, but my favorite is the Prologue. After Wheels of a Dream, the entire cast strode onstage to sing the end of the Prologue.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ncAefV8W7FE And I cried. We're not talking a few subtle tears. This was an out-and-out emotional meltdown. It was pretty pathetic. In case I haven't told you guys this yet, I CANNOT WAIT TO SEE RAGTIME!!!!!!! I don't care where I sit. I'm accustomed to mezzanine crawling, as I've said. But I will be there, come hell or high water. Okay, here goes. Ragtime is perfect. There I said it. Ragtime is perfect. I said it again. The score is perfect. Every show I've ever known has at least one clunker. Cabaret has What Would You Do, Spring Awakening has The Mirror Blue Night, Rent has everything but La Vie Boheme. For Ragtime, though, I cannot think of one song I don't love.

They ended the show but shooting confetti and streamers into the crowd. I literally could not see anything. When I finally emerged from the cloud, confetti was everywhere - in my shoes, down my shirt, in my hair, in my bag. But it wasn't on my party dress.

So all in all a great day. Two weeks to the flea market. J'adore the flea market. Last year I got Berger's ripped shirt. That meant nothing to me then, but now I'm glad I did it. Good times.

Light the Candles, Get the Ice Out, Roll the Rug Up, It's Today

Wilkommen. So it's today. Yessiree, Allison Case is finally making a triumphant return to the stage of the Hirschfeld Theatre, after over a month of absence. Hooray for her. Perhaps this means I shall soon find myself at Hair once again. First on my list right now, however, is Ragtime. A month and a half till previews. It's gonna be good, and it's gonna win Tonys, and it's gonna outrun Bye Bye Birdie. Because it just is.

Wait, stop the presses. I've just realized something. It's September 12! IT'S FRANK MILLS DAY - the day Crissy met Frank Mills, before she subsequently lost his address! How appropriate that Miss Case should be making her return tonight. It's a good day. Sorry that this picture of her is so absolutely MASSIVE.

So, friends, I'm taking an opera/musical theatre class this year. The very first thing the girls asked me, before I had even set my books down, was whether or not I had been at the closing of Spring Awakening. When I said yes, they nodded to each other knowingly and asked who my favorite actress was. I said Alice Ripley. This time, they smiled and asked what my name was. I think I passed the test. We've only had three classes, but it's going swimmingly. Taking a class that begins with a question about Spring Awakening constitutes a good year in my book. I'm also required to see an opera in the fall and a musical in the spring. I've never been to the opera. It's really sad. But I'm more excited for it than I thought I would be. I want to see Madame Butterfly, but I think we're either going for Tosca or Turandot.

It has come to my attention that I've had visitors from New Zealand and Germany. Wilkommen, bienvenue, welcome! I always really wanted to go to Berlin. And Amsterdam, actually, but we haven't had any Dutch visitors as of yet. I dream of the day.

There's more to say, and there are Broadwaysecrets to share, but it's all stuff I just don't feel like saying right now. So I'm off.

CHAAAAAARRRGGGEEE!!!!

Welcome back, suckers. I love the first day of school. I really do. Everything's new and shiny, the teachers are nice, the notebooks are clean, and you're morally obligated to greet everyone with a hug. So today was a good day for me.

I have to say, though, the highlight of my day, possibly the highlight of the entire school year, happened within a minute of me setting foot inside the school. One of my Facebook friends, a girl I never actually talk to in the real world, came up to me, hugged me, and said, "Oh, my God, your statuses are amazing!" Now here's the thing, friends. The Facebook relationship is a precarious one. I don't send friend requests. I don't believe in them. If I'm interested in being your friend, I'll do it in the real world. But I don't believe in rejecting them either. So I just hit accept, unless I hate you. But that's not the issue here. Still, it's not the closest of bonds. This would explain why I was utterly shocked that someone would go out of their way to seek me out, hug me, and compliment my Facebook statuses.

Now I hope you're not under the impression that my statuses are actually good. Because they most certainly are not. Usually, they're just a little anecdote about something that happened to me or lyrics that are pulsing around my head. I just think 'em up and clack 'em out. Isn't that what everybody does? Well, I guess it's nice to know that at least one person thinks I'm doing a bang-up job.

So once again, Lenora and I are in the same homeroom and therefore locker neighbors. I am a terrible neighbor, but it's good to have Lenora around. She's smarter than I am and once told me that. Bitch. Our lockers are huge this year. I could probably fit the entire population of Rhode Island in mine. That'll probably come in handy someday. Still, there's a downside - our block of lockers is directly in the path of a swinging door. Curse you, whoever designed the place. Twice today I watched someone get nailed with a door, and the girl in the corner has to practically climb into her locker whenever someone wants to get the door open. Tomorrow I'm gonna bring a road blocks and a stun gun.

Our homeroom teacher told us he'll buy Munchkins for our birthdays, in a flavor the birthday girl chooses. When my birthday comes around, I'm gonna pick something like carrot. It's gonna be a great year.

Must...Stay...UP!

Good morning, starshine. It's two a.m., or something like that. And I am up, because it's the last night of the summer. I haven't had any Powerade tonight. I swear to God. The doctors told me I had to stop with that, because I was getting too many electrolytes and calories, or something like that. So I'm up, in some desperate last-ditch attempt to make my summer last longer. Or something like that. And what a summer it's been, don't you agree? I love my life right now, which is not something I would usually say. I just watched a video of Rondi Reed getting into her Madame Morrible, which is always not something I would usually say. So this summer's been a mix of ups and downs. Okay, it was mostly up. Sorry, friends. I don't want to rub it in, but I really did have one great summer. I think the best days of it were:

1. August 20
2. August 8
3. July 13

And now I am awake, and tired, and having a panic attack because it's over. I don't do well with letting stuff go. I still have a bouquet of year-old prop flowers the Spring Awakening stage door man gave me. Lenora can attest to this. They are currently standing upside-down on my vanity, an eyesore but a fountain of memories. Of course, if I tried to touch them they would probably crumble faster than Alice Ripley's descent into madness. (But I still effing adore Alice Ripley, and it makes no difference to me whether or not she's on crack. So what? Carey Grant did LSD. So you can all just shut up about that.) I cannot tell you all the embarrassing things I've done to keep myself awake. I read some of Emily Kinney's blog posts. She's Jean on the August: Osage County tour. The only acceptable Jean for me is Madeleine Martin, just like Vivien Leigh is the only acceptable Blanche DuBois and blue is the only acceptable Powerade flavor. I leafed through August: OC and counted the number of times Barbara says f-ck. Trust me. It's a lot. After that I looked at some old pictures and marveled at how fat I was as a child. In an hour I will watch Family Guy. While we're on the subject, some poor unfortunate soul had the absolute unmitigated gall to tell me that South Park was funnier than Family Guy. That is an utterly unacceptable thing to say, and horrifying too. Jesus, I'm soooo tired. How tired, you ask? So tired that if I were Caissie Levy I'd be ripping my weave out right now. And then the world would rejoice. Sorry, Caissie Levy. I'm backing off now. You do what you want with your hair, and I'll just silently judge you. Don't take it personal. I do that to everybody.

So I saw Taking Woodstock last night. (Technically, two days ago?) Yeah. You know that scene in Schindler's List where all the women see the children being taken off to the gas chambers? That was a lot less painful.

Going International

Big news, folks. I had my first international visitor today. Apparently, someone from Sweden searched and found my blog. Hello, my new Swedish friend. Everybody say, "Hi, Swedish Blog Reader!" Okay, honey, I'm done embarrassing you now.

So today is September 6. You know what that means. 9 to 5 has met its end. I'm listening to One of the Boys right now, as a sort of funereal dirge. So long, ladies. Be thankful for your five months. You could have gone down like Glory Days.

Yesterday afternoon, Lenora saw West Side Story. I was proud of her for taking the risk. She came back with the following information: Matt Cavenaugh sucks. I could have told her that. I was told about his hideous accent, which is no foreign thing to me. I saw Grey Gardens. When I asked Lenora what her favorite part was, her abrupt response was, "When Tony died." Oh, Lord. I remember a time when people were actually supposed to care when Tony dies. Thanks for that, Richard Beymer. However, I was told that Matt Cavenaugh "is hot." Unfortunately, that makes no difference to me. So's Jeremy Piven, and look how that ended up. If Matt Cavenaugh's looks reflected his actual talent, he would probably look something like this guy. Wow. That's unbearable. Okay, he's somebody's son. I'm shutting up now.

Tripping 1906 Style

It's one in the morning. I still have my earplugs in and sleepmask on the top of my head, but I was just woken up by the most vivid dream I've ever had in my life. Figured I'd tell you all about it now before it goes out of my head. I dreamt I saw Ragtime. Live, and in its entirety, with every single song, scene, and line intact. I was by myself, in fact I was the only one in the theatre. I even remember where I sat - mezz row J. (This shouldn't surprise me, since in my waking hours I am a shameless Mezzanine Crawler.) But I saw it, and it was perfect. Great dream. Okay, whatever. I'm gonna go back to bed now.

No Words for This

Hey, guys. Can we talk? So today I came across something disgusting, ugly, and terrifying.

That wasn't it. This is. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JvVAV09-dQ8&eurl=http%3A%2F%2Fwww%2Efacebook%2Ecom%2Fhome%2Ephp%3F&feature=player_embedded

Watch and be amazed at just how racist, blind, gullible, and ignorant one person can be. The two Christian girls repeatedly slap the Indian girl and her beliefs in the face, and she sits there and tries to calmly explain her beliefs to them. I think my favorite part of the whole video is, "You're not Hindu. You just think you're Hindu." Oh, isn't she just darling? All that insight. Second favorite part is, "Krishna...krishna like Christian?" "No. Krishna like krishna." Seriously, though, this is horrifying. These girls are freaking brainwashed, and they've been trained to go out and brainwash everybody else. I can't believe they were taught that all non-Christians go to hell. What vapid little monkeys, to believe something like that. It just amazes me that there are people like this in the world.

Reaching the Nation

Hello, my 31 darlings. I've been checking up on my blog hits, and apparently one of my regular readers lives in Alaska. That can only mean one thing, folks. SARAH PALIN READS MY BLOG! Lenora was right all along. Because clearly, nobody else lives in Alaska. Everybody say, "Hi, Sarah!" Now say, "We don't like you very much, Sarah!" I'm so faux excited, I don't even know what to do with myself.

So I watched Glee tonight, and contemplated the fact that Lea Michele ain't never coming back to Broadway. And that got me thinking about how much I loved and continue to love Spring Awakening. Getting nostalgic here. I miss it so much. By the time I started my blog, my ardor for the show had cooled a lot, but there was a period from about June 2007 to January 2008 when it was all the mattered to me. I know that sounds scary, but I just adored this show. I ate, drank, and breathed Spring Awakening. And I was happier than I think I've ever been in my life. This picture fills me up with joy. It's a shot of the original cast, plus Steven Sater, who I haven't thought about in months, and Duncan Sheik, more-talented older brother of Kacie. I love and miss this show. That's all I can say, but you should know by now that I'm most likely gonna say more. Yes, I love Hair. Yes, I admit it may possibly be better than Spring Awakening was. But here's the thing - I'm always gonna love Spring more. I just am. There are shows that are better than this one. I know that for a fact; I've seen them. But this one is closest to my heart. It kind of osmosed itself into my life, and it's part of who I am now. Which is not to say that I go around taking killer abortion pills. Isn't this just a great picture, though? Oh, Lea. You were a spotlight hog even back then. It's kind of funny to see Jenn Damiano, pre-Tony nom, back when she was a deep-voiced fifteen-year-old. I liked her better when she was a deep-voiced fifteen-year-old.

Ah, Jesus, I'm relapsing. Okay, that's it for now. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jFWg3t52ppA&feature=related This may be my favorite song of all time. I was in Bryant Park for this. I almost had heatstroke. Good times.

Hello, World

Not much news today, but I am proud to tell you all that I am now the owner of a giant stuffed Stewie Griffin. I won him at a claw machine, and it only took me about eleven tries. It was a proud day.

So...what to talk about? It has come to my attention that my blog reaches approximately 35 people a day, 31 of which return on a daily basis. So there are 31 of you? Hello, darlings. I love each and every one of you, unless your name happens to be Patti LuPone. Honestly, I never expected to have an audience at all. For the longest time I thought I was just talking to the wall, plus Lenora. It's good to know I reach approximately .000000000000000000000000001% of the population. It gives me some kind of hope.

Thanks to a new application, I can now see how each of you linked yourselves to my blog. I'm sorry if you find that creepy. Today, one of you searched "Karen Ziemba" and found yourself here. Sorry, friend. You will find nothing positive about that woman on my blog. Another lonely cyber-wandered searched "shirtless Aaron Tveit." Why, you sly boots. You won't find that here, either, but we're working on it, my friend.

Knowing exactly how many of you there are makes me kind of nervous. I feel judged. How long have you folks been reading? Do you mind when I get ornery? Am I boring you? I am no performer. I've always been terrified of the spotlight, and my many literary endeavours have gone largely unread, at my own intention. I don't let my own mother read this stuff, folks. To be honest, I was more comfortable talking to the wall than I am talking to all of you.

Oh, well. You're here, and apparently you keep coming back, like a kitten I fed once and can't get rid of. Not that I want any of you to leave. Jesus. There are only 31 of you. How many people can I afford to chase away? No, friends, I'm very grateful that there are people who pretend to care what I am saying. Still, don't flatter yourselves into thinking I'm doing this for all of you. Please, I'm not that nice. I've long suspected that I have some kind of Momma Rose complex. Bottom line - "I guess I did it for myself." Folks, it's been almost a year. Let's not convince ourselves that I'm anything but an insomniac girl who got bored with Broadwayworld.

I am very tempted to share some more of my writing with you folks. I've been rereading my countless unfinished manuscripts from back in the day. Some are mind-bendingly hideous, some are actually pretty damn good. The problem with my main project now is that I know I am capable of doing better, but I'm too lazy to try. This is not my career, this will not be my career. What am I wasting my time on?

Moving on to something completely different - religion. I am Catholic. I have been educated Catholic, and I think I've turned out fine. As for the whole "kill the gays and abortion should be illegal" scene, I'm not sure I buy that crap. Here's what I know - I believe in God. I believe in love. I believe in heaven and hell, and I'd like to think everyone goes to heaven. If that makes me Catholic, then let me be called Catholic. It makes no real difference in the long run. But there are some areas when I deviate from the beaten path - For me, it is easy to feel close to God when I am watching a once-in-a-lifetime performance, or dancing onstage at Hair, or hearing my baby cousin tell me she loves me. When I'm sitting in an over-heated church listening to an Indian pastor drone on, not so much. Which is why I'm not that much of a church-goer. Let me clarify - theatre is not my religion. The Al Hirschfeld Theatre is not my place of worship, and when I pray, I pray to God, not Alice Ripley. (Although I freely admit that I offered up a small prayer to Bea Arthur that Angela Lansbury would win the Tony. I figured if anyone could help out with that, she could. Thanks for that one, Bea.) But there are things that help us to know that God exists, and if you want to say that theatre has taught me that, I guess you can. It brings me happiness, and happiness is the only thing I am looking for in this world.

I have not had a bad life so far, but there have been long stretches of time when I have been unhappy. When you've gone months without happiness, you learn how precious it is. And now, friends, I know more joy than I have ever seen in my life, and I am grateful, happy, peaceful, and enjoying the blue skies.

The Quote Post

Welcome back, suckers. I'll have you folks know that I have just seen my father poke a hole in the inch-thick lid of a 50-pound trunk, string rope through it, and drag it around the living room. He used a freaking toothpick to drill the hole. And you people wonder why I stay up so late.


Anyway, it's late, it's hot, the Kerrigan and Lowerdmilk is abundant, and the blue Powerade is flowing freely. You know what that means. It's time for...A BLOG POST! I think I need my own theme song. Before I continue, I would like you all to know that I'm watching Two Strangers, and when I toggled between the tabs, Caissie Levy looked for one shining moment like a drugged cow. It was amusing. You're welcome. So...I love quotes. I build my life around them, memorize them, chant them like some kind of ancient Hindu mantra. There are just so many wonderful ones, and whenever the situation warrants I just pluck one from my extensive repertoire and blab it out. It's kinda like the way I can take any situation and liken it to something that happened in a Family Guy episode. Only I'm not so proud of that. But I thought I'd share some of my favorites with you, my very, very tiny audience.

"Bon appetit, douchebag." - Stewie Griffin

"It's much harder to make an audience laugh than it is to make them cry." - Vivien Leigh

"You're an asshole." - Pearl the Landlord

"If God brought you to it, He will bring you through it." - anonymous

"Leastest thing that they could teach you is not to talk on what you're wholly, completely,
abysmally ignorant of." - Caroline, or Change

"Jeez, if you wanted to put on a bad show why didn't we just do Rent?" - Peter Griffin

"You can't sell me, you fat son of a bitch!" - Meg Griffin

"Deliberate cruelty is not forgivable." - Blanche DuBois

"Just goes to show ya, Blanche, ya never know what's comin'." - Stanley Kowalski

"We all gotta keep goin'. No matter what happens, we gotta keep goin'." - Eunice Hubbell

"Are you box outta your mind?" - Harold Mitchell

"You look like a lesbian." - Violet Weston

"You don't wanna break shit with me, muthaf*cka!" - Barbara Fordham

"I'm a tool." - Robert Pattinson

"Some hurts never heal, but the darkest skies will someday see the sun." - adapted from Next to
Normal

"You sound like an unbelievable douche." - Brian Griffin

"Son of a bitch, I guess I'm doing something right." - The Last Five Years

"Start by admitting from cradle to tomb, it isn't that long a stay." - Cabaret

"If you're going through hell, keep going." - Winston Churchill

"You're a lot of fun. I hope you don't die." - Edie Beale

"Every day is just another and another and another..." - Next to Normal

Confucius say thanks for reading all those quotes. Before I go, we're gonna talk Ragtime. Full casting was announced today. Two problems. Problem Number One: I've never actually heard of anyone that's been cast. That's pretty rough. I like to know what I'm getting myself into. Problem Number Two: Savannah Wise got Evelyn Nesbit, and she's from Rock of Ages. Damn. I'm not trying to be pre-judgemental, but, well, I guess I kinda am. Oh, well. Guess this means Leigh Ann Larkin got Petra in A Little Night Music, and will be over at the Kerr with Angela Lansbury and Catherine Zeta-Jones. I think Leigh Ann Larkin is great, and this is swaying me a bit. But I am still backing Ragtime 100% for that Tony.

The role that will be left open when Savannah leaves Rock of Ages will be filled by Kerry Butler. She can do better than that, but I guess the bills still have to be paid. I like to think that's the only reason Brian d'Arcy James and Sutton Foster took the embarrassing pratfall-fest that was Shrek.

Mystery Solved

So, folks, just popping in to answer that burning question: If an epic Hair vs. Family Guy throw-down should ever arise, who would I root for? Well, here we go. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JxEqAJUIorM Isn't that a lovely little snippet? Personally, I'm a PC. My laptop is a PC, my desktop is a PC. I don't know any of those Mac users who pride themselves on being so edgy. Back to the subject at hand. Yeah, that's Allison Case, but I had to see this commercial twice before I noticed it was her. However, the fact that the guy playing the PC salesman does the voice of Joe on Family Guy had me sqealing like an overexcited little pig on the first shot. So there you have it. I love me some Hair, but I'm a Family Guy fan right up to the bitter end. Plus, the world could use so many more paralyzed cops. Little hippie girls who spend their days waiting for a guy who doesn't remember them, not so much.

Epic

Sorry, friends, but I have to share this. It's perfect, in its hideous way. It's what Seurat would be painting if he were alive today. There are a great many people that I wish were sitting next to the guy who's hurling his guts up. List time!

1. Sarah Palin

2. Patti LuPone

3. Justin Timberlake

4. Spencer Pratt

5. Demi Lovato

6. Billy Elliot

7. Francesca Zambello

8. Laura Bell Bundy

9. Kristen Stewart

10. Robert Pattinson

11. Matt Cavenaugh

12. Idina Menzel

13. my neighbor who thinks it's okay to break out the chainsaw at eight a.m.

14. George Bush

15. Miley Cyrus

Okay, I'm done. Better stop before "my hate rise up rip my insides out." Caroline, or Change is an unbelievable show. Please, do yourself a favor, and at least look up Lot's Wife on Youtube. If you like that, buy "Caroline and Noah Fight" from iTunes, if for no other reason than to hear Tonya Pinkins sing, in a scary voice that is barely audible, "And hell's where Jews go when they dieeeeeeeeee." It's so hateful and yet such a beautiful arrangement.

While we're talking Broadway, word on the street is that Catherine Zeta-Jones and Angela Lansbury are going into Night Music. I could take or leave that Jones woman, but Angela Lansbury? Back so soon? Back at all? Hold your hats and hallelujah. If this is true, and I think it is, I will absolutely be making a sojourn to what ever theatre they get assigned. I swore I wouldn't miss Angela in Blithe Spirit, and I did it, and I regret it. This time is gonna be different. Plus, it's Sondheim. There is no missing Sondheim. However, the fact that A Little Night Music has Angela Lansbury does not change the fact that I am rooting for Ragtime. Because I love Ragtime. Ragtime is in my heart, mind, soul, and blood. And when a show that makes up that much of your being comes to Broadway, you better pray it gets Best Revival. And it will. Because it's Ragtime.

Did some yoga today. My Wii Fit trainer yelled at me because I hadn't worked out with her in five days. She scares me. Still, love me some Wii Fit. I can do everything but the Dance pose. The one time I tried, I almost went through the TV. Won't be trying that again anytime soon.

Yesterday, while visiting my grandparents in Brick, my brother, sister, and I had a vicious game of hide and seek. I am a hide and seek aficionado, and my grandparents' new house is a prime location - closets in closets, wide space behind couches, big cabinets. That kind of stuff. I hid in a closet in the bedroom that couldn't be seen because it was covered by the open bedroom door. It was an ingenious spot, and I was in there for twenty minutes. I love hiding, which may be why I'm so good at it. I've hidden in hampers, under beds, behind beds, in closets, in showers, and just about any other place you can name. Once, when I was playing with my sister and my cousin, I went behind the dresser and was back there for at least an hour. Hide and seek is just pure fun. I like to pretend I'm hiding from the cops, or a serial killer, or the Nazis, or Cindy McCain. You just never outgrow it, and it's great fun. Anyway, on this particular occasion, I simply could not believe that no one thought the close the bedroom door, thus revealing my closet. My poor siblings rushed around for a while, cursing and saying stuff like, "No, I checked under the car! Besides, her shoes are here! She's gotta be moving around." I am not a ninja. I do not move around. And that's all I have to say about that.

Mine Eyes Have Seen

I have seen the future, friends, and it's terrifying. This evening, during a long road trip homeward, my mother decided to stop at a bar in Belmar to see her favorite band play. It was not so fun. We all stood on a soggy deck outside a busted bar and listened to a bunch of aging cover singers. As a matter of fact, it was awful. Old fat people in tank tops and shorts were guzzling beer out of red plastic cups. I thought only college kids did that. It was the most depressing thing I've seen all summer. All I could think was, "Dear God, don't let me end up like these people."

But really, who am I to judge them? Even though they were chronically middle aged, badly dressed, and listening to an awful band out on a soggy deck that smelled of smoke and rotting fish, they seemed to be having a good time. Still, it was difficult to suppress the urge to shake them and say, "Open your eyes, people! You're not twenty-one! You're in freaking Belmar, for Christ's sake!" My parents kept telling me how much fun these people used to be when they were young. I simply could not imagine any of those folks ever being fun or young. While we're on the subject, I'm gonna bash Jersey. There is nothing there. Literally. Nothing. I don't care how much fun "going down the shore" is. It's not fun for me. Renting a house in Belmar and sleeping somewhere else may be where it's been but it's not where it's at. I have no interest in any of that. Why would anybody want to lay on the beach for hours, slowly subjecting themselves to skin cancer, and then going out clubbing with a bunch of guidos you could find anywhere else in the tristate area? The fact that a bunch of middle-aged folks still think that this is fun, and have conditioned their children to believe that it's fun, depresses me. Really. It's sad, kinda like drinking alone in an apartment out in Queens. Apparently, it doesn't matter where you are as long as your with your friends. Is it so terribly awful of me to say that I don't believe that's true at all? Because really, I'd much rather be sitting with my enemies and watching some indie band play Joe's Pub than be out out in Belmar, Seaside, or anywhere else on the Jersey Shore doing shots with my friends. It's okay if you want to call me a bad person. My own mother tells me that every day.

Depressing factor aside, going to that bar today was actually a pretty educational anthropological study. There was this one woman there, with sun-mottled skin, sagging boobs, platinum hair, and a skintight red dress, who was just sitting at the bar doing shot after shot. She was by herself and looked to be about fifty. It was so sad, but then I realized that looking at her was like looking through a time portal. She was some kind of Little Edie Beale, a relic left over from the past. This woman could remember a time when it was alright to wear red dresses after age 25 and people actually went to Belmar bars on purpose. The saddest part was that she wasn't the only poor unfortunate soul out there. Really, was there anybody there who didn't witness the Kennedy assassination? I have my doubts.

I Regret Nothing

As Brian once said to Stewie in an epic Family Guy episode, "You friggin' psychopath." I now am wondering if he was referring to me. Last night, I was artistically inspired and stayed up till four working on my novel. Translation: The insomniac bitch drank too much Powerade and was up for hours scribbling away in her crappy little book. And I went to bed. I woke up at two today. I am not proud of that. So I checked my phone, and there was a call from Daddy. He wanted to know if I wanted to go to the Hair CD signing today. Well, I did what anyone would have done. I dropped everything. And I went running out to this CD signing, along with Berri and Lenora. And guess what. We went to see Hair. I am not proud of that either. But I did it, and I had a wonderful time, and it was the best rash decision I made all summer.

On the way there, I decided that I was going to see Hair, and ain't nobody was gonna be stoppin' me. So I risked dealing with the droney Telecharge lady, and I got tickets for the eight o'clock show. It was a bad decision. It was reckless. I loved it. We went to the CD signing, and it was great. I had fun. I love having fun. Fun is what I live for. So after that, we had dinner at Sweet Caroline's. Poor folks, there was nobody in there. Literally. Nobody was in there. We were all decked out in true hippie fashion. I had pirated Lenora's peacock earrings and flower headband, so the waitress asked us if we were going to see Billy Elliot. At the end of the meal, she drew a hippie on our check. New favorite restaurant.

I ran up to our seats first, and Berri and Lenora went to the bathroom. This is gonna sound really weird, but I like a few moments alone to take in the atmosphere, especially at this show. I love to just sit there and raise my face to the ceiling and wrap my mind around where I am, and what I am about to do. It's a whole detox process. This time, however, I didn't do any of that. I just shut my eyes and marveled at the fact that such a welcome surprise had landed in my lap. I was there, and I was happy. And happiness is not something I take lightly. Before the curtain went up, I just leaned over and hugged Lenora, giddy and so incredibly happy to be where I was. The show was, as always, wonderful. We had fantastic understudies for Claude and Crissy. Poor Berri can't catch a break when it comes to Claudes. I can honestly say that I loved every minute of it. Some highlights were watching Lenora get pulled up to dance during Electric Blues, Will Swenson's outrageous ad-libbing, including a LuPwning of The Latecomers, and all those little nuances and moments that make this show so damn brilliant. For instance, I love when Woof turns to the audience and simply says, "And I love you." It's a beautiful moment that nobody else seems to like. Everybody always makes fun of me because my very favorite scene is the one where Sheila and Berger fight. Really, people. Berger's an immature douchebag. He just is. Oh, dear. Now I've forever ruined that scene for myself. I'm never gonna be able to watch it again without thinking of the song Stewie writes - "And then Brian comes in and I change up the tempo. Brian comes in and he changes the song. Lookin' at me like he thinks I'm a douchebag..." Oh well. Anyway, if I haven't said it before, here it is: I love this show. During Aquarius, I just remember thinking, "There is no place on this earth that I would rather be right now." It's my laughing place. Everybody needs a laughing place, kinda like every Republican needs something to lie about.

After the show, we went down on the stage to dance. I was temporarily separated from my friends, but I caught up with them after worrying that I would look like some lonely idiot dancing around by herself. I have never seen so many happy people in one place before. Everyone just looked so unabashedly joyful. I turned to my right, and saw an old lady bouncing around and laughing hysterically. She proceeded to grab her husband and make out with him. I don't think I've ever believed in love as much as I did right then. Dancing on the stage is such a love fest. I found myself just grabbing Berri and Lenora and hugging them as tight as I could. There was a girl standing to my left, and she found herself randomly snatched up, hugged, and kissed by Will Swenson. As the scary Russian girl in my ballet class once said to me after I had answered the teacher's question: "That could have been me." So the show ends, and we shuffle off stage, receiving hugs from Will Swenson and Kacie Sheik, who, aside from being hugely pregnant at the time, is tiny tiny tiny. It felt kinda like hugging an ironing board.

We shuffled on down to the stage door. It was hot. It was sickeningly hot. I could seriously feel my makeup melting off my face, but it was worth it. Caissie Levy and her weave came out first. The first thing she said was, "Wow, my Sharpies suck tonight." I was horrified. Doesn't she know not to talk that way in front of the children? She smiled at Lenora and said, "Well, it's good to see you again," in a way that suggested it really wasn't that great to see her again. Bryce Ryness suckered Lenora into buying his band's album. It was so awkward. One of the tribe members, whose name is escaping me, complimented my headband. I told her that I had pirated it off Lenora. (While we're on the subject, Lenora ended up giving me that headband at the end of the night. I love Lenora and I love her headwear.) I have come to the conclusion that everything worth talking about happens to Lenora. Except I am the owner of the arm that got scribbled on by Will Swenson. He said sorry. The first thing that came to my head was "Thank-you." And I said it. Because I'm clearly not very smart at all. Really, I don't enjoy getting written on by strangers, thanks.

After it got too hot to hang around any longer, we made our way to Colony. I love it there. It is my second home. My hot, crowded, overpriced second home. I was hunting for the Caroline, or Change CD. The guy who worked there told me they didn't have it, and he said it was a shame that they never made a songbook, since it was such a beautiful score. We commiserated for a while. He said it was a shame that Tonya Pinkins lost the Tony. I love you, Colony Man.

I got myself a Blue Powerade at the EZ Deli, which once sold my dad poisonous cheese. Change your name all you want, deli people. You don't fool me. Strolling through the streets, I entered into that dizzy post-show phase where I just say whatever pops into my head. I can remember saying, "If somebody had told me last night that at this time tomorrow I would be here, I never woulda believed 'em. I'm still having trouble believing that this happened." (I'm actually still having some trouble believing it now. But there is still ink on my arm, and an autographed CD and Playbill on my dresser, and Lenora's headband on my kitchen table. It happened. Just goes to show ya, Blanche, ya REALLY never know what's comin'.) Lenora giggled that she felt high. It was at that point that I realized I had forgotten to warn her about the Hair High. "Yeah," I mumbled. "That happens a lot. You'll probably still be on it when you wake up tomorrow." As for me, I'm starting to crash a bit now.

Well, there it is. Perhaps from now on, I will expect the unexpected. No, I'm no one's wife, but, oh, I love my life. Hair is the type of show that I could see over and over and over and never get tired of it. And, as the ladies of the soon-to-be-ass-out 9 to 5 say, "I just might."