Glee

I'd like to propose a toast. Here's to Glee - my new guilty pleasure show. The first episode alone featured three Broadway actors, four Broadway songs, and a Hair reference. I'm pretty much sold. They had me at "Sit Down You're Rocking the Boat."

One of the stars is Lea Michele, Spring Awakening's original Wendla. The girl has the voice of God, if God was a twenty-two-year-old Jewish girl from the Bronx. However, I stand by my conviction that she is not the most gifted actress. Hearing her sing On My Own and Don't Stop Believing was a definite throwback to my Spring Awakening days. In Glee, she plays Rachel, the suck-up diva of the club. She reminds me of someone I know. Not naming names here. Lenora's in the drama club, people. I hear stories. I know.

This fella on the right is Matthew Morrison. He plays Will, the optimistic teacher who takes over the glee club. Mr. Morrison was the original Link in Hairspray, as well as Fabrizio in The Light in the Piazza and Lt. Cable in South Pacific. Unlike most of Broadway's prettyboys (yeah, I'm talking to you, Matt Cavenaugh,) he's actually pretty talented. I'll drink to that.

I hope the show does well. I'm not a TV person. I never have been. But I really, really hope this one can survive the fall. (God, is that even the right terminology? I told you I don't do TV.) It's not the best show ever. But it's better than The Hills. So there.

Tomorrow's Next to Normal. I'm so excited I could just spontaneously combust. Berri has sworn to tell Alice Ripley that I am her biggest fan. If she does that, I will most likely never speak to her again. I don't go for that kind of stuff. It's hello, thank-you, and good-bye. No chattering on. No asking for acting advice. No presents. Absolutely no hugging. Besides, I'll probably be too nervous to speak. God knows it's happened in the past. I'm not soon forgetting the time Lin-Manuel Miranda attempted to have a conversation with me and I conveniently forgot how to speak. My strict no-overboard stagedoor rules are just one of the many theatre-related rules I have created for myself. It's probably a symptom of OCD, but whatever. I have several.

The Ten Commandments of Theatre-Going

1. Thou shalt not get up at intermission.

2. Thou shalt not take pictures.

3. Thou shalt bring thine Dooney and Bourke bag.

4. Thou shalt wear thine Tiffany necklace.

5. Thou shalt not refer to waiting at the stage door as "stagedooring." You're not going hunting.

6. Thou shalt not listen to a show's cast recording within 24 hours of seeing the show.

7. Thou shalt wear thine red polka dot shoes as often as possible.

8. Thine companion shall always sit to thine right.

9. Thou shalt not leave thine cell phone on. (Or, as I like to put it, "Touch the phone, bitch. I dare you.")

10. Thou shalt not eat or drink during a show. Rock of Ages take note.

So tomorrow, May 20, is Next to Normal day. I have this weird quirk about the dates I see shows. Any show that I've seen on an even-numbered day in May has turned out to be a great experience. In fact, two of the best days of my life were May 18 and May 22. Mere coincidence that tomorrow falls smack between the two? Probably. But this afternoon I tried to call my mom via a calculator. This leads me to believe that the allergy pills are too strong.

Before I go, I have to share this picture. I love it, but there is something very, very wrong here. I think you can all pretty much tell what it is. Checkered pants are not okay. Checkered pants have never been okay. Anyone who wears checkered pants should be locked in a room with Sarah Palin and Fred Phelps. But this is Gavin Creel. Perhaps we'll just let this one slide.