And, God, It Is So Hot

I'm slowly beginning to appreciate Sunday in the Park With George, hence today's title. It's Hot Up Here has become one of my favorite Sondheim songs. I just love Jenna Russell's accent. "Uh het thees peepuhl." It's great. Visually, it's a beautiful show. Look at that. That is gorgeous. The reason I have taken to this song is that my (un-airconditioned) room is on the second floor of the house. Quite literally, it's hot up here. "It's not my fault I got up here. I'll rot up here. I am so hot up here." Whiny painting people.





But they're not the reason I came to blog. No, I just thought I'd share this video.

Holy crap, I didn't know I could get this high tech! Thanks, Blogger! Wow, now you folks are really screwed. Well, I'm rather fond of this video. I apologize in advance for the awkward moments, and there are lots. Probably the most awkward is the fact that Caissie Levy felt compelled to show all the folks at home the massive bruise on her thigh that she got when she fell off the catwalk at the back of the set. She's lucky she didn't break a bone. That catwalk is pretty freaking high up. But there she is, pulling down her knee socks (Knee socks? Really?) and displaying her hideous bruise. Is that just what Canadians do? I wouldn't know. But you people don't know how much money I would fork over to see somebody fall off the back of the set.

Tomorrow it's back to Osage County for Berri and I. Berri is not excited. She should be. This is August: Osage County. THIS IS AUGUST: OSAGE COUNTY. You get excited for that. It's brilliant. It's blinding. It's practically perfect. I am so excited I am about to throw up on my laptop.

I guess I'm gonna see those damn tourists laying out in Times Square again. Okay. We all know how I feel about this. Lying on the ground in New York is only okay for protesters and homeless people. Oh, and another group who do not meet with my approval - ticket hawkers. When I was in the city last month someone tried to sell me tickets to Young Frankenstein. He said, and I quote, "You don't wanna pass this up, miss. Young Frankenstein's gonna win Best Musical this year." I should have bet him a thousand bucks it wouldn't. But really? Young Frankenstein? Do I really look that stupid? If I do, I would like to know. I swear to God, if someone tries to sell me Wicked of Billy Elliot or Blue Man Group tickets tomorrow I'm going to scream. And not just like a little yelp. We're talking a long, drawn-out, psychotic, wildcat, Idina Menzel shriek. Kinda like the Golden Girls episode where Blanche, Dorothy, and Rose watch Psycho and Sophia barges into the kitchen brandishing a knife. You know. THAT kind of scream.