So here it is, friends. I'm tired. I'm aching. I'm overfed and disappointed. But I am happy. Today was a great day, and I did absolutely nothing that was special, unless you count going to Hoboken. And really, folks, is there anywhere more average on the planet Earth than Hoboken? Still, I am happier than I have been in a while. I'm not trying to rub it in, I promise. And I'm not gonna pretend that I've had a hardscrabble, terrible life. Because I haven't. Far from it. But there have been rough patches. We're talking "lie down on a bed of nails rough." Trust me, folks, that's pretty damn rough. I'm not here for a pity party, and I'm not looking for anybody's sympathy. I'm only here to tell you what I know. There's joy and there's sorrow, and neither can exist without the other. Supressing sorrow does not make it go away, and embracing joy does not make it stay forever. (I'm almost done, I promise.) Bottom line: As Kitt and Yorkey say, "Some hurts never heal." Okay, that's true. No matter how hard we try, there are some things we'll never get over, and I think that's a good thing. There's no triumph without the fight. And all I really wanted to say today is that I'm here, I'm alive, and I'm happy, and, son of a bitch, I am damn proud of that. Remember, folks, Kitt and Yorkey also say that the darkest skies will someday see the sun. Okay, folks. The elitist bitch is stepping off her soapbox now.
And now on to my trip to Hoboken. Do any of you watch Cake Boss on TLC? If you don't, it's a show about a family that owns a bakery in Hoboken, and the cakes are freaking amazing. Seriously, folks. Look them up. They're works of art. Anyway, my mom and my sister have gotten addicted to this show, so tonight we all trekked out to Hoboken to sample the desserts. In order to get there, we had to drive through Jersey City, which had everyone in the car gaping in awe. Oh, Jersey City! Horror of horrors! When my brother had the absolute unmitigated gall to roll down his window, Mummy blew a gasket. My poor mother. She brings her own sheets to hotels. I'm not allowed to go any further west than the Hirschfeld, at least not when she's around. Clearly, friends, going anywhere near the West Side Highway will cause a hideous sea creature to rise up out of the river and swallow me whole. But anyway. We went to the bakery, and it was not so perfectly marvelous. I got a few cream puffs and an eclair. They were overrated. I'm gonna turn my back on my heritage for a second here. I'm Italian, friends. Love me some pasta and ricotta and basil and meat balls the size of soft balls. But when it comes to desserts, I'm all about the French. Sorry, folks. They just do it better. I'm not French at all. But I am French Canadian. And that totally counts.
Driving home in the dark offered a stunning view of lower Manhattan, all lit up across the river. It was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life. The countryside holds absolutely no charm for me. The city, however, suits me just fine. I love the intense vitality of it, and the spectrum of people. Take, for example, the subway. Now, someone who shall remain nameless absolutely loathes the subway. "It smells like piss and there are rats and homeless people." Wow. Just wow. With the risk of sounding like Edie Beale, I am gonna tell you all that the subway is possibly the most human place on the planet. Seriously. I love to just observe all the people that come and go, doing their people-ish things. It's fascinating. And there is nowhere else in the world where doing that wouldn't be considered weird. I love New York, and, like Joanne from Company, I have no intention of ever leaving it. Now that I've lived here for so long, and know what it's like, anywhere else would pale in comparison. So lots of love to this beautiful city.
Before I finish up, I'd like to point out that this week's batch of Broadway secrets were the best we've had in a while, aside from one tiny fact: Most of this week's secrets were submitted by either Kacie Sheik or so
meone who loves her very much. See? 
meone who loves her very much. See? And there's plenty more insanity where that came from. Find it here http://community.livejournal.com/broadwaysecrets/101429.html#cutid1, along with a bunch of secrets that question Alice Ripley's sanity, and one in which someone finally has the guts to say that Allison Case acts like a child.
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