A Realization

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

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

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

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