The People Called It...

So I bought a new cast album today, folks. Not really a big event. I buy albums almost every other week. The choice for today was a show that I didn't really know that much about, but, sweet God, I know a lot about it now. Ladies and gentlemen, children of all ages, I give you...Ragtime. Yes, it is really good enough to require my complete dramatic vaudevillian introduction. Apparently, it was playing around the same time as my precious SIDE SHOW. Neither did very well: SIDE SHOW because it was about Siamese twins, and who wants to see a show about that, Ragtime because it's producers were corrupt, and who wants to sit through a show while worrying that at any minute Tony Soprano could burst into the theatre and pump your sorry carcass full of lead? So I listened to the album, and, children, mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord. Glory, glory, halle-freaking-lujah.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7esLjR_O3SI Here's a clip of their Tony performance, the night they were robbed by the piece of corporate crap that is The Lion King. I still say that the Tony that year belonged to SIDE SHOW, but this comes in as a close second. Listen to the lyrics. "Beggar and millionaire/everyone everywhere/moving to the Ragtime." That is pure genius! You can't top that, unless your name is Stephen Sondheim.

Hmm, let's see what other gems I can dredge up for you to sample....
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yFVWA6dNMHk "Our Children", one of the best songs in the show, hold the cheesy, gold-tinted video of two young whippersnappers frolicking in the sand.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GBQNed6Zdmk "New Music." Yet another example of brilliant lyrics. "Just like that tune/simple and clear/I've come to hear/new music." Not as good as the lyrics in the first video, but still pretty damn good.

Just a warning if you watched the video: You have willingly subjected yourself to one of the catchiest tunes in the history of catchy tunes. You are now doomed to spend the next three weeks walking around humming "da da da da da Ragtime." Perhaps I should have warned you beforehand.

A Late Night Blogging Attempt

It's 12:28 A.M, and I am blogging. I am not drunk. I am not high. I have not taken any unnecessary cough medicine. And yet I am blogging. How very very sad. It's been like two hours since my last blog. Maybe I shall save this one as a draft and post it tomorrow so I don't look like such a loser. But then I will have to delete this paragraph, and I worked so very hard on it. So this entry stays, a tribute to my night-owlry.

I am no stranger to the night. Seriously, I'm like a freaking vampire. Or a werewolf, though I like to think of myself as considerably less hairy than that. Ever since I was a teeny tiny baby and my parents would sit up and stare at my wide-open eyes, I have needed very little sleep. It's a proven fact, along with my hatred of Rent and my love of high heels. (My very favorite pair of shoes are red polka dot heels that are too high for any human being to ever actually wear. Try navigating Times Sqaure in them. My legs ached for weeks.)

So I guess you're wondering what I actually DO while I stay up and wait for the sun to rise so I can return to my coffin and wait it out till sunset. Well, that's easy! I read. I write. I surf the net. And, obviously, I blog. I never actually get tired, I just go to sleep when I run out of things to do. I drink massive amounts of blue Powerade. (And if you've never had blue Powerade get up and get some RIGHT NOW.) Come to think of it, the sugar in those bad boys might be the reason I don't fall asleep till five in the morning. Trust me, I think of plenty of things to do in the middle of the night. It's like I'm teetering on the edge of being bipolar, except I've never passed out on the floor in Costco or called someone in the middle of the night. Since someone out there is bound to take that the wrong way, let me point out that I was KIDDING about the bipolar thing. No need to call Bellevue just yet.

Well, I've run out of things to talk about. I think now I'm gonna go watch Gypsy. The original one, aka the better one. (And Rosalind Russell was SO a good Rose!)

What Really Grinds My Gears

If any of you are still alive after that Youtube escapade, I am here to provide further insight into my life. I assume by now you have all picked up on the fact that I am a rather negative person. If you haven't, well, then you're just an idiot. Anyway, rather then sit here and prattle about what I like, I thought it would be more fun to tell you what I hate (or, to put it in the words of my idol Peter Griffin: "what really grinds my gears".) You're gonna wanna strap in for this one, folks. I have a lot of pent-up anger and bitterness.

First off: I am a theatre-going creature, and over the years I have picked up numerous pet-peeves. The number one thing that really grinds my gears is screaming fangirls. (This may be a good time to point out that I am a rabid Spring Awakening fangirl, but I play it close to the chest. You will never catch me standing up in the middle of an incredibly sad scene screaming, "MELCHIOR, YOUR ASS IS HOT!!") Don't laugh. I have personally witnessed such atrocities, though it was at the abomination that is Wicked. If there is any fangroup that makes me less ashamed to be a Spring Awakening fan, it's the Wicked fangirls.

Pet peeve number two: Being the impeccably seasoned theatre-goer that I am, I generally avoid matinees. Why, you ask? THE FREAKING HUNDRED-YEAR-OLD LADIES!! Seriously, the next matinee you go to, look around. I guarantee you that at least 60% of the audience will be females over fifty. I wouldn't mind these geriatric lassies if they didn't think they owned the theatre. Sorry, ma'am, but just because you are old enough to have seen Merman in Gypsy does not give you the right to look down on the rest of us. To be fair, I must state that I am spewing residual anger from a previous argument with a loaded matron at a show. This little darling accused me, in a voice that could deafen a dog, of : cracking my water bottle, kicking her seat, singing along, and, in a stunning crescendo, claimed that I was eating my Junior Mints too loudly. Of course, the comedic element in this little tussle was that it took place at In the Heights. IN THE GODDAMN HEIGHTS, one of the most contemporary shows around right now. This woman was like seventy. Shouldn't she have been over at Phantom shrieking in fear as a completely harmless chandelier passed twenty feet overhead? Now you folks know why I stick to night shows, when most people are under the age of ninety and we can all eat our Junior Mints as loud as the hell we want.

This is Patti LuPone, and she is Pet Peeve No. Three. Now, there are those who will decapitate me, stick my head on a pike and parade it around 46th Street for daring to say a negative word about Madame LuPone. Let me just say this: I have no personal grudge against her. I am not some obese forty-yeard old sitting at home crying because she did not sign my Playbill after I chased her through Shubert Alley. I promise. I am not one of the devout Patti haters. I do, however, fault her for the fact that she has a voice like a snarling dog, and that her performance in Gypsy did not have me on the floor hyperventilating. (It was supposed to, as I'm told.) It was just...okay. It wasn't the best performance I've ever seen, that honor goes to Sarah Steele in Speech and Debate. I guess the thing that really bothers me is her fans. They are worse, if possible, than the Wicked freaks. If I mysteriously disappear after daring to speak out against Their Lord and Savior Patti LuPone, I can assure you that the blame lies with them.

Four: The Spring Awakening cast album. It sucks. It seriously, seriously, seriously sucks. I think the reason for it's major suckage is that it was recorded in some kind of bizarre limbo between Off-Broadway and their Broadway transfer. The result is a jumble of off-tempo songs that have alternate lyrics and none of the indescribably wonderful harmonies that we all know and love. Seriously, if any of you have it and haven't seen the show, this is the way Song of Purple Summer is SUPPOSED to sound: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5CMh3HKnRyg&feature=related. It's such a shame that this god-awful album is gonna be all that's left over from a truly glorious show.

Five: Rent. Oh, Lord. Rent. How can I put into words my hatred for this show? Okay, let me try to give you all a feel for what it's like. Find a friend. A very close friend. Now have said friend hit you very, very, very hard over the head with a sledgehammer. Do it again. And again. No, that's not really what the show is like, I just wanted to see if any of you were actually stupid enough to try it. But I digress. Rent is not revolutionary. It is not the best musical ever, that honor belongs to Sweeney Todd. (There, I said it.) In actuality, it is a mindless mishmash of occasionally vaguely catchy, occasionally wrist-slittingly sad songs, threaded through with cursing and nudity for shock value. The same could be said for Spring Awakening, but this is MY blog, dammit, and I'll say what I want. So there. It's not like I said, "I hate Zac Efron and the Jonas Brothers and Republicans" because, well, you just don't say those things.

The Wonderful World of Youtube!

As previously promised, I am going to treat you all to a never-ending buffet of my most favoritest Youtube videos in the whole entire world!!! If you don't have at least a half hour to burn then stop reading now, 'cause this is gonna get real rocky. So here goes!


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kjHzYAv4XCw
For anyone out there who has hope in the future of musical theatre, prepare to have it shattered by these guys.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3J4Rdltp11k
I am strangely addicted to this ridiculously catchy song about electroshock therapy. Huh. Who'da thunk it?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5h2p3IrrJn8
The fabulously fabulous song A Little Fall of Rain from the fabulous Les Miz sung by two of the most fabulous actors I have ever witnessed. Pure fabulousness.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xEYV5bNMZVo
The video that sparked a year-long obssession. I haven't watched this one in a while, but I'm watching it now. Oh, God. Nostalgia. Tears. Magic. Ridiculously censored lyrics. Example: Instead of saying "breast" they had to say "chest." Why weren't they allowed to say breast? KFC says it all the time. Oh, and the legendary changing of "Totally F*cked" to "Totally Hmphed." That's really hmphed up! That's right, I said it! Hmph you! Hmph you ALL!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FAYWPV3F41Y
Ask kicking. Not a crime in all fifty states.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ppg6RuCtJmw
And you all thought I was kidding about the drunken chorus girls armed with pretzels.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s6BXZYaqt5U
The single funniest thing I have ever seen in my life. Warning: Language!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kcjXJpOSE8E
The lovely Phoebe Strole sings what may be my least favorite song ever. Yet another one of the videos I watch on a daily basis.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_OBlgSz8sSM&feature=related
God damn you, Charlie!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qLSyoXw0I5E
Edward should have listened to his British father. British people know everything. Duh.

So do you guys give up? Have you had enough pain? Okay, okay. I give up. It's been fun. Until next time, folks.

Woooaaaahhhh....

Oh, sweet Jesus! I just read something online that is too freaking good not to share with you guys! Guess what! No, seriously, guess. Think of the most ridiculous thing that could ever happen, and I guarantee my news will be ridiculous-er. Okay. You folks ready? Jamie Lynn Spears is pregnant AGAIN. Isn't one screaming brat enough for her and her hillbilly boyfriend? Did these people sleep through health class? Or what about Juno? Didn't they see Juno? I liked Juno. For the skeptics among us, take a look. http://www.imdb.com/news/ni0580248/ Sure, it's IMDB, which is about as reliable as Wikipedia, but still. I love that article too much to express in words. The economy is collapsing, Osama bin Laden is still on the loose, and yet some hick from Lousiana is stupid enough to get pregnant a second time and it's national news. Oh, that article slays me. My favorite part is the part where they say the boyfriend doesn't know yet. Well, I'll venture to guess that he knows now. Poor chap. Just leave Little Sally the Super-Fertile now and get on with your life. Seriously, though, I think I am being a tad hard on poor little Jamie Lynn. The blame really belongs with her parents. Did they not slap her hard enough the first time? Or were they too busy wig shopping with Britney?

Not to veer to far away from the main idea of this whole blog, though, this would totally make a great musical. Let's see: We've got teen pregnancy, which is totally Spring Awakening, a mentally unstable person, which is straight out of Next to Normal, and this whole situation just screams "freak show", which is rather Side Show-esque. I see it now: Coming to Broadway in 2011, a saga of a family torn apart by stupidity: NEXT TO AWAKENING THE SIDE SHOW! Featuring such hits as the opening number "Fall From Grace", the show-stopping "Pillbox Tango", the powerful ballad "What's the Worst That Could Happen?" sung on the night Jamie Lynn gets pregnant, and the powerful act one closer "Leave Britney Alone!" It'll run forever.

Well, it's been fun, chickadees (I cannot believe I just used that word), but I am rapidly running out of things to blog about. I suppose it won't be long until this whole thing goes down in a blaze of glory.

My Lucky Day

Wilkommen, bienvenue, welcome. For the musically-deprived among us, that's from Cabaret, the second-greatest Kander and Ebb musical in the history of everything. In case you were wondering, top honors goes to Chicago. But anyway. For those of you who sit up at night torturing yourselves with the question, "Who IS the Incendiary Goat? Is she anything more than a few smart-aleck quips and a boiling pot of resentment toward Sarah Palin?" The answer, my friends, is yes, I am. I live. I breathe. I have friends (most days). I worry about the economy. I am voting for Barack. I am a loving, kind, friendly person. Okay, scratch that last one. Let's not get ahead of ourselves here, folks. I am not, nor do I suffer any delusions that I am, friendly. I am about 76.83946537865398% that I am not a people person. But that's just a ballpark figure.

But there are, in fact, things that make me happy. I'm a kick-ass Scopa player (and if you've never played/heard of Scopa then we are not friends) and I'm just tickled pink by a good episode of Arthur. I have a thing for really obscure, offbeat musicals about things nobody talks about and/or cares about. I'm totally serious about that. Really, I kid you not. My favorite musicals feature teen pregnancy, mental illness, Siamese twins, insane barbers, and crazy cat ladies living in dilapidated old mansions. And you thought you were weird just because you enjoyed "From Justin to Kelly."

Sweet Besty from Pike, look at the time! I inteded for this to be a long, soul-crushingly interesting peek into my interests, but, in the interests of watching Barack Obama rip Old Man McCain's political guts out in tonight's debate, I bid you all adieu.

Bloggin' Like It's October 1, 2008

Well, hello, there. Fancy meeting you here. I have some hard-hitting stuff to dish about in the this entry, but before we get to that, I have one point I need to make. You may ask yourself, "Has everyone and their mother and their mother's younger brother who married a girl that the rest of the family hates read 'Twilight'?" The answer is an unfortunate yes. If you haven't, don't bother. I'm gonna tell you everything you need to know about the book and its sequels right now: He's a vampire. They get married. She gets pregnant. She becomes a vampire at the end of the last book. There. I just saved you over two thousand pages of hell. Now moving on to things that nobody but me cares about.

Drumroll, please. Thank-you. A friend of mine is currently going through a mini-obsession with a show called In the Heights. Speaking as someone who knows, obsessions are painful, pathetic, and dizzyingly fun. It starts off innocently enough. A Google session here. A few Youtube videos there. It ends eleven months later with you standing in a crush of people on 49th Street while two drunken chorus girls throw pretzels at you. Sure, you're loving every minute of it while it's going on, but sooner or later you begin to feel guilty that they had to re-wallpaper the theatre because you chipped paint off the back wall while sitting in the last row. But, said friend may already be too far gone for me to save, so for now I'll fuel the fire and indulge her. She requested that I chat about In the Heights on my blog. I thought, "Why the hell not?" It's certainly better than the list of Sarah Palin jokes I had planned for today. So here we go.

In the Heights is a rap musical about the Upper Manhattan community of Washington Heights. It's half in Spanish and there are no white cast members, so Republicans need not attend. If the thought of an incredibly one-sided musical that screams, "Move to Washington Heights! We've got piragua and wise old ladies who feed birds and sing songs about their long ardurous journies from Cuba!" offends you, keep on walking. If not, stay right here with me. It really is a good show, though, if you're not looking for anything too deep. Oh, and, while nestled comfortably in my seat at the beautiful Richard Rodgers theatre, a thought popped into my head. Where are the crack dealers? Where are the muggers? I though this was about Washington Heights!! The fact of the matter is that if people randomly started dancing and singing in the streets of Washington Heights (or anywhere in New York, for that matter) they'd all get shot. Don't look at me, folks. I didn't write the show. If you want the REAL Washington Heights, get ye to the A train and get off at 181st. Just don't be too surprised when there are no people twirling eachother around in the streets and the guy selling the piragua isn't a baritone belter.






And now on to my abosolute favorite play of all time: Speech and Debate. Trust me, friends, it's not about speeching and debating. Thirty people that make up the audience sit in a room three levels underground and watch three teenagers scream at eachother and argue over whether their teacher is gay or not. (I just spent the last twenty minutes sitting here trying to make that not sound creepy.) It's long, intermission-less, music-less, and hysterically funny. Too bad it closed, cause it was, and I'm quoting here "a miracle that must be seen to be believed." And the lead actress was "magic every time she is on stage!" So while all the serious theatre freaks were trembling in awe of Patti LuPone's so-so performance in Gypsy, the new-age theatre freaks like myself were sitting in a small, stuffy, dark room on 44th Street. Good times. Good times. Now see, isn't this better than Wicked? Why go see a light fluffy musical about the witches of Oz when you can watch someone shoot themselves on stage, or have a nervous breakdown because their stripper daughter has rejected them after years of ruthless stage-parenting, or watch a demon barber slit people's throats, or watch a fifteen-year-old boy scream and sob because the girl he got pregnant died of an abortion? I leave you with that.