Hello, World

Not much news today, but I am proud to tell you all that I am now the owner of a giant stuffed Stewie Griffin. I won him at a claw machine, and it only took me about eleven tries. It was a proud day.

So...what to talk about? It has come to my attention that my blog reaches approximately 35 people a day, 31 of which return on a daily basis. So there are 31 of you? Hello, darlings. I love each and every one of you, unless your name happens to be Patti LuPone. Honestly, I never expected to have an audience at all. For the longest time I thought I was just talking to the wall, plus Lenora. It's good to know I reach approximately .000000000000000000000000001% of the population. It gives me some kind of hope.

Thanks to a new application, I can now see how each of you linked yourselves to my blog. I'm sorry if you find that creepy. Today, one of you searched "Karen Ziemba" and found yourself here. Sorry, friend. You will find nothing positive about that woman on my blog. Another lonely cyber-wandered searched "shirtless Aaron Tveit." Why, you sly boots. You won't find that here, either, but we're working on it, my friend.

Knowing exactly how many of you there are makes me kind of nervous. I feel judged. How long have you folks been reading? Do you mind when I get ornery? Am I boring you? I am no performer. I've always been terrified of the spotlight, and my many literary endeavours have gone largely unread, at my own intention. I don't let my own mother read this stuff, folks. To be honest, I was more comfortable talking to the wall than I am talking to all of you.

Oh, well. You're here, and apparently you keep coming back, like a kitten I fed once and can't get rid of. Not that I want any of you to leave. Jesus. There are only 31 of you. How many people can I afford to chase away? No, friends, I'm very grateful that there are people who pretend to care what I am saying. Still, don't flatter yourselves into thinking I'm doing this for all of you. Please, I'm not that nice. I've long suspected that I have some kind of Momma Rose complex. Bottom line - "I guess I did it for myself." Folks, it's been almost a year. Let's not convince ourselves that I'm anything but an insomniac girl who got bored with Broadwayworld.

I am very tempted to share some more of my writing with you folks. I've been rereading my countless unfinished manuscripts from back in the day. Some are mind-bendingly hideous, some are actually pretty damn good. The problem with my main project now is that I know I am capable of doing better, but I'm too lazy to try. This is not my career, this will not be my career. What am I wasting my time on?

Moving on to something completely different - religion. I am Catholic. I have been educated Catholic, and I think I've turned out fine. As for the whole "kill the gays and abortion should be illegal" scene, I'm not sure I buy that crap. Here's what I know - I believe in God. I believe in love. I believe in heaven and hell, and I'd like to think everyone goes to heaven. If that makes me Catholic, then let me be called Catholic. It makes no real difference in the long run. But there are some areas when I deviate from the beaten path - For me, it is easy to feel close to God when I am watching a once-in-a-lifetime performance, or dancing onstage at Hair, or hearing my baby cousin tell me she loves me. When I'm sitting in an over-heated church listening to an Indian pastor drone on, not so much. Which is why I'm not that much of a church-goer. Let me clarify - theatre is not my religion. The Al Hirschfeld Theatre is not my place of worship, and when I pray, I pray to God, not Alice Ripley. (Although I freely admit that I offered up a small prayer to Bea Arthur that Angela Lansbury would win the Tony. I figured if anyone could help out with that, she could. Thanks for that one, Bea.) But there are things that help us to know that God exists, and if you want to say that theatre has taught me that, I guess you can. It brings me happiness, and happiness is the only thing I am looking for in this world.

I have not had a bad life so far, but there have been long stretches of time when I have been unhappy. When you've gone months without happiness, you learn how precious it is. And now, friends, I know more joy than I have ever seen in my life, and I am grateful, happy, peaceful, and enjoying the blue skies.

The Quote Post

Welcome back, suckers. I'll have you folks know that I have just seen my father poke a hole in the inch-thick lid of a 50-pound trunk, string rope through it, and drag it around the living room. He used a freaking toothpick to drill the hole. And you people wonder why I stay up so late.


Anyway, it's late, it's hot, the Kerrigan and Lowerdmilk is abundant, and the blue Powerade is flowing freely. You know what that means. It's time for...A BLOG POST! I think I need my own theme song. Before I continue, I would like you all to know that I'm watching Two Strangers, and when I toggled between the tabs, Caissie Levy looked for one shining moment like a drugged cow. It was amusing. You're welcome. So...I love quotes. I build my life around them, memorize them, chant them like some kind of ancient Hindu mantra. There are just so many wonderful ones, and whenever the situation warrants I just pluck one from my extensive repertoire and blab it out. It's kinda like the way I can take any situation and liken it to something that happened in a Family Guy episode. Only I'm not so proud of that. But I thought I'd share some of my favorites with you, my very, very tiny audience.

"Bon appetit, douchebag." - Stewie Griffin

"It's much harder to make an audience laugh than it is to make them cry." - Vivien Leigh

"You're an asshole." - Pearl the Landlord

"If God brought you to it, He will bring you through it." - anonymous

"Leastest thing that they could teach you is not to talk on what you're wholly, completely,
abysmally ignorant of." - Caroline, or Change

"Jeez, if you wanted to put on a bad show why didn't we just do Rent?" - Peter Griffin

"You can't sell me, you fat son of a bitch!" - Meg Griffin

"Deliberate cruelty is not forgivable." - Blanche DuBois

"Just goes to show ya, Blanche, ya never know what's comin'." - Stanley Kowalski

"We all gotta keep goin'. No matter what happens, we gotta keep goin'." - Eunice Hubbell

"Are you box outta your mind?" - Harold Mitchell

"You look like a lesbian." - Violet Weston

"You don't wanna break shit with me, muthaf*cka!" - Barbara Fordham

"I'm a tool." - Robert Pattinson

"Some hurts never heal, but the darkest skies will someday see the sun." - adapted from Next to
Normal

"You sound like an unbelievable douche." - Brian Griffin

"Son of a bitch, I guess I'm doing something right." - The Last Five Years

"Start by admitting from cradle to tomb, it isn't that long a stay." - Cabaret

"If you're going through hell, keep going." - Winston Churchill

"You're a lot of fun. I hope you don't die." - Edie Beale

"Every day is just another and another and another..." - Next to Normal

Confucius say thanks for reading all those quotes. Before I go, we're gonna talk Ragtime. Full casting was announced today. Two problems. Problem Number One: I've never actually heard of anyone that's been cast. That's pretty rough. I like to know what I'm getting myself into. Problem Number Two: Savannah Wise got Evelyn Nesbit, and she's from Rock of Ages. Damn. I'm not trying to be pre-judgemental, but, well, I guess I kinda am. Oh, well. Guess this means Leigh Ann Larkin got Petra in A Little Night Music, and will be over at the Kerr with Angela Lansbury and Catherine Zeta-Jones. I think Leigh Ann Larkin is great, and this is swaying me a bit. But I am still backing Ragtime 100% for that Tony.

The role that will be left open when Savannah leaves Rock of Ages will be filled by Kerry Butler. She can do better than that, but I guess the bills still have to be paid. I like to think that's the only reason Brian d'Arcy James and Sutton Foster took the embarrassing pratfall-fest that was Shrek.

Mystery Solved

So, folks, just popping in to answer that burning question: If an epic Hair vs. Family Guy throw-down should ever arise, who would I root for? Well, here we go. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JxEqAJUIorM Isn't that a lovely little snippet? Personally, I'm a PC. My laptop is a PC, my desktop is a PC. I don't know any of those Mac users who pride themselves on being so edgy. Back to the subject at hand. Yeah, that's Allison Case, but I had to see this commercial twice before I noticed it was her. However, the fact that the guy playing the PC salesman does the voice of Joe on Family Guy had me sqealing like an overexcited little pig on the first shot. So there you have it. I love me some Hair, but I'm a Family Guy fan right up to the bitter end. Plus, the world could use so many more paralyzed cops. Little hippie girls who spend their days waiting for a guy who doesn't remember them, not so much.

Epic

Sorry, friends, but I have to share this. It's perfect, in its hideous way. It's what Seurat would be painting if he were alive today. There are a great many people that I wish were sitting next to the guy who's hurling his guts up. List time!

1. Sarah Palin

2. Patti LuPone

3. Justin Timberlake

4. Spencer Pratt

5. Demi Lovato

6. Billy Elliot

7. Francesca Zambello

8. Laura Bell Bundy

9. Kristen Stewart

10. Robert Pattinson

11. Matt Cavenaugh

12. Idina Menzel

13. my neighbor who thinks it's okay to break out the chainsaw at eight a.m.

14. George Bush

15. Miley Cyrus

Okay, I'm done. Better stop before "my hate rise up rip my insides out." Caroline, or Change is an unbelievable show. Please, do yourself a favor, and at least look up Lot's Wife on Youtube. If you like that, buy "Caroline and Noah Fight" from iTunes, if for no other reason than to hear Tonya Pinkins sing, in a scary voice that is barely audible, "And hell's where Jews go when they dieeeeeeeeee." It's so hateful and yet such a beautiful arrangement.

While we're talking Broadway, word on the street is that Catherine Zeta-Jones and Angela Lansbury are going into Night Music. I could take or leave that Jones woman, but Angela Lansbury? Back so soon? Back at all? Hold your hats and hallelujah. If this is true, and I think it is, I will absolutely be making a sojourn to what ever theatre they get assigned. I swore I wouldn't miss Angela in Blithe Spirit, and I did it, and I regret it. This time is gonna be different. Plus, it's Sondheim. There is no missing Sondheim. However, the fact that A Little Night Music has Angela Lansbury does not change the fact that I am rooting for Ragtime. Because I love Ragtime. Ragtime is in my heart, mind, soul, and blood. And when a show that makes up that much of your being comes to Broadway, you better pray it gets Best Revival. And it will. Because it's Ragtime.

Did some yoga today. My Wii Fit trainer yelled at me because I hadn't worked out with her in five days. She scares me. Still, love me some Wii Fit. I can do everything but the Dance pose. The one time I tried, I almost went through the TV. Won't be trying that again anytime soon.

Yesterday, while visiting my grandparents in Brick, my brother, sister, and I had a vicious game of hide and seek. I am a hide and seek aficionado, and my grandparents' new house is a prime location - closets in closets, wide space behind couches, big cabinets. That kind of stuff. I hid in a closet in the bedroom that couldn't be seen because it was covered by the open bedroom door. It was an ingenious spot, and I was in there for twenty minutes. I love hiding, which may be why I'm so good at it. I've hidden in hampers, under beds, behind beds, in closets, in showers, and just about any other place you can name. Once, when I was playing with my sister and my cousin, I went behind the dresser and was back there for at least an hour. Hide and seek is just pure fun. I like to pretend I'm hiding from the cops, or a serial killer, or the Nazis, or Cindy McCain. You just never outgrow it, and it's great fun. Anyway, on this particular occasion, I simply could not believe that no one thought the close the bedroom door, thus revealing my closet. My poor siblings rushed around for a while, cursing and saying stuff like, "No, I checked under the car! Besides, her shoes are here! She's gotta be moving around." I am not a ninja. I do not move around. And that's all I have to say about that.

Mine Eyes Have Seen

I have seen the future, friends, and it's terrifying. This evening, during a long road trip homeward, my mother decided to stop at a bar in Belmar to see her favorite band play. It was not so fun. We all stood on a soggy deck outside a busted bar and listened to a bunch of aging cover singers. As a matter of fact, it was awful. Old fat people in tank tops and shorts were guzzling beer out of red plastic cups. I thought only college kids did that. It was the most depressing thing I've seen all summer. All I could think was, "Dear God, don't let me end up like these people."

But really, who am I to judge them? Even though they were chronically middle aged, badly dressed, and listening to an awful band out on a soggy deck that smelled of smoke and rotting fish, they seemed to be having a good time. Still, it was difficult to suppress the urge to shake them and say, "Open your eyes, people! You're not twenty-one! You're in freaking Belmar, for Christ's sake!" My parents kept telling me how much fun these people used to be when they were young. I simply could not imagine any of those folks ever being fun or young. While we're on the subject, I'm gonna bash Jersey. There is nothing there. Literally. Nothing. I don't care how much fun "going down the shore" is. It's not fun for me. Renting a house in Belmar and sleeping somewhere else may be where it's been but it's not where it's at. I have no interest in any of that. Why would anybody want to lay on the beach for hours, slowly subjecting themselves to skin cancer, and then going out clubbing with a bunch of guidos you could find anywhere else in the tristate area? The fact that a bunch of middle-aged folks still think that this is fun, and have conditioned their children to believe that it's fun, depresses me. Really. It's sad, kinda like drinking alone in an apartment out in Queens. Apparently, it doesn't matter where you are as long as your with your friends. Is it so terribly awful of me to say that I don't believe that's true at all? Because really, I'd much rather be sitting with my enemies and watching some indie band play Joe's Pub than be out out in Belmar, Seaside, or anywhere else on the Jersey Shore doing shots with my friends. It's okay if you want to call me a bad person. My own mother tells me that every day.

Depressing factor aside, going to that bar today was actually a pretty educational anthropological study. There was this one woman there, with sun-mottled skin, sagging boobs, platinum hair, and a skintight red dress, who was just sitting at the bar doing shot after shot. She was by herself and looked to be about fifty. It was so sad, but then I realized that looking at her was like looking through a time portal. She was some kind of Little Edie Beale, a relic left over from the past. This woman could remember a time when it was alright to wear red dresses after age 25 and people actually went to Belmar bars on purpose. The saddest part was that she wasn't the only poor unfortunate soul out there. Really, was there anybody there who didn't witness the Kennedy assassination? I have my doubts.

I Regret Nothing

As Brian once said to Stewie in an epic Family Guy episode, "You friggin' psychopath." I now am wondering if he was referring to me. Last night, I was artistically inspired and stayed up till four working on my novel. Translation: The insomniac bitch drank too much Powerade and was up for hours scribbling away in her crappy little book. And I went to bed. I woke up at two today. I am not proud of that. So I checked my phone, and there was a call from Daddy. He wanted to know if I wanted to go to the Hair CD signing today. Well, I did what anyone would have done. I dropped everything. And I went running out to this CD signing, along with Berri and Lenora. And guess what. We went to see Hair. I am not proud of that either. But I did it, and I had a wonderful time, and it was the best rash decision I made all summer.

On the way there, I decided that I was going to see Hair, and ain't nobody was gonna be stoppin' me. So I risked dealing with the droney Telecharge lady, and I got tickets for the eight o'clock show. It was a bad decision. It was reckless. I loved it. We went to the CD signing, and it was great. I had fun. I love having fun. Fun is what I live for. So after that, we had dinner at Sweet Caroline's. Poor folks, there was nobody in there. Literally. Nobody was in there. We were all decked out in true hippie fashion. I had pirated Lenora's peacock earrings and flower headband, so the waitress asked us if we were going to see Billy Elliot. At the end of the meal, she drew a hippie on our check. New favorite restaurant.

I ran up to our seats first, and Berri and Lenora went to the bathroom. This is gonna sound really weird, but I like a few moments alone to take in the atmosphere, especially at this show. I love to just sit there and raise my face to the ceiling and wrap my mind around where I am, and what I am about to do. It's a whole detox process. This time, however, I didn't do any of that. I just shut my eyes and marveled at the fact that such a welcome surprise had landed in my lap. I was there, and I was happy. And happiness is not something I take lightly. Before the curtain went up, I just leaned over and hugged Lenora, giddy and so incredibly happy to be where I was. The show was, as always, wonderful. We had fantastic understudies for Claude and Crissy. Poor Berri can't catch a break when it comes to Claudes. I can honestly say that I loved every minute of it. Some highlights were watching Lenora get pulled up to dance during Electric Blues, Will Swenson's outrageous ad-libbing, including a LuPwning of The Latecomers, and all those little nuances and moments that make this show so damn brilliant. For instance, I love when Woof turns to the audience and simply says, "And I love you." It's a beautiful moment that nobody else seems to like. Everybody always makes fun of me because my very favorite scene is the one where Sheila and Berger fight. Really, people. Berger's an immature douchebag. He just is. Oh, dear. Now I've forever ruined that scene for myself. I'm never gonna be able to watch it again without thinking of the song Stewie writes - "And then Brian comes in and I change up the tempo. Brian comes in and he changes the song. Lookin' at me like he thinks I'm a douchebag..." Oh well. Anyway, if I haven't said it before, here it is: I love this show. During Aquarius, I just remember thinking, "There is no place on this earth that I would rather be right now." It's my laughing place. Everybody needs a laughing place, kinda like every Republican needs something to lie about.

After the show, we went down on the stage to dance. I was temporarily separated from my friends, but I caught up with them after worrying that I would look like some lonely idiot dancing around by herself. I have never seen so many happy people in one place before. Everyone just looked so unabashedly joyful. I turned to my right, and saw an old lady bouncing around and laughing hysterically. She proceeded to grab her husband and make out with him. I don't think I've ever believed in love as much as I did right then. Dancing on the stage is such a love fest. I found myself just grabbing Berri and Lenora and hugging them as tight as I could. There was a girl standing to my left, and she found herself randomly snatched up, hugged, and kissed by Will Swenson. As the scary Russian girl in my ballet class once said to me after I had answered the teacher's question: "That could have been me." So the show ends, and we shuffle off stage, receiving hugs from Will Swenson and Kacie Sheik, who, aside from being hugely pregnant at the time, is tiny tiny tiny. It felt kinda like hugging an ironing board.

We shuffled on down to the stage door. It was hot. It was sickeningly hot. I could seriously feel my makeup melting off my face, but it was worth it. Caissie Levy and her weave came out first. The first thing she said was, "Wow, my Sharpies suck tonight." I was horrified. Doesn't she know not to talk that way in front of the children? She smiled at Lenora and said, "Well, it's good to see you again," in a way that suggested it really wasn't that great to see her again. Bryce Ryness suckered Lenora into buying his band's album. It was so awkward. One of the tribe members, whose name is escaping me, complimented my headband. I told her that I had pirated it off Lenora. (While we're on the subject, Lenora ended up giving me that headband at the end of the night. I love Lenora and I love her headwear.) I have come to the conclusion that everything worth talking about happens to Lenora. Except I am the owner of the arm that got scribbled on by Will Swenson. He said sorry. The first thing that came to my head was "Thank-you." And I said it. Because I'm clearly not very smart at all. Really, I don't enjoy getting written on by strangers, thanks.

After it got too hot to hang around any longer, we made our way to Colony. I love it there. It is my second home. My hot, crowded, overpriced second home. I was hunting for the Caroline, or Change CD. The guy who worked there told me they didn't have it, and he said it was a shame that they never made a songbook, since it was such a beautiful score. We commiserated for a while. He said it was a shame that Tonya Pinkins lost the Tony. I love you, Colony Man.

I got myself a Blue Powerade at the EZ Deli, which once sold my dad poisonous cheese. Change your name all you want, deli people. You don't fool me. Strolling through the streets, I entered into that dizzy post-show phase where I just say whatever pops into my head. I can remember saying, "If somebody had told me last night that at this time tomorrow I would be here, I never woulda believed 'em. I'm still having trouble believing that this happened." (I'm actually still having some trouble believing it now. But there is still ink on my arm, and an autographed CD and Playbill on my dresser, and Lenora's headband on my kitchen table. It happened. Just goes to show ya, Blanche, ya REALLY never know what's comin'.) Lenora giggled that she felt high. It was at that point that I realized I had forgotten to warn her about the Hair High. "Yeah," I mumbled. "That happens a lot. You'll probably still be on it when you wake up tomorrow." As for me, I'm starting to crash a bit now.

Well, there it is. Perhaps from now on, I will expect the unexpected. No, I'm no one's wife, but, oh, I love my life. Hair is the type of show that I could see over and over and over and never get tired of it. And, as the ladies of the soon-to-be-ass-out 9 to 5 say, "I just might."

Julie and Julia

I just got back from seeing Julie and Julia, and it was lovely. Really, that's the best word I can think of to describe it. Utterly lovely. If not long. If not very long. Before I saw read the book, I was never really familiar with Julia Child. She was a bit before my time. My mother, however, tells me that she was "crazy" and "drunk" and "looked like a man." After watching a few Youtube videos of her cooking show, I'm gonna have to disagree. Sure, she's a bit mismatched-looking, and she seemed to be a bit overly fond of that damn sherry, but let me say it now: Julia Child is awesome.

Look at that loony mallet-wielding lady. One look at her and you just know she could gut you and bake you into a Lindzor Torte as soon as look at you. I don't care what all ye olde Rachael Ray fans say, Julia Child is great. And when was the last time you saw Rachael Ray bone a duck from six feet in the air? Never, I'll venture. Big declaration coming up. Proceed with caution. I love Julia Child, and everything she stands for. She is the ultimate anti-stereotype, and she took a lot of crap for that. (While typing that sentence, I accidentally typed "crap" as "carp." Irony.) She was a real chef, ya know? The kind that wasn't afraid to plunge her hand into a pot of boiling water. I can't imagine Giada or any other of the glossy-haired Food Network vixens doing that. This old gal was one of the boys.

But the movie was just soooo long, and I happen to think that Meryl Streep, while being ridiculously talented, is also getting ridiculously played out. I'd bet any amount of money that she'll be Violet in the August: Osage County movie. And that would be fine with me, so long as Laura Linney is Barbara and Elizabeth Ashley is Mattie Fae. As for Amy Adams, I think she's bland. Blander than Karen Ziemba, which is saying something. And, I was pleasantly surprised to see another familiar face on the oversized screen in the undercrowded theatre. Kacie Sheik was in it. For a whole two seconds. She said one word. Two syllables. And then I blinked. And it was over. Really, I don't know why I even bothered to tell you that. The time it took to tell you about it was longer than she was on the screen.

So, thanks to the occasional wonders of Facebook, I recently saw some pictures of the most obnoxious, glitzy, and downright hideous sweet sixteen I have ever seen in my life. I did not go to this party. I was not invited, and I am actually proud of that. The pictures were the most fun I've had all day. I saw strippers, a sedan chair, an anorexic girl, scary wide-eyed blonde matrons, parental-approved teen drinking, slutty pictures that I assume were a result of the aforementioned drinking, and a birthday girl who honestly looked like a drag queen. I'm not trying to be mean here, folks. But I'm a people observer, and a labeler. It's a habit I have yet to kick. But I've observed and I've labeled, and here's my take on the situation: Dear Girl In Pictures, and The Parents Who Let Her Dress Like RuPaul: Happy birthday. You're an asshole. There. Now I feel better. And before I get tagged as some sick psychopath who judges books by their cover, let me tell you all that I've known the girl in question all my life. I regret nothing. Jeez. It's girls like this that make me afraid for the future of this country. Just being around them makes me feel like I'm at least successful in not ending up like them. Okay, I'm getting the feeling that I'm being too hard on them here. So I'm shutting up.

Now for something completely different: Pot. Legalize it. Now. Alright, that sounded suspicious. Let me rephrase it. I'm a Democrat, so much so that sometimes I feel ashamed to be writing with my right hand. But I am, indeed, a Democrat. (The only one in the family, actually. Thanksgiving is a time for turkey eating and health care debate. Obama's not a socialist, people. Don't go for the scare tactics.) Back to pot. Personally, I'm not a fan. I've never smoked it. I don't plan on it. Maybe I've been brainwashed just as much as everyone else. But I do know the facts, and here they are: Marijuana is less harmful than alcohol and cigarettes. http://www.mpp.org/states/alaska/news/akclu-experts-say-pot-less-harm.html See for yourself. As Seth MacFarlane says, "Everything is better with a bag of weed." That may be true, but as for me, I like to keep it straight and narrow. Just my opinion. However, that does not mean that I am going to take away other people's right to smoke. Two reasons for that: If the government could just legalize pot, and then slam it with a heavy tax, then they could be making so much more money, since everyone just does it anyway. Also, legalizing it would get rid of all the back-alley deals that are so dangerous, and it would also cut down on the use of heavy, dangerous drugs. Dealers are in it for the money, first they give you the pot, then they give you the hard stuff. That's why so many people say marijuana is a gateway drug. And, of course, since when is it the government's business what consenting adults do in the privacy of their own home? While they're at it, they might as well make being gay illegal, and and then abolish abortions. Free speech and freedom of choice for all, and for God's sake, a woman has the right to decide what she wants to do with her own body.