Catching Up

Before it gets away from me, I want to get a little down about a wonderful weekend. I've already posted about the concerts, which were both amazing, but I want to record what else went on. It was a rare weekend when the whole family was in town -- my sister and her husband (they live out of state) and my brother and his new girlfriend (they travel a lot). My sister had the inspired idea to rent out a private karaoke room at a Thai restaurant in an early celebration of my parents' 40th wedding anniversary. We thought about inviting other people, but in the end, it was just us, and we had what can only be called a blast. There was dancing, there was drinking, there was so much eating, and there was plenty of singing. One of my favorite parts was watching my mother watch my brothers sing together. Their harmonies were admittedly beautiful but she was just blown away. Many pictures were taken, some of which I will eventually get around to posting. We also went to one of my brother's gigs, had boiled crawfish, had beignets and cafe au lait, and just had a merry time. I loved having everyone here. Just sitting around eating my mom's crawfish etouffee or lying around on the bed with my sister and brother-in-law were delightful. It was a really wonderful weekend and one I will not soon forget.

Randomness: The Great Performances special In the Heights: Chasing Broadway Dreams is excellent, even if you are not familiar with the show. Definitely worth checking out.

Meanwhile. I am still watching season two of Chuck and loving it a lot and am thrilled it has been renewed. I am reading The Wednesday Wars, finally, and loving it.

I got from Netflix the DVD of the Rent: Live on Broadway special that my brother and I went to see last fall. The special features are indeed quite special. I highly recommend both the live stage show itself as well all of the featurettes, which are VERY WONDERFUL. Seeing Jonathan Larson's parents and sister, all kinds of backstage goodness, the longtime crew members, the closing cast, the original cast (except Adam Pascal -- where were you, Adam Pascal? What could have been more important than this?). Everyone crying and laughing and singing and embracing and remembering, forget about it, it was too much, the tears poured like rain. Rent, I thought I was all cried out over you. But I was wrong.

Once again I have found myself engaging in last minute triathlon registration ridiculousness. A few days ago, I signed up for one that is tomorrow. The distances aren't terribly long, so I think I'll be okay, though I am a bit apprehensive about the biking part since the farthest I've ever gone in my life was seven miles. I'm just going to take it slow, try not to fall off or crash, and try to enjoy myself. I'm viewing it as a chance to road trip with a friend and as good practice for the one in August. I know myself, and I know my anxiety over that one will be greatly lessened over the summer by having this one under my belt.

This morning I went to the farmer's market and came away with fresh eggs, cucumbers, strawberries, bell peppers, yellow squash, and carrots. I feel really good about this. The dogs also approve.

Great night at the theater

Just in case you don't know, which you probably do, but just in case, because some of the people I've asked to go with me stared at me blankly, which is cool, not everyone is down with NPR, "This American Life" is a show on public radio hosted by Ira Glass. It features stories each week on a certain theme. They range from funny to weird to sad to inspirational. The stories and the contributers basically run the gamut from awesome to awesomer. (Ira Glass = awesomest.)

The show decided to do something unusual by airing a 90-minute show LIVE in movie theaters across the nation last week. (Normally it's just a radio show, though it has recently done a TV version on Showtime that's really good.) Because many theaters sold out, they are re-showing it as an encore on Thursday, May 7.

Part of the coolness was just watching a radio show be done on the big screen and how Ira Glass works the little buttons on a table in front of him on a stage to turn on music, recordings, etc. I thought that was really neat. In addition to the wonderful Ira Glass as host, it features essay readings by several other people that were all really good -- funny, silly, and sad. One man read an essay about a car wreck he was in with a drunk driver and how it affected his views on marriage. One woman did an essay about going to an intense therapy program to deal with her childhood issues (accompanied by illustrations on post-it notes that were really funny). There was a report told cartoon style about a town in Florida where thieves have to march in front of stores holding giant signs saying "I stole from this store" (this is a real law there). This cartoon was by Chris Ware (Jimmy Corrigan), so that excited me. All of these were funny and very good. They also showed a clip of one of their TV episodes where they follow 7 people named John Smith, from a newborn to an old man, that was only 4 minutes long and made me cry. There was even a segment on Dr. Horrible, which of course thrilled me.

There is one essay in particular read by Dan Savage, who as you probably know has long authored a national sex advice column. He and his partner have been together 14 years and adopted a son who is now 11 and he has also written a lot about that. Though extremely outspoken politically, he doesn't really talk about politics overtly in this show -- his essay is all about his mother and growing up Catholic in Chicago and life and death and it was really moving. (He was wearing a St. Ignatius t-shirt during the performance.) This should come as a surprise to no one who's read this site for more than a day, but I was openly weeping in the theater; however, I was not the only one. There is something about watching a grown man with gorgeous, sculpted guns (oops, did I say that) fight back tears with all his might while talking about his mother live on stage that just made the tears flow like a river. All I could hear were people sniffling and crying around me; otherwise, the crowd was still and silent and riveted. He talks a lot about his conflicting emotions about the church and all about his really devout mom and what his feelings are on the church today. Even though Dan Savage and I are unlike in obvious ways, I could relate to so much of what he said about family and heaven and tradition. And even if what he says is something you don't agree with, overall, it was a really honest account and ultimately very life-affirming and beautiful. (To me, anyway.)

This is all just to say that if there's any way you can go on May 7, I think you should. The tickets are expensive for 90 minutes in a movie theater, granted, but it's worth it if you can swing it. At least I think so. If you can't make it to the theater, there's (of course) a radio version airing this weekend. You might have to check your local public radio listings for that. The theme of the show is "return to the scene of the crime." I think you should check it out.

In other news, I have spent way too much time lately thinking what a useless addition Kelly has been to The Real Housewives of New York.

Catching up

Having an iced coffee before my little brother and I head out to see the Rent film. I am looking forward to it, though I'm not sure what to expect. We had to design TV channels in my 9th grade mass media class, and mine was a Broadway channel -- all shows, all the time, sort of a pay-per-view situation. I thought it was a swell idea at age 13, and I remember one obnoxious boy saying during the class critique that it wouldn't be the same as being in the theater. Well, duh. I just hope the Rent film (filmed on stage) is not too much like a music video. That frightens me.

It is so beautiful outside it's hard not to be in a decent mood these days. On Friday evening, B. and I ordered a chicken pesto pizza and settled in to watch the first presidential debate. We yelled at the TV a lot and applauded a lot. What I keep thinking about is how at least Obama attempted to look at and address McCain directly sometimes while McCain never did once, at least not that I noticed. And I wonder if that was intentional strategy -- McCain's way of saying Obama isn't worth his attention because "HE JUST DOESN'T GET IT" -- or just McCain being a wuss. I haven't watched much debate commentary because I saw a McCain advisor triumphantly concluding right after the debate that Obama is out of touch with mainstream America and I thought I was going to go blind. I just get too emotional. That said, I can't wait for Thursday's vice presidential debate, during which my friend predicts Palin will be a "hot mess all over the screen!"

Yesterday is kind of a blur ... I did homework and watched the highlights of the first season of The Rosie O'Donnell Show. Oh, I got a new roof! I got a new roof on Friday. Which I love, although I stepped on two giant roofing nails this morning in my front yard and luckily I had on thick-soled sneakers and the nails went between my toes instead of into my foot. I am going to call the roofer tomorrow and see if he can send someone back out with the magnet broom.

Last night, we ate dinner outside on a restaurant patio (miso soup, sushi rolls, and a macadamia nut chicken salad) and went to see Burn Before Reading. I both liked and didn't like it. It was worth seeing for Brad Pitt alone.

:::

(Later in the day ...) My brother and I just got back from the Rent film. WOW! Talk about exceeding all expectations. I thought that Roger was a little too pretty. That said, most of the cast knocked my socks off both vocally and acting-wise. The standout, far and away, was Renee Elise Goldsberry as Mimi. Which surprised me because I always mistakenly thought she was sort of a bland presence based on my limited viewings of her on One Life to Live. I could not have been more wrong about her. Not only was her singing voice fantastic, she completely looked the part from head to toe and acted circles around everyone else on stage. Not that the other actors weren't good because some of them definitely were -- but she was on a whole different level. She really impressed me and I'm so glad I got to see her performing this character. The other standouts for me were Michael McElroy as Collins and Justin Johnston as Angel. They were so wonderful in "I'll Cover You" that they made me not even miss Jesse L. Martin and Wilson Jermaine Heredia. Of course, they'll always be those characters in my heart, but the ones I saw today brought the same kind of beautiful performances and chemistry to that pair. Impressive, I am telling you. IMPRESSIVE. Michael McElroy's voice=beautiful. Of course, nothing beats seeing theater live, but this was a real treat, and I am so glad we went.

:::

Last night before Burn After Reading, of course there were trailers. The only one that made me sit up and pay attention was the one for Milk. I accidentally caught The Times of Harvey Milk (Oscar-winning documentary) on PBS several years ago, and it has stayed with me. I am really looking forward to seeing Milk (or as much as I can look forward to something that I am sure will ultimately be devastating.) If nothing else, I think it's an important story of an important life that more people need to hear. The documentary is definitely worth seeing, and it's available from Netflix and in 10 parts on YouTube.

And now I am going to eat the tofu pepper stir fry I just made, wash stinky towels that were trapped in a bathroom cabinet whose ceiling was molding unbeknownst to me, and prepare to face the week ahead.

Bursting me wide open

Recently I popped in a rental DVD and the previews before the movie came on. I wasn't really paying attention but then I saw this.

Of course I had heard that Billy Elliot was being made into a musical. But I hadn't really followed it and didn't realize it was opening on Broadway this fall.

Every few years, there's a new musical with which I become obsessed, and I count the days until I can get to New York to see it. I am already so in love with this musical. I have long been in love with the movie. (Note: clearly I was feeling a bit fragile about being single when writing that entry.) I think it looks so wonderful. I cannot wait to see it.

I bought the soundtrack today and listened to it my car. I got a little teary during the opening song, a little tearier during "Expressing Yourself," and was fully weeping by the time "The Letter" played. Mainly because the musical people were smart enough to basically use an exact transcription of the dialogue from that scene as the song's lyrics. I love this movie so much, and I already love this music so much.

Speaking of things to love that I didn't know about: I didn't know a new My So-Called Life box set came out last fall. How did I miss this? I was once so immersed in the MSCL world. I knew everything there was to know about everything about it. I've written a little about my relationship with this show before; I feel like somewhat of a disloyal fan for not celebrating the release of this set. I skipped the first five discs on Netflix and went straight to disc six, which is full of bonus features. Soon I'll go back and listen to the episode commentaries. This is very exciting to me.

THIS MUSIC IS KILLING ME. If you haven't seen this movie, do yourself a favor and rent it tonight. Turn on the subtitles if you can't understand the accents. It's so worth watching.

Favorite running showtunes

I like running to Green Day as much as the next person, okay? But sometimes nothing makes me feel more footloose and fancy free on my turtle-like jogs than an upbeat showtune. Here are some of my favorites to run to, in no particular order:

1.) Waiting for the Light to Shine from Big River

2.) You Can't Stop the Beat from Hairspray

3.) Oklahoma from Oklahoma (There is something about this song that makes me so happy while running ... I think it's how happy the characters are about their brand new state ... they are overjoyed ... it releases endorphins in me, I cannot help it.)

4.) 30/90 from tick, tick...boom!

5.) The Dark I Know Well from Spring Awakening

6.) You Can't Get a Man with a Gun from Annie Get Your Gun (This song is a perfect of example of how Irving Berlin wrote some of the greatest lyrics of all time.)

7.) Another Day from Rent

8.) Mamma Mia! from Mamma Mia! (not really a showtune, but whatever)

9.) Forget About the Boy from Thoroughly Modern Millie

10.) NYC from Annie

11.) The Seven Deadly Virtues from Camelot

12.) Angry Inch from Hedwig and the Angry Inch

13.) Who Loves You from Jersey Boys

14.) Pharaoh's Dreams Explained from Joseph & the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat

15.) What Would Brian Boitano Do? from South Park

16.) Run, Freedom, Run from Urinetown

17.) Defying Gravity from Wicked

18.) The Book Report from You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown

19.) The Lees of Old Virginia from 1776

20.) Fame: I'm Gonna Live Forever from Fame

P.S. Totally open to suggestions!

Catch up

Last week, my mom called to announced that there was a Camelot special on PBS. Of course I turned it on right away, and behold, there was Live from Lincoln Center: Camelot. I could not believe my bloomin' eyes. Marin Mazzie as Guinevere? LORD. Perfect. I've loved her since 1998, when she created the role of Mother in Ragtime (even though I never saw her in it, I feel like I have, you know?), and seeing her in Kiss Me, Kate was something I'll never forget. I thought she made a fine, fine Guinevere.

Anyway, I'd never seen the guy who played Lancelot before, but I understand he's an opera star and I was pleased to see that he had both comedic and dramatic chops as well as a great voice. Christopher Lloyd as Pellinore? Too good. I have no idea who Mordred was, but he was great. And Gabriel Byrne as Arthur was wonderful. Sure, he spoke through many of the songs, but that is what Arthur does, since it's not a singing part and it never has been. (Hello, Richard Burton.) And sometimes he rushed and didn't speak the words with the proper musical timing. But you know what? I didn't care. He made me cry so hard during the "Proposition" scene that B. could hear me from the next room even though I was sitting on the bed in the dark with the door closed. It was wonderful, wonderful, wonderful to see this show that I have loved so much my whole life reinvented in this wonderful way.

Of course I called my parents crying during the show to tell them it was the best thing I'd ever seen, and a few nights later, while B. and I were over at my parents' house visiting my sister who was in town, my dad busted out his Camelot script from his college production (he played Arthur) and performed the "Proposition" scene for us, stopping to explain how the notes from "I Wonder What the King is Doing Tonight" play in the background and so forth, and it was a beautiful, beautiful thing.

On Saturday, I was running around buying gifts, and I stopped at the Catholic bookstore to buy my dad a gift certificate and next-door I spotted a Mexican bakery. At least it looked like a Mexican bakery. Seeing as I don't speak Spanish, I wasn't sure. But I was so hungry that I ran and not walked inside. I was not really sure what to do, procedurally. This was definitely a Mexican-Mexican bakery and not an American-Mexican bakery. Should I order at the counter even though I could not translate any of the menu items on the wall? Should I stand at the large rack of unlabeled baked goods and inspect them carefully until someone came over to take my order? I did the latter, and the friendly counter guy asked me what I would like. I pointed to a big pastry and said, "I'd like one, please." He said, "It's chicken!" Because I think he thought I thought it was dessert. I said, "Great!" He told me, "Americans always taste that one and come back for more." $2.65 later, I walked outside, got into my car, and tore into it. It was so good I moaned. I ate the whole thing with my hands, while driving. And it wasn't small. I took my sister back the next morning, thinking she might want to speak some Spanish. She explained that if she were in Mexico, sure, but that the general consensus among bilingual types and those trying to be so is that as Mexicans operating a restaurant here, they might not want to be used for us to practice Spanish on, but rather might want to use us to practice English on. Which made sense, I think. So they spoke a little Spanish and a little English and all was merry and gay. We loaded up on stuff and it is now my favorite food establishment. They've only been open a month; I hope they're a wild success.

Spending some time with my sister when she was here was nice. We went shoe shopping, which is not either of our things, but we survived. Mother's Day was good. We also celebrated my dad's birthday, and my mom cooked an awesome meal of crawfish etouffee, broccoli casserole, and of course ice cream dessert. It was nice to have the whole family together, plus fiery B. I forced everyone to jump in the air for pictures because I read that it's a good way to spice up a group photo. I feel everyone was slightly annoyed, but these pictures will make me laugh forever.

My mom, sister, and I watched P.S. I Love You, and I'm not sure I have the words to aptly capture how much we hated this movie. Just when we thought it couldn't get any stupider or more unrealistic, it would. IT WAS BAD. I am still kind of in shock that it ever got made. I think we started hating it immediately when Hilary Swank's character complained about how small their apartment was and it was a big, lovely NY walk-up that was bigger than any apartment my NY friend ever lived in. I also hated: her fancy up-do for her husband's funeral [not really a spoiler; his death is basically the premise of the whole movie] and the way she went to bed after it in the most uncomfortable type of bra possible (corset) and sexy black panties. Who dresses like that for her husband's funeral? I hated ... everything about it. EVERYTHING. Except for the beauty of the Irish countryside. That was the only good thing about it. What a slog of a movie ... the worst I've seen in years. Possibly in my whole life.

Don't know what else to say. So ... pictures.

V to the Tenth

Somehow I did not learn about V to the Tenth until earlier this week. Either the local press was late in covering the upcoming event or I was just oblivious. Either way, around mid-week, I started seeing notices of the night pop up, and I knew that I needed to go. My girlfriend and I left boyfriend, husband, children, pets, homework, and housework behind and fled for the big city about 5:30.

Background: My sister and I went to see The Vagina Monologues in New Orleans years ago -- maybe 1999 or 2000? -- not sure, and I went to see it a few years ago here. Both time were great experiences, and when I had to choose a "tough cookie" on whom to do a major project for a class a few years ago, I chose Eve Ensler. So I'm pretty familiar with the show and even own it on audio CD. It was clear that I needed to be present at this event, even if it meant sitting five rows from the very tippy top of the Arena (which we did). We sat back with our shared hurricane daiquiri and chicken sandwiches and fries and prepared to relax and enjoy the show.

Let me get the negatives out of the way first: I know I let this sort of thing get to me too much, and I feel almost disloyal saying this about a fellow woman while at a pro-woman event of this magnitude, but there was a row of twenty-something women dressed to the nines as if going out for a night with Carrie, Samantha, Amanda, and Charlotte who were very loud when they came in, very loud as they crossed over us multiple times, very loud as some of them moved to the row behind us, and just ... loud. I really hoped they would settle down and settle in once the show started -- but they didn't. One woman in particular who was sitting behind us decided that she needed to take the thoughts in her head and speak them aloud in reaction to the show. Not quietly, not under her breath, not whispered carefully into the ear of her friend next to her -- but out loud. At full volume. When Doris Roberts (the grandma on Everybody Loves Raymond) and Didi Conn (YES, FRENCHIE) were doing the "down there" monologue and said something about things being noisy "down there," this woman said, "Are they talking about ____-ing?" (Rhymes with leafing.) When they said something about the smell "down there," she said, "Mine smells like oranges!" After each of these comments, I would turn around and shoot her a death glare, but it had no effect. When Christine Lahti (CHRISTINE LAHTI!) delivered the "hair" monologue, the woman shared with us that hers is shaved. When Kerri Washington performed the monologue about Bob, the man who likes to look, when Washington was describing how Bob liked to sit in the shade in the summer and wore beige clothes, the woman's friend turned around to her and said, "Bob is SUSPECT," I don't even know what that means. Then when Washington was describing how Bob looked at it for an hour, my favorite person behind me said, "He'd better be doing something else while he's down there for so long!" Death glare after death glare -- nothing. Then the amazing Charmaine Neville came on and gave a little personal speech before performing "Do You Know What It Means to Miss New Orleans?" and wondered aloud what happened to the people in her neighborhood. She said that she wondered what happened to the German woman who would come sit on her front porch and drink coffee with her so they could "talk about people." About the boy who would ride by every day and tease her dog. About the Vietnamese family who ran the corner grocery store. My friend behind me said loudly and indignantly, "Um -- stereotyping??" And Charmaine wondered what happened to the Chinese family who ran her dry cleaners. "I am getting offended!" Said the genius behind me who clearly did not stop and think that these were actually real families in New Orleans? Hello? Then she continued, "What's next? Is she going to ask what happened to Apu?" That's when I turned to my friend and said, "Get up! We're moving." So she grabbed her purse and we hustled to some empty seats in the adjacent section. And from then on, the evening was smooth sailing of normal people who don't do anything in the audience but laugh and cry and applaud in the right places.

Highlights: Rosario Dawson & and an Eastern European actress performing the one about the young woman and violence in her village, who explained that the woman who told Ensler that story and on whom the monologue is based was in the audience. Seeing Amber Tamblyn come onstage, not knowing she would be there, and thinking in my head, "OMG Joan Girardi, OMG Joan Girardi, OMG, OMG." Hearing the insane reaction of the audience to the entrance of Jennifer Beals, who, along with Alex Hedison, Ilene Chaiken, and Daniela Sea (The L Word), was hilarious in the monologue about moaning. (Jennifer Beals is really as beautiful in real life as she is as Bette Porter, if that is humanly possible.) It was neat to see Jennifer Hudson, who looked great. She performed a monologue about loving being a girl. And I feel like she had the potential to BE great, but she held her cards so closely up to her nose that I wondered if she had not practiced at all? It was kind of weird. The other actresses had cards, but they only glanced at them sometimes and did not read straight off of them. Oh Jennifer Hudson. I know you have it in you! And Jane Fonda, the amazing Jane Fonda, who was the only person (I think) besides Ensler in the opening "I am worried about vaginas" monologue who went off-book. Not a card in her hand had Jane Fonda for "I Was There in the Room," probably my favorite of all of the classic vagina monologues. In case you don't know, this monologue was written about Eve Ensler being present in the room when the wife of her stepson, Dylan McDermott, gave birth. More on him later!

Now it is time to talk about Liz Mikel, otherwise known as Smash's mom on Friday Night Lights. I have been known to say when watching that show, "This episode could use some more Mama Smash." Which any episode of any show could, frankly. She is always wonderful on the show -- strong and tender and fierce all at the same time. I saw her walking in with the little parade of stars and I got very excited. She performed the "my vagina is angry" monologue, and it was funny and fantastic. I was so proud of Mama Smash and thought she was such a great addition to the night.

Meanwhile, I'd read that Oprah was going to be there to perform a new monologue that Ensler wrote in honor of women affected by Katrina. And sure, I was excited to see Oprah. Oprah is an event unto herself, you know? So when Liz Mikel came back to the stage late in the evening following an amazing gospel choir (Lois DeJean and the Voices of New Orleans) and said this was a new monologue in honor of a New Orleans woman named Patricia Henry, I wondered, "Hm. Isn't this the one Oprah was going to do?" But the thought left my head when Liz Mikel started performing this monologue. She had cards, sure, but she barely glanced at them. She embodied the spirit of this woman with her full mind, body, soul, and spirit. She was soft in the right places, mighty in the right places, angry in the right places, and so forth. It was called "Hey, Miss Pat!" and she told of the people who would come by and say that and ask her what she was cooking that day. And she talked about all of these people who were lost in or damaged by the storm. And I don't really know what to say other than when Ensler is good, she is great, and that Liz Mikel was unbelievable. By the time she was done, she was crying, and Ensler ran to the stage and embraced her, and then Ensler, whilst basically sobbing, called the real Patricia Henry to the stage, so she was escorted up there, and she was crying, and she and Liz Mikel held each other and rocked back and forth and wept, and Liz Mikel said, "God bless you, God bless you," and we were all on our feet and tears were streaming down thousands of faces, and it was just one of those transcendent moments in theater and in life.

A few minutes later, Eve Ensler, still totally overjoyed and overcome by Mikel's performance and the whole beautiful scene, said, "I guess you've figured out that Oprah couldn't here tonight," and she explained that Oprah was sick, and continued, "But I think we can all agree that seeing Liz Mikel was such a gift," and said something about how some things happen for a reason and we just have to let ourselves be carried by however the wind blows. And I mean, it was clear to her and to everyone, I would think, that there is no way that Oprah's performance would have been nearly as extraordinary as Liz Mikel's and that we were blessed to have experienced it. Right? Not long after, we decided to start making our way down to the car as Ensler was wrapping things up, and some people were clearly not as blissed out and zen about the whole thing as I was, because people were PISSSED about Oprah and about not being told until the very end. Which my sister assures me was a very reasonable reaction on their part, and maybe I am just so blindly in love with Mama Smash that I could not be fazed by Oprah's absence. Anyway.

And now for our up close and personal celebrity spotting of the night! As we neared the exit doors, out of the corner of my eye I noticed Dylan McDermott in jeans, a black leather jacket, and black Chuck Taylor sneakers hurriedly making his way to the door beside ours, and I crammed my mouth into my friend's ear and said, "Look to your right, RIGHT NOW," and she did, and her eyes flew wide open and we exited beside him as he totally speed-walked to wherever he was going, I guess to avoid being recognized (sort of funny considering how much, much bigger stars were there, but I guess they were not Among The Common People like he was for some reason), and he was very handsome if a little shorter than I imagined, and I thought for a fleeting moment about how I like him best as Leo Fish in Home for the Holidays. And he was holding the hand of a young girl with long hair whom I suspect was the girl whose birth inspired "I Was There in the Room," and I wondered how it must feel for her to hear something like that being performed by Jane Fonda, to hear about herself -- "first the little head, then the gray flopping arm, then the fast swimming body, swimming quickly into our weeping arms" -- and it was a nice, sort of mind-blowing, full-circle way to end the evening.

It was wonderful, and it was wonderful to spend an evening with my friend, and it was wonderful to be there, and I'm so very, very glad we went.

Laughter & tears

Every once in a while we are lucky enough to make friends with someone who loves the same kind of books that we do and who sends those books bursting through the mail and into our hearts. Melissa is one of those friends for me, and her latest gift to me is a galley of My Most Excellent Year: A Novel of Love, Mary Poppins, and Fenway Park by Steve Kluger.

I feel like the author somehow saw into my mind and put everything into this book that would make it mean a whole lot to me. Like musical theater in all of its awesomeness and insanity and private musical theater jokes that make you feel like you're sharing a giggly secret with the characters who love musicals like you do. And deep and intense friendships between teens that remind me of my friendships at that time, several of which I'm lucky enough to still have. And the love of a really neat little kid. And not only Mary Poppins as a major plot point but the understanding of how important a movie it is and how important Julie Andrews is to humankind. And brothers who aren't related by blood but who are still brothers, just like my nieces aren't my nieces by blood but are still my nieces.

Last night my friend (who's been my friend since we were Annie's age) and I took her four-year-old daughter who is my non-blood-relation-niece to see Annie. It was the national touring company, and it was so fantastically top-notch in every respect. The cast, the production value, everything. It was so wonderful that even though it didn't end until 11:00 at night, this child fought with all of her inner strength to stay awake until the end even though her head and limbs were literally collapsing into themselves. I have known every note of every song of Annie since I was a little girl -- my sister and I wore out the Broadway cast album before the movie came out in 1982, and I remember my mom telling us sadly that it wasn't getting good reviews and we were like, so? Come on! We loved it anyway. My point is that it's not like Annie is anything new to me, but there was something about seeing a big professional splashing performance of it with my friend who's loved it for just as long as I have, if not longer, with her little girl sitting between us in a theater full of little girls that made me weep openly throughout the entire show. I don't know when Annie suddenly became the most poignant thing I've ever seen, but I couldn't help it. The moment when Annie came down the big winding staircase with her hair curled, in that red dress -- it was almost too much to bear. It made my heart explode with joy and my eyeballs explode with tears. It was such an iconic musical theater image and such a beautiful moment. And even though they were all singing about getting a New Deal for Christmas with all kinds of happiness and I was sitting there thinking about how world war was about to break out and was hearing Alejandra from My Most Excellent Year in my head telling me that FDR authorized the Japanese internment camps, I still loved it! It was awesome.

And then today, all afternoon, after a morning of revelry at a parade in the sun with B. on the most beautiful sunny day of 2008 so far, I got to lie on the couch finishing this wonderful book, and I cried and laughed out loud at the same time, and I was like, man. Sometimes I get so despondent for no reason with the weight of a crushing sadness and feel like the world is going to come to an end any day now, but weekends like this remind me that I am living the dream.

There's a trickle of sweat

I am feeling very tubby lately.

Last October, I was finishing up the one-hour running program and getting ready to start the half-marathon training. I can't believe it's been only a year and I have descended this far into slothitude. Pants I bought last October no longer fit me. I can barely button my formerly loosest pants. It's a sad state of affairs. It's no big mystery - I haven't exercised regularly in months and have been eating my way through autumn. I loved my crazy exercise class for a while and went semi-faithfully, but it's all fallen by the wayside.

It's strange; I miss what it felt like to dedicate myself to the running programs and to have the routine and even the running, at least the outside running because I loved the damn scenery, but I feel like I ran solely to accomplish the goals of the 5K, one hour running program, and half-marathon, and once I'd done that, it felt like something I didn't want to do anymore. But I have to do something. Seriously. It's just unseemly and unhealthy, what my body has turned into this fall. I am actually beginning to gross myself out with the ballooning state of my stomach, and that is a terrible feeling. I'm not trying to hate on myself, but pants do not lie, and there's no reason for me to be descending into this spiral of blubbery. Mainly, I want to focus on how much saner and more productive I felt in all areas of my life when it was framed by an exercise-related structure. Healthy body=healthy mind and all that jazz.

Today I sat in class and was so uncomfortable as layers of tubbiness rolled over the top of my khaki cords that I loved and wore so much last year. I could see the rolls bulging out from inside my very cute new pink argyle sweater from Target, and I shifted and shifted, trying to feel better in my skin. I don't like feeling this way. For the first time in I can't even remember how long, I am feeling intensely sad about my body.

(Sidebar: Something that made me intensely happy was seeing Urinetown. I knew I would love it based solely on my deep and abiding love for "Run, Freedom, Run!" but that was the only song I knew going into it, so the rest was just a pleasant surprise. What a fun, funny, great show. I laughed and laughed, and I loved the music, and the cast was fantastic, and their voices were terrific, and it was a very satisfying night of musical theater. And it was exciting that it was happening locally. Just ... enjoyable. A good night of musical theater is amazing therapy.)

This afternoon, I did what I have not done in so long. I put on my exercise clothes and strapped on my sneakers and got my iPod, recently loaded with the Urinetown soundtrack, and I headed out for a walk. Not a run, but a nice, brisk walk for thirty solid minutes. We have less than a week left that I'll be able to do that after work, and I made myself go. I listened to that great soundtrack in addition to some other fine showtunes such as "Oh, What a Beautiful Morning" even though it was dusk, and I watched the sun falling and all of the exercising maniacs all around me, and I said to myself, "Remember? Remember when you did this for months and months, only you weren't walking, you were running? What happened to you?" I tried not to feel ashamed but rather lucky to have the time to be outside on such a beautiful afternoon and to feel my legs getting sore and myself breaking a little sweat for the first time in God knows how long. Tonight, for dinner, I had a nice plate of roast and brown rice and peas and corn from my mom and I didn't go back for seconds. I passed on the moo-llennium crunch. I don't want to become obsessive, and I don't want to beat myself up too much. I just want to take better care of myself and start being a little kinder to my body, even if it's just a little bit at a time.

Summer

Summer. Summer is so hot. It's still really quite hot. Hot.

I've always remembered Pamie's entry about moving in with someone, so I went to her archives and found it. Here it is. It's still very funny.

So far, we've lived together for 2.5 weeks. We haven't killed each other or any of the animals yet. We baked honey whole wheat banana walnut bread in his bread machine. We made this in the crock pot which continues to taste much better than a Weight Watchers recipe should. I think it's the mango chutney. It's just so good, and I don't even like mangoes. We watched season two of Weeds. We ate sushi and played 80s trivia with friends. Somehow B. got the "Tim" and I got the "Reid" on the answer to a question about a WKRP in Cincinnati actor's show, Frank's Place. That was some good teamwork. He's been studying mostly every waking minute; I've been lying on the couch sweating and wishing the So You Think You Can Dance tour would come to my town.

I started going to my crazy exercise class again because I can no longer button my shorts and I need some endorphins released pronto before I melt away with summer blahs. It has been good to go back. I recognized most of the people there my first time back, the old faithfuls. It is still very painful and sweaty but not in an altogether terrible way. The teacher still shouts, "Love yourself." The gym is a bit like Dante's inferno, but I'm bringing a big bottle of water and drinking from it every few minutes. My shins hurt me so badly when I tried to jog very slowly around the gym for sixty seconds that I cannot believe I once ran 13.2 miles in a row without stopping. How did I ever do that? I'll never know. I wiped sweat out of my eye with my hand, which had just gotten someone else's sweat on it from a sweaty, sweaty mat, and I marveled at my ability to ignore germophobia while actively struggling to catch my breath. Sometimes breathing is more important than cleanliness, you know? And that is why I should probably keep going to this class. Being covered in other people's sweat reminds me that other people aren't walking around trying to make me sick and that their bodily fluids are much like mine. I am crazy; it is true. I also like how people meet eyes across the gym. I'll be doing some insane abdominal exercise and on every sit-up I'll meet eyes with someone on the bike across the gym and she'll be peddling like crazy and looking either empowered or about to die and it's sort of silently acknowledged that there are only sixty seconds to this round and please God we will all make it through until the teacher yells for us to switch. There is a camaraderie there. I am inspired by the fast, lean, incredible hardbodies and by the slower, more overweight people who all seem to be working equally as hard. It's all just sweaty and hot and inspiring and I don't even care how fat my stomach looks or how completely uncoordinated and ungraceful and unathletic I am when I'm there because at least I'm there sweating to high heaven and trying.

I am taking some classes myself this fall and went through a credit card debacle with the bookstore wherein they charged my card four times the price of my textbooks and thus threw my checking account into jeopardy of being overdrawn. So that was a joyous way to start the semester.

Sometimes internet dreams do come true. The entire Days of Our Lives 1986 Thanksgiving episode is now up at YouTube. When we were kids, we would always have Thanksgiving at my aunt's convent, and my brother, sister, and I would sneak upstairs to watch the show every year after lunch on a communal nun TV. And this was by far the best Thanksgiving episode of Days of Our Lives that we ever clandestinely watched. It was flashback bliss.

My latest internet hope is to somehow find a video or a recording of Shawn Colvin singing "Try to Remember" on Broadway's Best on Bravo. Sometimes I wonder if anyone but me even saw this show. But it was a beautiful, heartbreaking rendition and I'd love to hear it again. (There are few clips of the special up, such as Mandy Moore singing "Adelaide's Lament," though the audio is kind of uneven in this clip and makes her sound kind of off. I remember her doing it quite excellently, though.) I'm just putting it out there in the universe so hopefully one day this song will magically re-enter my life.

Catching Up

It's daunting to think of updating chronologically so I think I'll go backwards.

Tonight I am sitting on the couch. I just watched Moonstruck and ate some disgusting chicken fried rice from a Knorr envelope. Zuko liked it, though. Today I mowed the grass, did four loads of laundry, unpacked from my trip, reorganized my bathroom cabinet, got gas, went grocery shopping, and finished Harry Potter. And also spent hours on the phone with Apple bemoaning the fact that after sending it in for repairs, something is now broken that wasn't before. (It won't burn any CDs.) The first person I talked to immediately "suggested" that I take it to a retail store so that a "Mac genius" could "isolate the problem" and then I could "call them back" and tell them what the problem is. I "suggested" that I paid for Apple Care and intended to receive technical assistance over the phone. I did this nicely, of course, but deep down I was growing more livid by the second. After going through the usual hoops and steps I have jumped through countless times as they've tried to diagnose problem after problem and reminding them that I just sent it in and had the disc drive REPLACED, they had me do whatever you do with the 2 original install discs and then call them back to report that it still was not working. After much ridiculousness, I finally talked to someone named Dan who gave me his personal extension, told me how to cut through the voice prompts, and said he or some other specialist would be handling it from now on. So I'm sending it back in. And I have never been a customer service person and I understand there are rules they have to follow, but I swear to God that when what's-his-name, before even beginning to address possibilities or troubleshoot, suggested that I drag my ass to Comp USA, I almost cursed Apple forever. Thank God for Dan.

Last night I went to see a local production of Cats with Maryelizabeth. We stopped for cookies and Icees on the way home along with a hamburger and fries. We decided that it was a very good production but that even at its best, Cats is kind of a boring slog of a show. I like some of the songs, but mostly I've decided it's annoying and I don't understand what it is about it that middle America so faithfully embraced for years and years on Broadway. Give me Rodgers and Hammerstein any day of the week, is all I'm saying. One weird thing is that we noted when walking into the theater that we went to theater camp there the summer after ninth grade. So we were reminiscing about it. And one of the girls from theater camp was in the show! Bizarre. She looked great, danced great, sounded great, and was overall in incredible shape as a performer. Nelly Forbush was played by three girls that summer ... I was one, and so was she. I got "Some Enchanted Evening," and she got "Honey Bun." I think it's safe to say that she carried the torch from theater camp, and I totally dropped it. I cannot believe that was 17 years ago.

Speaking of Rodgers and Hammerstein, I've been enjoying the hell out of a four-disc set that my dad dug out while cleaning his study, "Golden Memories of Stage & Screen." On my way to the airport last weekend, I listened to "Edelweiss" and cried and cried. Mostly remembering the moment when the Captain is too overcome with emotion to continue singing at the end and Maria walks out on stage to save the moment and save him. One of my memories of watching that movie on repeat as a child was how my mom always pointed out during that scene how much Maria loved him to go out there and sing the song when he couldn't. The whole box set is pretty damned awesome.

Yesterday, I got back into town and played with my pets and bought Harry Potter and was reunited with my computer, which was a very joyous experience before I realized it was still broken.

On Friday night, B. and I flew home from our week away. We finished disc one of The Best of Youth on the plane ride home and in doing so broke HIS computer, only his seems to be more severely broken as all it will do at this point is blink a question mark at him. Sorrow. To make our connecting flight, we ran and ran and ran through the Miami airport and I almost had a heart attack. The Best of Youth is quite long and good. This trip's airplane breakdown occured while reading this article about Barbaro. It was similar to my fit while reading The Book Thief, only shorter in duration as it was an article rather than a novel. I just could not control the tears from shooting down my face. I discovered after finishing it that it was written by Buzz Bissinger, who wrote Friday Night Lights.

(Photo by B)

We spent a few days with his family, which was very nice as always, after going to Williamsburg, which is a groovy place to visit if you enjoy historical nerdiness, which I do. We went to Jamestown Settlement, the Governor's Palace, Busch Gardens, etc.

(Photo by B)




(Photo by B)

I wish I were not such a germophobic freak in hotel rooms, but I can't seem to shake my paranoia. I am definitely happy to be back in my own bed and bathroom.

The Emmy nominations came out, and I have some thoughts on them, but they'll have to wait. A new week starts tomorrow, and I want to be on top of things and be healthy and happy.

Tears

I think what it boils down to is that I am incapable of coping with the enormity of life.

So I either live in denial of the incomprehensible fragility and finality of it all, forcing myself to live in oblivion and be numb.

Or I find myself in a period of time, like the past few weeks, when I am so overcome by moments of beauty, sadness, terror, joy, and love that I feel completely raw and I cry. I cry every day, multiple times a day, over big things and small things. For short spurts of just a few tears or for prolonged periods of gentle weeping or blubbering sobs.

I'm trying to look back and pinpoint what set off this latest period of ceaseless tears. I think it might have been reading The Book Thief. I think I started crying then and haven't stopped since.

Sometimes I cry because I'm moved by beauty and sweetness, like when Keri Russell sings the pie song to her baby in Waitress. But then those tears morph into those of grief and anger at the senselessness of it all when thinking about how the woman who wrote that song, whose actual daughter played the little girl in the movie, got murdered. And those tears all mix together while I feel how beautiful and ugly the world can be at the same time.

Really, these days I'll cry over anything. I cried over Planet Earth and the Battle of the Bulge. I cried yesterday in our director's office while talking about how much I love my boss. She then teared up, because she loves her, too. Tears are so contagious. They're like yawns that way, or laughs.

Yesterday I also cried when my mom sent an e-mail to her four children after attending the funeral of a guy my older brother's age who had a stroke right after his honeymoon. "I know that there is a message to reflect upon in all that happens to us in this life," she wrote. "Today for me--and I pass it on to you who are dearest to me--is that life is precious. Every day, every minute is too precious to waste on anything that does not have meaning or is not life-giving. Let none of us put mindless TV, trash movies, resentment, worry, envy, regret, money--above being with those you love and those who love you. Dearest ones of my life, I prayed today that you will reflect on the suddenness of his death, that such reflection will call you in a new way to live your life to the fullest--loving others, serving others, spreading God's love and kindness within you to all whom you meet, seeing the preciousness in yourself, each other, your special friends, living, not in a morbid way, but with an adventurous, energetic spirit--each day as if it were your last.....because it just might be. Some of his last words to his wife: 'Don't worry, honey. God will take care of us.' May you grow in trust of this, too. May that beautiful young man rest in peace ... and may you, my precious children, live in peace and joy in all that you do."

The tears over that e-mail will be unending, probably, partly because I have a mom who would send an e-mail that loving and profound and because I feel what she was feeling -- being seized with that dread, that panic that we're not appreciating every moment and that it can all end so suddenly. I feel that on a regular basis, and it's an awful feeling, and I cried because I knew she was feeling it, too. I feel like I've always felt that way, that sense of urgency about the preciousness of life, but it used to be a much more positive thing. It used to feel like a blessing, a gift, even a joy. But lately it's felt like a burden, like a goddamn albatross, and I wonder if that's just part of getting older. Or part of losing belief in God and in heaven and that we'll never be apart from those we love even in death. I wish I could still believe that. I think I was much less afraid.

Today's crying jag started when cleaning out a closet. I'm doing some rearranging and organizing and I opened one of my grandmother's old journals. She had one for every year for about 12 years or so, late in her life. Maybe she had more, I don't know. But there's a week on each page and entries for each day of they week. Her handwriting is horrendous; she was raised when you were taught to write right-handed even if you weren't, and she wasn't, and it shows. I think maybe the scratchy scrawl adds to the melancholy of her prose. But her entries are so spare and so simple and they cause my heart to clench in despair. I know she wanted me to have them; she told my mom, and my mom told me, years ago. My grandmother loved each of us the most on varying days; I guess that day it was me. So I am glad to have them but also feel the weight of her loneliness and sadness with every word I read and I can never read long before I have to close them and cry a hundred tears. And I wonder if I should scan parts of them and share them with other relatives, like her children, when she wrote something kind or wonderful about them, but I worry that it will become a whole possessive mess because I have them and that reading them in full will make them dissolve in pain. They are so hard for me to handle, and I am her granddaughter. I don't know if it would be a gift or a cruelty to share the journals with them. Today I happened to be on the phone with my friend who knew and really liked my grandmother when the boo-hooing wave commenced, and she said something like, "Well, if you believe that we all carry pieces of each other inside ourselves," since her daughter has my grandmother's name as her middle name, "then she carries part of her inside." And that just made me start bawling, because, well. That's really it, isn't it?

Meanwhile, I decided the music I had to listen to while doing all of this closet cleaning and journal reading and crying was the Broadway soundtrack to The Lion King, and I don't care what anyone says about the Disneyfication of Broadway, this soundtrack is a thing of beauty. And it opens, "From the day we arrive on this planet, and, blinking, step into the sun, there is more to see than can ever be seen, more to do than can ever be done." And I thought, yes. "There is far too much to take in here, more to find than can ever be found." And I thought, yes. There is far too much to take in here. And maybe that is why I am crying every day. And then, "It's the circle of life, and it moves us all, through despair and hope, through faith and love. Till we find our place, on the path unwinding ..." And yes, it's from a Disney show and I think it might have been written by Elton John and I realize it comes from a cartoon, but this song kills me. The Broadway recording, it is stunning. I feel like all my heart has been doing lately is blinking into the sun and trying to take it all in. And THEN the song "He Lives in You" came on, and I thought about what my friend said about my grandmother living on in her little baby, my godchild. And that also is truly a beautiful song, I am telling you.

I might need to rethink tonight's plan to watch Downfall and watch something else instead. Something with singing and dancing. Like Grease 2 or Waiting for Guffman.

And hi, I'm crying some more, typing this right now, big shocker. And I am grappling with accepting that surely it must be better to feel everything than feel nothing.

It's not like I am going through each day sad or depressed. It's not that way at all. It's just that as I told my boyfriend tonight, I feel like lately I just have an overflowing heart. And it's overflowing and exploding so much that it's always close to the surface and the tears are so accessible and I can't help it, and before I know it, they just come, and my heart is running down my cheeks, trying to understand life and death and the world, trying to get free.

Tony Night! (Spoilers included)

Tony Night is a happy night. Happy, happy, HAPPY!

When the announcer introduced the first presenter as a four-time Tony winner and a nominee tonight, I assumed it would be Audra McDonald. But it was Angela Lansbury. Which is kind of unreal, considering that Angela Lansbury is 81 and Audra McDonald is 36. Not to take anything away from Angela Lansbury, whom I've adored since Bedknobs and Broomsticks.

As I just e-mailed Kymm while demanding that she blog the awards again, Neil Patrick Harris was adorable and Christina Applegate had both a pinched dress and a pinched face.

And God bless John Gallagher, Jr. How goddamn wonderful. I thought Jonathan Groff's smile would fly right off his face as he watched his friend give his delightful, delightful, delightful speech. (Watch it here.)

I hope these aren't considered spoilers.

I am so happy the Tonys are on. It amuses me that Tom Hulce, also known as Amadeus and the voice of Disney's Hunchback (beautiful singing voice by the way) and the black sheep sibling with a son named Cool in Parenthood, is one of Spring Awakening's big producers. I think that is awesome.

Carla Gugino's hair looks like it did in Son-in-Law, a movie I love, but it's not a great look for her. She is so stunning as a brunette. Also, I'm not fond of her florescent green dress.

Nominees who sit stone-faced instead of clapping for themselves or at least cracking a smile annoy me.

STEVEN SATER, WOO! "Spring Awakening is all about the hopes we feel as parents and the wounds we feel as children." And there is Jonathan Groff, again, looking overcome upon a Spring Awakening victory. What a tremendous speech. (Watch it here.)

I didn't know that Melina Kanakaredes was in Cabaret. I think they ended up letting everyone who wanted to play Sally Bowles. Also, I hate her dress. And her make-up. And she is not reading the teleprompter well at all! Mortifying. Could they not have found someone better to introduce John Kander? Holy Hell! I guess it's because she's on a CBS show. Shameful. What about Bebe Neuwirth? Chita Rivera? Joel Grey? These are just the first few that come to mind. Melina F-ing Kanakaredes? Excuse me?

Now I am apparently copying off of Kymm and typing throughout the entire broadcast.

Curtains looks good. David Hyde Pierce is great. Maybe there should be a musical starring David Hyde Pierce and Neil Patrick Harris. They could play Niles and Barney and sing and dance together. I would enjoy that.

Taye and Idina together! Walking out to a song from Annie Get Your Gun. Bizarre. Idina Menzel is beautiful, but I'm not crazy about the monochromatic dress and make-up. She sort of looked like this, at least hair and make-up-wise, when she won for Wicked, and it was a nice contrast to the green skin we'd seen her in a few minutes earlier when she performed, but Idina! Color. You should look into it, really. And Spring Awakening wins Best Score. And they look very happy, and it's adorable. And Sater and Shiek each just hugged and kissed Michael Cerveris on the way up! Interesting. And cue the Jonathan Groff reaction shot. Maybe the Tony producers are trying to reach out to the young audience by showing Groff all the time. Not a bad tactic, I'd say. "This is for you, The Guilty Ones." LOVELY. Also, I'd like Duncan Shiek to shave his neck. He just said, "Musical theater rocks," like, "Hello, I am a rocker, and this just occurred to me." Cute.

There's Anika Noni Rose with Donny Osmond. It really bothered me that in the midst of the Beyonce / Jennifer Hudson extravaganza nobody ever noted that Anika Noni Rose was the 3rd Dreamgirl in the movie and that she was a damn Tony winner. And I love Donny Osmond's voice a lot, but his Botox / facelift is frightening me.

Rosie O'Donnell will be so happy that Mary Louise Wilson won. I would really, really, really, really, really like to see Grey Gardens. I like her pants suit. She is lovely. Christine Ebersole looks gorgeous and like a sunbeam is shining down from heaven on her face.

I love you, Phylicia Rashad, but that is an unfortunate tie-dyed tent that you are wearing. I forgive you because you gave one of the best acceptance speeches I've ever heard. "Often I've wondered what does it take for this to happen. And now I know. It takes effort and grace, tremendous self-effort and amazing grace. And in my life that grace has taken numerous forms. The first was the family into which I was born, parents who loved and wanted me, and a mother who fought fearlessly, courageously, consistently so that her children above all else could realize their full potential as human beings. Teachers who wanted to be teachers. Art. All my life. A brilliant play, a magnificent role, a producer with a vision, a producer with a heart, and a director who dares to see me as an artist capable of many things. I thank God for everything, every, every single thing. For my mother, for my sister, for my brothers, for my children, and for this." (Yes, I just transcribed that from the 2004 Tony Awards show which I am physically incapable of deleting from my TiVo.)

Okay. Choreography. Bill T. Jones for Spring Awakening. And he is dancing down the aisle and jumping onto the stage. Well, wow! He is psyched! And, unsurprisingly, so is Jonathan Groff. This is funny because Shelley did not approve of the choreography of this show, not one little bit. It made her put her face in her hands. Oh, well! This guy is totally jazzed, and I'm loving this Spring Awakening sweep so far. (Watch his acceptance here.)

Rainn Wilson looks nothing like Dwight Schrute! Weird. Claire Danes' long blond hair is loathsome, as is her over-articulation. I cannot believe how much I loved her as Angela Chase and how much she totally gives me the creeps now.

Jennifer Ehle is so gorgeous, oh my God. And there is Martha Plimpton! Damn. Another Parenthood person. I love Parenthood. And Jennifer Ehle wins. Which is funny because she is the quintessential Elizabeth Bennet, of course, and I'm in the middle of reading Austenland. She's sounding very American. Why did I think she was English? What the hell? She sounds vaguely English, but not really. I'm very confused. I also loved her in that dark and dismal movie Paradise Road. But I really think she sounds American and someone needs to clear this up for me.

There is adorable Justin from Ugly Betty! He is precious. And weirdly, I am now feeling affection for Mary Poppins, the Broadway version, even though I've always hated the thought of you. And I don't like the way they sing "Chim chimUHny, chim chimUHny, chimchim cheree." It is spelled "chiminy." Not "chimuhny."But other than that, I am slightly more interested in it. I like this Bert. They certainly did give Mary Poppins a lot of time, good Lord.

Harry Smith? Okaaaay. Whatever. He's presenting "The Year in Plays." Poor plays. They really get the shaft.

Liev and Cynthia Nixon make quite a dashing pair of presenters.

Eddie Izzard! I hope his wife Elizabeth is watching. He is being very silly, and it's very strange to see him as someone other than Wayne Malloy because that's the only way I've ever seen him until now.

Marg Helgenberger looks better every time I see her. She is aging backwards. And now a musicals montage. I did not know that The Cat in the Hat and High Fidelity were made into musicals. And I think that Legally Blonde looks pretty bad. Mostly just because the new nose of the lead actress jars me every time I see a photo of her. Harry Connick, Jr.: also aging incredibly well. And there's the director of Rent, Michael Grief, against Michael Mayer, the director of Spring Awakening. And Mayer takes it. He is very pumped and is wearing a lavender tie. "I think it's awesome that the Broadway community has embraced our musical of young people struggling with the confusing and exhilarating journey to adulthood. And I believe that it is only with open eyes and open ears and open minds and open hearts that we can guide future generations until one day societal repression and sex as taboo are no longer themes for which directors win Tony Awards. Thank you very much." (Watch his acceptance speech here.)

Patti Lupone is wearing an unfortunate dress. And the microphone is blocking her mouth. She still looks great, though. And here's Raul Esparza! Whom I have never seen perform! This is very exciting, as I love him in Tick, tick... BOOM! Unsurprisingly, he is giving an A*W*E*S*O*M*E with capital letters and stars performance tonight. If he's like this throughout all of Company, how could anyone else win tonight? (Watch his beautiful performance here.)

What in the name of Antoinette Perry is Marcia Gay Harden wearing? Gee, I wonder if The Coast of Utopia will win Best Play? It only looks like the best play ever. Judd Hirsch is wearing opaque black sunglasses. Perhaps he just had eye surgery. There's no other excuse. They're explaining the plays, which are getting a few clips each. Judd Hirsch just pronounced Pittsburg as Fittsburgh, which makes me think of Titspervert/Fitzherbert in Bridget Jones' Diary.

Sam Waterston's gray hair is very distinguished. I hate men and their ascension into aging gorgeousness. Best Revival of a Play: Journey's End. Fellow presenter Felicity Huffman apparently could not care less. The man accepting the award: "Is there not a better way for human beings to resolve conflict than war? Is there not a better way?" Amen.

Tommy Tune! Still tall. Wearing what looks like a big white magnolia on his lapel. I enjoy him. He's singing! "Look around, they disappear from sight, and when I recall what used to be, I'm weeping like a weeping willow tree, just look around, you'll see a memory." Very nice song over the shots of the people who died -- lovely, really.

I'm getting sort of tired of this and just want to see the live performances from Spring Awakening and Grey Gardens. Here are Kevin Spacey and Jane Krakowski, whom I saw in Grand Hotel when I was a junior in high school, the first show I ever saw on Broadway. Is Jane Krakowski still dating Tim Rice? I think I remember her saying that when co-hosting Live with Regis one day. I found that a very weird pairing, frankly.

Okay, I stopped paying attention for a few minutes. But here is Audra McDonald presenting and looking incredibly beautiful. Leading actress in a play. I am very torn between Angela Lansbury and Vanessa Redgrave, two legends. And some very random woman wins who is very thrilled and shocked. Wait, I remember her from that show with the blonde Southern comic. What was that show? Oh yeah. Grace Under Fire. It was on in reruns, along with Coach, all summer when I worked at Disney World. Anyway. I remember her from that. She is being a little too silly and over-the-top in this speech and I feel it's kind of disrespectful especially when she beat Lansbury and Redgrave. It's just kind of ridiculous. I feel like I would like her in real life, but she just called her Tony statue a "tchotchki." No.

GREY GARDENS! Is coming up. And here are the guys from Jersey Boys. And they are singing again this year! Well, that is awesome. I don't recall ever seeing performances from the same show two years in a row. It's fine by me. I like these guys a lot. Shelley said this show went on forever, though. My sister just called and asked me, "Who are these clowns?" Ha! She also said she has a mouse in her room and she just saw it scurry across the floor. Ah, New York City.

Fast-forwarding. I'm very sad that I did not get to see Captain von Trapp make an acceptance speech because of Frank Langella. Patrick Wilson! I used to see him as Curly in Oklahoma ... now I see him as the adulterous husband who gets naked in Little Children.

And look at the magnificent Christine Ebersole. She looks and sounds exactly like Little Edie. This is uncanny, truly. I cannot imagine her not winning. (Watch her performance here.) And look! Here is the gorgeous trio of Moritz, Wendla, and Melchior announcing that they'll be performing soon. Hooray.

Oh, there's Christopher Plummer presenting. Good, good. He is still very dreamy, I think. And the Best Play is The Coast of Utopia. And there is Tom Stoppard in all of his bushy-haired glory.

It doesn't surprise me that Zach Braff is presenting Spring Awakening as he's been very public about his love for the show. And here it is, holy wow. There's Lea Michele, looking as ever like mini-Idina Menzel and being a good sport about not being nominated. I really am not too nuts about the "Mama Who Bore Me" thing they've been the making the rounds with lately. Honestly. It just does not really represent the true awesomeness of the show for me. And here's "The Bitch of Living," THANK GOD!!!!!!!! And the lyrics are different, what? Oh well! There's John Gallagher, Jr., singing and thinking, "Hello, I just won a Tony." Random key change! And there is Jonathan Groff singing and thinking, "I will never beat Raul Esparza, but I am still wonderful in every way." What is going on with these lyrics? I do not understand. Nor do I much care. It's still splendid. And somehow Groff jumped off the chair and flew through the air landed on his knees. Does he always do that? And now they are singing "Totally Fucked!" and covering their mouths for the curse words! And they're "Blah, blah, blah"-ing and jumping and leaping and dancing, and it's magic. (Watch the video of the performance here.)

I am fast-forwarding through Fantasia because I'm getting impatient for the end. The reaction shots are kind of hilarious when she finishes. Taye and Idina look both confused and concerned. Maybe they never saw her become hysterical during a song on American Idol.

Bernadette Peters fills me with happiness. She is so small but so commanding and so perfect. OMG, what if Jonathan Groff wins? Okay. Deep breaths. And it's David Hyde Pierce. WOW! This really shocks me. He looks rather nauseated and shocked, too, walking down the aisle. He is shaking and crying. Oh God, beautiful. "And I'm sittin' here tonight and I'm reminded of Raul's amazing performance and my dear friend Michael Cerveris and Gavin who tap dances on the ceiling and Jonathan who has so much talent at a young age that I have to go take a nap ..." He is lovely. He seems genuinely overcome and moved. And he thanked his partner Brian of 24 years publicly, finally. Wonderful.

Ben Vereen and Usher. Oh, I hope Jonathan Groff is okay. I'm sure he is. He's like 21 years old and has a long future on the stage. Keep your chin up, Jonathan! Ben Vereen and Usher are presenting Lead Actress in a musical. If Christine Ebersole loses and Audra McDonald (don't get me wrong, I love her) wins her FIFTH I might fall over. Oh shit, why am I so nervous for this one? Woo! Christine wins! She is divine.

Best Musical: Spring Awakening. Wow. Stunning and magnificent, if you ask me. Everyone is screaming and pumped. Carla Gugino appears to be giving them a standing ovation all alone in her row in her florescent green dress. Why is Tamara Tunie standing onstage? What the hell? Oh, she's a producer. Who knew? Stupid Tony producers for giving the show time for those stupid "there's a little Broadway in everyone" clips instead of letting the goddamn best musical give its whole acceptance speech before getting played off.

Anyway. Until next year. Phew. That was exhausting. I don't know how Kymm does this every year for multiple awards shows. All props to her. I'm going to bed now to dream about showtunes and curtain calls.

Creating Ragtime

Wow! I discovered on YouTube today something I did not know existed, a PBS "Great Performances" episode on the making of Ragtime. It is fantastic.

Favorite parts:

Watching Marin Mazzie sing her red, vibrating face off while recording "Back to Before," seeing her sheer exhaustion after finishing, and seeing Brian Stokes Mitchell come in and embrace her like a proud papa as she slumped against him.

Seeing teeny, tiny little Lea Michele.

Watching the conductor wave his baton in the air during the climax of "New Music," blissed out, eyes closed.

Seeing rehearsals and how the cast members would be only half in costume, wearing a top hat with a t-shirt and jeans or holding an umbrella.

Seeing the veins bulging in Brian Stokes Mitchell's forehead as he sings, "MY law and MY justice, in rhythm and rhyme..." and pulls out his gun.

Watching Stephen Flaherty joyfully pound out "Gettin' Ready Rag" on the piano.

The way that Coalhouse, when singing "And tell them in our struggle, we were not the only ones," extends his arm, gesturing to Younger Brother.

The utter perfection of "Sarah Brown Eyes."

Oh, to go back in time and see this original cast performing this musical.

At least I got to see Mother and Coalhouse in Kiss Me, Kate.

Bells in his hair

Okay. In the eighth grade, Shelley and Maryelizabeth were in a musical version of The Little Match Girl. Shelley was the Little Match Girl and died at the end. Maryelizabeth played a panda bear whose lines were, "SURE we talk. But people rarely listen!" and "Watch your match!" We've been discussing how strange it was that our drama and music teachers decided to stage a musical in which the lead character freezes to death and have it performed for a bunch of children in kindergarten. Even though I was in the other half of our grade, the group that did The Pirate of Penzance, which is almost unfairly better than the depressing tripe my friends had to perform, I still somehow learned the songs for their musical because let's face it, mostly we just sat around singing (to the annoyance of everyone around us) and basically still do.

And one of the songs that we all still remember goes something like this:

God sits behind the sun with bells in his hair

(Bells in his hair, bells in his hair) ...

He's always hungry so he fills the trees

With apricots and honeybees

Golden pears and summer strawberries

Then he sits and he makes a dream for me ...

Or something like that. Maryelizabeth also remembers a verse to that song that started, "God has a whisper only children can hear." And Shelley clearly remembers a song called "Bright Star, Wishing Star" that she sang before her big death scene. So I decided to Google these songs so we could relive them in the entirety of their glory, and I cannot find a damn thing about them. We're starting to wonder if our music teacher just made them up and think that they never really existed outside the stage in our school gymnasium.

I did find this page that refers to a musical version in which the lead character is named Liesl, and Shelley thinks that was her name, so I guess this could be it, but I cannot believe that on the whole Internet there does not exist a tiny iota of evidence that these songs really existed.

Does God sitting behind the sun with bells in his hair ring a bell with anyone?

Babies and witches

Here are some things that have happened since last I wrote.

I got back from New York and plunged into a pretty busy week at work.

My friend had her second baby, and today is her one week birthday. She is Shelley's and my co-godchild, and she's an adorable little bundle of cute with black hair. My friend birthed her like a champ. Tonight I went to visit them, we had sushi, her three-year-old made up a dance to her Big Sister Dora doll's song, I held the baby and smelled her head a lot, and we watched Alanis Morrissette sing "My Humps." Birth and new life are very beautiful and miraculous to me but also very Discovery Channelish, like, hello, we are totally animals.

My boyfriend came to town, and we went out for an excellent Nepalese dinner. We also watched Lost Boys of Sudan, and I find myself still wondering about Peter and Santino.

I went on a 24-hour road trip with my old friend Eva. Somehow we ended up renting this car. Which was very amusing. It would have been great to actually put the top down à la Thelma and Louise as my boyfriend called us, but it rained the entire time both there and back. Oh, well. We went to Houston to see Wicked, and we had a good time. The nice thing about traveling with Eva is that we know all of the same Broadway soundtracks by heart and like singing the songs loudly and proudly, so we belted our way through Rent, Spring Awakening, The Last Five Years, Jesus Christ Superstar, Miss Saigon, Joseph & the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, and so forth. We also hit a few highlights from Aspects of Love. My favorite part of our songfest was when Eva, she of the deep singing voice, became Caiaphas. It seemed fitting with Holy Week approaching and everything.

We found our hotel, a shockingly nice Holiday Inn Express (I thought we were staying in more of a motel), showered, drove to the theater, parked, and walked umbrella-less in the rain to Sake Lounge at the Angelika. We had wonton soup, edamame, and a few sushi rolls. Eva kicked off her heels and had two cosmopolitans, which I enjoyed watching her enjoy. She has two little kids and this weekend was a rare un-mom outing for her. Our seats for the show weren't together so we split up, her in row three of orchestra left and me in row five of orchestra right.

As for the show, what can I say? I've wanted to see it for a long time even though there are songs on the soundtrack I always skip and had never heard all the way through until seeing it live. I guess the main problem with the Wicked tour is that there is no way that anyone's voice is ever going to live up to Idina Menzel's. It's just impossible. That said, I thought that Victoria Matlock was good, particularly her acting. There were times when her voice seemed kind of weak and quiet, but that could have been because it was tired or an audio issue. When she had to belt, she definitely belted, and it was very good. Christina DeCicco played G(a)linda, and her singing pipes were very impressive. I was extremely annoyed by her acting at first as I did not expect G(a)linda to be such a bouncing, spastic lunatic, but maybe that's how Kristen Chenoweth created the character -- not sure. She eventually grew on me. Honestly, I thought the best female voice belonged to Deedee Magno Hall, who played Nessarose. I think she'd make a kick-ass Elphaba. Her real-life husband, Cliffton Hall, was a decent Fiyero. His acting was good, but his voice was just okay. He kind of reminded me of a more traditionally handsome Mark Ruffalo type, actually. He and Matlock did have good chemistry. The whole production impressed, definitely, but I would definitely suggest NOT sitting on the side. Try to get in the center section, even if you are farther back. It's really kind of a downer to see the stuff happening in the wings. I tried not to look, but when I saw crew guys in jeans and t-shirts setting up lights or Fiyero climbing on the rope before swinging out on stage, for example, it kind of killed the moment.

And now a word about the audience. Good God almighty. There were college girls behind me who laughed hysterically every time the flying monkeys were onstage. I had no idea why. It would be when nothing funny was happening, they were just being the flying monkeys. It made me hate them. But that hate was sunshine and flowers compared to my loathing for the two fools next to me. They were a young engaged couple if her ring was any indication, and they were mostly fine during the first act, but despite many signs posted forbidding food and drinks to be brought into the theater, these two raging assclowns strolled in after intermission with coke cans, cups of ice, and candy bars. This worried me. I hoped they would finish them before the curtain rose. But no. They were just getting started. They popped open their coke cans, poured their coke into the cups, and proceeded to rip their giant Kit Kat and peanut M&Ms open and eat them with abandon. I think they must have thought they were at home, right? Surely they could not have realized that they were sitting in a beautiful, pristine theater surrounded by people who had paid $100+ for their tickets with a professional Broadway touring company onstage. They took no care in not crackling their candy paper and in fact chewed not only their candy (peanut M&Ms are loud, I mean LOUD) but their ICE. I started clenching so angrily that I had to keep telling myself to ignore them and not let it ruin my experience, but it was hard. It was really hard for me. I don't know what this says about me as a person but I was so enraged. Once their feeding frenzy was over, I was able to relax a little bit, and the girl started cracking her knuckles. Knuckle by knuckle. Did she have the courtesy to wait until a really loud song and dance number started up? No. She cracked them through every quiet moment. I wanted to kill her! And to top off their extravaganza of rudeness, they didn't even pick up their cups, cans, and candy wrappers when they left. They left them on the floor. And of course I stood up and accidentally kicked a half-empty coke can over, and it poured out toward the stage in a sticky puddle. I was so disgusted and also embarrassed because more than one theatergoer making their exit saw me kick it over and I just stood there helplessly and I know they thought it was my goddamn coke. Anyway, rude couple, I hope you never set foot in another theater, and I hope you spend a horrible lifetime annoying each other with your inconsiderate ways and then go straight to hell!

I don't mean to be so crazy angry about it, but I am getting angry all over again just sitting here thinking about it. When you go to a movie, sadly enough, you expect people to be answering their cell phones, cutting up, and generally acting like hooligans. But when you pay so much for your ticket, and you've driven almost 300 miles to get there, and you've waited to see this show forever, and you're surrounded by little girls in their best dresses who are staying up way past their bed times and are so excited they look like they might explode and yet are behaving like complete angels, it's really just maddening to sit next to a bunch of grown-assed idiots who have exactly zero awareness of their surroundings or regard for the fact that (a) for some people, this is a very special occasion or (b) some people are going to have to come along behind them and clean up their nasty mess. It just really kind of makes me sick.

But I am really trying to let it go and focus on the fact that we had a great trip, I got to spend time with an old friend, and for the most part, the show was really good. It was not some kind of transcendent emotional experience like Spring Awakening was for me, but it was certainly entertaining.

I've also been faithfully going to my crazy exercise class and trying not to die during it. Last night I was trying to balance and do lunges on the Bosu ball and fell ass over teakettle, which was delightful. The very, very, very, very fit superstar woman in my group laughed at me, but I like to think it was with affection. It's so weird to experience the group exercise dynamic after running solo for the past year or so. I still haven't mastered the jump rope, but I'm working on it. And Shelley will be proud to know that I am now brave enough to stand up on the bike! It's crazy, I know.

A nice weekend is on the horizon, thankfully, and meanwhile I'm just going to try to work, work out, attempt to post this entry even though a cat is lying on my forearm, finish Human Croquet, and try not to overdose on my latest addiction, Milk Duds.

Spring Awakening

(transcribed from paper journal)

It was a packed house, and I felt so excited to be at a Broadway show on a Saturday night!

Then the show started, and it was everything I hoped it would be and more. Let's face it, I cried throughout, even when the song wasn't remotely sad. I loved the lighting and staging and seeing the songs I know so well in my head exploding into life.

The cast so impressed me so much that I don't think I can convey it aptly. Their voices were so powerful and amazing. I was especially impressed by the three leads, John Gallagher, Jr., Jonathan Groff, and Lea Michele. I had my typical anxiety that my favorite cast members would be played by understudies, but they were all there, there, there.

Some of the songs were regulars for me during my running training, and I know them inside and out and backwards, and to see them in person was just mindblowingly great. What can I even say. I wanted to jump out of my seat. These kids were really just phenomenally gifted.

It was especially great to see Gallagher as Moritz metamorphose during his songs from the meek, terrified kid to the full-on blazing powerhouse rock star. I would love to see his real-life band play. And I really thought that Groff was quite incredible as Melchior, whom I see as the heart of the whole damn story. I read one review that described his performance as "wan," and I was like, excuse me, WHAT? He was anything but wan. Even when he started doing some weird modern dance moves that were kind of like vogueing that made Shelley put her face in her hands, he was flat-out awesome. He really did a great job balancing being the wholesome and idealistic gentleman, the reckless and jerk-like adolescent boy, and the heroic rebel. I think they both definitely deserve Tony nominations.

And you could tell that the audience members, young and old, were really with the show the entire time. (Except for the mom who dragged out her 11-year-old son at the end of Act I -- she couldn't be convinced to stay by the lovely older couple behind us who encouraged her not to leave. My sister whispered loudly that she should let him stay because "THAT'S WHAT THIS SHOW IS ALL ABOUT!" Clearly.) At intermission, my sister expressed her discomfort about the way a key scene went down, but I was like, "What? You're crazy."

Then Act II started and flew by, and too soon it was almost over and I found myself losing all control of my tears and during "Those We've Known," I just kind of fell apart and wept in manner of a river. And the tears continued during "Purple Summer," even though that song is random and I have no idea what it's talking about or what it has to do with anything but it was so beautiful and I was so heartbroken that the spell was about to be broken that I just cried and cried like some kind of unbalanced lunatic. I was very composed and quiet about it, though, because I think those who make scenes in Broadway audiences should really be shot on the spot.

I'm not kidding when I say that when it ended, the audience leapt to its feet. And that lack of hesitation, that unquestioning, instant ovation was so moving to me that I had to keep crying. And I said goodbye to the stage (silently as not to appear crazy), shuffled out sniffling, and we headed home.

I'm not sure why I was such a basketcase about it, but there you go. I felt so lucky to see a show that I love with its original cast with two of the original loves of my life. It's okay that they didn't love it like I did. My love remains pure and true. It turns out that lots of people, we discovered, have the same problems that my sister did with that scene, but we all kind of agreed to embrace the ambiguity, amen.

Part of what I love about seeing a musical for the first time after only knowing the CD is that the plot transforms from uncertain to clear, the funny parts become hilarious, the sad parts become devastating, and you are close enough to see the sweat and the spit fly and really, what is better in this life than going to a Broadway musical? Not much, that's what.

I just turned on my iPod as I sit and wait on the runway to fly home, and what part of what song should be playing but "NYC, just got here this morning, three bucks, two bags, one me. NYC, I give you fair warning, up there in lights I'll be." I'll never be up there in lights, but I will always go back to see those who are and love it more than just about anything.

Honestly, I think I might be kind of inconsolable about the dearth of live musical theater in my life if not for the fact that I'll be seeing the Wicked tour very soon.

My romanticizing of New York is something I've mostly outgrown ... I realize that I could not live in such a maniacally loud, busy, crowded place, but the skyline still moves me and I still love the adventure of feeling brave enough to navigate and maneuver through the chaos if a bit spastically and with my hand sanitizer always within reach. It's so weird to think of Shelley not living there after seven years. I'll always look back on our times there together so happily, even when we screamed at each other. Even that is okay.

Overall, it was a great trip to NYC. I loved seeing Kymm and Anne, staying in Shelley's tiny and wonderful Chelsea studio, going to a museum and a Broadway show, eating Thai and Indian and Italian, going to Crumbs not once but twice, walking through the rain through some of my favorite neighborhoods all by myself without getting (totally) lost, and most of all, being with my beautiful friend and my beautiful sister before they set off for sights unseen.

Souper

Monday. It is sunny! Sunny days have been so few and far between in the past month around here that I'm still kind of in shock when a sunny day appears.

To catch up:

On Friday night, my boyfriend and I got Thai take-out (cashew shrimp and red curry with chicken) and watched the first half of Slither. I rented this because I am very amused by James Gunn's MySpace page (particularly entries like this one detailing a recent trip to London), which I discovered because he's the husband of Jenna Fischer (Pam on The Office), whose MySpace page is also fun (like this entry in which she tells about her own history trying to make it as an actress).

On Saturday, we went to the library, had a good lunch of yummy sandwiches, and embarked on our long runs of the weekend. It was in the upper 40s outside and only partly sunny, but the small amount of sun and the fact that it wasn't windy out were enough to make it bearable weather-wise. (I know the upper 40s is not really cold, but I am a lightweight who's cold in the house when the heater is cranked up to 72 degrees.) I put on probably too many layers than necessary and headed out.

Surprisingly, this was actually a pretty pleasant run for me, or as pleasant as a 10-mile run can be. I plotted out a much better route than last time, allowing me the chance to stop for a quick emergency bathroom break at my brother's house and a guzzle of Powerade in my driveway. I was tired, and my feet hurt, but I never reached the absolute depths of despair like I did on my last 10-miler. It was very helpful and motivating to have my boyfriend speed past me at one point at the speed of light and to have him drive to find me once he was long done with his run to check on me as I chugged through the last mile or so. I even felt like I could have run 11 if I'd had time, but I didn't as we had massage appointments scheduled. The massage was great except for when she had me lie on the floor to step on my glutes. I told her they needed stretching, and she did a good job with that, but my pelvic bones were mashing into the floor and that was painful. Once I got up on the massage table, it was much better. I think I will ix-nay the floor work next time. I appreciate a massage therapist trying new techniques, and the glute work definitely helped, but the floor was just way too hard on my already super-sore bod.

After the massages, we stopped for coffee and headed home so I could start The Soup. I'd eaten it once before as prepared by Shelley and have always remembered it with great love. She sent me the recipe along with lots of moral support. For some reason the soup seemed like a scary thing to make, but it wasn't at all. And it was very, very, yummy. (See the short Soup photo set here; it contains the recipe.) For dessert we had vanilla ice cream with shavings of dark chocolate raspberry Hershey's kisses.

At some point we finished Slither. This is a very, very, very, very silly gross-out comic horror film, and I can't really recommend it for anything other than the fact that it might make you giggle with its grossosity. And the fact that it stars Captain Malcolm Reynolds. We also played a game of Scrabble, of course, and went out to take a few pictures of a burned church.

After he went home, I went to see a local production of Annie with my Maryelizabeth solely because we both grew up loving Annie a lot (her more, even, if that's possible) and her three-year-old is really into the movie. It was fun, but we were both rather appalled that Annie's hair was brown. No red wig. No washable red hair spray dye. No effort to remove the lines about her red hair from the dialogue. It was confounding and quite frankly upsetting. Maryelizabeth could hardly speak about it after the play, so flabbergasted was she. "I could have lent them my Annie wig from childhood," she lamented. "My mom still has it!" It is a sad day indeed when Annie's hair is nowhere close to being red. WTF?

I went out for sushi with a friend during the Super Bowl so I don't have much to say about it, other than this: to my friends Amy and Erin and other normal, nice, and sportsmanlike Bears fans, I feel your pain about your team's loss. I truly do. But to the Bears fans who sent nasty, hateful, and gloating comments to me after the Saints lost to the Bears -- and those who displayed their ugliness for all the world to see -- all I can really say to you now is right back atcha, you big mean jerks.

After sushi, I started Grey Gardens. I've been interested in it ever since seeing the divine Christine Ebersole perform "Another Winter in a Summer Town," a very beautiful song from the new musical based on the documentary, on The View. I haven't finished it yet, but so far, it's pretty damn riveting. It's hard to watch sometimes, but it's mostly just fascinating. I look forward to finishing it. And now if you'll excuse me I am going to heat up some soup.

But before that ... I want to share my new favorite new running song with you. It's called "Don't Know Why (You Stay)" and it's by a band called The Essex Green. I discovered it as a mention over at Sweet Juniper, and you can listen it in its entire swell glory right here.

My Own Capacity

Pelicans
Originally uploaded by Elizalou.

Today I took the day off. I voted, returned library books, ran an errand for my dad, had lunch with Maryelizabeth, ran three miles, and embarked on an obsessive journey trying to take a decent picture of the white pelicans on the lakes. I didn't really succeed, but I enjoyed stalking them and being awed by their number and by their grace.

I saw Metamorphoses. Parts of it were very beautiful. I was not prepared for the naked shlong. But I loved the part with Apollo's son, the father/daughter section, and the part with the man who turned around and looked at his dead wife so she had to go back to the underworld. And I really, really loved the end.

Here's a Bill Moyers interview with Mary Zimmerman, who started the whole thing. Here's Ben Brantley's review, and here's a rather amazing teaching guide for the play.

Of course I remember how much Kymm and Lisa and Tamar and Melissa raved about this show, and Stacey assured me that I'd love it, and Shelley loved it as well.

I wish I'd seen it in New York in that time and in that place, but I'm glad I saw it here nonetheless. Melissa quoted this excerpt in her entry about it, and I'm quoting it again because it was my favorite moment of the play.

Let me die the moment my love dies.
They whisper:
Let me not outlive my own capacity to love.
They whisper:
Let me die still loving, and so, never die.

:::

About this time in ...

2005

11/9:

On Saturday, we headed to City Park to volunteer with the clean-up. Notwithstanding the fact that my hamstrings are still so aflame that I can hardly move my legs, it was a good way to spend part of the day.

2004

11/8:

However, Elizabeth is clearly deluded if she thinks that Gilbert Blythe in any way resembles Johnny Castle, and she will never convince me otherwise.

2003

11/10:

My sister and I sneered via finger spelling in our laps at the dreadful cantor. My sister stifled a giggle at my M-Y-E-A-R-S-A-R-E-B-L-E-E-D-I-N-G.

2002

11/8:

No, really, I swooned and almost passed out, knowing I should not have looked, but I felt I had to look to make sure she wasn't faking me out.

11/7:

Whatever possessed me to buy a home with white berber carpet I will never, ever understand.

Heart Like the Sea

For the past month or so, I've run exclusively outside. I like the trees, the clouds, the birds, and all that naturey goodness. It's harder on the feet and joints and everything, but it's so pleasant. I especially enjoy running past an old lady and her poodle who never appears without a folded up umbrella in his mouth. Even on sunny, clear days. I guess he just likes to carry it. I don't know how he really pants properly with his mouth closed, but they seem to have a system going. I try to imagine Daisy or Zuko performing a duty with such obedient efficiency and I have to laugh. This morning I got up early and went to the gym to run two miles, and it was sheer misery. I was sweating like a lunatic, there was no air circulating in the room, and it was like running through stagnant muck. Even watching Angel didn't help. I dread having to run in there during my half-marathon training and will avoid it if at all possible.

I am still really liking Gilead. And can I please just take a moment to speak again about Friday Night Lights? This show is so good. As much as I love my other shows, it's so damn refreshing to watch something that's not set on an island or in space and that isn't about solving mysteries or heavy on the camp. It's just about real people in a real town. I can't even tell you. I love it so much. If it is canceled, I will be sorely, bitterly sad about it. Clear eyes, full hearts, can't lose. When reading those words on the page they sound so cheesy but when the coach said, "Clear eyes, full hearts," to Jason Street as he lay in that damn bed last night and Jason said, "Can't lose," I wanted to sob. Maybe I even did sob a little bit. If you're not watching this show, you are missing out.

Tonight I watched The Making of Miss Saigon. And let me tell you -- enjoyable. From the auditions, to hearing the composer and lyricists bang out the songs and attempt to sing them instructively for the cast (that is always hilarious to me for some reason), to when the company all sits down together for the first time and introduces themselves, to the initial rehearsals, to all of the technical stuff like the lighting and the sets and the props, to Jonathan Pryce clapping his hands in the middle of a number to yell that some piece of the set was moving and being totally pissed off about it, to listening to the super-powerful chorus as they practiced "This Is The Hour" and having my TV speakers nearly blow up with the awesomeness, to being reminded how much I did not like the original Chris or Ellen, to director Nicholas Hytner completely flipping out and screaming that they had a f*cking show to open -- fantastic! It doesn't touch at all on the Jonathan Pryce controversy (a Welsh actor playing an Asian character), surprisingly, but it's still a mighty fine behind the scenes look at the show. I can't really form an opinion on the allowing of Jonathan Pryce to play the Engineer when he is clearly as caucasian as you can get and that seems really ridiculous -- there is something so brilliantly riveting about his every move, gesture, and sound that I am blind to any opinion except that he is perfect. I realize that might be very wrong of me. Anyway, I wish there were documentaries like this for every musical ever made.

Oh, my God. It's too good to be true. I loved this show with my entire seventh grade heart.

Theater Clips

Okay. It's now getting to be a little unhealthy how much time I'm spending looking up things on YouTube. Here are a few Tony Awards highlights for your viewing pleasure.

Evita. 1980. This clip starts with Mandy Patinkin receiving his Tony and then features a long musical performance from the show. I never realized that Juan Peron was played by the evil warden from The Shawshank Redemption. Say what you will about Patty LuPone, but she is so good here. And Patinkin is mind-blowing. I love him.

Aspects of Love. 1990. I don't remember seeing this on the Tony Awards, but I sure listened to this soundtrack enough in high school. Michael Ball definitely has pipes but it's almost like a parody when he hits his high note at the end of this. (I wrote a little about how I feel about this show at the beginning of this entry.)

The Secret Garden. 1991. Daisy Egan's singing the beginning of the song after which I named this journal. And that's a very, very young and innocent-looking John Cameron Mitchell (Hedwig) as Dickon. And just ... overall beauty and splendor. I think I will always be sad that I never saw this on Broadway. I saw a university production, but it wasn't the same.

Rent. 1996. I watched the Tony Awards that year the night before I left for my summer working at Disney World. I remember I was sitting on the floor at my parents' house right next to the TV with my eyes as wide as they would go and I fell so madly in love that I became obsessed with seeing the show. After a failed attempt that summer on an insane weekend trip from Orlando to New York when I stood crushed and weeping on the sidewalk of the Nederlander with my suitcase in my hand, I finally saw it the following spring. This is the broadcast that started my love affair with this show, and I will never forget it.

You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown. 1999. This is Kristen Chenoweth in her Tony Award-winning performance as Sally Brown. It's evident watching this performance why she won. She is so good and funny that it is ridiculous. Even now when I listen to the soundtrack, hearing how clearly and sweetly her voice sings the line "Happiness is playing the drum in your own school band," gives me little chills of glee.

Urinetown. 2002. This was my first exposure to the song "Run Freedom Run." I promptly downloaded it, and it's been a staple in my life ever since. I put it on my running playlist all the time, and it's just a fabulous song. Hunter Foster is great in this performance. That is one talented family. It was great to see him earlier this year in The Producers. I wish I would have seen this show at some point.

Hugh Jackman's opening. 2004. I have written before of my profound adoration for this opening number. It still sits on my TiVo, and I don't think I'll ever be able to delete it. I never thought to seek it out online before. But here it is. Behold Hugh in all of his high-kicking bliss. There is so much joy and exuberance in this performance that I almost cannot bear it.

Avenue Q. 2004. This was the first time I heard anything about this show. This was another one of those performances that I watched over and over and that led me to see the show eventually. When Kate Monster turned to the audience and says, "F*ck! It's sucks to be me," and the "f*ck" was obviously bleeped for network primetime, I remember my mouth dropping open a little bit and thinking immediately that I had to see this show. I still love it very much. I will never forget driving to the airport with Melissa and Elizabeth after that weekend when we ate and drank our way out of election misery, listening to this soundtrack and singing along with the words.

Jersey Boys. 2006. It was this performance that kept me from deleting this year's Tony Awards show from my TiVo until last week when I finally needed the space for the new fall season of shows. I've watched this more times than I can count. I bought this song from iTunes, and it, too, pops up regularly on my running playing list. I really, really want to see this show.

And now for a few clips that aren't from the Tony Awards but are still exciting to watch.

Miss Saigon. This is a clip of Lea Salonga either auditioning or rehearsing for the role of Kim. She looks like a little girl. I'd really like to know how old she was in this clip. Her voice is amazing. Just pure, pure, pure talent. This song, truly, is beautiful. It's somewhat ruined on the CD, I think, because I don't like Chris' voice very much. But at its core, it's so simple and beautiful. I mean, "How in the light of one night have we come so far?" Gorgeous. I saw this on a school choir trip in New York my junior year of high school. Several of us got food poisoning on the flight home and stayed home from school the next day. I felt better by the afternon and insisted upon driving out to some record store near the mall to buy the soundtrack. It came on two cassette tapes and I lay on my floor all evening and listened to it. Good times. I love how the guys listening to her look sort of stoic throughout but break into smiles of relief and "whoa"-ness (but look like they don't want to seem too excited when duh, they have to be) when she's done. Whoa indeed. The documentary about the making of this show comes out on DVD later this month.

Sunday in the Park with George. 2002. This is Raul Esparza singing "Finishing the Hat" at the Kennedy Center. And here is Esparza and Melissa Errico singing "We Do Not Belong Together." Which might be one of the best showtunes of all time.

The Last Five Years. 2002. Melissa pointed me to this. It's Sherie Rene Scott and the brilliant, awesome Norbert Leo Butz performing the closing songs of this incredible, heartbreaking show. This one takes a while to load for me, but it's worth it to get all the way through it. I remain conflicted as to how I feel about his character. On the one hand I hate him because he cheats on his wife, but on the other hand, it's Norbert Leo Butz so I can't fully hate him. I deeply and intensely wish I'd seen them in these roles. The moment that gets me the most in this (at about 3:40 into the clip) is when he sings:

You never saw how far the crack had opened

You never knew I had run out of rope

And I could never rescue you

All you ever wanted

But I could never rescue you

No matter how I tried

All I could do was love you hard

And let you go

Now that right there is just beautiful. I need to get to the theater soon, clearly. Metamorphoses will be here soon, thank God.