Sweeney Todd: The Motion Picture.

I went with my three lesbian friends, Bonnie, Mary and Elbrey, to see the movie Sweeney Todd tonight. And one word to describe this film would be: phenomenal.

I went in with some concerns due to the brief clips I'd seen on tv. Johnny Depp's singing voice occasionally veers into pop style, and this score is operatic, really. He tends to oversing some high notes (particularly in the "Pretty Women" duet), giving them a sort of contemporary belt. Most of the time, however, his singing was moody and dark, appropriately. A small criticism of an otherwise brilliant performance. He is marvelous.

Helena Bonham-Carter plays Mrs. Lovett with a supreme understatement, making her much more real and much more sympathetic. Every stage production I've seen of Sweeney (including the Angela Lansbury tour) has featured an over-the-top Mrs. Lovett; I think it's the stage that forces it. Her first number, "The Worst Pies in London," has always seemed loud and artificial. Whether it was the decision of Ms. Bonham-Carter or her husband, director Tim Burton, the choice to hold back on that particular song and play it as somewhat defeated and pathetic makes it so much more real and accessible. The real cockroaches were also delightfully gross.

Another amazing performer: Ed Sanders as Toby. A real kid playing Toby! Not some 25-year-old elfin man with a freakishly high voice. This kid is fantastic, and makes the character that much more tragic. Beautiful.

I could go on and on about all the performers: Alan Rickman, Sacha Baron Cohen, etc. Not a weak link in the bunch. Tim Burton has done great justice to Stephen Sondheim's masterpiece. It's very interesting to see the artistic choices: much of the film seems black and white, or even sepia, with occasional bursts of vivid color (Joanna's yellow hair, Perelli's blue outfit, the red blood, etc.). It's magical and engrossing... evidenced by the high school age boys behind us, who were silent through the entire film, despite talking (profusely and profanely) through all the previews.

Oh, and the number "By the Sea"-- perfection. I love this musical, and I'm delighted the movie was so good. It will hopefully win lots of awards.

(A word of warning: there is lots of blood in the film. If you know the story, it comes as no surprise, but just be prepared. Elbrey and Bonnie didn't watch most of the throat-slitting, but Mary and I were looking at it more technically, I guess. I'm a bit de-sensitized to gore; I've seen both Hostel films and all the Saw films, too.)

My High-Maintenance Sitcom Episode True Story.

My dear friend Debbie suggested I post this story, and it's worth reading for a good laugh.

I own a t-shirt with the design shown here. I bought it last year when I was playing the Tin Man in The Wizard of Oz. The make-up crew had quite a time getting my face all silvered in time for my entrance, and my costume was very cumbersome and limited my movement, so they kept saying I was high-maintenance. Hence the shirt.

So the other day Michael said I was high-maintenance. Now, I've been really good (for me), and I've been extremely proud of how easy-going I've been. I took offense to the term, and told him so. "That's a really negative thing to say. I hate that expression." He apologized and said, "Can I call you a nut case instead? I mean, after last week..."

"Last week" referred to my sudden attack of panic. So here's the story that earned me the title "high-maintenance" and/or "nut case....."

I had some pictures from my trip to NYC that I wanted to email Michael. He asked me not to use the email address I have, but to use his new one. "It's michaelreynaldo@yahoo.com." (NOTE: names have been changed to protect his privacy.) I thought it was strange, since he had told me his last name was Censario... that was in fact his old email address. I said, "What, is Reynaldo your other name?" He laughed and said yes, it was. I said, "No, seriously, where did you get the name Reynaldo?" "They gave it to me," was his reply. Now, I've had a Yahoo email account, and I know they don't just give you a last name. They might suggest a number if, for example, the name "michaelr@yahoo.com" was already taken. I didn't pursue the subject any further that evening.

But the next day, it was gnawing at me. I was at work, and being the good librarian that I am, I went online and went to www.zabasearch.com, which is a great place to look up info on people. I did a search of Michael Censario in Illinois... nothing. I did a search of Michael Reynaldo in Illinois, and sure enough, there was his address! Yahoo did not give him that name-- it was his real name! So the other name he gave me, Censario, was an alias. I literally gasped and put my hand over my mouth. Were this a tv show, the commercial break would come right now.

After the commercial, back to me at work with my dear co-worker Penny. I told her what had happened. "Why would he give you his real name if he didn't want you to know he had an alias? It just doesn't add up." My mind kept going, and then I gasped again. "Maybe he's not really a counselor! Maybe he... you know, he always has Trader Joe's bags and Whole Food bags. Maybe he's a bag boy at Trader Joe's!" Penny's response was simple: "Doug, the crazy train is pulling out of the station and you're on it." She suggested I simply call Michael that evening and ask him to explain.

Which I did. I called him and said, "I'm going to ask you a question, and I want you to answer honestly. What is your name?"

"Michael..."

"Michael what?"

"Michael Reynaldo."

"Then where did the Censario come from?"

"We had this discussion, honey, at your friend Jackie's house that night. My full name is Michael Joseph Reynaldo Censario. Censario is my grandmother's maiden name. It's a Latino custom. Don't you remember me explaining this?"

Pause. "No, but maybe I was in the kitchen when you were explaining it." Pause. "But then why did you say Yahoo gave you that name?"

"What?"

"I asked where you got the name Reynaldo, and you said they gave it to you."

"Umm, yeah, they gave it to me. 'They' meaning my family. Did you think I had like an alias or something?"

"Well... yes, I kinda did. It was just confusing, that's all."

"Look, if you want my social security number so you can do a whole background check on me..."

So there it was. I didn't dare tell him I had looked him up online. I didn't dare tell him I thought he was a bagboy at Trader Joe's. I just nodded, smiled, and listened as he told me how charmed he was by my paranoia. And the next time I saw him, I wore the "high-maintenance" t-shirt.

So, yes, I am a little high-maintenance. Okay, a lot. But I'm so worth it. He'll see.

And for Christmas, one thing I'm giving him is a gift card to Trader Joe's.

That's the kind of guy I am.

'Nuff Said Thursday.

Arpad Miklos.

One of my favorite porn stars. Dreamy, muscular, just enough hair, with a strong masculine face. Woof!

Christmas Songs.

I am a member of ASCAP, something I am extremely proud of. As yet, I have not had a hit song off of which I can make a bundle, but perhaps someday. Anyway, I receive the monthly newletter from ASCAP, and there was an interesting article about Christmas songs I thought I should share.

ASCAP'S TWELVE SONGS OF CHRISTMAS KEEP SLEIGH BELLS JINGLING Radio Stations Playing More Chipmunks' Holiday Music to Coincide with Big Screen Debut

New York, NY, December 13, 2007: Twelve days left to Christmas may conjure for some people an image of a partridge in a pear tree. For the American Society of Composers, Authors and Publishers (ASCAP), however, today marks the release of the top 12 most played holiday songs of 2007, tracked by radio airplay monitoring service Mediaguide from over 2,600 radio stations nationwide. And, just in time for the blockbuster movie release, ASCAP has also tracked the very special holiday anthem attributed to chipmunks: "The Chipmunk Song: Christmas Don't Be Late." The top 12 most-played holiday songs in the ASCAP repertoire so far this holiday season are:

1. "Sleigh Ride" (Leroy Anderson, Mitchell Parish) - played 133,264 times
2. "Winter Wonderland" (Felix Bernard, Richard B. Smith) - played 126,638 times
3. "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" (Ralph Blane, Hugh Martin) - played 99,687 times
4. "Jingle Bell Rock" (Joseph Carleton Beal, James Roth Boothe) – played 96,162 times
5. "White Christmas" (Irving Berlin) – played 90,434 times
6. "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year" (Edward Pola, George Wyle) - played 90,030 times
7. "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree" (Johnny Marks) - played 82,308 times
8. "A Holly Jolly Christmas" (Johnny Marks) - played 69,436 times
9. "Silver Bells" (Ray Evans, Jay Livingston) - played 68,665 times
10. "Frosty the Snowman" (Steve Nelson, Walter E. Rollins) - played 68,252 times
11. "I'll Be Home for Christmas" ( Walter Kent, Kim Gannon, Buck Ram) - played 63,959 times
12. "The Christmas Song (Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire)" (Mel Tormé, Robert Wells) - played 59,390 times

Note: The above list represents an aggregation of all different artist versions of each cited holiday song.

I posted earlier about Christmas songs I hate, and only one of my most hated appears here. Number 8. The Burl Ives version that is not from "Rudolph." Blecch. My most favorite Christmas song? Number 3. Any version, but especially Judy Garland's. (Yeah, I'm so gay.)

Coming Out Again.

My mom is amazing. I really treasure her. She's smart, funny as hell, and very loving. She's also a born-again Christian. I had a born-again experience in high school, around the same time I was coming to terms with my gayness... it was pretty sad to realize I was gay and going to hell for it at the same time. Over the years, I have come to loathe most organized religion, simply because any organized religion is based upon the belief system of a group of men (or one single man), thus rendering it fallible. Why else would there be so many religions around the world, right? And who's to say who is true and right and who is false and evil? I have come to an understanding that I did not choose to be gay, and that if God exists, he wouldn't banish me to hell for something that is as much a part of me as the color of my skin.

Since I broke up with my husband, my mom has said, "I hope now that you're alone this doesn't mean you're going to start dating people." After all, the word "bachelor" is so much easier for her to say than "gay" when pointing to a photo of her kids. I respect her choices, and she loves me despite my sexual orientation, although she still worries about my soul.

However, I didn't want to lie when she asked me how I plan to spend Christmas Eve and/or morning. So, I decided, at my sister's suggestion, that I should tell my mom about Michael. A good idea, I think. I approached it by saying, "I have something to tell you that I consider good news, and I hope you will, too." She figured it out before I even continued. "I've met someone very special, and we're seeing each other a lot, and we're having a wonderful time getting to know each other."

She sounded as supportive as she could, although over the phone I could hear her neck hair standing up. She asked lots of questions: "How old is he?" "Where does he live?" "What does he do?" The best was when she asked how we met and I told her, "We met through a new site called chemistry.com." "What, did you meet in a test tube?" That's funny. We both laughed at that one. I didn't go into the fact that he's the one for life, or that it was love at first sight, or any of the heavy-duty stuff. The important thing is that she knows Michael exists, and that he and I are taking it very slowly. She reminded me to be careful, as she doesn't want to see me get hurt. That was sweet.

In all, a good choice to tell her. Now, if and when she asks how it is going, I can respond with, "It's going great. We're taking it slowly and really enjoying getting to know each other." It's just what she wants to hear, and it's the truth. What more could a mother ask?

Breathe... relax... take it slow... let it happen...

A Better Matt.

Catty Bitch and Mark in DE both had concerns about the skinniness of our dear Matt Battaglia in the 'Nuff Said Monday post, so I managed to find this, which I think is better... don't you?

TMI Tuesday.

1. Are you done with your shopping yet?

Yikes, no. But I have a list of everything I need to get. I'll be out on Saturday, I fear, with all the other last-minute Larry's.

2. What is your favorite sexual position?

When the age-old question is asked of me: "Are you a top or a bottom?" I say that I'm a "next-to." If a gun was put to my head, I'd say any position where we can look into each other's eyes without getting a crick in the neck.

3. On a scale of 1-10, how open are you to trying new sexual things?

I'm a pretty simple guy, and "new sexual things" generally don't interest me. I'm not into anything that causes pain (in the spirit of TMI, I'll share that most of my body parts are extremely sensitive, so it takes little to cause me pain, thus a feather-light touch is plenty), and toys aren't necessary if I have the right man. Which I now do, thank you. The prolonged waiting period will make the "lovemaking" that much more amazing, and should eliminate the need for toys, creams, gels, outfits, equipment, or inappropriate body fluids. Rubbers and lube should be all that's needed.

4. What present are you hoping to get this year?

I'm not picky. Time with my family is always fun, and just having Michael in my life is gift enough. Really. Damn, I think I'm officially a grown-up.

5. With your current partner (or your last partner) how often was the sex better than just good?

Haven't had it yet with the current, and with the last partner the sex was infrequent (downright rare) and always just okay.

Bonus (as in optional):Can a relationship that you are part of survive on sex alone? Could it survive a prolonged period of abstinence? The relationship I'm in is surviving 6 months of abstinence. That is how long we have agreed to wait. It puts us around April or May. Given how we feel for one another and what we do now to pass the time (wink, wink), I have absolutely no problem waiting. I'm all about intimacy, and if I can have that without waiting, I'm in for the long haul. And to the first question... sex alone? Not gonna work for me.

'Nuff Said Monday.

Matt Battaglia.

'Nuff Said Thursday.

For my friend Mark at Tales of the Sissy, I present the following (and he should know why):

Nick Beyeler.

I Always Laugh at This.

I saved this image on my computer after seeing it on Oddee.com, and decided to share it here.

Here is the link to that specific post. If you visit this site (and you should), prepare to spend way too much time there! My other favorite post is this one.

Enjoy!

I'm Stephen's Bitch!

My dear friend Stephen threw down the gauntlet and invited me to be his bitch with the 10 Things Meme (like him, I have no clue what a meme is). I'm so honored. It's like being invited to Oprah's for dinner and not being Sidney Poitier or even black.

Forthwith...

The 10 Things Meme.

1. When you were born, how much did you weigh?

I have no idea. It was average. What made it exciting was that the umbilical cord was wrapped around my neck and I was a little blue-in-the-face when I first appeared.

2. What's your sugar poison?

Chocolate. Anything chocolate.

3. If you had to choose between meat and cheese for the rest of your life, which would you choose? Then be specific.

Well, since the new beau is a vegetarian, I'd probably choose cheese, since I'm planning on giving up red meat anyway. Cheese... I love Muenster especially.

4. What, is your opinion, is the worst song ever?

Tough question at this time of year, since there are so many holiday songs I despise. But I'll avoid the temptation and stay with non-holiday tunes. There are so many... I guess I'll just name the first icky song that comes to mind: "I've Got a Brand New Pair of Roller Skates." Bleccch.

5. Who was your favorite teacher growing up and why?

Miss Reese, my elementary school gym teacher. She knew I was uncoordinated and was especially understanding of my shortcomings in p.e. She even started a "special" gym class on Wednesday mornings before school for those of us who needed extra help.

6. What personal activity, when performed in public, bothers you the most?

I'm with Stephen on this one: talking on the cell phone. People are beyond presumptuous when they assume we don't mind overhearing their personal conversations. Ugh.

7. Ok, there's a $50 bill lying on the ground. You pick it up. Dumbfounded by your incredible luck, what do you selfishly purchase?

Wow. Maybe a carton of cigarettes. Or a sweater. I guess it depends on what store I'm closest to when finding the money-- because that's where it will be spent.

8. Do you have a recurring nightmare? If so, explain.

Yes, usually one to six months after I finish a show, I have an actor's nightmare that everyone has reunited to do the show again. Everyone has had their scripts to review but me. Or everyone has their costume but me. Everyone has rehearsed but me. I never get to the point of actually going on-- it's all about the worry of what I'm going to do. The worst was last year, when the nightmare took place at my high school, and we were doing the musical in which I had the lead... it's 20-some years later, and I haven't seen the script. Awful.

9. Name one place on Earth you've never been, but vow to visit at least once.

Australia.

10. You notice that question #9 wasn't really a question. You feel smart for catching such a small detail. What else can you do really well that reminds you how smart you are?

Tons. Really. I'm not modest about this. I have an i.q. that's really high. Let's just say over 140 and leave it at that. Seriously.

Apparently, I'm supposed to tag someone now. So I will tag Java and Mark in De. I bet they will do this!

Good Listening.

I went to Michael's last night, despite the forecast of freezing rain. It turned out to be of no consequence at all, particularly since I drive like a 90-year-old woman in bad weather and there was scarcely a vehicle in sight.

I assembled a kitchen cart for him (I'm handy and love projects like this-- he isn't handy and hates them). It took all of 30 minutes, and as I worked, he brought me coffee and my cigarettes, asked if I needed anything, and made me feel so appreciated. I never really had that sense with my ex. He was always impressed when the job was done (with a few criticisms, of course), but didn't seem to value my efforts.

Then we cuddled, watched tv, and talked. And made out. Okay, mostly made out. But he is such an insightful person. I mean, he's a clinical professional counselor, so he knows how to listen and process. I was talking about the frustration with my job and how unfulfilled and unappreciated I feel with my work. I'm a Youth Services Coordinator for a suburban public library. (That's a picture of my turf there.) I left teaching (music, grades K through 5) after 14 years because I was feeling burned out and needed a change. I had my Master's in library science and had been a librarian prior to teaching; however, I had never worked as a children's librarian, and it is far better than working the (yawn) adult side. And the library where I work is the same one I worked at as a part-time clerk all during college, so it was like coming home when they hired me. Some feel I am being groomed as the next library director-- although that's probably 10 or more years down the road, in my estimation.

Michael listened as I voiced my frustrations and concerns, my feeling that I always felt destined for something much greater. How I had dreamed of being rich and famous many years ago and how I now realized that no one was going to come knocking on my door looking to discover me.

His responses were simple and direct.

"You can be discovered anytime, anywhere, so don't assume it will never happen."

"Regarding your present job, it is as fulfilling as you make it. If you want it to be a great job, be great at it."

"And as for being rich and famous, I already am. I'm rich because I have my health and a place to live and enough to eat. And I'm famous because I know that at any time of any day, there is one special someone thinking of me-- and I'm thinking of him."

Is he not the best???

'Nuff Said Monday.

Colin Egglesfield.

Still So in Love.

Since my return from New York, I saw Michael only twice: last Sunday and then again last night. Sunday we cuddled on the couch and watched "Desperate Housewives," "Brothers & Sisters," and "America's Most Smartest Model." (I know-- "most smartest" is a double-superlative and a big grammatical no-no. The sad thing is that many, many people probably don't get the joke.)

Last night I slept over at Michael's (no sex until the 6 month mark, remember that). We watched a couple Christmas movies and went to bed, joined by his two large dogs, a black lab/Rottweiler mix and a pit bull (the picures are not his actual dogs, but look a lot like them). There was also an electric blanket on. At 4:00 a.m. I had to remove myself from the bed and go to the couch. The heat of the blanket, the dogs, and Michael was just too much! And I'm not a wearer of pj's, so you know it had to be really hot! At 6:00 a.m. Michael discovered that I was missing and came and got me-- he felt so badly for me. he turned off the blanket and distracted the dogs long enough for us to run into bed and into a nice embrace. Eventually they invaded again, of course, but we wouldn't let them in between us. I was so relieved when he suggested that, in the future, he'll keep the dogs gated in the kitchen. This way I didn't have to sound anti-dog by requesting that they not sleep with us.

Meanwhile, Michael has asked for my ring size. I was obviously thrown by the question, and he said I shouldn't be so curious about it-- he just wanted to know. Now, is it planning to give me jewelry for our first Christmas? I'd be delighted, and we both know that we are together for the long-term... but it just seemed so soon. (And, no, he wasn't referring to a cock-ring-- I asked just to clarify.)

Breathe, relax, take it slow, let it happen...

'Nuff Said Thursday.

Jonathan Schaech.

The Big Apple, Part the Last.

In which I discover I cannot fly.

Check-out time at the Y is 11:30 a.m., but I didn't really need to be at LaGuardia much before 2:00, so they keep my luggage in a holding room, freeing me up to make one last shopping trip.

I head over to Rockefeller Center. I wanted to see the ginormous tree. And it was ginormous, indeed. And also a very crowded place to be. Suddenly I discover a J. Crew store and remember that Michael had mentioned he loved their stuff. I also recall that he prefers 100% cotton, so in I go. I leave a short time later with a lovely sweater for him. I continue to wander the shops under Rockefeller Plaza, picking up a few Christmas gifts for friends along the way.

Finally, after a quick snack, I decide I will retrieve my suitcase and get a cab to LaGuardia. Simple. I am at the airport at 1:45 p.m. and my flight isn't until 4:00. The nice thing about LaGuardia is that they have bars and restaurants you can visit before going in through security. I am pretty hungry, so I stop and have a burger while listening to my iPod. I head through security around 3:00 (and it was pretty slow-moving, I must say). I arrive at the gate in plenty of time for boarding, and at 3:55 I am in my seat, ready to nap during the flight.

And that is the last positive feeling I recall. At 4:10 the captain gets on the p.a. and informs us that one of the airline ground crew has discovered a fluid leak at the tail end of the plane. They have to investigate, and it will take about 35 minutes. So we wait. And wait. And wait. Finally, back comes Captain Cheerful with the news that it will take at least another 45 minutes to an hour, so we are free to get off the plane and stretch, etc. Fifteen minutes later, everyone is taken off the aircraft, which has been deemed unfit for flying. There is a 5:00 flight, but it is full and already late. There had been a 6:00, but it was cancelled, so all those passengers are being moved to the 8:00 flight. The 8:00 fills up quickly, too.

I return to the main ticketing area, where I am moved to the next flight, which will be at 6:00 a.m. Saturday. I am able to connect with Michael via my cell phone, but it starts to beep the "low battery" alert, so I tell him I will re-charge it and call him later. I proceed to the lower level to retrieve my suitcase... which has been put on the 6:00 flight and is now on its way to O'Hare, where I can pick it up Saturday morning when I arrive. And, of course, my cell phone charger is in the suitcase.

I don't think $130 is a fair price for a gross airport hotel, particularly when it's almost 9:00 by now and I'd have to get up by 4:30 a.m. to ensure I don't miss the 6:00 flight. So it's LaGuardia for me. The main food court is closed, as is security and all the gates, so it appears there is nowhere comfortable to sleep. On the opposite end of the airport, though, I find one of those Au Bon Pain restaurants open all night, so I can have some hot soup and a Diet Coke. Further wandering brings me to a small waiting area, near the "Dentist" sign. While ruminating on how odd it is that there is a dentist at LaGuardia Airport, I find an unoccupied chair and plop down to sleep.

It's not comfortable, but I manage to sleep. For one hour. Then I am awakened by a woman's voice, "Your attention, please. Your security is very important to us. Be sure to keep all your belongings with you at all times. Unattended bags will be confiscated by the New York City Police. Thank you for your cooperation." I fall back asleep. For another hour. And then I hear it again: "Your attention, please. Your security is very important to us. Be sure to keep all your belongings with you at all times. Unattended bags will be confiscated by the New York City Police. Thank you for your cooperation." I fall asleep again. For one hour. You get the idea.

Finally, it's 5:00. I get to my gate and board without incident. At 6:10, the captain gets on the p.a. and announces that one of the gauges in the cockpit is giving a false reading. "Equipment malfunction" is the technical term. Twenty minutes later, an idiot from the gate desk gets on the p.a. and announces, "This plane will not be flying today. Please return to the gate-- oh, wait a minute." After 5 more minutes, the idiot gets back on. "The Captain has gotten the okay. We'll be taking off in 5 minutes. Please stay seated." What an asshole. We leave at 7:00, and I finally walk back in the door of my house at 9:15 a.m.

And, yes, my suitcase was right where it was supposed to be at O'Hare. But what was missing from all this? Two simple words from any United employee: "We apologize." No apology, no offer to put anyone up at a hotel for the night, no offer of travel vouchers. Not that I'd use one. I believe I'm done with the Unfriendly Skies.

And that's it. We won't even go into the winter storm that hit that afternoon right as I left my therapist's office, stranding me on the Eisenhower expressway for three hours. We just won't even discuss that.

The Big Apple, Part the Third.

In which I make a choice.

So the stagehand strike had ended. I awoke feeling a bit tentative of stomach, still feeling abdominal pains, now even not while eating. After a quick visit to Starbuck's, I once again took the subway to 42nd. I stopped in the Virgin Records MegaStore on Broadway, which ended up being a lengthy visit. The cd of LoveMusik has been released, and I was able to listen to selections from it... it's a Kurt Weill / Lotte Lenya biographical musical, with some really interesting songs. My acquaintance (and dear old friend of AnnieGrace and my beloved NanaSue-- who's not my Nana, but we call her that anway), Annie Morrison, was in LoveMusik and I had heard the cd was not finished, but there it was.

By the time I got to the tkts line, it was already hideously long. News of the strike ending had seemingly reached every living soul in New York, as it appeared they were all waiting there. I had already ordered my ticket to see Liz Callaway's cabaret show, Between Flights. What to do? Forfeit the mere $30 I had spent for her show and wait in line for a half-price ticket to a Broadway show, or stick with my original plan? I puffed away on a cigarette while trying to decide.

What should I do? What would you do? Well, I started looking at my choices...

Mary Poppins: no. Not even with a spoonful of sugar.

The Drowsy Chaperone: a real contender, but it is coming to Chicago, and all the big-name folks have left the Broadway production.

Spring Awakening: I'm terrified of not liking this show.

Avenue Q: I will see it one day. I'm still smarting from the Tony it stole from Wicked.

Xanadu: Cheyenne Jackson in short-shorts on roller skates. Tempting, but no.

August: Osage County: well, I had a ticket for the previous night, which I could have used had the Broadway strike ended one day sooner. I felt robbed about this, but had I seen it, I never would have met Ryan Idol.

There were lots of other choices, of course. But then I looked at the line again, knowing I'd be standing there for quite some time. The tkts window didn't even open for another 45 minutes, and then it would be another 45 minutes at least.

I chose Liz. And I am glad I did. She was sparkling, upbeat, comfortable, endearing, and as always, blew me away. The three highlights were my old faves of hers: "Meadowlark," "There Won't Be Trumpets," and "The Story Goes On." Her rendition of "Not a Day Goes By" was pretty, but not nearly intense enough. She also did a lot of tunes from the 1960's ("You Don't Own Me," "Leaving On a Jet Plane"), which was different and kind of nice.

So, given the option of a Broadway show or Liz Callaway, I chose Liz. And, to quote a lyric from Baby, the musical that made her famous, "I know I chose right."

Next up, The Big Apple, Part the Last: In Which I Discover I Cannot Fly.

'Nuff Said Monday.

Marco Dapper.

The Big Apple, Part the Second.

In which I meet a porn star and a little mermaid.

Ah, New York. It was cold and crisp weather as I ventured out to Starbuck's after sleeping late. I headed directly to the subway once again and got off at 50th St. As planned, I stopped in at Colony Records, where I browsed for about a half hour, then down into the theatre district. When I arrived at Times Square, it was almost lunchtime, so I decided it was time for my hot pastrami on rye at the Roxy Deli. While it was delicious, every bite had my abdominal pain acting up. I called the doctor's office to find out the results of my scan from Monday. According to my doctor's nurse, the results were fairly normal, but doctor suggested I go to a surgeon next week, since my symptoms had been so long-lasting and getting worse. The surgeon he suggested is the same guy who did my mom's colon surgery years ago, and she loved him, so that's on my agenda for next week.

On to several stores: One Shubert Alley, the Drama Book Shop, and various others. I picked up a few small items to give as Christmas gifts. Finally, around 2:45, I got in line at the tkts booth, temporarily located at the Marriott Marquis. I decided to see The Ritz, which is playing at Studio 54. I was done by 3:05, ticket in hand, for only $45. I returned to the Y and laid down to take a nap. God, I was feeling old.

When I awoke, I had plenty of time to shower and get ready, then I headed to 54th St. There was a nice bar right near Studio 54, so I stopped there for a cocktail. Then to the theatre.

The Ritz was delightful and funny. it is a revival of a Terrence McNally play from the 70's. There was a movie version, which I recall seeing years ago somewhere on cable, and it was great fun. It's a farce set in a gay bathhouse-- remember those? The main character is Proclo, a straight, Italian, middle-aged man running from his vengeful brother-in-law, who promised his dying father he would kill Proclo. Proclo is hiding out in the bathhouse and madcap zaniness ensues. Rosie Perez plays Googie Gomez, the "entertainer" at the bathhouse. The role of Googie was created for Rita Moreno. Rosie was brilliant... her tour de farce performance that closed act one was phenomenal and side-splittingly funny. All the performers were top-notch, and the director was Joe Mantello, who also directed McNally's Love! Valour! Compassion! (on stage and film) and Wicked. One of the bit players in the cast is Ryan Idol, who found great success in the 80's as a gay porn star. He spends the entire show, as a patron of the bathhouse, wearing only a small towel. He did a very nice job. I felt particularly proud to see him in a Broadway show, as I have had sex with him (via video and in my mind) thousands of times.

After the show, there was an impromptu auction for Broadway Cares / Equity Fights AIDS. They auctioned off Ryan's towel to the highest bidder. They made $800! It was so fun. On a high, I made my way to the exit of the theatre, where I saw a sign: "Gay & Lesbian Event Tonight. Please Join Us at The Ritz, 369 W. 46th St. Bring Your Ticket Stub for Entry." I was intrigued. Off I went. The Ritz is a gay bar on restaurant row, just down the street from Joe Allen. I arrived there to find that my ticket stub gained me access to a special party upstairs, with FREE DRINKS! All Absolut drinks, beer, wine and pop were FREE! I was delighted. As I sipped my third drink (an Appletini), suddenly I spied him-- Ryan Idol. He had come to this event! I was standing on a short stairway and he approached. I touched his (firm and solid) bicep and said, "The show was great. You were great." "Thank you so much. That means a lot." "And thank you for the years of pleasure you gave me." He leaned in and hugged me, then went on his way.

Still on a high from the booze and meeting Ryan, I went outside to have a cigarette. I met three wild young girls from Manhattan who all went to the Boston Conservatory and came to NYC to "make it." They were about 23 years old but very funny... The Ritz is one of their favorite hangouts. They latched onto me, and we had lots of laughs. Suddenly, out of nowhere, there was this small young lady and they all went wild. It was Chelsea, another one of their group, and this one is understudying Ariel in the about-to-open The Little Mermaid on Broadway. She was squealing with excitement because she had just gotten the call that the stagehand strike was over. They all cheered and carried on. It was so thrilling. I hung with them a bit, then went on my way... back to my room and to call Michael.

On the way, I caught sight of the Lincoln Center Christmas tree and ran to my room to get my camera. Isn't it beautiful?

Next up.... Part the Third, In Which I Make a Choice.

The Big Apple, Part the First.

In which I leave and spend my first day in NYC.

My flight, scheduled for 11:00 a.m. Chicago time, was delayed 2 hours due to cloud cover in NYC. LaGuardia only had one runway open for incoming and outgoing flights. Eventually, they opened a second runway, and we were off.

I arrived at LaGuardia, got my luggage, and took a taxi to the West Side YMCA, my modest home for the trip. I arrived at my room at 4:30. It was like a dorm room-- spare, bland, but clean. I had kind of a cool view of the Upper East side from my window, shown here. I took out my ticket for Young Frankenstein to double-check the theatre... lucky thing I did, as I noticed that the curtain was at 7:00 p.m., not 8:00! I quickly changed, then got on the subway at 59th St. and walked out onto 42nd St... just as I had remembered it. Full of light, life, energy, people... and a lot of stagehands walking around with picket signs. I grabbed some pasta for dinner and got myself to the Hilton Theatre with plenty of time to spare. My seat was the back row of the orchestra, center, right in front of the tech booth. Excellent seat.

The show was delightful and amusing. I agree with some points I've read in the reviews: Roger Bart in the Gene Wilder role of Frederick Frankenstein (pronounced Frohnk-en-shteen) was just kind of there. His singing and dancing were charming, but he doesn't seem to embody the descent into madness that Wilder so beautifully personified. His intentions and motivations are never clear. Megan Mullally was divine in the Madeline Kahn role, and her speaking voice sounded reminiscent of Charles Busch's lady cop in the campy film Psycho Beach Party. Sutton Foster was delightful and Andrea Martin (Frau Blucher) and Christopher Fitzgerald (Igor) stole the show, in my opinion. I disagree with reviewers who feel Susan Stroman went over the top with the "Puttin' on the Ritz" number, or that it was too long. It was fantastic, and this show needs a showstopper like that. Shuler Hensley's Monster was brilliant in this number.

My biggest critique is of the score. It's all re-hashes of songs we've heard before, both by Mel Brooks as well as many others. It's musical comedy 101. Mel Brooks' score for The Producers worked so well because the show was a send-up of Broadway itself, so the songs were essentially pastiche. Here, the songs seem forced and inserted uncomfortably. One or two of them are cute ("He Vas My Boyfriend" is hilarious, mostly because of Andrea Martin), but in general, the songs are a dumb yawn.

After the show I was exhausted from my travels, so I went to my room and went right to bed.

To be continued with Part the Second, In Which I Meet a Porn Star and a Little Mermaid.