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.

Hey, Look! It's AnnieGrace!

This is lovely picture I blatantly stole from Stephen over at Are You There Blog, It's Me Stephen.

It's AnnieGrace, the one and only, and me at the Hydrate Disco Ball on Friday night.

Note the lovely smiles we put on one another's faces? Well, the open bar helped, too! The perspective of the picture makes her hands look large and scary, but they aren't. They're delicate and pretty.

Loving her! Loving Stephen for posting this! Loving Season of Concern for all they do!

'Nuff Said Monday.

Ryan Reynolds.

Unmitigated Gall.

So, tomorrow morning I go to the hospital for a HIDA scan. I was just doing a little research on it. I mean, I knew basically what it was, but I wanted a little more info.

I have had abdominal pain for about 6 months. Nothing major... about once a month I would get a sharp pain just under the rib cage on the right side. Eventually I started feeling almost a cold sensation on the inside of my upper rib cage, on the back right side. This sensation came every time I ate. It's grown more and more annoying, and the sharp pain under the rib cage has become more frequent.

I am the only one of my siblings to still have my gall bladder. My mom has hers, but Dad does not. So my doctor ordered an ultrasound back in May, and it came back negative. When I returned to him a couple weeks ago, he suggested the HIDA scan, which would give a more definitive answer than the ultrasound. Apparently, if there is sludge in there (his word-- sludge), it will be more apparent via the HIDA scan.

They insert an IV (okay, ouch but I can handle it) into the arm, then get this radioactive stuff flowing. Then I drink something (berium, I assume) and they watch how it travels through the liver and gall bladder. The test will also detect tumors. Lovely. They asked me to remain available throughout the day, as they may want to follow up later in the afternoon by taking a second look.

I'm not really worried. I'm planning on hearing that my gall bladder is a mess and needs to come out. My bigger concern is that with all that nuclear stuff in me, the airport security folks will assume I am a threat and not let me board the plane to New York on Tuesday.

That would suck.

Great Info on the Strike.

Here is an excellent informational article that explains exactly what is going on in New York City. I'm not expecting to see any Broadway shows up and running by the time my vacation is over.

And I'm totally okay with that.

What To Do in the Big Apple.

Well, the stagehands' strike continues indefinitely. I have my precious ticket to Young Frankenstein, which I plan to love despite the lukewarm reviews. I have no doubt it will be entertaining. The other Broadway shows that are up and running do not interest me, particularly after seeing bits of them in the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade. I mean, Xanadu? Mary Poppins? Not so much.

What does interest me is Liz Callaway's cabaret show, Between Flights. I had the opportunity to see her (and meet her) here in Chicago a couple years ago in concert with her sister, Ann Hampton Callaway, and I'm a huge fan. And at $30, it's a steal.

Also intriguing is The Piano Teacher, an off-Broadway play starring Elizabeth Franz. I saw her in Death of a Salesman opposite Brian Dennehy, and she was fantastic. I think these little off-Broadway jewels appeal to me anyway, because VTG, where I do a lot of theatre, is very much like some of those venues in terms of physical space as well as material.

I will make the obligatory visit to the Roxy Deli for a hot pastrami on rye. I will stop in Colony Records. I will most definitely spend an afternoon at the Drama Bookshop. And I will visit the Broadway Cares / Equity Fights AIDS office to purchase some Christmas gifts.

Beyond that, I'll just let NYC do its thing and take it all in. Alone in the big city, for the first time.

Putting the Global Village in Perspective.

My friend and fellow-blogger RobOrange at Seduced by the New posted this info on a fascinating website called the "Global Incident Map." It pinpoints incidents happening all over the world, and is updated every five minutes. Rob got the info from his bff and galpal Klinka (whose name I love).

This is scary and interesting at the same time.

Learning From My Mistakes.

So, last night was the big Disco Ball at Hydrate. I was so excited for my friends AnnieGrace and Stephen to meet Michael, a.k.a. my boyfriend. Michael was bringing his friend Jackie, and they were to arrive around 8:30. I got there around 8:00 and enjoyed silliness with Stephen, Eric and the ever-hilarious and charming Philip. AnnieGrace soon appeared, and I was getting nervous but also thinking, "Michael is so adorable... they will all be green with envy!"

Then my cell phone rang. it was Michael with bad news. His Jeep Wrangler convertible plastic window was broken (this had happened a few days earlier, so I was aware of it), and he was not comfortable leaving his car on the street in Boystown with the driver's side window missing. And Jackie doesn't have a car. I offered to go pick them up, but he said no, that he was trying to reach Jackie to tell her it was off. Then he asked if I would still come over to his place when I was done at Hydrate. Which, of course I would, but I was so disappointed. AnnieGrace and Stephen wisely wondered why he couldn't just take a cab. Which would make sense, right?

Anyway, after speculating on whether a pair of cute guys across the bar who looked alike were twins (they were- I asked them), I took my leave and headed to Michael's. He was all over me, was so thrilled I was there, and we had a lovely time. I spent the night. (No sex, remember... not for six months.)

Then tonight we had been invited to my dear friend Jackie's home out here in the 'burbs for cocktails and munchies, so she and a few friends could meet Michael. I've pretty much let everyone know that he is the one I plan on seeing for a long time. I checked in with Michael mid-day and we confirmed that he'd be at my place around 7.

He called at about 5:30 to tell me he couldn't come. We'd have to do it another time, because he couldn't make the drive all the way out here without a window. It was very cold, after all. Then he asked if I was angry, and I said, "To be quite honest, yes, I am angry. I have friends who I now have to explain to, who are looking forward to meeting you." He responded that he would come and he'd be here at 7 as agreed. He said he wanted to simplify my life, not complicate it. I apologized a bit, saying I hope I didn't sound like a jerk but that at this late hour it would be rude, etc.

While waiting for Michael, I called AnnieGrace to get her take, and she said I was okay to express my honest feelings, particularly given the last-minute-ness of it all. She gently reminded me that it would be a good thing to be appreciative once he arrived. I just got a bad feeling that he didn't want to meet my friends. Maybe he had social anxiety disorder, or something.

And when he arrived, frozen like a popsicle, I felt awful. We did go to Jackie's, and everyone loved Michael, and he them, and all was good. And when he and I ended up back at my place to say goodnight, he reminded me that there's no rush. There will be plenty of time for him to meet my friends, and for me to meet his. And I just need to be patient. "I'm not going anywhere," he said.

So it wasn't that he didn't want to meet my friends. And he was delightfully social and funny and intelligent, and won everyone over (including me, again and still). It was simply that he didn't feel the need to meet them all so quickly, and (my interpretation, not his) I was a little eager to show him off, both last night and tonight.

So I've learned that I need to continue to hoard him and let him hoard me, and get to really know one another, and learn all those interesting details about each other's lives, and eventually the friends and family will fit into the equation. And they will all love him.

Heavy sigh of relief. And my mantra continues: "breathe, relax, take it slow, let it happen..."

The "B" Word.

So, after leaving my sister's, where I enjoyed a lovely Thanksgiving dinner and games and lots of laughter and reminiscing, I headed to Michaels' place. He had called and reminded me that he had to work Friday, which meant he had to get up early. We had discussed my spending the night, but I got the distinct impression he really didn't want me to. So I told him I would come, and we would play it by ear.

In the car, I started thinking that I would definitely not spend the night. Then I worried that maybe he didn't want me there at all. But I really wanted to be with him, even if only for a couple hours. Once I got there, it was great; he did want me there, and even said he wanted me to stay. But I put practicality first, deciding he needed to sleep and I would rather not be driving back home during morning rush-hour. So we just enjoyed a few hours of bliss together. We re-connected, talked openly and honestly about our feelings, and then he said, "Can I ask you something?" I gulped. "Can we say we're officially dating?" I was delighted and relieved. "Of course! Yes, of course we can!"

"Because I really want to call you my boyfriend." Boyfriend. Oh, it had such a beautiful ring to it. We were on the same page. Then he whispered, "I am looking forward to falling in love with you." This is good. This puts it in perspective. I'm infatuated with him; I'm not in love. I'm deeply in "like." The idea of looking forward to falling in love made it even more wonderful, as I thought I already was falling in love. But that really hasn't happened yet, so I can continue to enjoy it all, taking it in, letting it happen.

So tonight's the big "Disco Ball" at Hydrate for Season of Concern. And I'll be there-- with Stephen, and AnnieGrace, and Michael. And tomorrow night, some friends are having Michael and me over for drinks, in order to meet Michael. My boyfriend.

'Nuff said Thursday

It just wouldn't be Thanksgiving without a tossing a good salad!

A New Look.

This background color is approximately the color of my kitchen walls. I'm a big fan of oranges and orangey-browns. It's also the color of my dishes. My friend Holly gave the color a name: baked beans. That's pretty close.

I've added a poll. Please vote!

I'm on vacation until December 3, with the exception of Saturday, November 24. I'll be posting here and there through Monday, November 26th. I'll be in NYC from the 27th to the 30th, after which I will post info all about my trip.

This blogging is just too much fun!

TMI Tuesday

Stephen takes the time to answer these weekly questions from TMI Tuesday, so I thought I would follow suit:

1. what's the sexiest gesture a woman can make?

Sexiest? Well, I'm sort of out of my element here, but to me a woman looks great holding up the wad of bills to pay for our cocktails.

2. what are 3 inevitable things about you?

First, I am and always will be a procrastinator. Every time I want to cure myself of this problem, I decide to deal with it at a later time.

Second, I have a burning need to do theatre / cabaret / music, because performing is such a huge part of who I am.

Third, I'm emotionally sensitive. If there's a tear-jerker, consider my tears jerked. I go right to the deepest emotion available for the situation.

3. what do you want . . . . now?

A better job... one that is completely fulfilling and pays better.

4. what asset do you have besides the physical and the material?

Talent and creativity. And I don't take either one of 'em for granted.

5. describe a sexy mind.

One that is more right-side of the brain but left side of politics. Artsy, clever, funny, sexy, and verbal.

Bonus (as in optional):What are you thankful for this Thanksgiving?

Michael.

Family, Turkey Day, and Other Good Stuff

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday.

It begins with Wednesday-- I always have the day off, and I start with a visit to Starbuck's for a gingerbread latte. I then commence with making my pies, which have become the family's expectation every year. I make an apple-cranberry, a pumpkin, and a pecan. The evening will be spent relaxing, possibly watching Miracle on 34th Street (the original, in black and white).

Thursday begins with a hot cup of coffee and the Macy's Parade. Then I get dressed and head to wherever we're celebrating; this year it's my sister's. I enjoy the gathering, the visiting, the food and preparation thereof. After we eat, we draw names for Christmas gifts.

Then the pie. Then coffee. Then home. Although this year I'll be driving into the city to see my boyfriend for the evening.

Speaking of which, I emailed my sister about my new infatuation. I had to tell someone in the family, and I wanted her to be aware, should I not be able to focus on Thanksgiving. And I told her not to share it with Mom, who would not like that I am once again giving my sexual "lifestyle" an identity. I mean, I'll tell her eventually-- just not yet. My sister was surprised. She emailed me.

"Well that is good news, and of course I'm happy for you. Why wouldn't I be? Love is a many splendored thing. Love is never having to say you're sorry. Love makes the world go round. Wait, no, that's money. But Love is patient and kind, is not jealous, and does not boast. Love is where your heart is. Wait, no, that's home. But Love stinks (per the J. Geils Band circa 1977). Wait, no, he said that but I think he'd recently gotten burned by his woman.

Well I am happy, not so much for the love and stuff as just the companionship and having someone to experience things with. I like the thought of you having companionship, don't like the thought of you being alone. Why do you not think Mom will take it as good news? For heavens' sake this guy's a doctor! (ha!) Seriously, why would it not be good news to her? Don't worry, I won't say anything. But while she may not love the life style you have, I would think it would make her feel good to know that you have someone else in your life. But then, I don't always know her as well as I think I do.

However, you must FOCUS on the holiday. You must not burn the pie crust. You must not forget ingredients. And on Thanksgiving day, you must remember the pilgrims, honor the cranberry, and praise the stuffing!"

This is why Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. And why I am so glad my sister understands me.

'Nuff Said Monday

Christopher Meloni

It's Good to Have a Grace

I'm very fortunate to have lots of female friends with whom I am really close. I have some that want to mother me, some that want to drink with me, some that want to marry me, some that want to do theatre with me.

And then there's AnnieGrace. Her real name is Karen, but when she had a severe attack of pain in her head a few years ago-- and then turned out to be okay -- I nicknamed her Annie Yerism, or Annie for short. But because we have become so close through the years, she is like Grace to my Will. Hence, AnnieGrace.

Now, there are fag hags out there... it's a fact of life. I tend to define "fag hag" as a woman who turns to gay men for friendship, companionship, and fulfillment of an emptiness in her own life. The fag hag tends to live vicariously through her gay friends, being extremely supportive and proud to wave the rainbow flag, but perhaps for more selfish reasons. If I'm being unfair, I apologize... but the term "fag hag" is so derogatory that it sort of begs for a somewhat negative definition.

AnnieGrace is not a fag hag, anymore that Grace Adler was. She is, quite simply, a classy, funny, talented, gorgeous, woman who appreciates and loves me for who I am. Not for what I do for her, not for what I give her, but because she chooses to spend time with me and make me feel wonderful. And she gives wonderful hugs. In short, a friend for life.

I have a Karen Walker, too. And to some of my gal pals, I am more Jack than Will. But with AnnieGrace, navigating the crazy world of singledom, theatre, wine bars, lusting after men, gossip, loss, fear, joy and laughter... it just doesn't get any better.

I just pray she approves of the guy I am dating. Or I will have to kill her.

Oh. My. God. Part 2

Okay, so we've had date two. He cooked me dinner. We watched a rerun of Pretty Woman on tbs (a good thing... all those commercial breaks, doncha know). We cuddled. We smooched. We talked. We dreamed. His dogs seem to like to me. His real name is Michael Joseph, but because there are so many Michaels where he works, he chose to go by Joseph, and everyone now just calls him Joey. But he wanted me to be different. He asked me to call him Michael. That will take some getting used to. I mean, I already programmed "Joey" into my cell phone. But Michael will do just fine.

More about him... he is a clinical psychologist. His mother is Cuban-Italian and his father was from Spain. He is 5'6, 145 pounds, with short dark hair and a perpetual three-day facial hair scruffy stubble that is irresistable. He wears cute little glasses most of the time. And dimples like you wouldn't believe.

We both seem to be on the same page. That is, enamored of one another. Seriously, is it too soon to think I'm in love? Is it just infatuation? He's all I think about. I can hardly sleep. Or eat. Or concentrate. It just feels like the "ONE." And we've talked about it, and he feels the same way.

Mmmmmmmm.....

Carol Channing... or Is It?

It's the Carol Channing Doll! Available through the JC Penney catalog, of all places! For more info and hilarious commentary, see Stephen's comments on his blog.


I got to see the doll in person at Davenport's on Friday night, where Ms. Channing made an appearance with Daryl Nitz and George Howe. (They perform there every weekend, and all you Chicagoans should go see them-- they are brilliant! At 7 years, they are the longest running cabaret show in Chicago.)



I kept staring at the doll, as she sat on a chair looking menacingly around the room, reminding me of that creepy movie Magic with Anthony Hopkins. Something was bothering me... she kind of looked like Carol Channing, but her hair was a little wild, her lipstick a little too overdone.


Then it hit me... it's not a Carol Channing Doll, but a doppleganger, if you will.




All you ABC 7 Chicago Eyewitness News viewers... It's a Theresa Gutierrez Doll!