I've been saving this short for so long because it's just...well...awesome. I'm talkin' cult classic, here - just sayin. and since I'm on a mission to let this little light of mine shine, yeah, shine I give you - Bernadette, etc. written and directed by my friend, David Perlman. while somehow it doesn't quite fall into the "yes, I did" category, it is still my all time favorite piece of work. so put chore hands tagethuh:
now all you drag girls better watch you backs. I will Victor /Victoria your asses all the way to Ru Paul's runway - and in ill-fitting white pedal pushers no less. watch it!
24 January 2009
19 January 2009
The SS Mary...
...we all (eventually) go to bed at the end of the day. so, no matter how fancy or un-fancy your life may be in-between, we all walk in the door and eventually get our tired, spent asses ready for bed. whatever routine that may involve - we all have one. so, no matter if you put on hoop earrings and a slutty top to sing a Janet Jackson song at a memorial for your friend, Arte, or you're Stephen Sondheim doing whatever Steve did tonight, we all converged on Bar Centrale (http://www.barcentralenyc.com/youfoundus.html) for a post-whatever nightcap. as predictable as it could be to the lovely waitstaff, to me it proved the perfect denouement to an emotion-charged evening. why wouldn't f'in Sondheim show up at the bar I'm winding down in? natch, all my friends who knew I was in Company pointed him out as he came through the door as if we were best friends 
and I had forgotten to text him before heading out that night. so, not wanting to let my friends miss enjoying my cozy relationship with him, I called out his name as he passed by. he didn't hear a fucking thing and could anyone blame him with the combined casts of Grand Hotel and In the Heights chattering away like a bunch of Marys and Nancys about...who gives a shit? so, all eyes rivet on me like I still had business to do. like "were you really in Company, 
or did you just call-in every night?" honestly, some days I wonder that myself. except the day I had to go on (my B'way debut, thank-you) for one of the roles I was covering in the middle of the f'in show. there I was - making all "Effie" in my dressing room - everyone had gotten a crack at the show but me - and I decided I deserved a big, fat pity party, replete with Alison Moyet and journal reading/writing up on the 5th floor, when I hear Gary, our SM, calling me down to the deck at intermission. fast forward 2 minutes later and I am fully costumed, made-up, tear stains wiped away and replaced with Mac N3. if you aren't a fag or musical hag such as myself, you wouldn't maybe know that the top of ACT II in this show is like walking onto the flight deck of an aircraft carrier. if I miss a cue, note or piece of 'ography, the whole number may not attach to it's emergency cord and I'll be the big asshole whose flute is dripping out of her hands thanks to the flop sweat.
anyway, back to Bar Centrale (http://www.barcentralenyc.com/youfoundus.html) tonight. once I realized I was being challenged to network, despite my sincere wish to just bury myself in days of yore, my brain became consumed with trying to figure all that out. believe me, people, if no one else had seen my tree fall alone in the wood, I would have happily let poor Steve enjoy a hassle-free evening. but, as it stood, we were 1 and 0. I am positive he was not thinking the same thing.
so, it came time to pay the bill - which was a perfect reason to use the restroom while all the linear, numbers-driven actors figured out the bill. as I passed by his table I was thinking "they all look so cozy - sharing stories amongst themselves, why break that up?" not getting teased on the playground, friends, that's why. if sitting on a bench and crying until someone felt sorry for me wasn't going to work , then I was going to bully my way into him noticing me. as I exited the restroom, I approached his table. he was in mid story - to Frank Rich.
yay. having set out to finish what I started I proceeded to then hover at the table until he was done. can you spell awkward? the hostess even checked-in with me ("I"m a friend" I said) - well, I've been at his house, in his show and at his parties, doesn't that count? "ok, Steve, wrap it up", I'm thinking and he does and then I'm like, what the fuck do I say now? "Hi, (Luvy Howl), Company" I extend my hand, he shakes it, his guests smile and I do the walk of shame from his table to mine. that's it, pretties. and no one even noticed at the GH table, so I called it a loss and decided to pay the bill and head a half block home. the former head of our costume dept. on GH who had made "are you pregnant?" hand gestures to me earlier that evening thanks to the f'in empire waist dress I had on alerted me that Steve was on his way out - in whispering distance, really - and awkwardly alone for a moment. but I had tired of that exercise by then and decided to play hard-to-get with some other friends at the bar, instead. that'll learn you, ya chatty Kathy.
anyhoo - I'm now back home about to embark upon my bedtime routine. not feelin' the sleep even though I have two auditions tomorrow - one entirely too early and the other with Angelina Jolie, who probably is pregnant again.
ok, not with her tomorrow, but my character with hers in a scene. OK - not a scene. a line. one fucking line. but it's an important one, I am assured.
I wonder if Steve has ever had to take off as much make-up as I have on tonight. god, I hope not. Yawn.
and I had forgotten to text him before heading out that night. so, not wanting to let my friends miss enjoying my cozy relationship with him, I called out his name as he passed by. he didn't hear a fucking thing and could anyone blame him with the combined casts of Grand Hotel and In the Heights chattering away like a bunch of Marys and Nancys about...who gives a shit? so, all eyes rivet on me like I still had business to do. like "were you really in Company, 
or did you just call-in every night?" honestly, some days I wonder that myself. except the day I had to go on (my B'way debut, thank-you) for one of the roles I was covering in the middle of the f'in show. there I was - making all "Effie" in my dressing room - everyone had gotten a crack at the show but me - and I decided I deserved a big, fat pity party, replete with Alison Moyet and journal reading/writing up on the 5th floor, when I hear Gary, our SM, calling me down to the deck at intermission. fast forward 2 minutes later and I am fully costumed, made-up, tear stains wiped away and replaced with Mac N3. if you aren't a fag or musical hag such as myself, you wouldn't maybe know that the top of ACT II in this show is like walking onto the flight deck of an aircraft carrier. if I miss a cue, note or piece of 'ography, the whole number may not attach to it's emergency cord and I'll be the big asshole whose flute is dripping out of her hands thanks to the flop sweat.anyway, back to Bar Centrale (http://www.barcentralenyc.com/youfoundus.html) tonight. once I realized I was being challenged to network, despite my sincere wish to just bury myself in days of yore, my brain became consumed with trying to figure all that out. believe me, people, if no one else had seen my tree fall alone in the wood, I would have happily let poor Steve enjoy a hassle-free evening. but, as it stood, we were 1 and 0. I am positive he was not thinking the same thing.
so, it came time to pay the bill - which was a perfect reason to use the restroom while all the linear, numbers-driven actors figured out the bill. as I passed by his table I was thinking "they all look so cozy - sharing stories amongst themselves, why break that up?" not getting teased on the playground, friends, that's why. if sitting on a bench and crying until someone felt sorry for me wasn't going to work , then I was going to bully my way into him noticing me. as I exited the restroom, I approached his table. he was in mid story - to Frank Rich.
yay. having set out to finish what I started I proceeded to then hover at the table until he was done. can you spell awkward? the hostess even checked-in with me ("I"m a friend" I said) - well, I've been at his house, in his show and at his parties, doesn't that count? "ok, Steve, wrap it up", I'm thinking and he does and then I'm like, what the fuck do I say now? "Hi, (Luvy Howl), Company" I extend my hand, he shakes it, his guests smile and I do the walk of shame from his table to mine. that's it, pretties. and no one even noticed at the GH table, so I called it a loss and decided to pay the bill and head a half block home. the former head of our costume dept. on GH who had made "are you pregnant?" hand gestures to me earlier that evening thanks to the f'in empire waist dress I had on alerted me that Steve was on his way out - in whispering distance, really - and awkwardly alone for a moment. but I had tired of that exercise by then and decided to play hard-to-get with some other friends at the bar, instead. that'll learn you, ya chatty Kathy.anyhoo - I'm now back home about to embark upon my bedtime routine. not feelin' the sleep even though I have two auditions tomorrow - one entirely too early and the other with Angelina Jolie, who probably is pregnant again.
ok, not with her tomorrow, but my character with hers in a scene. OK - not a scene. a line. one fucking line. but it's an important one, I am assured.I wonder if Steve has ever had to take off as much make-up as I have on tonight. god, I hope not. Yawn.
13 January 2009
did I forget to mention yesterday that 2009 is my year to not give a shit anymore and embrace my checkered past? well, friends, it's time to embrace the ugly. I have vowed to paste as many "caught-on-tape" moments - some great, some good and some just...wrong - as I can. the first, and possible winner, of the "wrong" side would probably be Tribal Dance (see below), the first precious little cuddly beauty from my cruise ship days. yes, in a headdress. back off - I know I said I'd never. well, I did. and you know what it was mad fun, y'all. I got to travel from San Diego to South America to the Caribbean to Spain and around and around the Cote D'Azur for the entire summer. our itinerary was then topped off with a few stops in Venice and then home to NYC. there were some astoundingly funny moments at sea like when I was all "Belle" in a GIANT hoop skirt and I had to turn delicately upstage in silhouette after receiving a rose from my dearest gay (and "Beast"), Ken. the ocean suddenly swelled up and I lost my balance, giant hoop skirt swinging like a fucking teacup. of course, this sent Ken into spasms of laughter and all you could see in silhouette were our shoulders twittering up and down trying to sing and contain our laughter. oh, what I would give for footage of that moment....but, for now, I give you other riches:
12 January 2009
where have I been...
well, clearly the idea for a blog was much more compelling one and a half years ago when I started it. now older, wiser and just as optimistic, I've decided to revisit all those errant projects I have listed on post-it's by my desk - just like my manager suggested I do to bide my time in-between auditions. actually, I think it was her way of telling me to stop barraging her with submission suggestions and fill my time in a more amusing way? (as usual, she's right. dammit!)
plus, my man's not been much for idle conversation...good thing you are, dear reader, cause all I do is idle muthufuckuhs!!! even my daughter refers to me as "slow poke" - which is fine, but would be much more justifiable (and funnier to me, natch) if I were high all the time. I just spent so many years rushing around all over the place - running up stairs, even escalators for goddsakes, walking miles and miles when I could slide onto the subway. what was I thinking? oh, yeah - it's good for you. better write that one down on a post-it.
plus, my man's not been much for idle conversation...good thing you are, dear reader, cause all I do is idle muthufuckuhs!!! even my daughter refers to me as "slow poke" - which is fine, but would be much more justifiable (and funnier to me, natch) if I were high all the time. I just spent so many years rushing around all over the place - running up stairs, even escalators for goddsakes, walking miles and miles when I could slide onto the subway. what was I thinking? oh, yeah - it's good for you. better write that one down on a post-it.
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