TONY, and Tina's Bedding

I'd like to begin by saying Mazel Tov to all those nominated for Tony Awards this week. To those omitted from the list of nominees - like a bridge over troubled water, allow me to ease your minds and offer whatever solace I can by imparting a few words of wisdom my own mother once said to me as a child after I'd been overlooked for the title role in a local community theatre production of Annie for the third year in a row...."You're simply not good enough. Now suck it up and stop embarrassing me." (Better??) I am, for the most part, pleased with this year's Tony picks, minus a few which in my humble opinion are not exactly deserving of such high honor. I'm sure I don't need to name names...(Stephen Sondheim? Lifetime Achievement? I mean, when you really think about it...what's he even done, you guys?...)

But seriously, if Hairspray and Grease got drunk, hooked up, got preggz and gave birth to a kid with Down syndrome it would be Cry-Baby the Musical. I know it's slim pickin's in the Best Musical department, but come now! It will certainly be the year of In the Heights which is cool by me. But I personally feel this season belongs to the incredible revivals, and I'm excited to see what happens in those categ'ries.

TO THE LEFT, TO THE LEFT you'll find the poster for the 2008 CBS telecast, along with the theme of the evening, “There’s a little bit of Broadway in Everyone!” Or as I like to call it, “After 4 hours of the Tony's and 6 martinis, every guy's at least a little bi-curious.” (I like mine better.) I'm looking forward to the show, though I've not yet decided if I'll be attending the actual ceremony this year, or some gorgeous party where I can watch it on television so that I may shout obscenities at the people on stage and heckle them about their ugly dresses and boring speeches (which I usually do anyway, but from my crappy seats at Radio City, what lesbian sound designer could hear me??) And though I do enjoy getting all fancy and shiny and working the red carpet they lay out by the back door of the building for secondary celebrities like myself, janitorial staff and garbage collection, I'm rather tired of going to all that trouble every year only to show up and find Elaine Stritch wearing the exact same outfit as me...(a blousy men's dress shirt and pantyhose.)

Meanwhile, so much has gone on since last we convened! I mean, since my last post Glory Days has officially opened at Circle in the Square aaand completed its entire run on Broadway! (When did all that happen - Tuesday?) I actually swung by Don't Tell Mama in Hell's Kitchen last week to catch Seth Rudetsky interviewing the cast and "creative" team of the show just days after it open-closed. I thought it might be "interesting" (funny) to hear what they had to "say" (cry) about the whole experience. They sang a few songs and talked a bit about the ups and downs of life in the biz. ("The ups" being Tuesday night and "the downs" being early Wednesday morning.) By the end, I actually felt a little saddened by what had happened and angered by the producers who, in what was obviously a lame attempt to cash in on the high school musical craze, rushed this thing straight to the top without thinking twice and essentially threw these poor little sheep (with really lousy music and no choreography) to a pack of bloodthirsty wolves. I think the "most tragic" (funniest) part of the evening came when, halfway through their telling of how they'd heard the news that the show would not continue, the power inexplicably went out at Don't Tell Mama, and they were forced to finish their sad story in the dark. I mean, the poor kids; Their show had just been publicly brutalized and now they couldn't even finish this schmucky interview without someone pulling the plug. And now I'M making fun of them here. When will the cruelty end???

But with all this talk of Broadway shows, Tony nominations, and even Sondheim, I think we all know who the real star is here....My toilet. Yes, this weekend was spent painting and decorating my bathroom, and to say that it is the most exquisite thing ever to happen in this world would be a gross understatement. It's beautiful, and I'd spend the whole day sitting in there if I could. Luckily, thanks to a high-fiber diet, I don't have to. But it's really just gorgeous enough to make a girl wanna run out and get constipated.

Tomorrow, my shmancy new bed should arrive from West Elm, and in preparation I've been searching around for some shmancy new bedding to go on it. I've been kickin' around Bed Bath and Beyond, which I love. But may I make an open complaint regarding the staff at that place? They're lovely, and I realize they're only doing what they've been trained and (if I know anything about working in retail) threatened to do, but that is to incessantly greet their customers every single time they pass one. It seems extremely labored and obvious that they hate doing it, but clearly it's required of them. Try it sometime: walk around there looking at the employees. Any who don't greet you immediately upon making eye contact are instantly shot in the leg and disappear through a trap door below them.

These unsparing salutations might seem like polite courtesies to most, but to me they are an enormous imposition. When I go shopping, particularly for home goods, I am usually on a very specific, urgent, and time-sensitive mission; like pillow shams. There are about 900 workers on the floor of BB&B at all times, and I simply don't have the patience for polite, courteous exchanges with all of them. I find myself spinning around like a moron saying "hi...how are you...yes, lovely to see you....call me later...hello.." to every blue polo that walks by, and wind up completely losing my concentration! I just want to find the curtains I saw online the night before and get the hell out, but instead feel like I'm receiving guests at my Bar Mitzvah.

So to the warm and welcoming crew at BB&B and the like: if you happen to see me 'round your parts, do me a favor and look the other way! Don't come any closer. Don't ask me how my day is going. I'm gay and I need curtains and I do not have time to be pleasant and cordial with all of you. Lee-me-alone!

XOXOXO

And the nomahkneez is....

The 2008 Tony Award Nominees have just been announced, Bloggities! Everyone look for your name!....

Best Play:
August: Osage County
Rock 'n' Roll
The Seafarer
The 39 Steps

Best Musical:
Cry-Baby
In the Heights
Passing Strange
Xanadu

Best Book of a Musical
Cry-Baby, Mark O'Donnell and Thomas Meehan
In the Heights, Quiara Alegria Hudes
Passing Strange, Stew
Xanadu, Douglas Carter Beane

Best Original Score
Cry-Baby, Music & Lyrics: David Javerbaum & Adam Schlesinger
In The Heights, Music & Lyrics: Lin-Manuel Miranda
The Little Mermaid, Music: Alan Menken and Lyrics: Howard Ashman and Glenn Slater
Passing Strange, Music: Stew and Heidi Rodewald Lyrics: Stew

Best Revival of a Play
Boeing-Boeing
The Homecoming
Les Liaisons Dangereueses
Macbeth

Best Revival of a Musical
Grease
Gypsy
Rodgers and Hammerstein's South Pacific
Sunday in the Park With George


Best Performance By a Leading Actor in a Play
Ben Daniels, Les Liaisons Dangereuses
Laurence Fishburne, Thurgood
Mark Rylance, Boeing-Boeing Fantastic.
Rufus Sewell, Rock 'n' Roll
Patrick Stewart, Macbeth


Best Performance By a Leading Actress in a Play
Eve Best, The Homecoming
Deanna Dunagan, August: Osage County
Kate Fleetwood, Macbeth
S. Epatha Merkerson, Come Back, Little Sheba
Amy Morton, August: Osage County


Best Performance By a Leading Actor in a Musical
Daniel Evans, Sunday in the Park With George
Lin-Manuel Miranda, In the Heights
Stew, Passing Strange
Paulo Szot, Rodgers and Hammerstein's South Pacific
Tom Wopat, A Catered Affair

Best Performance By a Leading Actress in a Musical
Kerry Butler, Xanadu
Patti LuPone, Gypsy
Kelli O'Hara, Rodgers and Hammerstein's South Pacific
Faith Prince, A Catered Affair
Jenna Russell, Sunday in the Park With George

Best Performance By a Featured Actor in a Play
Bobby Cannavale, Mauritius
Raúl Esparza, The Homecoming
Conleth Hill, The Seafarer
Jim Norton, The Seafarer
David Pittu, Is He Dead?

Best Performance By a Featured Actress in a Play
Sinead Cusack, Rock 'n' Roll
Mary McCormack, Boeing-Boeing
Laurie Metcalf, November
Martha Plimpton, Top Girls
Rondi Reed, August: Osage County

Best Performance By a Featured Actor in a Musical
Daniel Breaker, Passing Strange
Danny Burstein, Rodgers & Hammerstein's South Pacific
Robin De Jesús, In The Heights
Christopher Fitzgerald, The New Mel Brooks Musical Young Frankenstein
Boyd Gaines, Gypsy

Best Performance By a Featured Actress in a Musical
de'Adre Aziza, Passing Strange
Laura Benanti, Gypsy
Andrea Martin, The New Mel Brooks Musical Young Frankenstein
Olga Merediz, In The Heights
Loretta Ables Sayre, Rodgers & Hammerstein's South Pacific

Best Direction of a Play
Maria Aitken, The 39 Steps
Conor McPherson, The Seafarer
Anna D. Shapiro, August: Osage County
Matthew Warchus, Boeing-Boeing

Best Direction of a Musical
Sam Buntrock, Sunday in the Park with George
Thomas Kail, In The Heights
Arthur Laurents, Gypsy
Bartlett Sher, Rodgers & Hammerstein's South Pacific

Best Choreography
Rob Ashford, Cry-Baby
Andy Blankenbuehler, In The Heights
Christopher Gattelli, Rodgers & Hammerstein's South Pacific
Dan Knechtges, Xanadu

Best Orchestrations
Jason Carr, Sunday in the Park with George
Alex Lacamoire & Bill Sherman, In the Heights
Stew & Heidi Rodewald, Passing Strange
Jonathan Tunick, A Catered Affair

Best Scenic Design of a Play
Peter McKintosh, The 39 Steps
Scott Pask, Les Liaisons Dangereuses
Todd Rosenthal, August: Osage County
Anthony Ward, Macbeth

Best Scenic Design of a Musical
David Farley and Timothy Bird & The Knifedge Creative Network, Sunday in the Park with George
Anna Louizos, In the Heights
Robin Wagner, The New Mel Brooks Musical Young Frankenstein
Michael Yeargan, Rodgers & Hammerstein's South Pacific

Best Costume Design of a Play
Gregory Gale, Cyrano de Bergerac
Rob Howell, Boeing-Boeing
Katrina Lindsay, Les Liaisons Dangereuses
Peter McKintosh, The 39 Steps

Best Costume Design of a Musical
David Farley, Sunday in the Park with George
Martin Pakledinaz, Gypsy
Paul Tazewell, In the Heights
Catherine Zuber, Rodgers & Hammerstein's South Pacific

Best Lighting Design of a Play
Kevin Adams, The 39 Steps
Howard Harrison, Macbeth
Donald Holder, Les Liaisons Dangereuses
Ann G. Wrightson, August: Osage County

Best Lighting Design of a Musical
Ken Billington, Sunday in the Park with George
Howell Binkley, In the Heights
Donald Holder, Rodgers & Hammerstein's South Pacific
Natasha Katz, The Little Mermaid

Best Sound Design of a Play
Simon Baker, Boeing-Boeing
Adam Cork, Macbeth
Ian Dickson, Rock 'n' Roll
Mic Pool, The 39 Steps

Best Sound Design of a Musical
Acme Sound Partners, In the Heights
Sebastian Frost, Sunday in the Park with George
Scott Lehrer, Rodgers & Hammerstein's South Pacific
Dan Moses Schreier, Gypsy

Special Tony Award for Lifetime Achievement in the Theatre
Stephen Sondheim

Regional Theatre Tony Award
Chicago Shakespeare Theater

Special Tony Award
Robert Russell Bennett (1894-1981), in recognition of his historic contribution to American musical theatre in the field of orchestrations, as represented on Broadway this season by Rodgers & Hammerstein's South Pacific.

How many nominations each show received:
In The Heights, 13
Rodgers and Hammerstein's South Pacific , 11
Sunday in the Park with George, 9
August: Osage County , 7
Gypsy, 7
Passing Strange, 7
Boeing-Boeing, 6
Macbeth, 6
The 39 Steps, 6
Les Liaisons Dangereuses , 5
Cry-Baby, 4
Rock 'n' Roll , 4
The Seafarer , 4
Xanadu , 4
A Catered Affair, 3
The Homecoming, 3
The New Mel Brooks Musical Young Frankenstein, 3
The Little Mermaid, 2
Come Back, Little Sheba, 1
Cyrano de Bergerac , 1
Grease , 1
Is He Dead?, 1
Mauritius, 1
November, 1
Thurgood , 1
Top Girls , 1

What's the Story?? (Mourning 'Glory')

When I first heard the story behind Glory Days, the daring new musical penned by two 23-year-old pipsqueaks (one just a little slip of a flouncing chorine in this season’s Cry-Baby), prepping to make its home on a real Broadway stage at the Circle in the Square Theatre (ok - maybe not a real Broadway stage), I kvelled with the excitement of an overbearing Jewish mother whose son had just come out of the closet. I mean, how inspiring??...How thrilling??...How annoying?? (I was also jealous. Did I mention I was jealous?) But what a remarkable accomplishment, really. And perhaps this would be the groundbreaking sleeper of the year we’d all been waiting for! What I was witness to at a recent performance of the show, however, was an absolute shande! My "gay son" had split ends and couldn’t dress worth a damn.

Brimming with affected frat boy camaraderie and the sort of over-caffeinated, counterfeit rock ‘n’ roll pep that would inspire a B line to the nearest bathroom during a third-rate national touring production of Footloose, Glory Days is a coming-of-age-ish tale of four unlikely high school chums; Will, the sensitive writer; Jack, the sensitive non-writer with a dark secret; Skip, the less sensitive non-writer with a new haircut and no secret; and Andy, the jock. They reunite a year after graduation on the football field of their alma mater, primarily intent on staging a prank involving the sprinkler system to pull at a home game the following afternoon, and wind up reminiscing about the "good old glory type days." Before long, and to the forgettable and occasionally mortifying tunes of what sound like variations on the same 16 bars of RENT in its earliest stages, the boys find themselves smack in the middle of a post-adolescent-mid-pre-quarter-life crisis! (And you thought you had troubles.)

The already thin plot drops about four dress sizes when Jack (the one sporting frosted highlights, a residual plastic wristband from the gay bar he was at the previous night, and a "Mrs. Timberlake" t-shirt...ok, slight exaggeration, but not by much) announces his newfound affection for kissing other boys! (If it were Les Miz, this would have been the erection of the barricades.) After a soggy parade of generic coming-out dialogue that even I at my most delicate and vulnerable; emergent from my own gay cocoon some years ago, was too clever and original to use (e.g. "I guess on some level...I always knew.."), Will and Skip offer their support and commendation for the courageous leap. Andy, the jock, spends the rest of the evening coming to terms with the fact that one of his nearest and dearest is now also his queerest. (You just never think it could happen to you.)

It’s painfully obvious that a great deal of effort went into making these young pups and their connections appear multidimensional, but to no avail. All four characters are as flat and dull as the minimal set they romp around on (bleachers.) And the bond among them is farfetched, to say the very least. Though the book justifies their accidental brotherhood as a shared ostracism from the football team, there is no believable evidence of these four separate entities ever coexisting beyond sitting next to each other in homeroom, or perhaps a handful of visits to one another’s MySpace pages. Let alone forming the life-altering, five-year kinship they blab about. And though it takes its drama quite seriously, the show lacks any substantial story line and delivers no discernible message, making it essentially a tale of human relationships and personal growth (premature though it may seem, spanning one measly and uneventful year). The problem is that it lacks any trace of subjective insight into either of these themes. What remains is a rather trivial mish-mosh of petty arguments and grownup role playing, albeit typical of the age group, but which by no means deserves the right to be magnified to the scale of a musical on - or even off - Broadway.

In a moment at the end of the show, Skip (the "Sophia" of these four Golden Girls) bestows upon sensitive writer Will the wisdom to "write what he knows". This little pearl encapsulates the cardinal weakness in the show, itself. I'd hoped that the young writing duo producers decided to take a chance on would prove worthy of the honor by having written something radically innovative, or even simply wise beyond their years. Instead they've written what they know, and nothing more. As a result, this 90-minute bubblegum melodrama, which claims to "take the pulse of the modern American 20-year-old", flatlines. With so much more progressive and important theatre out there (Mamma Mia comes to mind), who really needs to see a musical about four average, bratty twentysomethings kvetching about their problems? Especially when we can stay home and watch "The Hills" on MTV. At least those people sleep with each other.

To those two pipsqueaks behind Glory Days who've obviously drawn from their own life experiences thus far to inspire its limited subject matter, I say just wait...just wait until you get to be 26 like me; when the figure starts to go and the alcoholism and menopause kick in. That, Boys, is the stuff of Broadway musicals.

Bitz & Pieces

Julie Halston puts the words in your mouth
by Randy Rainbow for HX Magazine

A founding member of Charles Busch’s famed Theatre-In-Limbo, Julie Halston has graced the stages on and off Broadway in Hairspray, Gypsy and The Most Fabulous Story Ever Told, just to name a few. Television audiences might recognize her best as Tina Carmello on The Class and as Bitsy Von Muffling on Sex and the City, a role she was set to reprise on the big screen later this month until just a few days ago, when she found out that her scenes had wound up on the cutting-room floor—that’s showbiz, kids! I recently met up with Halston at a Hell’s Kitchen coffee house to discuss her new book (penned with Donna Daley), Monologues for Show-Offs, which is quickly becoming a must-have resource for actors everywhere. As she sipped hot cocoa and thumbed through a Post, it became clear why so many in the biz refer to her as “the funniest person alive.”

Julie Halston: Oh my... oh no... tsk, tsk, tsk...

Randy Rainbow for HX: What is it, Julie?
It’s Naomi Campbell. She’s hitting people again.

God help us. So when did you come out of the closet as a gay icon?
Oh, very young. I think 12 or 13 when I realized I didn’t quite fit in with these straight soldiers. Then when Charles Busch and all of us formed Theatre-in-Limbo in the ’80s and we became really popular with gay audiences, we all sort of accepted our roles—our mantles as gay icons. We were very privileged and honored by it, because, you know—dare we say it?—gay people are usually a little hipper and more on the edge of what’s going down culturally.

So would you attribute your gay-centric career to Charles Busch?
I would attribute my entire career to Charles! I mean, I’ve been able to forge a career on my own, but he was sort of the beacon light to show me the way. John Waters once said that he knew his career and his life were always going to be inextricably tied in with Divine’s, even after Divine died. When people think of John Waters they think of his movies but also of Divine, who’s very much a part of his body of work. He said he was thrilled and honored by that, and I feel the same way about Charles. There’s just no way you can get around talking about a career like mine without mention of Charles Busch, and that’s the way it should be. He really helped give me a voice. In fact, the gay community as a whole has helped give women like myself a voice.

What has Charles Busch taught you about being a woman?
He’s much more sympathetic a person than I. I’m very judgmental. And because he does see both male and female points of view, he’s much kinder a human being. Where he’ll say, “You know, men have very fragile egos,” I’ll just say, “They’re assholes!” But he’s more compassionate about the human situation because he’s a writer, and has taught me to perhaps be a little more discerning. On the other hand, being judgmental is very funny. So as a comedian, I have to pick and choose.

You’re also a writer, and have just written a new book, Monologues for Show-Offs.
Yes! Oh, it’s so exciting. My friend Donna Daley, a great writer, and I have all these actor friends who were coming to us for help with auditions and things. If they needed an original piece to present, we’d write them something, and they always loved what we did. So we were at her house over lunch one day and just decided to do this project. Literally, this was our writing process: We’d have coffee... we’d talk about the world... we’d talk about Page Six... we’d bitch about our husbands a bit... then we’d write a little... then it was lunchtime... then another coffee break... then we’d talk about Britney... and then we’d write some more. And we wound up publishing this book of monologues.

Why has the response to it been so positive?
Because the world is changing, and for a while actors were doing material that was wrong for them and becoming discouraged by it. We were hearing that casting directors and agents, particularly out in L.A., don’t necessarily want to see something from a play. They want to see personality; they want to see range; they want to see a connection. They don’t need to see Mary Tyrone from Long Day’s Journey, okay? They saw Vanessa Redgrave! I think as the industry becomes more and more reality based, these original monologues will have a real audience. Plus, actors want something fresh and fun to work with. We were also fortunate to have some major industry professionals—directors, agents, producers and actors—come through who offer their expertise throughout the book.

And what conclusions did you come to about Britney?
I really think she’s mentally ill—and I know many mentally ill people. My wish for her is very strong medication, a little therapy and, uh, close ya legs for a little while. I mean, when you’re a manic bipolar, as she seems to be, life can be very boring when you’re not in a manic mode. She needs to be bored out of her mind for a while. I hate to say it, but after spending quite a bit of time in Hollywood, so many people out there are such lovely, beautiful, talented human beings, but some of them are not very bright!

I hear you have a story about one of those lovely, beautiful people in particular who couldn’t quite grasp the grueling eight-show-a-week work schedule of the Broadway kids.
When I was out there doing The Class—and first of all, I was the oldest person on that Warner Bros. lot, minus a few camera men, and I was definitely the fattest at 125 pounds—one day this very pretty, young, stereotypical valley girl came to me and said, “Were you in Hairspraaay?” And I said, “Yes, I was in it for two years.” And she said, “So, wait a minute... It’s, like, the same show every night? Like, you do the same thing every night? I could never do that! But you know what? Good for you!” And I turned to Jesse Tyler Ferguson and said, “I think I’ve just been dissed by a Valley girl.” We just howled with laughter! That girl will probably be running the studio in about two years.

Let’s talk Bitsy a little bit. Is it true that Michael Patrick King wrote that character on Sex and the City specifically for you?
He did! And it all goes back to Charles Busch, darling! Michael Patrick King was a good friend of one of our original cast members. He just adored Theatre-in-Limbo and became a big fan of the entire company. We knew him as this adorable, Irish wit who also wrote plays and did stand-up on his own, and thought he was fabulous because he was so lovely and supportive and would come to everything. Then, of course, he went out to Hollywood and became Michael Patrick King. Years later—I guess I was doing The Women with Cynthia Nixon and Jennifer Coolidge—he came to me and said, “One of these days, Halston... I’m gonna come up with something for you.” And I said, “Yes, yes, whatever, darling. It’s O-kaaay. Let’s just go to Joe Allen’s and have a buuur-gah.” But then sure enough, one day I got a call, “They have these two great characters in mind and they want Nathan Lane and Julie Halston.” And so Bitsy Von Muffling was born. Thankfully people liked her, so they kept bringing me back.

What’s it like working on that set?
It’s so great. And there are always those rumors about how the ladies are constantly feuding, but I’ve certainly never seen it, and I’ve been around them a lot. I mean, if they were all a bunch of bitches everyone wouldn’t keep wanting to come back to do more. It’s really a trickle-down effect, which starts with the great MPK, who sets the tone; then, of course, you have Sarah Jessica Parker, who is just a real New York treasure. I think she’s one of those people who should have a key to the city or something—like, the Mayor... and Sarah Jessica. Such grace.

How’s it been working with Nathan Lane?
Oh, he’s one-of-a-kind. Such a generous friend and a generous artist. He embodies what it means to be a real star. I just adore him.

Do you have a personal stance on the relationship between Bitsy and Nathan’s obviously gay character, Bobby?
Well it certainly exists, you know. Years ago I might have said something like, “Oh it’s a sham! She can’t marry a gay man. Why would they do that?” As you get older, however, you realize that people make alliances. Life is a negotiation. I suspect there are many Bitsys and Bobbys out there, and I’m much less judgmental than I used to be.

You must have dated a few homos in your day. How many have you “turned”?
Oh yes. My first very serious boyfriend, in fact. He came out after we were together, and of course now we’re very close friends. I’ve always had many gay male friends, but he was actually the only one I ever dated.

Which reminds me: You did a pilot for CBS in ’93 with Harvey Fierstein called Those Two, which was sort of a precursor to Will & Grace. What was the deal with that?
It was terrible! That’s what it was. It just wasn’t really very funny, which is bizarre when you look at the cast. But we found out later that the writer was not well at the time, and it ultimately didn’t get the treatment and sharpening it needed. Also, CBS was going through a big management change, and our show sort of got lost in the shuffle. It was very difficult, and a very strange process. I was just grateful that it paid off my debts, paid for my wedding, and I got a car! And I became very close with Harvey Fierstein, who has remained a dear friend. So it was worth it.

Harvey and a car ain’t bad. You also played Electra in the 2003 Sam Mendes/Bernadette Peters revival of Gypsy, which these days seems almost a precursor to the show I refer to as PATTI LUPONE—Featuring the Score From Gypsy.
Well, right now New York is in the midst of Gypsy fever. And even though Ben Brantley called Bernadette’s performance “revelatory,” there’s a lot of badmouthing about our production. So I feel kind of badly about that, although I love Patti LuPone. But that experience was so great because Bernadette Peters, like Nathan Lane, showed what a great star is supposed to be onstage and off. She always had a genuine interest in her cast; we’d all get gifts from her on our birthdays... She’s a real class act. And it’s sad that the show got such bad press, but the experience of working with her and with Sam Mendes truly was tremendous—and Kate Winslet’s a doll, too. It was a real lovefest, and we’re all still friends. I still see Kate Buddeke and Heather Lee all the time—those two strippers. In fact, we’re getting together tomorrow night for drinks, darling!

Do you have a favorite gay nightspot in the city?
Charles Busch’s apartment. I can’t think of a better one. Now, when we were “young and gay,” as it were, we really lived at a place called McBell’s on Sixth Avenue. That was our hangout, and I miss it. Now we’re at Sosa Borella on Eighth a lot, which isn’t necessarily gay... but it’s gay. A lot of Broadway casts go there, and by 11:30… it’s gay.

Is there anyone in the business you’re dying to work with?
I would like to work with Jerry Zaks again; I loved working with Jimmy Burrows on The Class; I’d also love to do something with Robert Greenblatt, who produced Six Feet Under. I tend to be somewhat provincial and clannish in a way when it comes to all that. Maybe it comes from having a theatre company. I enjoy working with the same group of people. I’m also someone who, once she gets involved with a project—if it’s new and exciting, is pretty much up for anything. I just really never wanna cross paths with Naomi Campbell.

Monologues for Show-Offs (Heinemann) is out now.
Check out a shorter version of this interview in this week’s issue of HX Magazine.

An Affair to Forget

A CATERED AFFAIR, the new musical based on the 1956 Bette Davis/Debbie Reynolds film and the Paddy Chayefsky teleplay by which it was originally inspired, contains all the musical merriment, heart-wrenching drama, and thrilling plot twists of a brown paper bag.

Directed by Tony-winner John Doyle ("Sweeney Todd", "Company" Revivals), it tells the dismal tale of an impoverished 1953 Bronx couple (Faith Prince of "Guys and Dolls" and "Bells are Ringing" and Tom Wopat of "Annie Get Your Gun" and "42nd Street") torn between the decision to squander their savings on reviving the family business, or plan a fierce wedding for their only daughter (Leslie Kritzer of "Legally Blonde") and her hot fiancé (Matt Cavenaugh of "Grey Gardens" and many of my fantasies) who’d both rather elope. Dame Harvey Fierstein, who plays the strong-willed uncle (newly homo-fied for the stage) has also written the book, and Broadway newcomer John Bucchino the forgettable score, which for the most part resembles the unmelodic vocal ad-libbing one might unconsciously produce while tackling household chores. And it might have been equally compelling to watch this stellar cast do their laundry. Though the actors time-share an approximated six minutes of redeeming material among them, the show is much bleaker than the sum of its highly capable parts and ultimately falls flat. And with all that talk of matrimony, we never even see a fierce wedding!

From a more personal perspective, this 90-minute “quickie” has every component of a typical one-night-stand (including aforementioned marriageless finale); I thankfully didn’t have to pay for it, I counted the minutes until it ended, I regretted not having a fourth cocktail before it began, and when I woke the next morning, I’d completely forgotten it ever happened. (And, of course, it featured Harvey Fierstein...But that’s perhaps getting a little too personal.)

Who are you to JUDGE ME??!

You can find this review and other nasty rants by bitchy homosexuals in next week's issue of HX Magazine.

She's Even More Than Four-And-A-Haaaalf....SHE'S 66! (On April 24th.)

HAPPY BIRTHDAY BARBRA, DARLING!!!!
Babs turns 66 today, and she doesn't look a day over gorgeous. I hope I look half as good as she does when I'm Barbra Streisand. To celebrate, I should like to share a rare BBC-TV interview with barbra from 1966 that I enjoy very much.

Fun Fact: Barbra's beloved toy poodle Sadie, who was given to her as a gift by the Broadway cast of Funny Girl, and who's also featured in the video, would be roughly 45 years old today. Which in dog years would make her 315. Which in people years makes her dead.

Enjoy!
(PS - If you actually get the reference in the title of this blahg, please see me after class. I need to make out with you.)



Aw, hell...Why not?...



What's better than that?

Tale of the Allergist's Trophy Wife

As I stood waiting to buy a Metro card this morning, some tragic natural disaster in a pink moo moo - some tsunami with bangs - tried to swoop in and cut me off in line (as if I wouldn’t have noticed her dainty hurricane ass coming in from the south.) I impetuously squawked two octaves above my normal range, “O-ho no, Sweetie! I don’t think soooo!” I mean..??? When did I become that bitchy gay? Apparently today. It felt kind of liberating and kind of like I’d just puked in my mouth a little. She was certainly horrified, so that worked to my advantage. And to add fire to my flames, the other day – and I can’t believe I’m admitting this on national television – the other day I said “fierce"...and for the first time in my life really meant it. Now, to my credit I must say that I’ve gone nine years out of the closet and six years living in New York (a good chunk of which were spent working in Chelsea on a daily basis) without that ever happening. But I guess my time has come. I guess I’m finally becoming a typical Gay. Soon little kids will start calling me "ma’am". Then it’s all downhill.

Today must also be a high allergen day, because once on the platform I became privy to a rehearsal by the New York Phlegmharmonic Orchestra, featuring Sneezy Old Lady Leather Face on horns, Scary Unspecified-Ethnicity Sneezing Man on percussion, and Jappy Whiny Sneezy Nose-Blower Girl on my nerves. As if not obnoxious enough, this morning’s concert was conducted by the little Mexican woman (can I say “little Mexican”?) who made it her personal duty to follow each and every snotty eruption with a “God bless you”, racing to the aid of anyone who required one. She went on blessing people for about forty sneezes. “Go’blase joo!...Go’blase joo!...Go'blase joo!” I mean, who the hell are you, Lady? The Pope?? Let it be!

I don’t know why of all the laws of etiquette, this one seems universally the most crucial. Perhaps it's the religious aspect. People will spit in your food, kick you in the balls, and sleep with your husband without so much as a Please, Thank-You, or Excuse Me. But heaven forbid someone go unblessed after a sneeze and everybody freaks! And then there’s that awkward confusion when some spastic fires off like ten in a row and no one’s ever quite sure how to handle it. They feel schmucky doing so much blessing, but at the same time know that if they neglect to entirely, this person might very well be sent instantly to the fiery pits of Hell with a handful of Kleenex. (And who needs that on his conscience all day?) Please, Everyone - It is not required of you to reply to every single sneeze! It only adds to the embarrassment of the sneezee, and just further disrupts all surrounding parties. As a general rule: One “Go’blase joo” is sufficient; three is generous; anything above six is an exorcism.

In theatre news: Paul Rudnick's show, The New Century, recently opened at Lincoln Center. I saw it a few nights ago and really enjoyed. It's comprised fundamentally of three monologues (some of which have been staged before) which tell the stories of three different gay men and their female support systems. By the end, all the characters fatefully connect to form an unlikely support system for each other. It's quite hilarious and touching, though at times Rudnick tends to push the envelope just a liiiitle further than perhaps is necessary. (In fact, at times he FEDEXes the envelope cross-country, 2nd Day air.) Linda Lavin is a genius, and reason enough to catch this. Peter Bartlett and Jayne Houdyshell are also wonderful. Mike Doyle (Law & Order, Oz) is adorable - and more importantly, completely, full-frontally nude at the end of Act One. Go'blase joo.

And on the dating front, after being persuaded by a dear friend (and notorious bad influence), I have officially made an appointment for a consultation with the Gay Millionaires Club. Yes...Yes, that's right. If you couldn't guess, this is a matchmaking service for wealthy gays, and the [impoverished] young cuties who would like to date them. Luckily, it's absolutely free for the latter. So I figured, what's to lose but my dignity? (And that's been long gone since the 80's.) They've accepted my application and headshots, and I'm all set up. You see, there is a standard of living which I absolutely require, and which is not being met at this time. However, I am a woman of less-than-considerable means, and I'll be damned if I'm gonna work hard to achieve it myself! I'm no fool. So I've torn the drapes down off the windows, fashioned a cute new blouse and matching man-purse to wear to the GMC headquarters, and as God is my witness, by this time next week I am going to land myself a gen-u-ine gay millionaire! And by this time next week, I know one of you lucky gay millionaires out there is gonna land yourself a first-class financial burden! (If not, I should at least have a few good stories to tell...Maybe even a new mink.)

Now listen, I know all this might make me sound like some shallow, money-hungry, gold digging tramp who's less interested in finding a suitable mate than he is a handsome bank account to afford him an extravagant lifestyle and material things..............................................

Inside The Kvetcher's Studio

We begin today’s Blahg with the famous questionnaire developed by the great journalist and television host, that French asshole, Bernard Pivot...

Randy...What is your least favorite word?
Subway, damn you. Subway. (Train, not sandwich.)

What turns you off?
Mass transit and its hideous patrons with whom I am forced to coexist each day.

What sound or noise do you hate?
The sound of damn screaming children in the same subway car, and the idiotic rambling of the unfit mothers who refuse to hit them....

What profession other than yours would you like to attempt?
..Wait...and the sound of scary old Asian men yelling into their cell phones, and the head-splitting fusion of Celia Cruz’s Greatest Hits, Linkin Park, and NOW That’s What I Call The 80’s! blaring into my ears from surrounding iPods. And the smell...(can I do 'smell' too?)...the smell of curry, or garlic, or whatever-the-hell food corresponds with the ethnicity of the man or woman whose pit my face is buried in for the duration of my ride. (What is with that? Do I go around smelling like chopped liver and Manischewitz?? Bathe, for fuck's sake..)

What is your favorite curse word?
I don’t curse, next question..

If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?
Step in and stand clear of the closing doors. (And then a medley from Godspell.)

It concerns me that when the time comes and I’m sitting across from James Lipton on that stage at Pace University, a large portion of the interview will involve my time on the N Train, as that seems to be where I spend most of my career. I hope we at least get to talk about my hair a little.

But while we're on the subject, I would like to submit a request to those morning commuters whose daily routine includes reading the newspaper on the way to work: I appreciate you’re so 'au courant' and concerned with today's headlines. But all of you rummaging through your newspapers at once when we're crammed into quarters already too close for comfort is rather inconsiderate to fellow passengers like myself. I mean, there's hardly room in there for a rat to have an erection and you're all spread out with your papers like you're at the frigging breakfast table on Sunday morning. I inevitably wind up covered in black ink and paper cuts, with the Daily News up my ass and the New York Times in my mouth. (I’m getting the news from every angle, if you will, and frankly that’s just too much information before 9AM.) It's like trying to fold your laundry from inside a condom, and it's just silly. So I ask that you please postpone Reading Time until you’re in a more suitable location. Like the toilet. I’m certain your equally self-important coworkers will forgive your being a few minutes behind on current affairs. Love you, call me later.

In other news, my darling little stu-djo apartment is coming along gorgeously. This week I painted the little Bedroom/Living Room/Library/Indoor Garden/Fitness Center/Game Room/Guest Room/Family Room/Birthing Center/Celebrity Rehabilitation Center/Dressing Room area. (Not as big a job as it sounds - That area is only about 11X14.) Anyway, it's gorge; a lovely Baltic Gray, courtesy of Mr. Benjamin Moore.

I've also decided to majorly consolidate my belongings in an effort to save space. That had to begin with my extensive music collection, which comprises more than half of my personal estate. While organizing my Cd's, I discovered so many things that'd I'd forgotten about over the years, including one item of particular interest: The fact that I'm really, really gay...Like, super..I mean, I own at least 47 versions of the musical Chicago, 65 Liza Minnelli concerts, 19 recordings of Gypsy...Let's not even get started with Babs, Judy, Bernadette and Linda. Every time Betty Buckley has ever passed gas, I have the album. And my collection of Jekyll and Hyde recordings alone takes up an entire closet (which, in my defense, I blame entirely on Frank Wildhorn.) There's The 1990 Concept Highlights Recording, The 1994 Original Concept Studio Recording, The 1997 Original Broadway Cast Recording, The January of '07 Unoriginal Non-Broadway Cast Recording, The March of '07 Unoriginal Non-Broadway Cast Reunion Recording, The German Cast Recording, The PS 184 in Brooklyn Cast Recording...What the hell, Frank?? Were you cashing in on some half-off coupons at the recording studio? Or are you just trying to get your own floor at Virgin Records? Anyway, with all this superfluous nonsense I realized that the time had come to trim the fat and lighten my load once and for all. So I bit the bullet and got rid of my Backstreet Boys "Quit Playin' Games With My Heart" single. I feel much better.

In other news: Last week was my interview with Broadway’s Julie Halston. We met at the intimate Coffee Pot in Hell's Kitchen for a lovely chat. Julie will soon be seen reprising her role as Bitsy Von Muffling in the Sex and the City movie. We talked about that, as well as her longtime friend and co-star, Charles Busch, her brand new book, working with Nathan Lane and the SATC girls...We even dished on Britney a bit. The interview will probably be out some time the end of this month. I will keep you posted, and will of course blahg it when the time comes.

Finally, this week was Diva Tituss Burgess's glorious concert debut at the Metropolitan Room. Now, not just because he is my heart, but this man is truly phenomenal. Anyone who was in attendance can vouch for that. It was really a great show and a great night and I can't wait for his upcoming Birdland concert! You can see pictures from the Metropolitan show by CLICKING HERE. And if you’re looking for my photo, you’ll find me right on top of Norm Lewis. (I requested that, special.)

Bed, Bath, and Bitsy

It is an absolutely gorgeous, stunning, perfect day here in New York. It is a day of growth and new beginnings; of serenity and prosperity. Nothing – I repeat: nothing – is going to get me down on this glorious, glorious day. So fuck off.

I spent the last few days on the island of Exhaustion, just off the coast of Nervous Breakdown. (It looked cuter in the brochure.) This past weekend was my big move, and after an arduous few days of packing and throwing and schlepping and crying (and turning and reaching and waking and dying)...I am finally in the new place! Thank you all for your support, and in advance for the congratulatory bottles of wine and checks made out to Cash. I look forward to receiving them. I snapped a few press shots on my cell phone that I should like to share with you now. Won’t you join me on this brief guided tour presented by AT&T?...

If you’ll look straight ahead you will see the front door and generous foyer, stretching an estimated six-and-a-half miles, and expanding into the adorable little kitchen area (not photographed for contractual reasons) complete with Frigidaire, stylish new cabinetry, and state-of-the-art stove; perfect for collecting dust and storing piles of take-out menus. (Mummy don’t cook.) The brown speck you might notice to the right of that second window is some schmutz on my phone, and is not actually featured in the apartment.


Just through this archway you’ll find the darling little living room area, and one of many windows which floods the place with sunlight on those three or four days a year when we get some. Beyond that, you’ll notice my gracious fire escape; perfect for housing a few lovely potted Hydrangeas this spring, enjoying a cool cocktail on those hot summer nights, or escaping the noxious fumes of a deadly fire.


If you’ll now turn slightly to your right, you’ll see my charming bedroom area and – look at that – it’s my brand new bed, Ladies and Gentlemen! (There’s usually MUCH more action going on in this part of the house. Honest.) Moving on...


Now, one more right turn and you’ll see my little closet (right) and the door to my absolutely stunning, pristine bathroom (left), conveniently located within walking distance from the bedroom area, for those cold lonely nights when I wake up after having a few too many and don’t feel like going on myself. I mean, who designed this place?? Sheer genius.


This concludes the guided tour. Please gather all personal belongings, take small children by the hand and enjoy the rest of your day. Gracias por llegada. Ahora por favor salga.....A-T-ahn'-T

I’ve been so excited to begin decorating, as I feel this is the perfect little fixer-upper and has the potential to be as gorgeous as he who inhabits it. I have a very specific idea in my head of what I want it to look like. I see calm, soothing, earthy tones; utter tranquility but with a kick. Very Manhattan-contempo; very sophisticate-homo; very William Sano’mo. Ya know? Very "Carrie Bradshaw with bawllz". I’ve been shopping around online for the perfect duvet and pillows for the bed, but have always been reluctant to actually purchase anything online without first being able to see it in person, touch it, smell it, taste it, and try it on with both daytime and evening hair/makeup. (Especially bedding.) In my experience, nothing you find on the web EVER arrives at your door looking as gorgeous as it did online. (Boys and bed linens included. And frankly, I’d sooner forgive the boys. They’re usually only on your bed for a few hours. Expensive sheets could be there for years, no?)

My suspicions proved well-founded recently when I selected what I thought was the perfect bed ensamb from the website of CB2 (Crate and Barrel’s younger, sluttier sister). It looked something like this...


I enjoyed this. While it's colorful, it seemed to at the same time be sort of earthy and adult and somewhat muted. I was further convinced by the description given by CB2, which used words like “moss” and “storm grey” and “dirt”, or whatever the hell they said. It sounded earthy to me. I came inches from trying my luck and making the online purchase, but decided instead to take myself down to SoHo and check it first. And it’s a damn good thing I did. In person, it looked like this...


Just not at all what I hoped to find. (To be fair, the above may be a slight exaggeration, but VERY slight.) Aside from being much brighter than it appeared in the photo, it was displayed as though it had be made with rebellious, methamphetamine-addicted teenagers in mind; Fake graffiti spray-painted on the cardboard wall behind it, neon-orange furniture surrounding it, flashing red lights to enhance its gaudiness, and a hooker doing blow off the headboard. It was simply not the elegance and refinement my sophisticated ass is trying to convey. So back to the drawing board I go. If anyone has any bright ideas (not too bright!) or works for Oprah’s design team, or is Oprah, please reach out and touch me nice.

In other news: I will have the great honor of interviewing the fabulous Julie Halston this weekend for HX Magazine. For those unfamiliar with the greatness, Julie has been seen on Broadway in Hairspray, Gypsy (with Bernadette Peters), The Women, and Charles Busch & Julie Halston Together on Broadway, to name but a few. She also starred as Tina Carmello on CBS’s The Class, and most of you will probably remember her as Bitsy Von Muffling, New York socialite and Nathan Lane’s beard, on Sex and the City (a role she’ll be reprising in the movie this May.) We’ll be chatting about such fun things as well as her new book, Monologues For Show-Offs. In the midst of setting up this interview last week, Julie left me just about THEE funniest voicemail, entirely as Little Edie Beale. It is saved forever, and if I can get her to sign the release this weekend I will be burning it to disc and selling it as a single. She’s so funny I could vomit. Stay tuned for the interview!