Still basking in the afterglow of the perfection that is Idina Menzel as Beth. She is the consummate Broadway leading lady, with serious acting chops rivaled only by her almost unfathomable vocal ability.
I laughed, I cried, and I thanked god once again for the wonder that is musical theatre in NYC.
Idina Menzel is everything.
I want you to call
whomever you’re sleeping with
by my name…just once.
"He’s a keeper."
This is the kind of thing people tell me about you. As if you could be kept. As if I could actually count you among my things. As if you were a handful of sea glass, or a rose pressed into a book, or my grandmother’s lace handkerchief.
And though you may be more precious than any of those things, you are not mine to keep. But if you stay…if you stay I promise you, I will cherish you just the same.
Trying to forget you
is like burying
the casket without
the body inside.
It never gets old.
You would think after having dated a stage actor for nearly a year, hence, spending time around the industry and in the company of industry types on dozens of occasions, I would have become jaded by now, but not even close.
I will be seeing my thirty sixth Broadway show this weekend (I know the number because I keep all my Playbills) and as per usual, I am giddy with anticipation all these days before.
Lying here in bed this morning, I can easily call up the faintly musty smell, feel the well worn velvet seats under my thighs, envision the thick drape and gilded ceiling, hear the orchestra tuning up in the pit and the chatter of families and couples out for a special occasion or no occasion at all, because in fact, they know as I do, that theatre is an occasion in itself.
I have never seen a show during which I didn’t flat out sob, or at the very least well up. Sometimes because the plot line makes it inevitable, sometimes because of the level of sheer talent of the performers on stage, but more often because I am utterly awestruck by the dedication of the actor to his craft, and overwhelmingly honored to be able to be there to experience it.
See you soon, Broadway, my old friend. I can hardly wait.
"An intelligent, beautiful woman with a dirty mind that makes you laugh non-stop should be treasured."
"Headphones on. World off."
How to be unforgettable: A gentleman’s guide.
Care about everything, especially things like animal cruelty and environmental sustainability. Prove it. Grow your hair long enough to run your fingers through, and then do it at every opportunity. Complete the New York Times crossword puzzle in one sitting. In pen. Every day. Know your way around a wine list. DVR old movies and AC360. Read the classics. Don’t take yourself seriously. Take your woman seriously. Understand the importance of thread count. Call your mother. Smell good, even when you sweat. Wear chucks. Have biceps. Own vinyl. Remember small things. Be the little spoon. Brush her hair. Don’t smoke, but if you do, look hot as fuck doing it. Tell her you love her and laugh when she says thank you. Wait until she loves you back, because there’s a good chance that she will.
She was less interested in the things he wrote than that he wrote them at all, huddled over his laptop and reeking of cigarettes. She wondered if he sat down at his little desk the way one would go to his job each morning, freshly showered with coffee in hand, or if he wrote by lamplight in the dead of night, sipping bourbon, pacing the floors and mumbling profanities under his breath when things just wouldn’t come together.
She was less interested in his passion than that he was passionate at all, intrigued by the concept that one could be so completely dedicated to and utterly consumed by anything other than another human being, which is the only kind of passion she’d ever known.
She wished that she could want something that much. She wondered if she ever would.
Notes from the Vineyard II.
You are awakened by the smell of bread and bacon and the ruckus of wind chimes caught in an stiff ocean breeze. You have nowhere to be but to be, a leisurely journey traveled sans luggage and at a snail’s pace, with which, immersed in feathers and goose down, you’ve managed to sync your own quite successfully.
Notes from the Vineyard.
Here, the sea and the shore engage in a perpetual series of good natured battles, as frigid surf taunts craggy rock for supremacy. And as nature would have it, each battle will invariably end in a draw, with a foamy kiss imparted from sea to stone.
Imagine all the people living life in peace.