[From this day until Saturday the 10th all is written in back-up. I have been too ill to write and I know my readership - which I have honored by naming each one of you on my fingers, needs to know what is up in glam Manhattan and my glamourous life here. Well...]
Even though I waited 3 hours in that torturous stomach-lining colored waiting room yesterday for antibiotics and a sinus infection diagnosis, I decided I had people depending on me and I just depended on the pills. Translation: like a dumbass I went out when I so should have been in shutdown.
I had a meeting I hosted in the day across town and I wrapped warmly for it in these freezing temps and took the bus. I did a Fosse "Show Time Folks" before entering and pulled it off with aplomb and bon mots. Then home to collapse. Sort of a health version of taking a bow and racing back stage to take off your false eyelashes, wig and base makeup only to heave into a garbage can.
I had 3 hours of sleep and then Ron and I went to see "Pal Joey" at Studio 54. For you viewers at home this was a total dumbass move where you lose faith in your protagonist. WHY did you not excuse yourself and stay in, you ask? I didn't see that at the time just like a dumbass protagonist wouldn't.
I was wobbly and running into walls. The show was bad. Martha Plimpton knocked it out of the park in the Elaine Stritch role, but the lead - who if he was brilliant - would have an amazing story to tell as he was pulled up from Understudy to Lead when the Frankie Vallee dude from "Jersey Boys" broke a leg. Or had mercury poisoning. This guy could sing, dance, act, but he didn't have that THING. And I saw how important THAT THING is on stage. He made the production leaden, poor thing. I would beam if he were my son, but he isn't and it made for a "when will this thing end?" moment in the second act. Sorry, he was no Gene Kelly, the original.
Perhaps I am taking my dumbass illness out on this bloke? But not much.
Stockard Channing was good as always, but if you don't buy that she and the young woman are totally sucked in by his charm, you are left "Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered"
I have to say I was mostly bothered.
Where was I in this scintillating tale of infectious diseases and self-pity?
Right. I got home and had a massive headache from being so plugged and began my first night of many up and down moments and grabbing my head in a "Stella" routine, my own dinner theatre version of Marlon Brando.