A week in the forties – eeeeewwwwwweeeeee!Starting on International Women’s Day, my
blood could more easily flow to my fingertips again.
The night before, I had performed stand-up in the Unboxed Voices Variety Show at the
Parkside Lounge, East Houston Street, NYC.I had a lot of fun both as audience and as a performer in the show.There were rappers, singer/musicians, poets,
burlesque, and me doing comedy.I am
familiar with a number of people involved with Unboxed Voices, so it was so warm and friendly.I felt liked before I began, and that helps
me so much.Life can’t always be like
that, but I relish it when it is.
March 7, 2015 at the Parkside Lounge
Afterwards, Robert Milnes (a talented musician/songwriter/singer,
also known as Braxton Hicks, who once was my co-actor in an Unboxed
Voices short play) and I each had a delicious hot dog at Katz’s before
heading off in opposite directions on the F train.This had topped a day of waiting for six
stressful hours at the vet.The day at
the vet concluded as I had hoped, so though it contributed to my being behind
schedule, by Saturday night, I came home to my non-traumatized dog, who was happily ready to eat
and go for a productive walk.
Now, who wants to win a pair of tickets to see "Clinton -- the Musical"?? Just let me know, and, again, I will pick names from a bowl with my eyes closed.
Clinton The Musical New World Stages / Stage 4 340 West 50th Street Performances begin March 25thclintonthemusical.com
“Ribald and entertaining! Clinton The Musical is every bit as outrageous as you might think. A fun, rude, roller-coaster reminder that American politics is often a circus—and sometimes we ought to pause to enjoy the show.” - The National Review. If President William Jefferson Clinton behaved like two different people—one moment noble, the next naughty—that’s because he was! Clinton The Musical explores the two very different sides of the 42nd President of the United States: “WJ,” the wholesome, intelligent one, and “Billy,” the randy, shameless one. With Hilary (Rodham) Clinton at their side, the two will handle issues from The White House to Whitewater, the sax and the sex, elections and erections, and in the process make history. Maybe. You cannot miss this hillary-ous new musical and outrageous double bill!
I certainly
know how to ruin a perfectly good sunny, summer day. It was a not hot or humid Sunday copping a coy, “I’m just waiting
for September”, late August attitude.
Brunch was a quintessential New Yawk Lower East Side experience. As I entered Katz’s restaurant, a burly
security guard warned of the $50.00 penalty for losing a ticket, yes a
restaurant with tickets!
I passed
through the turnstile. Yes this restaurant with tickets had a turnstile! I joined the teeming swarm forming the
surreal New York facsimile of a line, in front of a block long counter. Behind the counter a muster of sandwich
soldiers, “cutters”, worked ceaselessly to satisfy the demands of the hungry
hoard shouting orders for corned beef, brisket, and roast beef sandwiches.
The
expansive L shape room was abuzz with tourists and natives, giddy from the
delicatessen aromas of sauerkraut, pickles and franks on the grill intoxicating
the afternoon air. I swooned with
anticipation as I slid into a chair under the Where Harry Met Sally sign.
I surrendered
to the orgy of pastrami mocking the rye bread’s feeble attempt to contain it. Then in a most fastidious and lady like
manner, I licked my fingers and slurped the last of the root beer before me.
In a pastrami
induced stupor I exited, into the glinting sun of East Houston St., making my
way westward. The peculiarly named Rockwood Music Hall is a postage stamp size bar
with a stage slightly bigger than a maxi-pad. The 3:00 PM show was my
multi-talented girlfriend Rashmi. This actress, (whom I directed in an AUDELCO
Award nominated role) screenwriter, (whose Urban Film Festival Finalist screenplay
I directed in a reading) dancer, would today play guitar and sing her original
songs. At the bar I ordered a hot
tea, in an attempt to coax my pastrami on its merry way. Sipping my tea, I
enjoyed the light playing off the pane glass view of double decker tour buses
and the offbeat fashion spectacle moseying along Allen St. until Rashmi, her
guitarist and drummer began the show.
Rashmi’s set
was delightful and thoroughly appreciated by the (apparently central casting)
ethnically diverse audience filling the space. Hugs, kisses and praises were offered until we had to make
way for the 4:00 PM performer.
With the sun
valiantly clinging to the sky I accepted an offer to watch the IFC 1953 comedy
classic Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.
Since I’d recently seen the Encore! City Center concert presentation of the
Anita Loos, Joseph Fields script, (starring Megan Hilty from Smash) this would
be a great opportunity to compare and contrast. And this is how I ruined a perfectly good sunny, summer day.
Marilyn’s
often imitated Diamonds Are A Girl’s Best Friend is an ostentatious number,
brimming with chorus boys and forty carat rhinestones. This iconic collective
memory is so expertly choreographed by Jack Cole I almost missed the fact that
Marilyn didn’t dance a lick.
Marilyn didn’t dance!!! She
is manipulated and carried about the sound stage by her adoring gaggle of tuxedoed
suitors waving their “diamond” bracelet offerings to their golden object of
affection.
So what
ruined my day you ask, oh reader of mine? Ok, here’s the kicker, so to
speak. Later on in the film a
bewigged Jane Russell disrobes, sings and DANCES, nearly nude, in an attempt to
convince a court room she is Lorelei.
Jane flings off a fur coat and shakes her money maker like her life
depends on it! Her famously Howard
Hughes supported breasts shake, her shapely hips shimmy and her fabulous leaps,
lunges and jumps leave the court in chaos, as she’s hauled off by a bevy of
bailiffs!
Now I love
Marilyn Monroe as much as the next man. She is an undisputed truly luminous
screen-goddess worthy of her stature in the pantheon of all-time film stars.
But how the hell did Jane’s gyrations get left in the dust? I can’t explain why
I felt a personal affront and sat shaking my head in disbelief. How was I ignorant of Jane’s, “show me
what you working with” eleven o’clock number? I was suddenly dispirited with the realization that Marilyn’s
breathy posing version of Diamonds Are A Girl’s Best Friend trumped Jane’s
exuberant – Josephine Bakeresque – blatantly sexual, full bodied anthem. I
still haven’t gotten over it. A
perfectly good sunny, summer day ruined because everybody, not just gentlemen may
prefer blondes.
