Limp as a Puppet and Simply Fantastic

I feel twitchy and bitchy and manic ... but alive / I feel wicked and wacky and mello ... / Partly Jane Fonda and partly Jane Austen, but alive! That's the thing! Alive!

First off, name that musical and who sang the song originally.

Secondly, it is so refreshing and freeing to not even think about this blog or dream about it or worry about it or whatever. I feel free (oh, what a word, oh, what a word!) and alive! So, let me fill you in on my week.

I saw an ambulance trying to get down the avenue, and wowza! what a terrible time it had. You'd think people would be empathetic enough to get out of the way of an ambulance. But no. Instead, watch them cut and dart in front of it, take long turns in its path, and otherwise try to block it just so said car can make the light or get to the liquor store before it closes. Come on! Get out of the way of your friendly, caring neighborhood emergency vehicles.

The New York lottery is over 275 million dollars this week. Two friends and I purchased tickets and agreed to give each other $500,000 each if any of us win. That's kind. What I couldn't do with $500k. Jeepers.

I saw the final dress rehearsal of Terrence McNally's SOME MEN last night off-Broadway. Despite the nudity, I enjoyed the production immensely. I think McNally brought up an array of valid arguments and points, and presented them to us without shoving them down our throat like another playwright may have. I recommend it.

My roommate has hooked me on LOST. Now, I realize a lot of people are hooked, and have been for three seasons now... as long as I've been wowing about GREY'S. But, for whatever reason, I never got involved until now. Let me say, all of you who were blinded as I was and haven't yet joined the ranks of those who adore this show, go to your nearest neighborhood video store and purchase seasons one and two on digital-video-disc and watch them all as fast as you can. Of course, I'm only halfway through season one, but it is just DYNAMITE. I'm loving it and actually think about it while I'm away all day... can't wait to get home and pop in another DVD.

Lastly, there was a brilliant ad in this week's Village Voice for a bar offering BORAT giveaways. Made me laugh. Check it out, it's in the bottom right hand corner of the right page... don't know the page number though.

Have a lovely weekend. I'll check in soon.

She was wearing a cute blue hat.

It's amazing how, in a city of 8.1 million (or 18.7 if you include the surrounding areas), it's still easy to see someone you know or recognize almost daily. Today, after quite a bout with the drink last night and having succumbed to its day-after queasiness, I made my way in to rehearsal on the Q train. Why the Q? Because this weekend begins a lot of crazy maintenance work on the tracks, and the Q was going in and out of Queens all weekend.

Anyway, at 5th Avenue, Michele Ragusa quickly stepped on, and made her way to the very front of the car. Now, this woman, you will remember, is the one I raved about in last season's Philly production of ADRIFT IN MACAO. She spent a couple months in the Queen City last season doing BAD DATES and now is in the big city to do the off-Broadway mouting of MACAO. And not a soul on the train clammored after her for a photo or autograph.

Now here is a woman who is making a very decent living as an actress, and yet, is still anonymous enough to be able to ride the train and not be worried about anything. Of course, maybe that has to do with New Yorkers not caring about anyone or anything. Or, the fact that no one on the train goes to theatre. Or, maybe they just thought she was terrible and didn't want to say anything. But most likely, it's just that they didn't know she was anyone special, and let her be.

That's what's nice. I like that feeling where a person can be onstage and so special under the lights and in front of the applause, and then walk out the stage door, scurry into the front car of the Q train and blend into the city and no one is the wiser.

Also, if anyone can find me the photo of Ms Ragusa from the Feb 12 issue of THE NEW YORKER (p6), I'd be grateful. I can't seem to find it online.