To be married to me is to endure a lengthy, lengthy discussion about the Tony Awards.
Mid-meeting, my spouse receives seven text messages from me. "Snubbed: Gyllenhaal, Sutton Foster." "'Gypsy' gets nods for all of its three stars." "No nom for the Outlaw coroner." "Denzel overlooked." "No Michael McKean." "No Culkin." "No Idina."
There is domestic tension here, because my husband has thrown his weight behind Nicole Scherzinger, while I'm rooting for Jennifer Simard.
In this difficult time, it's useful to dwell on frivolous questions. My daughter and I watch a Patti LuPone interview, where she (Patti) makes insightful comments: "Many productions are bad, but a good production has a star who lets you know she is in control. A good production is a celebration of talent. It lifts you up out of your seat; it rearranges your atoms." She goes on to say, "The newest Sweeney wasn't good. The director thought the material was a comedy, but really it's Hamlet."
As we gear up for June, I (at least) am excited for the PBS lineup. Next to Normal and Yellow Face and Kiss Me Kate--in our immediate future. I don't care about the Bob Dylan musical, but otherwise, I'm in.
It's the most wonderful (in some ways) time of the year.
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