I'm psychedy-psyched because I'm going to see my good pal Michael on Saturday in the new Broadway production of Sweeney Todd. I've known Michael for aaaages and ages; we met through our mutual friend Ken, and I've seen him perform with his various bands a jillion times. I was so proud of him when Diddy handed him his Tony for "Assasins," and I'm so very excited to see him rock it as Sweeney. Especially because the NYT totally tripped out over the production.
Back in the day, when I was working for a major theatrical production company that shall not be named, I remember bitching to my friend Kenan about how ALL I WANTED IN THE WHOLE WORLD was to go to an opening night performance, and then be at the opening night party when someone would rush in with a newspaper hot off the presses and read the review out loud to everyone in attendance. This doesn't happen anymore, which makes me sad. But the reviews are good! I guess reading them online is still exciting, but it really doesn't compare to the scene that happens in my mind with the producers running out to the newsies on the corner and buying the whole stack of papers. Dang.