Sunday, June 15, 2008

Reflections on the Tonys

"There's a little bit of Broadway in everyone." Some people simply need to be shown where it is.

This Tony weekend, I find myself relaxing at the Garrigan Compound with the entire family for Father's Day. After treating Dad to a round of put-put golf in one of New England's most exquisite courses, we returned home to relax and enjoy some burgers.

While this was a great way to relax, I am a-twitter. The Tony's are only hours away, and I'm punch-a-hooker-in-the-face pumped. Unfortunately, my family does not share this same sense of anticipation.

As a result, I sit in one of the rooms of the colonial compound, watching Sarah Brightman on PBS (who I'm strangely aroused by), while the pronunciation, "watching Sarah Brightman is reason 782 why you are gay," is proudly declared by my sister, Lise. You see, evidently the Boston Celtics are also up for some award tonight that is equally important or something. Don't they realize, tonight is Tony night? I believe they do, but it seems... they just don't care.

My love of the Tony Awards is longstanding. Growing up in the cultural wasteland that is Ohio, the Tony Awards were the one time of year where social retards like myself could gather around the television set and marvel at sequined costumes, polished dance routines and poorly executed award show banter. Ah yes, how my posse (pictured) and I relished these times. The posse just loved dressing up in period costuming and acting out scenes from Oklahoma, La Cage Aux Folles, and Oh! Calcutta. Yes, those were good times, and Cliff (pictured far right) may not look it but oh, his high notes are just majesty.

This year, after ruining every other awards show, Whoopi Goldberg makes the natural progression to cover the Tony's. Why is she hosting the Tony's? I do not know.

I have a few hypothesis: 1.) She is angling to be the next Elle in Legally Blonde. 2.) Laying the ground work for Theodore Rex: Das Musicale 3.) The only entertainment people who will have her are the star-fuckers over there at the American Theatre Wing. Regardless of the reason, she's who we got. So instead I will repeat everything she says with an Australian accent and pretend it is Hugh Jackman. For this is how I will cope.

Much like any actor, I will also use this time to reflect on how I would accept the esteemed honor when I win for Leading Left-Handed, Irish Egotist Actor in a Musical About the Life of Hillel the Elder, Inventor of the Sandwich (category yet to be created). Yes, this will be a watershed moment for the theatre community and I will accept thusly:

"Dearly beloved, we gather here to say our goodbyes to theatre as we once knew it. When I read the script for this play, I knew the life of Hillel the Elder was one that needed to be told. Using myself as a vessel, I got to the heart of what sandwiches mean to us -not just as Americans- but as humans, and the universality of this tale makes me hungry for a BLT. In closing, let me say think what your life would be like without a pastrami on rye or a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Yes, you could go on, but why bother? I RULE!"

Well friends, the red carpet coverage is about to begin, so I need to remove my feet from the epsom soak, put on my velvet robe and cuddle up with a nice glass of Chianti to enjoy the magic.

Did your Friday feel like it was missing some Greatness? Chances are it was because of the passing of Tim Russert. Meet the Press has long been my favorite show, because of this dynamic fella. The loss of him makes the world a little dumber. Now I have no reason to get out of bed on Sundays....

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