In a New York Day

I boarded the BoltBus Friday morning in DC, equipped with the recently unleashed 2nd album from Glee. What better way to approach the Big Apple than with the auto-tuned show-stopping numbers that practically stupefy gay boys into taser-like submission. So I sat, cradled in Rachel's voice and heated by Puck's face as the crazed Bolt driver yelled her "fuck you's!" and "this bus waits for no one!" to the terrified peons of the roadway.

There are lots of ways to describe New York City. There's the 'energy', the 'buzz', the 'sights and smells'. Within 5 minutes I had observed: a man puking gratuitously into a street receptacle, a number of rats scattered across the rails of the subway, and a public service announcement over the loudspeaker, "A crowded subway is no excuse for sexual misconduct." Ahh ... the city !!!

Well ... vomit, vermin, and perverts aside, there is still plenty enough in NYC left to keep this gay happy like a kid in Candyland. Namely food, alcohol, and musical theater.

Rice to Riches is my go-to pit stop for dessert and amusement- dozens of cleverly named rice pudding flavors and quirky/bitchy signs that encourage gluttonous behavior without regard to calories or common decency (there's even a sign that says "no skinny bitches"). Though tempted by the "Sumo" size, my thighs and humility drove me to share the medium size with a friend- pumpkin and pecan pie, scraping of the bowl required.

Alcohol-- like any tempting vice, it's never in short supply. Half a carafe of vino rosso in Little Italy had me singing show tunes, photographing anything that moved, and lamenting failed romances with a mutually buzzed friend.

Cut to Act II at the Duplex for Mostly Sondheim, where several rounds of vodka and diet (a drink named, oddly enough, the "skinny bitch") helped amplify the never-auto-tuned voices of professionals and amateurs alike. They took to the open-mic with live accompaniment and let wail a surge of belted Broadway that covered every inch of a room in perfect bliss.

It was special. It felt like what any Broadway show should feel like- it is only performed once, for your audience. Everything is fresh, everything is new, and you were just damn lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time.

The encore to an already fabulous weekend was Next to Normal, a modern musical highlighting the triumphs and failures of psychopharmocology, and the multiple routes toward stable mental health. What's more (and deliciously ironic), I saw Dr. Ruth at the Will-Call window after the matinee-- yeah, she really is that short! No wonder she knows so much about genitalia, they're at her eye-level 24-7 !!!

Hurtling back to DC on the Bolt, I chuckle at how 24 hours can be so short but end up so great. Armed with the Next to Normal soundtrack being downloaded while I'm typing, the show's moral ammunition is tucked safely into its holster-- "happiness" and "normal" are about to be redefined...

And I'm the one writing the dictionary. Thank you NYC :-)