my review.

i just got back from doing something hysterical: vacuuming (i know that's spelled wrong but i'm too lazy to look it up) dust samples in my coworker's apartment in columbus circle. it's part of work certification, but still. there were pictures taken of me wearing latex gloves, intently vacuuming a lounge chair. and, of course, since we were in columbus circle anyway, we had a ridiculous lunch at this third-floor cafe in the time warner center that overlooked the circle. and coffee and dessert. basically a two-hour wonderful lunch break. and my coworker insisted on picking up the tab. someday maybe i can pay back peoples' generosity. let's hope.

for the last two days i've been having these very "i'm in new york now" moments. today's lunch, for instance. we took a cab from work to my coworker's house--something i never do, because cabs are more expensive than, you know, waiting 45 minutes for a train--which already felt luxurious. but then to be in the time warner center, having lunch at this fancy cafe, followed by another cab ride through central park, was nearly too much. too unbelievable, sometimes, that i'm from ponca city, where, as natalie maines says, my friends from high school married their high school boyfriends and moved into houses in the same zip codes where their parents lived.

well, my friends didn't do that. my friends all got the fuck out, too. the people who stuck around were acquaintances.

i went to see threepenny opera last night, so let me write a short review (dear new york times: please feel free to use this in sunday's paper. just pay me if you do.)

ahem.

'the roundabout theater company produced a spotty rendition of threepenny opera last night at studio 54, a venue that's seen more fags and blow than david gest's living room. alan cumming did a wonderful job of being alan cumming pretending to be evil, playing a cross between cabaret's emcee and sleeping beauty's mellificent. "i can't believe how awful nellie mckay is!" exclaimed one robust, hairy jewish audience member seated next to me. "doesn't she make her living singing??" "yes, she does," i happily replied. "but i really like her performance because it's proven to me exactly how batshitcrazy she really is!" the real shining star of the evening's performance, besides cyndi lauper's rapidly-shredding vocal cords, was isaac mizrahi's costuming, which could best be described as "1984 suburban punk." not content to let us figure out that every fucking person in the show was decidedly ambisexual by virtue of them all making out with each other all the time, isaac decided to put all the men in platform heels while he put all the ladies in shiny doc martens. god forbid alan cumming play a character that won't fuck anything that moves. we get it, alan. you're a sexual person. you love the mens, you love the vag. now try playing a character.'

by robert m.