The Producers

I saw “The Producers” tonight, and it was an elixir. It’s been a while since I’ve had a smile on my face constantly for two and a half hours.

Nathan Lane’s replacement, Brad Oscar, was terrific. Unlike Nathan Lane, he’s balding, but when he was wearing a hat, he bore a striking resemblance to the guy. And his voice and mannerisms were so similar to his as well. It was as if he were portraying Nathan Lane portraying Max Bialystock. It was as if he were channeling Nathan Lane despite the latter’s absence. It was nice.

Anyway, although Nathan Lane is a major part of the musical, he’s not the sole reason for its success. It’s a wonderful show without him — there’s Matthew Broderick, and Cady Huffman, and a screamingly funny gay couple, and nonstop gags, and shameless humor, and terrific dance and musical numbers choreographed by Susan Stroman.

On an interesting side note, when I left my parents’ house this afternoon, I took the train back to the city area instead of taking the bus. While getting on the train I ran into this friend of my parents. He and his wife were at my aunt’s house for lunch on the first day of Rosh Hashannah, and my parents and my aunt have known them forever. They have two grown daughters and a dog. The guy is a huge theater nut — he sees two or three shows every weekend, and sometimes more.

He also majorly sets off my gaydar.

Anyway, when I saw him at the train station, he was with a male friend of his, and they were on their way into Manhattan together to see “Dance of Death,” a Broadway show starring Helen Mirren and Ian McKellen. The friend set off my gaydar even more. He was kinda cute, too.

Interesting, interesting, interesting.

So, let’s see. I’m not really looking forward to starting my new job on Monday. And I’ll be out of town Saturday and Sunday, so I may need to use tomorrow (Friday) to do laundry and get a messenger bag repaired and whatnot.

As for now, I’m tired, and this is probably the least interesting entry I’ve written in two weeks, but, hey: I’ve written intensely about Current Events for nine days straight with no letup, and I needed to write about something different. I admit I felt nervous getting on the subway at Penn Station tonight and riding to Times Square. But it’s starting to dawn on me again that I actually have a life to live.

And it’s a life that doesn’t feel very fulfilling right now.

Choire writes, “most of my discussions are with people now realizing there are things they won’t put up with in their life anymore.” Amen to that. I’m realizing once again that I’m not particularly fond of my apartment or of my neighborhood. And I haven’t started my new job yet, but we’ll see what that’s like. You know, given the current state of things, part of me just wants to move to New Zealand and become a sheep farmer.

Where was I? I don’t mean now, but where was I a couple of weeks ago? Oh yeah. I was reading the Great Books. I was trying to decide what to do about Wes. I’d taken an all-night walk up Park Avenue and had been cruised on the street at 6:30 in the morning. When was that? A century ago? But Wes has come back from his vacation, and Herodotus’s “Histories” is on my nightstand (which I no longer really feel like reading), and I start my new job on Monday. Some semblance of routine will return. Life’s obligations will close in on me again.

Everything seems pathetically less important than it did two weeks ago. And yet, we have to focus on such things. Our lives don’t run themselves. Also, those little things help restore some sanity and regularity to our lives. In fact, they help remind us that we’re alive.