Imagine someone handed you his diary. Not just a standard, stale journal: a beat-up, beloved diary, filled with his most intimate thoughts, since birth. Now, imagine the owner of this diary was well connected enough to refer to Louis Armstrong and Sammy Davis Jr. by their first names. If you can, imagine that diary was narrated by the distinctive, nasal voice of Mike Wazowski. Hard to imagine anything more amusing, eh?
Billy Crystal’s 700 Sundays…Continue
“I heard that the puppets are better in this show than in Lion King,” one elderly patroness said to her friend. I felt my blood run cold, then quietly started compiling evidence against her statement. The lights went up, and the first thing I saw was a man’s hand on the giant, mechanical foal tail. It twitched, and I literally jumped in my seat, utterly creeped out. Then, out of nowhere, a chorus of puppeteers gave out a shrill, all-too-human whinny. “Is that supposed to…Continue
An equally fitting title for Rock of Ages would’ve been That’s-What-She-Said: The Musical. Indeed, the humor and the nature of the show, with it’s G-strings and liberal use of the word “balls”, is anything but high-brow. You’ve got to suspend disbelief (and to some degree, your moral compass and intelligence) in order to enjoy it. The Les Miserables sect of the Broadway empire need not inquire further, unless if they’re ready to…Continue
Last night, Lydia and I were in the city to see Tracy Morgan's "Pardon My French". What we saw was Tracy far gone. We were lucky to be there, because another friend of mine couldn't make it. She had planned to sit through the standup sitting beside her father, however, I assured her that would've been death by mortification. Here's why: Mr. Morgan loudly impersonated a female masturbating to Billy Joel.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen of the 30 Rock persuasion, Tracy Morgan was…Continue